by HD Smith
DARK
AWAKENED
The Devil’s Assistant ~ Book 2
H. D. Smith
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Wild Fey LLC
http://www.wildfeyllc.com
Copyright © 2014 HD Smith
[e ~ v6]
Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
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Editing Services Provided by John Robin at
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All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1942030037
ISBN-13: 978-1-942030-03-4
DEDICATION
For the Fallen.
(Fourth Realm descendants—hear the call.)
PROLOGUE
Death materialized in front of me. I stepped onto the elevator and into his strong embrace. I sunk into him as the warmth of his body enveloped me.
“Can you give me a ride home?” I asked, not sure I knew where that was anymore.
“Shhh,” he soothed, “don’t cry.”
“Jack’s dead,” I choked out. “Quaid, that son of a bitch, he killed him.”
His hand stroked my head as if he were calming a child. The magic of his touch coated me with a sense of contentment, as if it could numb the pain of my heartache. Death’s touch had that effect—a physical force of will to evoke strong feelings and emotions, as if he knew exactly what I needed and could give it to me.
“He had him killed. The Boss had Jack killed.” I was sobbing now, somewhat incoherent. “I won’t go back. I’m done. That bastard can take his protection and shove it.”
I was unsure if Death could actually decipher any of my words, but he held me close, sending a stronger wave of his influence to soothe me. My sobs quieted.
After a long pause he asked, “The Devil just let you go? No fight?”
“I didn’t give him a choice. I won’t go back.”
Death kissed me on the forehead wrapping me in the sensation of his blissful touch, as if I were swaddled in an unseen blanket of peace and love. “You’ll stay with me. I’ll protect you.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened on the lobby.
“Ms. Cooper,” one of the guards said to me. “You’re needed back up—” He gasped, cutting off his words as if he’d seen a nightmare—Death’s cursed form does that to a person. I looked up into Death’s golden eyes—thankful I didn’t see him that way.
“Take me away from this place,” I pleaded.
“We’ll go to my villa. The Devil won’t find you there. You’ll be safe—protected.”
I closed my eyes, sinking into him, letting his power envelop me. Hiding from the world, the big three—the Devil, Mab, and Harry—was just what I need. I wouldn’t be their puppet anymore. Damn the prophecy—I didn’t have to be the girl that fixed things. I could disappear, mourn Jack, forget about the pain and the power and the hell that fate had in store for me. Let someone else have that job. I was through.
CLAIRE’S JOURNAL
Day 10 – After Jack
I read online that Journaling would help take the pain away—and who knew, there’s an app for that. D says he can do that for me, but he isn’t always here. His villa is enormous, but I feel lost and trapped at the same time. I’ve left everything behind—nothing here is familiar. He explained about the house today. I can change my surroundings at will—I don’t understand how it works, and it isn’t the same as being free to leave.
I miss Jack . . . I had the dream again last night.
Day 15
I didn’t cry today . . . well not all day. It’s an improvement. D held me last night, and kissed me. I didn’t stop him.
Day 17
:(
Day 21
Yesterday was bad. It would have been our anniversary. The day I met Jack in the bookstore . . . I can’t write about it.
Day 23
The dream is always the same. I’m at the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. The exhibits change, but the people stay the same. I haven’t told D. I keep thinking it’s going to stop, that I’m going to let the pain of losing Jack go, but he’s still there with me in the dream, every night.
Day 26
The dream changed last night. It introduced someone new. A weird little girl, no more than five or six. I catch her looking at me, then she runs away. She has dark raven hair with braided pigtails, and she’s more than a little creepy. She hasn’t tried to talk to me yet—maybe Jack is scaring her off. D’s been away for three days. I don’t sleep as well when he’s not here. I’ve gotten used to how he holds me. Part of me is afraid I’m just using him, but the other part wants it to all be real.
Day 30
D’s finally home. I wanted to go by the old apartment today, but D said it wasn’t safe. He’d have anything I wanted brought to me—I don’t know what I want, maybe just to be with Jack’s things again. I have to stop doing this, but the dreams . . . they’re getting worse, and D hasn’t been here to hold me. It’s better when he’s here, but he’s always out running errands.
Day 32
D wants to know what’s wrong. How do I tell him my dead boyfriend—fiancé, whatever—doesn’t want to leave me alone? Phantom Jack—PJ, as I’ve dubbed him—keeps telling me D’s going to cause me trouble, but he’s the only thing in my life that makes me feel safe. I’m beginning to wonder if my subconscious self is trying to sabotage me or point out something I’m ignoring. I didn’t tell D about the dreams. He didn’t push the issue.
Day 33
I woke up last night screaming—D wasn’t here, which was starting to be the norm. The little girl said I was going to lose. If she’s talking about my mind, I think she might be right. Maybe I should tell D about the dream. I moved my stuff into his bedroom last night. It wasn’t like I ever used the guest room anymore—even when D was away.
