by Lizzy Ford
Decker met his gaze. “Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know really. They didn’t say anything particular. Just a feeling. The way she was talking about Morgan … Bartholomew was mad because Dawn wouldn’t just kill Morgan, because Morgan might be able to stop him or some shit.”
“That’s new.”
“Yeah, well, I failed to protect her, too.”
“Morgan’s a survivor. Beck’s not going to let anything happen to her.”
“I want to help. Somehow.”
“I think this is beyond you. Go home, Noah. Wait for us to sort this out,” Decker advised. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“I don’t need money,” Noah said, bristling.
“Yeah, well, I happen to know your family’s funds are frozen. Take it. Go back to Priest Lake. If there’s anything you can do, we’ll let you know.” The last sentence was more out of diplomacy than anything else. Decker rose and took the key card then tossed the money he had to Noah.
Noah took it wordlessly.
Sensing the Dark witchling was done, Decker left him and emerged from the diner into the parking lot.
His shadows swept him away to the sidewalk outside the casino where Dawn was staying. Decker entered and made his way across the loud, bright floor of slot machines to the elevators. Moments later, he entered the room where Dawn had been.
The Dark witchling was gone. Closing the door behind him, he listened, his shadows racing out across the room to see if anyone else was present.
The large suite was empty. Traces of Dark magick remained, and he flipped on the lights to search for anything that might tell him where she went or what she was planning.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it free. Find Noah? Beck had texted.
Yeah. Safe. Decker moved through the trashed suite as he typed an answer. He pushed open the bedroom. The Dark was strongest here, and he guessed this was where Dawn had been.
A hotel-branded notepad lay overturned on the ground near the bed. He leaned over and swept it up.
Equinox. Morgan. The words were repeated over fifty times, obsessively written by Dawn in pen.
Decker wasn’t certain how else they were supposed to prepare for something bad going down on the equinox. Unless Beck suddenly learned some tricks, he was going to have to start regular patrols around the school to find any other hidden pockets of Dark magick Dawn was stashing for an attack on the Light.
“What threat does Morgan really pose? Aside from having the soul stone?” he whispered aloud. Almost instantly, the souls in his head went silent. If there was historical knowledge about the family of fire witchlings charged with protecting the soul stone, none of his predecessors knew it. Part of him suspected the exclusion of information was purposeful. Until him, Bartholomew had been in his mind, along with all the other souls of the Dark Masters and Dark Mistresses preceding him. Upon becoming Master of Dark at the age of eighteen, Decker had inherited the souls. Any Master of Dark worth his title would know to prevent the dangerous soul from uncovering a way to escape back to the human world and unleash hell.
Whatever the reasoning, Morgan was as important as the stone.
With another look around, Decker left the hotel and returned to his cozy, warm room, where the woman he loved was sleeping soundly in his bed. He observed her for a long moment, recalling what he had felt when he thought he lost her.
He wasn’t going to let Beck go through that again, but he was at a loss as to what Bartholomew wanted or planned with Dawn’s help.
“Come on, Beck. Figure this shit out,” he willed his brother.
“Decker?” Summer murmured sleepily.
“I’m here, baby.”
Tired and needing some peace from his magick and the Dark souls in his head, Decker stripped down to a boxer and t-shirt and slid into bed with Summer, gathering her warm, soft body into his arms and sighing deeply before he fell asleep next to her.
Chapter Thirteen
From the shadows of an enclave down the hall from her former room, Dawn held her breath and waited. Decker was gone, but she wasn’t about to leave her safe spot and risk him suddenly returning. After all, Bartholomew could hide her from his Dark magic, not make her invisible.
The discomfort of her pregnancy was worse today; there was actual pain stemming from somewhere inside her. She had half a mind to go to the hospital, but doing so put her – and their plan – at risk.
You failed again, Dawn, Bartholomew said.
“I didn’t fail,” she muttered.
You didn’t catch or kill Morgan, and your brother turned you in to Decker. Tell me how that’s not failing.
She didn’t have a response. Her head was throbbing, and she felt less well than usual.
I can make this right.
She pressed her forehead to the cool wall beside her, exhausted and upset. “So I misjudged a few things. Kinda hard to think when you’re about to pop.”
All the more reason why I need to be in charge.
At the moment, it sounded like a good idea. She’d have to manipulate someone else so she had a place to sleep this night, and she didn’t even feel up to that. Her attempt to grab Morgan had been foiled by Noah, and she was left with pretty much one option.
“We need to go back to Miner’s Drop. Build up more Dark magic,” she murmured. “We can make them come to us.”
We can. What we can’t do is let Morgan live.
“Again with this,” Dawn said with a sigh. “I hate her, too, but come on! You can face Decker. What’s one stupid witchling? I want her and Beck both to suffer before they die.”
It’s possible that Morgan can stop us.
“Wait, what?” she asked, straightening. “Is this another stupid lie?”
No. If she’s powerful enough to be the first Light witchling in such a long dry spell of Light fire witchlings, it’s possible she can stop us.
“How?”
By burning me out of existence, the way my son did many years ago.
