The Eternal Dusk (Daughter of the Phoenix Book Two)

by Victoria J. Price

  Their deaths would not be in vain. Alexander had spent too long doubting himself, too long worrying if he was making the right decisions. Maybe his bad decisions hadn’t directly caused the angels’ deaths, but the time for questioning his choices was over. Now was a time to act.

  Kit huffed a warning from behind the dumpster in the alley below. He licked at something between the cobblestones and then cocked his head to one side as the group of witches Alexander had been watching walked towards the end of the alley. Three of them, dressed in the same black uniform as all the others. One stopped, and Alexander took a step back into the shadow of the rooftop he was standing on. Stale air blew from a metal box beside him, ruffling his feathered wings, and he thought of Fia, arriving back to Ohinyan, to the forest and the fresh air.

  She’s safe. She has to be. She was resourceful, too, and stronger than she gave herself credit for.

  “I know, it’s ridiculous. I had to rearrange a week’s worth of classes—where did you say it was again, number forty-eight, forty-nine?” Jo walked into the alley, towards the witches, her phone held against her face.

  Alexander never understood why humans carried such things, but he couldn’t argue with Jo’s idea to try and draw some witches out. Let’s hope it works.

  “Yeah, I guess this is it, little cobbled street, gross looking dumpster—oh wait, hang on there’s some people here I can ask,” Jo continued her mock conversation.

  “Whatever you’re looking for, I can assure you, this isn’t it,” the man at the head of the group said as they approached Jo.

  Jo flicked her plait over her shoulder. “Alright, no need to be rude. What number is this please?”

  The man glanced at the two witches beside him—another man and a woman. “Turn around. Whatever you’re looking for, it isn’t here.” They all walked towards Jo, ushering her back out of the alley and towards the busy street beyond.

  Kit barked another warning. Five more witches left the brick building at the end of the alley and began to stride towards the others.

  Alexander stepped forwards, ready to leap down and fight, but Jo looked around the man who’d spoken to her, flicking her chin towards the other witches approaching them. “Friends of yours?”

  The witch nodded.

  “I’ve got the wrong street, babe, this one’s got its own weirdo cult or something,” Jo said into her phone, and then turned to leave.

  The five witches caught up with the first group, but Jo left the alley and they didn’t pursue her. It hadn’t worked, but at least it had given Alexander an opportunity to observe how the witches responded.

  Interesting. None of the witches carried the talismans. They all looked exhausted—dark shadows sat beneath their eyes and a few of them looked as if this were the first time they’d seen daylight in days. They were the first witches to emerge from the building all day since Alexander had stood watch.

  “What was that about?” a woman from the second group asked the man at the head of the first.

  The man who’d spoken to Jo replied, “Nothing, she was lost. Go back inside, we’re expecting more to arrive soon. Disgusting, these foxes. They’re getting bolder. Bugger off.” He shooed Kit away with a wave of his hand.

  Kit bared his teeth and darted out of the alley.

  More are arriving soon. More spirits, no doubt. But Alexander was still no closer to knowing how many witches were inside that building, or how many angels. The witches made their way back inside, the heavy metal door falling shut behind them.

  Halvar was on the other side, watching the front entrance, but Alexander was certain none would enter that way—the street was far too busy. He pulled one of the swords Hazel had acquired for him from its sheath, testing the weight of it. It would have to do—at least she’d brought him two matching blades. As much as he hoped he wouldn’t have to use them, something told him he’d be needing them soon.

  A flicker of blue caught his eye. Three spirits, passing through the wall at the end of the alley, walking towards the door the witches had disappeared behind.

  What would Erebus want with an army of spirits? It didn’t make sense. Why here, on Earth? Was he planning to take them to Ohinyan, somehow? And then there were the angels, the ones who hadn’t been murdered in Highgate. Were the rest of them to be sacrifices, too?

  The sunlight was beginning to dip below the buildings, and the lights of London were slowly flickering on. A door creaked open on the roof behind him, and he drew his second sword.

