She flung the glass frame across the room. Its four pointed corners spiraled through the air, toppling over each other like the edges of a square wheel. Mr. Witherington flinched out of the way just in time, where it flew past him and hit the wall, shattering. Pieces of glass landed on his desk, amidst which floated down the picture of Elizabeth Witherington.
He looked at her. She looked at him. Darcy was just as stunned as he was, but she shook it off quicker, heading for the door.
“I’m going,” she said as she passed him. “I dare you to try and stop me.”
Mr. Witherington looked sullenly at his desk.
“DARE!” he shouted, beyond emotion.
Darcy stopped.
“What?”
“Truth or Dare, Darcy. You started this game tonight. I dare you to stay.”
“I can’t. This is something I have to do.”
He hung his head. Desperate and defeated, Darcy’s father opened a desk drawer. He looked at the long, thin box that lay there before gently taking it out and hugging it for some sort of life. Before she could leave the room, and before he could lose his nerve, William Witherington held the box out to his daughter.
“I won’t try to stop you. Just…take this with you.”
Darcy gave him a questioning look, but took the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a necklace. She had seen it before—played with it while sitting on her mother’s lap when she was a small girl. Her mother used to sing her a song back then—a lullaby—but Darcy had long forgotten the words.
Darcy picked up the thin, serpentine silver chain. A pendant of sorts fell, hanging at the bottom. It was made of a dark metal, ornately carved into an octagon with eight concave, circular sides. In the middle of the octagon was a hole, and on each of the eight points was a small, colored gem, each a different color: Purple, brown, orange, red, black, green, yellow, and blue.
The entire thing fit in Darcy’s palm, about the size of an eyeglass.
“It was Eliz—your mother’s,” Mr. Witherington explained. “I don’t know what exactly it does, but she always carried it with her. It had something to do with her—you know, all of that. She always talked about giving it to you, when you grew up. And, well, I guess you’ve grown up enough to have it now.”
Darcy looked from the necklace to her father. After all that she had found out from him over the past several hours, he was still her father. He might have become a cowardly shell of who he once was, but she still loved him. And she realized he loved her, too. It was why he was so fearful.
She rushed into him with an unreserved hug.
It was a few moments before they both pulled away. Darcy slid the necklace over her head.
“Just…be careful, wherever it is you’re going. And come back.”
“I will, Daddy. I will.”
He was in the great hall with stone pillars. His friends stood beside him. All of them.
They had made it! And no one had died or been hurt! He smiled. They’d done it.
But then came that laugh. It was everywhere and yet nowhere within the Great Hall.
Suddenly, he was on a battlefield. There were creatures all around him, things from his worst nightmares. A black castle stood in front of him. He looked back and saw that one of his friends was dying.
Dying a thrice death.
Then the Dark Prince was right there, filling up the whole dream.
“Are you prepared for the sacrifice?” asked the varcolac, looking straight at him, speaking through the dream. “Are your friends prepared to give their lives?”
The Dark Prince laughed triumphantly.
Charlie shot up out of his bed, covered in cold sweat. His bed sheets grabbed at him like a hundred angry ghosts. His head ached and his throat felt raw, like he had been drinking broken glass. And there was a sound that sent shivers up his spine….
He realized the sound was coming from him. He was screaming. Still. That explained the sore throat.
Charlie clamped his mouth and threw himself back into the pillows, wiping his eyes. It was the same dream, of course. It just became worse, more real, every time. Somebody had been hurt—no, killed—but Charlie still could not see who.
The door nearly flew off its hinges as Mr. Sullivan launched into the room, bleary-eyed and more than slightly rattled. He brandished a notebook over his head, ready to strike. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Charlie sniffed. “Just a nightmare, s’all. Sorry, Dad.”
Not wholly awake, Mr. Sullivan scanned the room, as if looking for the Sandman himself to throttle for putting nightmares in his son’s head.
Little did he know it was not the Sandman that had put those images in Charlie’s head. It was someone, something, much worse.
When he failed to find a culprit boogeyman making for the window, Mr. Sullivan lowered the deadly notebook and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You want to talk about it?”
Charlie shook his head. “Not tonight. I just need to go back to sleep.”
Mr. Sullivan nodded, patted his son on the back, and left the room, shuffling back to his bedroom.
Poor kid, he thought, so much going on, with the extra schoolwork the last few days and the new friends he’s been making. So much pressure on kids these days.
He frowned, hoping Charlie had not been getting into any trouble with these friends without names. He would talk to him about it tomorrow, after school.
The last thing Mr. Sullivan thought about when his head hit the pillow was how Charlie’s eyes seemed to be strangely bloodshot. But he was already asleep by the time the thought occurred.
Loch cursed as the erkling stepped through the gateway. Its filthy boots thudded heavily on the white bridge as the monster trudged toward the old Hunter.
Still, he thanked whatever powers there may be that it wasn’t the Dark Prince crossing over. Loch stowed the mirror box in his coat pocket and raised his shotgun, his right eye glowing red in the night air.
“Get back!” he called.