Day 40
D removed Mace’s mark yesterday after dinner. It hurt like hell, but now it’s gone and I feel normal—well, more normal than I have in a while.
Day 41
I had a good day today. The dream didn’t wake me last night—it was the first time in days I got a good night’s sleep—D’s warm embrace held me close all night—maybe he chases the dreams away.
~#~
“You look happy this morning,” Death said, kissing me on the forehead, sending a ripple of joy across my skin.
I loved when Death did that, but sometimes it made me miss the true warmth I’d felt with Jack’s touch. I shook off those melancholy feelings. I was stronger now. I could remember and not lose myself in the pain.
“I’m sure it’s the company,” I said, trying not to look disappointed that he was going to be away for a few days—again.
I clicked off the tablet and slid the stylus away, not wanting him to see my journal entries.
“When you get back,” I said, “can we go to the city? Maybe visit the MoMA?”
His lips pressed together in a flat line. He was acting as if leaving would result in my imminent death, which made no sense if the end result was him keeping me here forever. At least, I assumed that was how it worked, but of course maybe there were rules that prevented him from keeping me when my true end finally came. Either way, I wasn’t that worried
The Boss would try anything so drastic, and I was getting tired of the constant protection. I needed a break—a day out, away from the house. I was going a bit stir crazy.
“Before you say no,” I cut in, “just think about it. When you get back, maybe we can go out for the day—a quick trip. They’ll never notice. I mean, do you really think the big three are still looking?” I smiled, batting my eyelashes at him coyly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I’ll think about it, but no promises.”
I fake pouted, sticking my lip out. He leaned down, playfully capturing it between his teeth, then kissing me.
“You’re going to make me late,” he admonished, as he scooped me up and blinked us to our bedroom.
~#~
Day 43
It was particularly bad last night. PJ was pissed, as if he knew D and I were now lovers. I wish he could move on—not that this thing in my dreams was really Jack. I pushed the phantom out quickly.
I was figuring out how to control the dream. I could move events along, not dwell on stuff too painful to repeat every night. It was like a play with sets and characters, all playing their part. There was a second girl today—a towheaded child that was just as creepy as the first little hellion. I tried to talk to them, but they just walked away. Maybe I should have followed them.
Day 44
“He’s all wrong for you”—PJ’s words. Why can’t he just let me go? I mean, I know he’s not real but why can’t my subconscious let it go? He’s dead—I need to move on. It’s not fair to D for me to keep dwelling on these old feelings for Jack. I have to stop dreaming about him.
Day 46
The dark-haired girl showed me something last night. I don’t know what to think. It was a painting depicting a scene with one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse—the red horse. But the still art morphed. The red horse became the white horse, then in a macabre twist, the white horse was run through with a long sword. The final form of the painting looked so real it seemed the blood was still wet. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to follow her.
Day 47
The dream changed again last night. I met a man—one I hadn’t seen before. Unfortunately, he disappeared before he could tell me anything. I woke up, snuggled in D’s arms. He was finally home.
~#~
Death sipped his coffee, reading the paper, ignoring my pointed stare. Did he think I was just going to let him say no? He wasn’t my jailor. I wasn’t in prison.
“What do you mean, no?” I asked, pissed.
“It isn’t safe, Claire. I can’t protect you from them if we leave.”
“Are you sure they’re even looking for me? You can’t just expect me to stay inside forever.”
He sighed.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m going crazy here. I need to get outside for a while.”
“You can make this place anything you want. I showed you how.” He waved his hand, replacing the kitchen with his garden.
“Your Holodeck was fun for the first two weeks, but now I want something real. Please,” I pleaded.
“Hollow deck?”
“I guess you’re not a trekkie?”
His eyebrows pulled together—clueless.
“Never mind.” I waved my hand, returning us to the kitchen. I stomped away, leaving him there with his damn coffee. I wouldn’t be trapped here forever. How much protection did one person really need? I almost considered trying to contact The Boss. Almost—I swore I’d never go back, and I wasn’t changing my mind.
Of course, this sequestered life wasn’t freedom. Did I have anything real here with Death, or was it just as much of an illusion as the villa that surrounded me?
~#~
Day 50
D left again. We didn’t discuss the argument. He pretended not to notice how pissed off I am about feeling trapped here. I went to bed early.
Chapter 1
I was in the dream again. Today’s exhibits are all blue and green. I often wonder if the art somehow knows my mood. I dismissed PJ. He wasn’t very happy about that, but I wanted some answers. I marched through the hall with the painting of the red horse—the red and white horses sticking out against the sea of blues and greens.
As if on cue, the little girls appeared and skipped after me.
“Not now, I’m busy,” I said, hoping they’d take a hint.
“You must learn,” the towhead whined. “She has to study her fate.”