  “Fear not, leader of angels,” Hazel said as she stepped onto the roof. “It’s just me.”

  Alexander sheathed his weapons. “Hazel, my apologies. You’re earlier than I expected. I trust all went well with your daughter?”

  Hazel reached for her necklace, rolling the purple stone between finger and thumb. “It did, thank you. Kit has his instructions if I don’t make it. I’ve been carrying out some research that might be of use. I’d hoped to show you—Kit knows where to find that too.”

  “Hazel, you don’t have to do this, you know. You’ve done so much already. You can leave now—go with your daughter. We can take it from here.”

  Hazel rolled her eyes. “You think I’d leave, never knowing if we stopped this?” She inclined her head towards the alley, and two more spirits flickered across the cobblestones. “This is going to affect more lives than our own if it isn’t stopped. If Erebus isn’t stopped. I can’t put my own life above the lives of all those on Earth and Ohinyan. I do this so that my daughter will have a better future—or any future at all.”

  Alexander watched the spirits disappear into the building. “Very well. The witches will be leaving for their night shift soon. Are you ready?”

  Hazel held onto her purple stone and nodded. “As I’m ever going to be.”

  Sirens wailed past the street beyond the alley, and people marched by, oblivious to what was inside. The stench of cooking fat and other unsavoury items Alexander couldn’t name carried to him on the breeze, and somewhere two people were shouting, screaming at each other. “Stick to the plan. I’ll see you inside,” he said.

  Hazel gave a weak smile and made her way back through the doorway on the roof. Alexander turned his attention back to the alleyway, waiting for the witches to leave. Soon they’d be going out for their shifts—hunting down more people to mark with their runes.

  At first, Alexander and Halvar couldn’t work it out. How had the witches been able to recognise those that were dying? But the more they’d investigated, the more the pieces had fallen together. The witches weren’t just marking people with runes to trap their spirits, they were damaging their hearts too. Every dying person or body Alexander had found with a rune died of heart failure.

  The door to the building below swung open, and the first of the witches stepped out. A group of ten; Alexander knew they would scatter the moment they reached the street.

  He reached for the strip of leather around his wrist. Protection for an angel. How had it come to this? The alley was dark now that the sun had dipped behind the buildings; the lamplight from the street beyond cast long shadows along the cobbles. He found himself wondering where Fia was, whether she was with Runa and Malachai and the others. He ran through places in Ohinyan she could be, people she might be with. He couldn’t let himself imagine the alternative—that a window had closed—he was sure he’d know it… he’d feel it, he was certain.

  Many threads connect us all. Words he had spoken to the Lady Noor a few months before and had thought about many times since. Something told him Fia was still alive, and that she’d made it safely to Ohinyan. And when this was all over, he was going to find her.

  The door at the end of the alley swung open again, and another group of witches left. This was it. As they left, Kit trotted back towards the dumpster, positioning himself behind a bag of refuse.

  A few moments later Hazel and Jo entered the alley. Alexander sucked in a breath. They approached the door and Hazel knocked. Even Kit seemed to be holdin
g his breath as they watched.

  A witch dressed in black opened the door. Hazel spoke quietly; Alexander couldn’t hear what she said. She gestured to Jo, and Jo stepped forwards, just as Halvar touched down on the roof opposite Alexander. They gave each other a nod and waited. Now was not the time to second-guess his leadership skills.

  The witch began to say something, but Jo pulled her close, twisting the witch around so her arm was folded into her back. Jo clamped her free hand over the woman’s mouth, a white cloth against the woman’s lips. “Now!” she hissed.

  Alexander and Halvar dropped down beside them, just as Hazel pressed something onto the witch’s chest and she flickered out of sight. Jo laid her invisible body down carefully against the wall.

  “We’ve only got a few hours before it wears off.” Hazel prodded gently at the space where the witch was lying.

