Darkness Descends (The Silver Legacy Book 1)

by Alex Westmore

  “Wow.”

  “Oh, the party hasn’t even started.” Ames handed her the silver tubes. “Let’s see what these babies’ve got in them.” Walking about twenty feet away, he nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Denny looked down at the tubes in her hands. “Go ahead and do what?”

  Ames shrugged. “Whatever will activate the weapons. You saw what I had to do. Each is different. Feel the weapon. They are a part of you as long as you wear the necklace.” He nodded to her. “Go on.”

  “I thought you trained my mom. Don’t you know how these work?”

  “I wasn’t that kind of trainer for her. She learned from a trainer in California. My job was to train her in the ways of our demons here in the south.” He nodded at her with his chin. “Let her rip, kiddo. Let’s see what these things can do.”

  Denny looked at the cylinders and closed her eyes.

  One thing she’d learned from Rush in their years together was the power of visualization. She opened her mind and felt a tingling sensation in her hands and in the back of her neck. The feeling that ran up her arm was the similar to what she felt when she hit her funny bone, only this went up her neck and jolted her brain like a drug.

  Denny opened her eyes and moved both hands as if she was cracking a whip. The weapon in her left hand, Épée, sprang from the cylinder. It was a sword that seemed more like a scimitar. Curved and glistening, Épée appeared sharp enough to cut your eyes just for looking at it.

  “Whoa. Awesome!”

  Fouet came whipping out of its cylinder, crackling with white energy like a living snake. Tiny scalpel-like blades lined the whip, making it bite at the air around it.

  “Holy shit!” Denny held Fouet away from her as though she was holding a live wire.

  “It’s a chain-blade,” Ames explained. “A rare combination of whip and blade. All you need to do is cast it like a fishing rod and it will slice through just about anything.”

  Denny stared at it as the electricity crackled. “Anything?”

  “Yes. The Fouet is one of the hardest weapons to master because it whips like a leather whip but also cuts with those chainsaw-like blades. We’re going to need some time to work on that one or you could do some serious damage to yourself.”

  “And Épée?”

  “Straight up demon sword. It will cut completely through a body like the proverbial hot knife through butter. Now, drop them both.”

  Denny did as she was told. The weapons reverted back to cylinders before hitting the mat.

  “Unless they are connected to you and the triquetra, they will go back into hiding. So, when you are fighting a demon, you must hold onto your weapons.” Ames motioned for Denny to pick them back up. “Again.”

  With a flick of her wrist, she was able to unveil both weapons.

  “Very good. Today, we will work with Épée. To retrieve Fouet, you need only reverse the opening action.”

  It took Denny a moment, but she finally got the chain-bladed genie back in its tube.

  “This is amazing.”

  Ames smiled. “And we haven’t even begun.”

  ***

  She wasn’t prepared for the surge of energy that surged through her body when she held the weapons. It was like they became a part of her and supplied her with a weird electrical power that coursed through her veins.

  “My god, they’re so...powerful.”

  “Yes, they are. Get a feel for them. They’ll be like an extension of your arms once you know what you’re doing.”

  Denny knew she had no idea what she was doing.

  “Careful of Fouet. It tends to come whipping back. They’ve been known to take off an eyebrow or two.”

  Denny could see that happening. Fouet crackled as if alive, and moved independently of her like a living snake. “So when do we go after one?”

  Ames laughed hard. “You’ve got a lot to learn before you are ready for a face-to-face encounter. Read the Black Book. Study the writings. Understand that every demon is different and no two fights are the same. The hunts are as vast as grains of sand, and the moment you think you have nothing more to learn will be the moment you sign your own death certificate.”

  Denny flicked her wrists and the two weapons disappeared. “These are super cool.”

  Ames handed her a calendar. “First thing we need to do is pencil in training times. Take that home, figure it out, and come back. Then we have to talk about what you’re seeing. After that, you’ll need several hours a day to learn how to make those weapons the most effective weapons in demon hunting history. So...what are you seeing?”