Dawn listened, intrigued by the story. For the first time, Bartholomew was revealing something almost personal or at least, something more personal than he normally did. “If you’d told me that, I’d have made sure she died in the fire!”
I told you enough.
The man was an asshole dead. She didn’t want to know how bad he really was alive.
That’s why I need your body. To take the stone and stop her.
“I’m afraid … I’m not going to standup to flames or a fight.” Dawn shifted and grimaced. The flash of pain blinded her, and she sucked in a breath, freezing in place for a moment. When it faded, she released the breath through gritted teeth. “I think something’s wrong.” She touched her stomach. “I need to go to the hospital before we go to Idaho.”
There’s no time. The equinox is coming.
“And our power is magnified. I know. But this isn’t right. I’m going to the hospital now.” She started down the hallway towards the elevators.
I didn’t want it to be this way, Dawn. I wanted us to be partners.
“We are.”
Suddenly, she was falling … and then not. The sensation was less physical and more like she’d been dropped into herself. Aware of her body, she wasn’t able to control it. She was in a cool, dark, quiet place.
“Bartholomew! What happened?” she cried and reached out. Her hands met a wall. She followed it around in the dark to a corner, then around to another. The room was three meters by three meters with no door she could feel.
I’m taking over.
“No! You swore!”
It is necessary for my survival.
His survival. Not hers. Not her child’s.
“But … but what about me?” she stuttered.
You are disposable. But your baby … now I need her. Her soul is too young to fight me. I can displace it. Become her. Rise again.
Terror shot through her. “You swore to spare her.”
I swor
e not to hurt her, and I won’t. I need her alive.
Fury and desperation snapped inside her. Dawn smashed her fists into the wall, screaming at him, unable to break free of the place he had trapped her.
She beat the walls until she was too tired to raise a hand then rolled onto her back, staring into the darkness. Of all the plans and hope for the future she had made, the one she couldn’t see past was what happened to her child when Bartholomew seized control of her. Beck and Morgan no longer mattered.
“I won’t let you,” she whispered hoarsely.
You can’t stop me, and I’m going to destroy the only person who can.
“No. Beck won’t let you.”
Farewell, Dawn.
Chapter Fourteen
“Next time, tell me how long this takes in advance,” Beck said with a grunt. For four days, he’d shown up at dawn and disappeared into a haze of Light and earth magick only to emerge close to midnight, starving and oblivious to the passage of time. Earth’s grumbling warmth kept the chill of a spring night from reaching him. It had rained for two days straight, and the earth smelled damp while the faint patter of rain filled the air. Soaked, Beck turned his face towards the dark sky and let the cool rain trickle down his features.
The utter absorption into his task kept his thoughts from returning to Morgan like they did when he wasn’t immersed in the task of creating a shield around the Light in case Dawn tried something with or without the stone.
I did not know how long it would take, Sam replied.
Beck glanced at the furry creature. “Aww, Sam. You look adorable, like a wet puppy.”
The yeti gave a tired laugh.
Beck raised his hand over the newly created barrier, satisfied when an arc of Light followed his movement. “This is amazing. This feels more natural.”
We extended the safeguards from the ground into the sky. But Beck, the shield is two fold. It will protect the Light but it will also prevent it from growing.
“It’s temporary, Sam,” Beck said firmly. I hope. He was afraid to admit the truth, that he had no idea what was going to happen. “Sam, can I ask you something about this?”
Sam twisted his shaggy head towards him.
“If … something happens to me, will this protect the Light until the next Master or Mistress of Light is born?”
Beck, it will not come to that.
“We don’t know that. This is personal as much as professional,” Beck said with a forced smile. “If it takes my life to appease Dawn, then I will feel better knowing my Light witchlings have a refuge.”
It will, yes.
“Good.” Beck drew a deep breath. “Good.”
I am aware of the thoughts you do not voice, too.
Beck nodded, knowing this but unable to speak some of what went through his mind. It wasn’t only his life he was thinking about, but Morgan’s as well. If sacrificing himself would save the Light or someone he loved, it was a no brainer, as long as the Light and Light witchlings were protected. “I just want everyone to be okay,” he murmured. “It doesn’t seem like that’s possible.”
Dawn cannot be salvaged. They were the harshest words Sam had ever expressed, and Beck looked up in surprise.
“There has to be a way.”
When Bartholomew is welcomed into someone’s mind, the mind is his.
“Decker beat him.”
Decker is the Master of Dark. He was bred to handle the Dark in a way no one else can.
“What about my … the baby?”
That answer is not known to me. A child cannot be born Dark, so it would be reasonable he could not hurt your child until after her birth. But I have never heard of such a situation. He has Dark magick and a much older knowledge than I have. He might know a way.
It was a relief of sorts that Sam suspected it wasn’t possible, but it also meant there was no recourse Beck could take to stop Dawn without hurting the baby she carried. It was the conundrum he’d spent many sleepless nights struggling to figure out only to come to the came conclusion.
There was no option to save his daughter without saving Dawn, and Dawn wanted him, the Light and everything else destroyed.