  “Then we’d better hurry.” Alexander led the way inside the building, his eyes adjusting to the change in light and the musty odour. This building was old.

  “Ladies first?” Jo whispered. “Just in case they have those talisman things?”

  Halvar scoffed. “All the more reason for you to hang back, so you’ve a better chance to escape.”

  They made their way, single file, down a long corridor, too narrow for Halvar and Alexander to wield their swords.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Jo said as they made their way past locked doors and a wooden staircase. “Up or down?”

  “For the Eternal Dusk? Always down,” Hazel replied. There was no hint of humour in her voice.

  Jo rolled her eyes. “Excellent. Down into the dark.”

  Voices carried up the staircase, and Alexander brought a finger to his lips to silence the others. They froze in the darkness until the voices faded away. “I hope you’ve prepared more illusions, Hazel. I think we’re going to need them,” he said as he continued on down the stairs.

  No doors were open as they descended, and they must have walked three or four floors before they finally came to one that wasn’t locked. The air was thick and stale, and there was no sign any witches had been there at all.

  Alexander opened the door a crack and looked through. It opened onto a walkway, a pale light reflecting on the ceiling above. He paused to listen but heard nothing. His instincts told him it was a trap—but how could it be? They’d watched the building for days, they’d monitored the witches’ movements closely. He thought of asking Halvar to leave with Jo, but he knew neither of them would go.

  They followed him out onto the walkway, and Hazel shut the door silently behind them.

  “Do you have one of those invisibility charms for yourself?” Alexander asked her quietly.

  “One for each of us, but we cannot waste them. Not yet. We’ll have to just chance a look if we want to know what’s down there.”

  Jo and Halvar stood watch on either side, and Hazel guarded the door. Alexander stepped tentatively towards the edge of the walkway, crouching down as low as he could. He already knew what he was going to find. He’d known it the moment he saw the glow on the ceiling.

  Alexander peered over the railing, and below him stood an army of spirits. Something twisted low in his gut. There were so many of them. But there was no sign of any captured angels.

  Movement caught his eye at either end of the walkway, and something stirred in the shadows.

  “Alexander!” Halvar called out, as doors opened on either side of them.

  A trap, after all. Four witches piled out onto the walkway, and Jo swung a high kick at the woman nearest to her. Alexander ran towards Jo, just as the second witch pulled out a talisman.

  He began to lunge forwards, and then his arms fell limp at his sides, his wings motionless as he lurched towards the floor, angling his shoulder to break his fall. “The wards, they didn’t work, Halvar, get them out of here!”

  But it was too late, one witch pulled Alexander to his feet, the others had them surrounded. Halvar’s arms hung lifeless by his sides too. They were shuffled together, and just as one of the witches was about to speak, Hazel pressed something to Jo’s chest and she disappeared, and then a moment later, Hazel disappeared too.

  “Go, now!” Alexander called out.

  The witch holding onto him fell forwards, and he heard Jo say, “Not a chance,” but had no idea where she was. She must have landed a strong kick on the witch.

  “We’ll come back for you,” Hazel said, invisible. “Jo, if they are to survive, we need to leave, now.”

  A ball of fire landed at Alexander’s feet. No. How did they get here?

  “I would leave, if I had the chance,” a voice said from the back of the room. No. Not her. Anyone but her. A fireball whizzed past them, singing the tip of Alexander’s wing.

  “Jo, Hazel, you have to leave, now,” Alexander said as another fireball landed at his feet, just inches away from him. Intentional, no doubt.

  “We’ll be back, I promise,” he heard Jo call out. A witch was shoved aside by an unseen blow, and the door back out to the stairway fell shut behind her.

  A red-headed woman walked towards them, dressed head to toe in leather and a long, trailing coat. Her dark leather boots reached up over her knees, and her heels clicked against the floor as she stalked towards them. Her hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen her, but her mocking smile was exactly the same.

  “Alexander, leader of angels,” she said as she stood in front of them. “I don’t believe you’ve ever thanked me for helping you to get that title.”