  Denny stared at him, somewhat relieved he didn’t think she was crazy. “I’m seeing red eyes, like those laser pens.”

  “Ah, excellent. Very observant of you. Good. Until I clear you, you are not to take any of them on. They’ll sniff you out and might even come after you, but you need to stay clear until you’ve seen what both those weapons can do. Do not think you know what you’re doing until I tell you that you know what you’re doing. Understand?”

  Denny nodded.

  “So...are you ready?”

  Four-and-a-half hours later, Denny was sweaty, sore, and felt like her muscles had been stretched beyond repair.

  The Tae Kwon Do would help, he said, and he shoved several books and tapes at her when they finished.

  When Denny finally got home and dragged her tired ass into the shower, she bent over to let the hot water run on her back, then she started crying.

  One minute her life was running along smoothly and the next, she was in a subterranean training facility learning how to fight demons while her lover was missing and her family was in danger.

  It was almost more than she could take.

  ***

  Denny woke up with her face on the cold green marble of her mother’s desk. Books were piled all over, some open, others waiting their turn. She’d been up until three-thirty in the morning reading the Black Book, taking notes, and cross-referencing everything she could. There was so much to know, but she was finally beginning to understand where she fit in the scheme of this supernatural world. It was an enormous responsibility; greater than anything she had ever imagined.

  What were they doing here?

  Well, she learned that, unlike demons of Christianity and Judaism, demons in the real world weren’t after angels, or merely the dark side equivalent. They were spirits, yes, but there was so much more to them than that.

  Pre-Islamic mythology, as well as other Far Eastern myths, did not differentiate between gods and demons. Jinn were considered divinities of inferior rank with human capabilities. While most jinn tended to be peaceful, there were those who, for whatever reason, wished to cause chaos and harm to the living.

  Denny sighed and then ran her fingers through her hair. She wished she had paid more attention in school.

  She continued reading.

  Jinn was an Arabic word meaning hidden from sight. The Hmong people in Southeast Asia believed in evil spirits and have well-established rituals and traditions for encountering and destroying them.

  Denny wiped her eyes and refocused on her notes. She reread what she’d last written.

  ~~~

  Practitioners of ceremonial magic would often attempt to call, constrain, and command demons to do their bidding. They deployed them in order to obtain their goals, whatever those goals might be. Lesser demons could be commanded and used by the summoner, but higher-level demons were not.

  When regarded as spirits, they could be human or nonhuman, separable souls, or discarnate spirits which have never inhabited a body.

  Nearly every religion and region held some belief in demons, and though they differed somewhat, the basic premise was the same.

  ~~~

  Denny stood up and stretched before she flipped her mother’s journal open again.

  The things her mild-mannered mother had done, the places she’d gone, were unbelievable, and Denny realized she really hadn’t known her mother. It was dish
eartening to know the life she thought they had, the childhood she thought was hers, wasn’t. Nothing was as she had thought and her heart hurt for it.

  Skipping to the entries made when she was about eight years old, Denny read:

  ~~~

  It is evident that the legacy skipped over my first two children and straight to Golden. I should have known––should have suspected as much. She is the third, a powerful number. I am not surprised. She has always been the most spiritually sensitive, even when she was a toddler. She sees the spirit in the house––Rushalyn Holbrook, but does not appear afraid of her. She is harmless, that ghost. She watches the children, mostly Golden, who wants to interact with her, but for some reason, Rush won’t.

  Golden saw spirits in California, but she does not remember. I will have to keep a closer eye on her. Should anything happen to me, I am unsure whether or not she would take the mantel. She has so much to offer the world, such big dreams. I’d hate to see her give up her plans to pick up the fight, but she may not have a choice.

  H.R.

  My poor baby. There is nothing I can do now except teach her all I know when she is of age.

  I sought council for it, for how best to help her when the time comes–– when the legacy continues, in order to help her deal with it. I will have to train her before I become too old to remember.

  Too old.

  Some days, I feel like they’ll be grown before I can stop them. I wonder endlessly when I’ll be able to tell them about the legacy and their role. Not everyone has what it takes or the desire to embrace a path created for us centuries ago.

  To be honest, I’m not even sure where to begin.