“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” he whispered, distraught. “I mean, there’s nothing I can do.”
No, there is not. Not directly at least. You can help everyone by continuing to work with the Light, by accepting it as part of you.
“It seems really fragile. Look at this.” Beck pointed to the ground. “It’s so tiny of a space. All the good in the world. Right here. And the Dark is everywhere else.”
The Light is more powerful than you think. You need to have faith in it. The Dark fears it for a reason.
“I’m the damn Master of Light! How can I be so clueless and helpless?”
You are neither. Sam chuckled. This crossroads is complicated. There is a trial involved, that of the woman who could become your counterbalance. No other witchling’s trial would interfere with your duties otherwise. The counterbalance of a Master or Mistress must be stronger, tougher than a normal witchling, and so his or her trial is far more difficult than normal and often comes at a time when the Dark is rising.
“Like Summer’s trial standing between the Darkness and everything else,” he said. “Morgan’s trial determines what happens to the Light.”
Yes.
“I always knew my father was special, too.”
He is. Incredibly powerful to balance your mother.
Beck bit back the urge to ask what Morgan’s trial really was but knew Sam was never going to reveal it to him. “Sam, there has been no Light fire witchling in five hundred years.” Raw desperation seeped into his thoughts.
This era is where the paths of Light and Dark are decided. Your generation determines whether the Darkness continues to grow unchecked or whether the Light can survive and grow. Decker is in place, as is Summer. You are as well, which leaves the final piece of the puzzle.
“You can rationalize it all you want, but it’s so frustrating! And nowhere near fair! The fate of the universe right here!” Beck climbed to his feet and stretched his stiff legs. “No pressure, Beck.”
You aren’t alone, Sam said and stood as well.
“I have you, of course.”
And others.
Beck hesitated to agree. There were things Decker couldn’t do as the Master of Dark, including setting foot on campus. “You mean in general?”
Morgan.
“Yeah. About that.” He rubbed his rough goatee and absently admitted it was in need of a trim. “I don’t have her until she’s Light and until we find another way to safeguard the stone without threatening the Light. And this and that and everything else.”
You are so dramatic. Sam was chortling again.
Beck rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
A subtle thrum went through him, originating from the earth beneath his feet. He looked down and cocked his head to the side. “Come on and show me what it is,” he told the earth and closed his eyes to focus.
At times, it sent him images, usually too disjointed for him to understand fully. It had once tried to warn him about the soul stone, and it took him several days to figure it out.
But over the past few months, the messages became clearer. The thrum was like the vibration of a spider web when a fly hit it: faint yet exacting to the spider that knew what it meant. The image in his mind raced through the forest towards the source of the disturbance.
Beck mentally watched, the rush of the chase flooding him. He grew aware of the earth’s magick building beneath him and the Light crackling between his fingertips.
“Whoa,” he breathed when the magick’s sprint stopped suddenly enough for him to wobble off balance.
You are the Light, Beck. Do not fight what is part of you. Trust that it is strong enough to help you.
He released a breath and surrendered to the unnerving sensation of traveling without moving. The image took shape once more and this time, he trusted Sam and didn’
t resist as the line between him and the Light blurred. It was a little scary to let go of himself and float, but it also felt natural, and he knew he was safe.
He looked around, present yet not, where the Light had taken him to check out the warning. Dark witchlings stood in the gravel driveway leading from the main road through the sleepy town to the boarding school. They were outside the barrier protecting the Light, unable to move closer. Darkness gathered like black fog at their feet as each of them summoned magick to attack the Light and school.
Beck’s eyes snapped open, and he was jarred back into his body. “I have to go, Sam!” he exclaimed and summoned his magick to carry him there.
Sam’s warning stopped him. You are the Master of Light. You can use lethal force when necessary. But I beseech you, Beck, to never do so, to let your brother handle the Darkness while you protect the Light within you. It is too easy to follow the path into the Dark.
“I understand. I think.” Beck didn’t know what he was going to do, but he wasn’t about to let an entire school of sleeping Light witchlings get killed or hurt in the middle of the night, either.
Decker was more sensitive to the Dark than he was. If his brother wasn’t on his way, he would be soon.
The Light is powerful. Trust it.
Beck’s magick swept him away, and he reemerged behind the shield facing the Dark witchlings, each of whom stood in the center of a hastily drawn pentagram. Their Darkness was butting up against the invisible wall, eliciting sparks from the Light as it did so. He counted ten of them, probably sympathetic to Dawn’s cause, if not her minions. Two spirit, three water, four air, and one earth. There were only two fire witchlings he knew about, aside from his brother and mother. One was Morgan and the other, a lackey of Dawn’s probably in hiding with her. He recognized some faces while those of others were too old for him to have gone to school with.
He assessed the shield. It was surprisingly strong, supplied directly by the Light source beneath the school that also ran through his body and out into the world. His connection to the Light was more solid than ever after working with Sam this evening. He didn’t know what to contribute the newfound sense to, aside from the fact it almost felt like the Light accepted him where they both had kept their distance from one another before.
