Death Before Daylight

by Shannon A. Thompson

  “Shoman,” I called for him, and unlike the others, his connection didn’t sizzle out. Still, he didn’t respond. He was alive, but he wasn’t conscious. Or he wasn’t able to use his powers. Why mine worked, I didn’t know. I didn’t even feel pain. I hadn’t the first time, and this time wasn’t any different.

  According to the Dark, the Light realm killed shades. It tortured them. But I was a shade, and the realm blended into me. The waving energy sank against my skin, and pleasant goose bumps trailed up my spine.

  I had to fight a smile as I called out to him again, “Shoman.”

  “That won’t work here.”

  I spun around with my hands in front of my torso. My fighting stance was automatic. Urte had taught me that much. But he hadn’t taught me what to do when my predator wasn’t prepared to attack me.

  She stood in the doorway, but her hands were full with a set of clothes. When she tossed them across the room, they landed on the ground near my feet. A sandwich wrapped in plastic sat on top. “Those should fit you,” she said. “I hope you like cold grilled cheese.”

  I didn’t take my eyes off of her face. The boney cheekbones and crimson lips were all too familiar. Her gaze was the worst part about her. It lingered like the first time I met her.

  Fudicia.

  “You tried to kill me,” I said, remembering how she had tossed me down a hill, unintentionally exposing my human identity to Eric. It hadn’t even been one year.

  Fudicia’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “If I knew who you were, I never would’ve laid a hand on you.”

  “You killed Abby—Hannah—you killed her.” I knew that much.

  Her crimson lips moved from side to side as she contemplated her words. A minute seemed to pass before she spoke, “It was necessary.” The Light wanted to convince the Dark that they intended to kill the third descendant, and they had succeeded. “I won’t hurt you again,” she continued. “Consider me your guard as well.”

  So, she was Darthon’s guard. The Dark suspected it, but it was a fact now.

  “I have a guard,” I said, thinking of Pierce, although I no longer felt his connection.

  “That half-breed?” The words hissed out of her. She wasn’t speaking of Pierce. She didn’t even care he existed. She was focused on Eric’s guard.

  “Camille,” I corrected as heat rushed over my face.

  “She’s useless to you now.”

  My fist curled. “She’s dead.”

  She leaned back as if she had developed blurry vision and couldn’t see me. But her face quickly contorted into a smile. “Sure.” Her voice was drawn out. “You can call it that.”

  “I watched her die.” I saw the pain, and Fudicia was acting like Camille was nothing. Like her death wasn’t even relevant to my life, to everyone’s life.

  “We don’t value half-breeds here,” Fudicia said. “You shouldn’t either.”

  I studied her stance, searching for a single weak point—a straightened knee, a relaxed arm, a bend in her ankle—but she disappeared.

  When she reappeared, she was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. Her hair hadn’t moved an inch. It didn’t wave or react to her fast movements. It was perfectly still, seamlessly in place. An illusion. She had been sitting there for a while. She couldn’t move fast. She could only appear as if she had. If I paid enough attention to the sound of her voice, I would know where she actually was, and I could attack. But I forced my eyes to widen, and I stepped back. I wanted to seem surprised. I didn’t want her to know.

  “I wouldn’t try to fight me just yet,” Fudicia said, but her voice was close to me. “I’m not here to fight you.” She stood to my left.

  “I don’t trust you,” I managed, wanting her to speak again.

  “I don’t expect you to,” she said, but her next sentence was a contradiction, “I’m here to answer your questions, Jess.”

  My name should’ve never left her lips.

  I reached out, and my fingers wrapped around her bicep. As soon as I touched her, she appeared where I knew she actually was. Her illusion melted away, but I couldn’t guess her next movements. She bent down, twisted her torso, and tore her arm out of my hand. Even then, she never hit me, but her bottom lip hung open.

  I kept my hands up. “Don’t think you can trick me.”

  “I didn’t think I could,” she said, but she stepped back only to step back again. Her back was practically against the door. “I just wanted to see.”