“Shh,” the dark haired girl said. “She isn’t ready.”
“Go away, cryptic little crazies. Not today.” I shooed them away with my hand.
The girls disappeared as I entered a glass room. No one else was here. Curious, I looked around. Maybe dream time just needed to catch up with me—had I actually moved too fast for it this time?
“You look lost,” a raspy voice with a bit of an Australian accent spoke behind me.
I turned to find a squat man not much taller than the height of a chair rail leaning against his walking cane as if it were a third leg. His wiry gray hair stuck out in every direction and added at least three inches to his short stature. He turned his head to the side. A bright blue metallic shine ran across his eyes—a pagan?
The wizened man in front of me was no beauty. Not even in his day could I imagine he looked anything close to supermodel perfection that pagans usually preferred. Of course, like druids and demons he could take any form he liked, so either he didn’t want to be recognized as a pagan or he was hiding more than just his true form.
“Lost, sir? This is the museum, isn’t it?” I asked.
He let out a somewhat high-pitched chortle, which I couldn’t imagine coming from anyone, much less a four-foot-two elderly pagan man who looked to be in his mid-hundreds.
“This is not the museum, silly child,” he said, still half laughing and shaking his head. “This is a place to learn your fate.”
I raised one of my eyebrows. “My fate?” This should be good.
“Yes!” he said, striking his cane against the hard floor. A thunderous crack sounded as a wave of magic pushed out in all directions, blowing the image of the glass room—the whole museum—down as if it were made of paper cutouts. “Good,” he said, his voice now harder and his accent more pronounced. “Now we begin.”
“What the hell?”
“You must listen, before he catches me,” he said, leaning on his cane with both hands. “I don’t have much time.”
“Who?” Did he mean Death?
“Shh, now be quiet. You’re a contender. As such, you must prepare yourself. The beginning of the end will start soon. You must go to Spring—he is the only one who can help you. The prophecies are coming to pass. You must end the war. The other contenders will try to win. They will show no mercy. You must respond in kind.”
Spring? He was using Harry’s seasonal reference. All four realms were linked to one of the four seasons. Mab was the Winter Queen, Harry the Spring King, and The Boss was the Summer King. Harry was more commonly known as the ruler of Paradise—the Druid King. He’d basically called himself my lawyer last spring, when he told the Pagan Queen, Mab, that he was my guardian in these matters—as if that meant anything. She’d tried to claim me for entering Purgatory, her realm—a place I was apparently forbidden to enter. The Boss—HRH Demon King, ruler of Hell, and the brother to both the other rulers, hadn’t let her keep me, but she’d managed to gain control of the quads, his immortal children from a previous relationship with a pagan. It was a long story and part of the reason I was here now.
“What other contenders?” I asked.
“Those dreadful hellions running around like they own the place. You must beat them.”
The dark-haired girl and the blonde?
“Yes, those girls. There’s another one around here too—all shy and quiet—and mostly dead, but don’t you dare make nice with her, she’s just as dangerous to you as her twin sister.”
“You can read my mind?”
“As well as my own,” he muttered, as if that made any sense.
“Who are you?”
“Merryman,” he said, lips pursed together in a sour pucker.
“Okay, so I need to talk with Harry because I’m a contender?”
“That’s what I said,” he barked, clearly exasperated.
“Well,” I said, trying not to mock him. “How the hell do I get back to the city?”
I’d considered ways to leave Death’s villa, but nothing so far had really panned out. It wasn’t like I could magic a phone to call Harry. I had some abilities—perks I’d received five years ago when I was forced to take the Devil’s assistant’s job at the company—and my innate magic that was unbound when I tricked Mab into marking me with her blood last spring, but I was basically clueless on how to use my magic. I’d only learned a few tricks, and most of those needed my touch to work—or a really strong emotional reaction, like fear, but even that was hit or miss. My watch—the company perk I’d used to summon Harry last spring—would have been an option, but I’d left it at the apartment. I hadn’t wanted to keep anything the big three might use to track me, and I hadn’t considered I might want it to contact them.
Merryman let out a long labored sigh. “You know how to read, don’t you?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah, I know how to read.”
“Find the library, look for a book by Omar of the Lost Valley. Read it, then come back to me.”
Omar. My Omar, the seer? He was one of the few otherworldly I trusted. He’d known more about my blood than he’d let on, but I got the impression there were things he couldn’t explain. Later I discovered the truth—the reason why Death could be with me. He was cursed to love only Jayne, the ruler of the fourth realm—the Fallen—and for some unknown reason I had her blood. Not blood of the Fallen, but her actual blood. She and her realm had been destroyed millennia ago, but there was a prophecy that linked me to the Fallen Queen. I was supposed to fix things. “Set right what was lost by the ancients”—or some other such nonsense. I’d left that behind, but fate was apparently ready to bite me in the ass—again.