  ~~~

  Before Denny could read more, her phone vibrated with a text from Lauren. Call me when you’re awake.

  Denny dialed Lauren’s cell number. “I’m awake. What’s up?”

  “Your Mike Cockerton is a ghost.”

  Denny sat straight up. “A what?”

  “Well, not a ghost like Rush. What I mean is he’s non-existent. No social security number, no birth records...hell, I can’t even find his parents’ names. It’s like––”

  “He sprang up out of nowhere. Yeah. That was my greatest fear––he is here when he shouldn’t be.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish, Den. He’s probably just some kid who fell through the cracks.”

  Denny mustered a smile she didn’t really feel. “Thanks for the info.”

  “Are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  Denny pinched the bridge of her nose. The word legacy kept floating through her mind’s eye. “Just tired. Missing Rush, and I have an essay exam I’ve not started studying for.”

  “Well, hang in there. I’m here if you need me.”

  Lauren had needed her once.

  Denny was still in high school and hanging out with her friends. They’d been messing around in an old barn when a huge piece of equipment fell on Lauren, pinning her to the ground. Denny had been scared to death it would crush the life out of her before she could get help, so she managed to lift the machine high enough for Lauren to crawl out from under it with nothing more than a scratch.

  Everyone at school called her Wonder Woman for weeks. Denny, just chalked it up to fear-enhanced adrenaline.

  Now, she wondered...

  After they hung up, Denny decided on a new approach to learn about the legacy. It sounded, from her mother’s journal, as if it was more of a curse than a blessing.

  “Let’s see...legacy, legacy,” Her fingers trailed along the spines of leather-bound books, but nothing jumped out at her. Of course, she still needed to climb the ladder to the top shelf, but––

  Her phone rang again.

  It was Brianna.

  “We can bring the séance members to you tonight if you’re available. Sorry for the short notice, but you need to get on it when you can. Is tonight okay?”

  Denny felt a weight lift. “That would be excellent. What do I need to do?”

  “I’ll send you a link on the setup, preparation, and expectations. Follow it to the letter. No substitutes, no creative thinking. You understand?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Golden Silver. A séance is nothing to mess around with, especially in a house known to be haunted.”

  “Rush doesn’t haunt.”

  “I realize that. Just understand that opening the doors to the other side is always a dangerous thing. That’s why you must follow the directions exactly. If you’re unsure, call or text, but don’t take creative license here. This isn’t playing around. This is the real deal. We’ll be over at nine.”

  “Nine? Not midnight?”

  Brianna chuckled into the phone. “Superstitious balderdash. See you soon.”

  As soon as Denny hung up, an email popped up. In it she saw the list for preparing for the séance: a comfortable room, fresh roses, candles, and a host of other items, including incense and sage needed to smudge the room.

  Hell, I would eat a candle, incense and sage if it brought Rush back.

  The house had never felt so empty or lonely. Pure had noticed it too.

  Denny checked her backpack to be sure Fouet and Épée were still there. When she was sure they were safe and sound, she put the backpack over her shoulder and decided to walk to the closest crystal store where she knew she could purchase the bundles of sage. The quickest way was through the cemetery. She was almost through when she saw two thugs leaning against a large headstone. It felt as if they were waiting for her.

  Denny slowed down but kept walking toward them. She kept her eyes on one of them and when he made eye contact, she saw the tell-tale flash of red.

  Demons.

  Denny stopped and looked around for an alternate route. When they started toward her, she knew running was not an option. She swung the bag off of her shoulder and withdrew her weapons, her heart banging against her chest as she planted her feet. “Now, I’m not sure you fellas want to fuck with me,” she said.