  “See what?” I snapped, fighting the urge to slap the grin off her face. She hadn’t been testing me. She couldn’t have been. She only wanted to seem that way. “Everything is an illusion to you people.”

  “You people?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Is that how you define yourself? You people?”

  Myself. Like I was a part of them.

  I ignored her mind games. “Where’s Eric?”

  “Please.” Her eyes rolled. “You saw how pathetic he was in battle. How could you see value in that?”

  “Everyone is valuable.”

  “That,” she pointed to me, “is a contradiction.”

  I didn’t respond.

  She raised her hands to mimic a traditional scale. “If everything has equal value, it diminishes the value of everything else.” She waited only to meet my silence. “I’m guessing you’ve never taken Economics.”

  “I’m not here for class,” I retorted, “and if you hadn’t kidnapped us, maybe I’d be learning about that right now.”

  Fudicia folded her hands. “Let’s try this again.” The words escaped with her exhaling breath. “Ask a valuable question.” The harshened tone was as much a threat as her glaring eyes.

  “Is he alive?”

  Fudicia’s palm hit the wall, and the sudden noise made me jump back.

  “How do you expect to save us all when you’re focused on a stupid boy?” she screamed, her tanned face reddening.

  Save them all? I was about to ask what she meant, but I couldn’t keep my concentration for long because Fudicia spoke again.

  “What are we? Where do we come from?” she used the questions as an example. “Who killed your parents?”

  My heart leapt into my throat. “My parents?”

  “Finally,” Fudicia said as she sat down in the chair. “We’re getting somewhere.”

  “Who killed them?” I demanded an answer.

  She pointed at the pile of clothes on the floor. “Eat half of the sandwich, and I’ll tell you.”

  I glanced down at the plastic wrapped sandwich, but I didn’t pick it up. It had to be a trick. The Light had no reason to change my clothes, feed me, or make me comfortable. They had left me on the floor, after all, and Eric was unconscious. I knew he was alive. I could feel his heartbeat residing in my own, but it was slower than it should’ve been. He was weak. I wasn’t. I wanted to hear he was alive, and I wanted to know who killed my parents. Every part of me wanted to know everything, but no part of me trusted the woman who had killed Hannah Blake, Eric’s previous girlfriend.

  “It’s not poisoned, Jess,” Fudicia spoke as if she guessed my thoughts.

  “Why are you feeding me, then?”

  “Well, we can’t exactly let you starve.” She reminded me of what Darthon had said.

  If I died, he died. Would he also go hungry if I did? Would he get sick? Would he go mad? The possibilities filled my mind, but all I wanted to do was tell the elders of the Dark. The thought of the Dark grounded me.

  “You can’t keep us here forever,” I said, refusing to pick up the food. “Someone will know we’re missing. My parents, my friends, the school—”

  “The Dark already covered it up,” she said. “You took a trip with Eric’s family. Your parents, too.” Her tone turned harsh. “I suppose it had to do with your sudden engagement.”

  The lie didn’t even require a massive illusion. The Dark only had to put one on my parents—the ones that hadn’t died in a car wreck, the ones who hadn’t been murdered fleeing to
wn. The Dark suspected the Light had something to do with it, but there was no proof. Not until now.

  “Eat,” she ordered again.

  This time, I obeyed.

  I picked up the sandwich, sat down in the other chair, and took a few bites. The grilled cheese was greasy, and every bite made me thirstier than the bite before it. I struggled to swallow as I ate, and Fudicia watched, making sure every bite was consumed. My stomach twisted as if I would throw up, and it didn’t stop twisting even when I finished. I dropped the plastic on the floor, and I grabbed the sides of my seat. “Tell me.”

  Her lips arched like her brow did. “Tell you what?”

  “Who killed my parents?”

  “My parents killed your parents.”

  Her answer threatened my nauseous stomach.

  Fudicia leaned back. “Their legacy is how I became Darthon’s guard.”