The erkling grinned, its teeth crooked and sharp. It raised its royal sword and stepped off the bridge, inhaling its first free breath in over two centuries.
BANG!
The shot knocked the erkling back onto the bridge, but it did not kill it, because the erkling was a Greater monster—and a powerful Greater at that.
His heart sank. They had run out of time.
The erkling stood up and drew its sword, snarling at its bloodied chest and torn uniform. It launched itself at Loch with a strike to the Hunter’s throat. Loch stepped aside just in time, the erkling’s rusty blade just ripping into his shoulder.
It had been some time since his last battle. He grunted in pain as a winged, stone figure fell from the sky. Its shadow swallowed the monster and the Hunter before crashing into the ground between the two.
Chapter 8: Crossing Over
The Otherworld sun shone purple through the clouds, bathing Blood Castle in a sickly light. The wolf prowled along the castle’s black moat. He heard the wodnik in there, clawing through the filthy waters.
The Sagemistress flew out of the large stone doors of Blood Castle, throwing them aside as if they were wooden panels. She gestured impatiently to the ogre manning the bridge.
The looming deformity reached over with giant arms and heaved the gears into movement. The bridge lowered with a small dam sinking into the moat beneath it, temporarily stopping the flow of water so the witch could cross.
As the water ceased to flow, the wodnik poked his frog-like face out of the moat in curiosity. He saw the Sagemistress crossing the bridge, and then re-entered the water with a plop, swimming over quickly with his webbed claws and fish tail.
The wodnik splashed out of the water, leaning the top half of his scaled body onto the dirt ground, creating a black puddle as he splashed about. The wolf looked over a great, muscled shoulder and sniffed at him questioningly.
“What news fr
om the Prince, Sagemistress?” croaked the wodnik.
She looked at him with electric blue eyes—disdain evident—stepping over his black puddle.
“They are coming,” she said. They all looked in the direction of the gateway, past the Graveyard that stretched over the majority of the Otherworld. It was far away, but not far enough.
The witch scowled. “The Prince wants us ready, of course. He wants them alive, but incapacitated. The fool! We should not even take the chance.”
“Sagemistress!” the wodnik urged. “Be wary of what it is you say! You never know if…if he is listening.” He nervously stroked his scraggly beard, which looked as if his chin was dipped in algae.
The wolf growled in agreement.
“I know better than you think, Grandfather Bilibin,” the witch warned.
The Sagemistress turned, striding away without another word. Even with her long legs, the witch’s speed was unnatural. She glided over the land, quickly disappearing over Wyvern’s Peak.
The wolf and the wodnik shared a glance. They both sensed the anger of the witch; centuries worth of betrayal and hatred bubbling just below her leathery skin.
The massive ogre lifted the bridge on the other side of the moat, and the black waters began to angrily flow once more around the castle. The wodnik shook his head and splashed back into his home.
His long ears standing straight, and his eyes glowing faintly red, the wolf stood and began to pace again. He sniffed the air, hackles rising. He could smell it in the air.
A great battle was on the horizon.
The memory of a song woke Darcy up. The words rolled perpetually through her head.
Purple Monster, Yellow monster, Brown monster, three,
Why are you all jumping on my bed?
Blue monster, Black monster, Purple monster, see?
Now I am stomping on all of your heads.
She frowned at the image. Was it something she had eaten the day before?
Darcy got out of bed, and another verse—another rhyme altogether—came to mind.
Red monster, Red monster up above your head,
His friend, Blue monster, under your bed.
Making faces, ugly faces, is the game they play,
With the scary from the closet, glowing green his eye.
Never, dear, never fear the Dark or these faces here,
For soon, very soon, will come the morning Light.
The lyrics came with little tunes, each song flowing easy. She had heard them before.
After a moment, Darcy realized where. Her mother used to sing these nursery rhymes to her at bedtime, strange as they were. It had been so many years ago. And her mother always played with the necklace with Darcy while singing them, brushing the different colored stones with her fingers.
The memories were old and blurred, but Darcy would keep reciting them—stubbornly, over and over again—until she could remember clearly. If for no other reason this was a part of her mother, something to remember her by.
Never, dear, never fear the Dark or these faces here…
Darcy gripped the necklace tight before standing up and getting ready. She took her time, knowing full well this might be the last hot shower, the last caramel-laced coffee, the last morning she would live to enjoy.
Sometime later that morning, Darcy was finishing her hair. It seemed silly to her now she was going to hunt monsters and save the world—or at least the town—but if there was a chance she might not come back, why not go out with style? She went for something bold. Simple. Daring.
Jeans, scuffed boots, a nice jacket, and just a small hint of makeup.
Just to make sure she wasn’t crazy, Darcy placed a hand on her dresser and pushed gently, watching her hand disappear into the woodwork. She smiled.
Darcy grabbed her bag, moved quietly through the hallway, and placed a kissed hand on her father’s bedroom door. Downstairs, she gingerly set the note she had written for her father on the table.
It took a moment to find her nerve, but when Darcy was ready she took a deep breath and walked out the door.