  “You murdered his father,” Halvar seethed. “He owes you nothing. We owe you nothing.”

  Alexander fought against the magic of the talisman, but it was no use. Even a well-timed kick would do nothing but set off her temper. “Lorn, let Halvar go. Whatever quarrel you have with me, leave him out of it.”

  “Absolutely not.” Lorn flashed her teeth with a smirk. She held out her palm and flames sparked from her fingertips. “Oh, how I’ve missed this,” she said and smacked her hand on to Halvar’s wing.

  He cried out in pain, kicking out at the witch nearest to him.

  The witch beside Alexander yanked him aside. “Lorn, please!” Alexander pleaded.

  Lorn laughed and reached out again, but a voice called out from the back of the room just as she was about to press her palm down into Halvar’s feathers.

  “Patience, patience, dearest Fire Mother.” An angel stepped towards them, a mop of silver hair with black roots draped across his grey eyes. A white tattoo snaked its way up the length of his arm and across his chest in a script Alexander couldn’t read. His grey wings, flecked with black, flickered behind him as he walked. Alexander didn’t recognise him, but it didn’t surprise him that another angel had betrayed them. What surprised him was that this angel seemed to hold some dominion over Lorn.

  “Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” the angel said as he approached. “Alexander, leader of angels, and Halvar, General Jarl’s son. What a treat.”

  “And who are you?” Halvar asked.

  The angel stepped closer, placed one hand casually on Lorn’s shoulder, and reached out with the other towards Alexander for a handshake. “Oh, of course, my mistake.” He flicked his eyes towards the talismans and back to Alexander, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Erebus.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Erebus

  E rebus surveyed his army. The shimmering glow was something quite spectacular, and he admired the spirits for their pleasing aesthetics if not for what they represented.

  Earth was going to suffer without the angels’ help. The humans would suffer for the angels’ crimes, and balance would be restored. He ran his fingertips across the white tattoo on his arm, tracing the lines up across his chest, and rested his hand on his heart.

  He thought of his father, Ahriman, fighting the phoenix and the angel, alone. Terah had pleaded with them, but it was no use. They didn’t understand—they wouldn’t. His father existed to provide balance—th
at was what he’d told Erebus, aeons ago. Before his father had been murdered. Before the phoenix and her angel son, Gabriel, had tricked him, torn him away from his love and trapped him in his prison.

  A roaring shout erupted from a corridor somewhere behind him, and Erebus flicked his chin towards the sound. He supposed he’d better get back to the angels before Lorn turned them to ash. He’d have to teach her the art of stretching out torture. How to break someone slowly, piece by piece.

  His feet barely made a sound as he walked towards the shouts and cries.

  “Pathetic thing. To think, I proposed a union.” Lorn’s voice carried through an open doorway, and Erebus stepped into the room to see her hand melting into the flesh of Alexander’s chest. He was kneeling on the floor, legs bound together, his arms and wings hanging pitifully as a result of the witches’ talisman fastened to one of his arms.

  Erebus sighed. Pathetic. I’m rather inclined to agree. Alexander was nothing like his father, Zuriel. And watching Lorn destroy the old angel had been rather fun, if not entirely part of his plan.

  “That’s enough for now, Fire Mother.” Erebus brushed Lorn’s hand away from Alexander’s chest. The stench of burning flesh was vile, the wound blistering and bubbling still, right across his heart. Still, he admired the artistry of such a wound. Alexander had refused Lorn, and now she’d marked him for life—what little remained of it. It was only fitting.

  Erebus paced around the angel, choosing his words. His thoughts drifted to Terah. Of the suffering she had endured because of nothing more than Gabriel’s self-righteousness.

  “Let the others go,” Alexander breathed. His voice was strained, beads of sweat glistened on his brow beneath the harsh lights. Erebus detested being inside a building, let alone in a room so deep beneath the surface. But sometimes necessity outranked desire.