  This time, her words made me vomit. I bent over, and the liquid fell out of me like it had been waiting to escape all along. My throat burned. My head spun. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Fantastic,” Fudicia muttered as her heels clicked across the ground. She had stood up, and she was heading for the door. “Darthon isn’t as patient as I am,” she spoke as she opened the door. “Remember that when he comes to see you.”

  I managed to look up so I could see the hallway. The walls were red velvet, the floors were wood, the lighting was golden, and everything was as bright as fire would be.

  “Oh,” she continued, leaning back in one last second before she left. “I suggest you clean yourself up.”

  13

  Eric

  The unbearable pain was only bearable because Urte had taught me to ignore it. When I woke up, my arm was split, my leg shattered, my stomach ripped, my skin torn into nothing but shreds. I grew used to the taste of my own blood—it was impossible not to. It was the closest thing I had to water in a day. Maybe two. Maybe three. I didn’t know how long I had been in the Light realm, but I didn’t think I would leave soon. The breaking floor had grown into me, or I had grown into the cracks. I didn’t know. But my body smothered into the destruction of it all. It was the destruction of me.

  Just as I began to move, I stopped myself.

  The door opened, flooding the once dim prison with a blinding light. My reflexes closed my eyes, but I only kept them shut because I didn’t want them to know I was awake. I would stay unconscious in their eyes for as long as possible. I didn’t want to die again. But with every beat of my heart came a pounding footstep, closer and closer, until the person stood next to me. I heard their clothes shift as they bent down, but their knees didn’t pop. It wasn’t Darthon.

  “You awake yet, useless?” the boy asked.

  I didn’t respond, but I felt his fingertips brush against my eyelashes.

  When my eyes flinched, I knew it was coming. He kicked me, and a groan escaped my lungs. I couldn’t hide it anymore. My eyes opened to a boy standing above me. His different colored irises were the first thing I recognized. He was the half-breed Fudicia toted around like a handbag.

  When he kicked me across the face, he spoke again, “That’s for the time you broke my jaw.”

  To keep my mind off the pain, I focused on that night. It was when I found out Jessica’s identity. Fudicia hadn’t cared I attacked him at all.

  “I didn’t break your jaw,” I managed. “I dislocated it.”

  His foot collided with my stomach. I curled up, but he didn’t stop. His attacks escalated, one after the other, no stopping for air or rest. My arm, my leg, my shoulder, my head. That’s when I lost count of what was happening to me. The injuries that once burned like wildfire now fogged over one another.

  I didn’t have time to count the amount of times the teenager kicked me, breaking ribs or other parts of me, but I didn’t need to. Every time I woke up, I was healing—slowly, like a shade would—only I was human. The difference was how my body felt every bit of the healing as it happened. I stopped counting the injuries a long time ago. I only waited to die.

  “Stop it, half-breed.” Another voice shattered through the attacks. At some point, the door must have opened, because the room was bright.

  The kicking halted, and the half-breed exhaled as if he had forgotten to breathe. “He deserved it.”

  “Don’t justify yourself.” The other man was Darthon. “I’ll take over from here.”

  The half-breed nodded. “Yes, sir.” With that, he left without another word or so much as a glance, but his shoes left blood on the floor as he walked away. My blood. I stared at the spots until the door shut, leaving Darthon and I alone.

  “Stupid mutt.” He dropped a piece of bread on the ground, and the crust soaked up the blood I had lost. “Do you know why we don’t Name our half-breeds? Because half of them aren’t worth a life.” He chuckled like he had made a “this guy walked into a bar” joke, but the information was news to me.

  It explained why Fudicia didn’t care if I hurt the half-breed the day she attacked Jessica and me. She didn’t care if he died. Half-breeds weren’t a loss to them. They were simply another body to clean up. Just like how Luthicer’s daughter would’ve been.