  “Not with ya, baby, just fuck, period.” The demons laughed.

  Denny knew she was alone. She knew it and they knew it. If she didn’t make a bold statement right now, they would have the jump on her.

  With a flick of her wrist, Fouet and Épée came to life.

  “Oh shit, dude,” the scrawny one said, backing up. “What the hell?”

  The air crackled from the energy and the two weapons glowed white light halos that surrounded them. The light flickered from white to blue. Denny stood her ground, feet firmly planted, eyes narrowed. “Not really what you boys were expecting, huh?”

  “She’s a fuckin’ hunter, dude.”

  Denny had no idea if there was a protocol or operating procedures when hunted and hunter met, so she merely shrugged.

  Power surged through her as she stood there, weapons at the ready, her muscles responding.

  “You fellas can turn and run away and live to bother some other unsuspecting person or you can deal with me now and hope I don’t go all crazy bat-shit on your asses, ’cause frankly, I’d love nothing more than to fuck you both up. It’s been a bad week. So what’ll it be?”

  The two men exchanged glances, nodded, and ran right at Denny.

  She snapped the chain-blade at the man on the right. The chain crackled as it whipped. It cut through the air as if tasting the demon’s blood was all it lived for. The weapon sliced through his shoulder and chest and then snapped through his body, virtually cutting him in half. The mangled pieces landed on the ground before exploding into a hundred bloody pieces.

  Fouet whipped back so quickly, it sliced Denny’s right eyebrow. Blood flowed down her face as the whip retracted into the cylinder.

  Covered with her own blood as well as the blood and guts of the dead demon, Denny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and held Épée toward the other demon, who had stopped when his friend exploded.

  “Fuckin’ A. You’re a goddamned rookie. You cut your own face.” He
laughed. “What a chump.”

  Denny blinked, trying to keep the blood out of her eyes. The sword still crackled with white energy traveling up and down the blade. Her eyebrow stung, she was covered in the flesh and blood of the first demon, and something strange was happening inside of her. It was like her muscles were pumping up––only it was bigger. Much bigger.

  She wanted to see the second guy blown to bits as well. She yearned to wear his blood all over her.

  Denny took an en guarde stance. “Well, this chump is ready to send you back to whatever rock you crawled out from under, asshole.” Denny slid Fouet in her back pocket and gripped her sword hilt with both hands.

  “I may be a little harder to kill than my buddy, sweet pea, and I’m sure––” When he locked eyes once more with Denny, he stopped his show of bravado and stepped back, muttering something that sounded like “Santa” before turning and running away. He ran so fast, he was gone before she realized he wasn’t going to fight her.

  Denny sheathed Épée and put the cylinder back in her bag

  Was it magic? Was it the supernatural? What were they, these demon slayers?

  Denny had blood and body parts all over her, including in her hair. Her eyebrow stung and her heart was banging hard inside her chest. Her palms were sweaty and trembling, and her breathing was labored, but she was, for the most part, unharmed.

  She pulled out her phone and dialed Victor’s number. “Can you meet me at Crystal Palace with a clean shirt, some handy wipes, and a tube of Super Glue?”

  “Uh...sure. Everything okay?”

  “That’s a relative term, you know? See you in ten.”

  As Denny started across the street and out of the cemetery, she wondered why the demon had called her Santa.

  Santa?

  Was that it?

  Maybe it was something else. She couldn’t be sure. A person blowing up in your face was more than a little disconcerting. The way Fouet sliced through that first demon was beyond incredible. Denny could only shake her head.

  Victor was waiting for her at the Crystal Palace. He had an Atlanta Braves sweatshirt for her as well as the wipes and Super Glue. His mouth fell open when he saw her. “Oh my god, Den, are you okay?” Victor grabbed her face and studied it. “You’re cut. What the hell––”