Nash and the twins were already waiting outside. They had all agreed to meet at Darcy’s before stopping by Tavern’s Quick-N-Go for some breakfast on their way to Hunter’s Key.
“Fashionable enough?” Lisa called.
“Shhh!” Darcy said, shuffling down from her front porch. “You’ll wake up my dad! Now what did you say?” she asked, close enough to talk without yelling.
“I was just wondering if you looked good enough yet to go monster hunting. What’s with the goofy looking necklace? That is so not you,” Lisa said, mocking a valley-girl tone reminiscent of Darcy’s bubble-gum smacking friends.
“Shut up about the necklace, okay? It belonged to my mom. My dad just gave it to me last night. It’s one of the only things I have left of her. And if I am going to face an overdone vampire, I’m going to look good doing it. You will not catch me wearing a belt of wooden stakes and garlic.”
“Hey, sorry. I didn’t know. But wooden stakes might help. According to some legends—”
“Forget it,” Darcy said, purposefully squashing Lisa’s intellectual rant. “Not going to happen.”
“Glad to see you’re all chipper!” Charlie hailed, approaching from the street. He jumped the curb onto the circular drive. “All joking aside, this is it guys. Take a deep breath and—”
“Rumbling. Stomach. Breakfast,” croaked Nash. “Can we just head to Tavern’s and talk on the way?”
“Sure,” agreed Charlie, “let’s go.”
As they left the driveway on foot, Liev leaned over.
“Charlie, you look…tired. Have a hard time sleeping last night?”
“It’s nothing,” Charlie reassured, eyes forward. He did not want to talk about his dreams—or the death that haunted them.
The Chief of Assistants ran as fast as he could, panting, sweating. The perspiration froze on his floppy earlobes and chin as the temperature continued to plummet.
All night, he had run. Hunter’s Grove wasn’t exactly an expansive area, but avoiding lights and humans kept him on edge. He was an enemy to the humans, as much for the way he looked as for the things he had done. He was especially an enemy to the Hunters and now that their numbers had grown for the first time in ages, Hunter’s Grove felt as if it was crumbling in on him. Even those humans who might have considered him a friend wouldn’t be able to help him anyway.
And although he had finally filled his master’s diary with the right blood, Dräng knew he could not return to the Otherworld. The release of the Ancients would make his life more miserable than it was now. Soon, his master would find out about Dräng’s further betrayal, and there would be no escaping his wrath this time.
Dräng was caught between two worlds, without home or friend. He was cold, scared, and hungry. The few squirrels he had caught did little to fill his appetite. He almost preferred to starve. Soon, a Collector would be sent to track him down and take him back to the Otherworld to face the master. Starving would be better.
Absently, Dräng found himself running to the far side of Hunter’s Grove, as far away from the Key as he could get. It was then he had the idea.
There was one human in Hunter’s Grove who might let Dräng explain himself. One who knew of the existence of monsters, he was sure. One who might help him set things straight. He had seen the human many times in the forest as the man issued loud, verbal warnings to “whoever or whatever was out there.”
He prayed his diplomatic skills were still intact, and that they would be enough for this human.
Run, Dräng told himself. Run faster. Seek this human out quickly. He may be the only hope for surviving the master.
A bell jingled—a chipper sound as the door opened and five teenagers walked in. All heads turned to stare from the restaurant side. Many of those same heads had been there last night when the same mismatched band of youn
g people had interrupted dinner, and those who were not there had already heard about the incident.
People went warily back to their food, turning to stare every so often. In one corner of the room, Donnie Wickles quickly picked up a menu to hide his face.
On their way to the tavern side of the Quick-N-Go, Charlie nearly collided with a man wearing a rabbit foot over his unbuttoned flannel jacket. A second man behind him didn’t exactly stop in the nick of time, so they all collided anyway.
“Hey, Fish! Dink,” Charlie greeted.
Nash heard the commotion, looked up, and waved to his friends, but his primary interest was finding a table where they could sit and eat breakfast.
“Hey there,” Fish said, a little awkwardly.
Dink smiled and waved.
The two parties stood there for a second before Fish seemed to snap out of a deep thought.
“Well, see you later. Dink and I are off for, um, some early winter game.”
Charlie nodded. “Keep warm.”
“Will do,” Dink said. “And you all, you keep safe, you hear?”
After they had gone, Darcy frowned. “What was that about?”
“You do realize of who you speak?” asked Liev, with a hint of sarcasm.
Charlie had noticed Fish and Dink’s strange—or, stranger—behavior, but he shook it off. He wasn’t feeling too gathered himself this morning.
His stomach grumbling like a bear, Nash nearly jogged to the nearest table, eyes drilling holes through the menu.
Tavern appeared from the back of the restaurant. He stopped at seeing the group, accidently catching Darcy’s eye. They both looked away quickly. He sighed and grabbed his pencil and notepad.
“Morning,” said Tavern, a touch apprehensively, as he neared the table. “You all here for a nice, warm…quiet…breakfast? Eh, can I get you drinks?”
He added the word ‘quiet’ by accident, really, but they understood well enough.
Charlie Sullivan and the Monster Hunters: The Varcolac's Diary Page 14