  The Dark didn’t share that belief with the Light. Half-breeds were among the thirteen-year-olds at the Naming like the full-blooded shades. It was something that separated us from them. Everyone was a person to the Dark—even half-breeds, even humans. The Light only cared for their own.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” Darthon asked, like we were two buddies grabbing a sandwich after soccer practice.

  I didn’t see the point, so I ignored the food by rolling onto my back. I half-expected to see an endless ceiling—like the one Luthicer created for the training room—but the ceiling was short. My eyes tore away from the sight only to land on Darthon. He stared back, and I knew he wasn’t here to hurt me, or he already would’ve.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  Darthon sat down in the chair. “I want to talk to you.”

  “I doubt you kidnapped us to have a chat.”

  “Actually,” Darthon rested his chin on his hands. “I did.”

  I couldn’t prevent the laugh from escaping me. “You’re joking.”

  “Well, I technically took you to kill you,” he admitted, “but there’s a hole in that plan.”

  “You think?”

  “I did take Jess to talk to her,” he said it like he hadn’t done so yet.

  I watched the boy—someone who wasn’t much older than me, someone I had been raised to kill, someone whose blood was already supposed to be on my hands. I never thought I would actually talk to him.

  “What do you want with her?” I concentrated on my words to clear my thoughts about the pain of healing. My skin was inching itself together.

  “I have lots of plans for her.” As he spoke, his expression illuminated only to dim as he lowered his face to study me. “But I want to know what you know first.”

  The look in his eyes was one I had seen before. It was the same look I held after the Naming. After I learned who I was and what it meant, I returned home. My father didn’t speak to me about it. He didn’t even come out to greet me, so I ostracized myself in the bathroom. The mirror was the first thing I broke. It was the reflection I hated—the widened pupils, the pale cheeks, the shaky lip. I hated myself. Apparently, it was something Darthon had in common with my thirteen-year-old self.

  “You don’t want to kill me,” I stated.

  Darthon didn’t nod, but he didn’t have to. Being destined to kill wasn’t easy to accept. It was a curse.

  “This has never been about you, Welborn.” My name slipped off his tongue as if he had said it a million times. Of course he knew me. We probably went to the same school. “It’s always been about Jess.”

  I knew that. She was my weakness, but she was his, too. We shared it in different ways—with my love, and his demise—but we shared it nonetheless.

  “I only need to get you out of the way to move forwar
d,” he said, his eyes flickering over me, “and I will once I figure out how you’re surviving.” My life had a deadline. “Once your connection is severed, her power will drive the Light to succeed.”

  “And you’re telling me this because?”

  “Because, Welborn,” he hesitated, “we’re going to make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Not yet.” Everything was on his terms.

  When he didn’t speak, I found the strength to succumb to my only hope for survival—understanding. I cleared my throat. “So, what do you want to know?”

  His hands moved to his mouth, and his fingers tapped his lips. Even Darthon had nervous habits. “Where does your bloodline come from?”

  “You know that—”

  “I do,” he agreed, “but you don’t.”

  “My father—”

  “Jim?” he chuckled. “You still believe he was the first descendant’s bloodline?”

  My chest squeezed, and I wheezed out a shaky breath. “He is—”

  “Your mother was.”

  The woman flashed before my eyes even though I didn’t want her to. I tried not to think about her. I fought the urge to remember her face, but it was impossible. Her short, black hair framed her round cheeks like a disfigured China doll. The whiteness of her skin had been blinding, and I knew I inherited her intense gaze. That was her shade form—Evaline—but I couldn’t see her human face. I only saw the time she took me to the woods to witness the bats. She was a shade then, and she was dead shortly after.

  “She was the head of your bloodline,” Darthon finished with a hardened stare. His silence waited for my response, but I didn’t have one. “You didn’t know, right?”

  “You’re lying.”

  Darthon grabbed his chin like he could force his expression to relax. “Let me guess.” He ignored my accusations. “Your father already told you not to have a kid.”

  He had warned me. The morning after I lost to Darthon, he had spoken against it to Jessica and me, but I only saw it as a thing of embarrassment. “Every parent says something like that—”