Ascending Darkness

by J. L. Weil

  “Wonderful,” I mumbled, wondering what kind of witch we were seeing—light or dark? I probably should have asked Beck before I agreed to go up here, but I trusted him. If he believed she could help, then what was the harm in talking to her, regardless of which side of the field she waved her wand for?

  Your father chose dark magic and look where that got him, a little voice in my head reminded me.

  In prison.

  I made a decision right there. If breaking the hex required the use of dark magic, then I had to find another way. My soul was a sacrifice I wasn’t willing to make. No one I cared about would be hurt by this darkness. It stopped with me.

  I guided my car through the gates as my eyes absorbed the enormous old houses. Aspens and evergreen trees separated each estate. Many of the homes had a Gothic style I found interesting. Any other time, I would have loved to drive around and gawk at the craftsmanship.

  “The founding families of the town live here,” Beck told me, seeing my eyes linger over the houses as we passed by. “Lots of old money.”

  I blinked. “Old or new, I’d take any money. I’m not picky.”

  “Same,” Beck agreed, smiling. The road wound as we drove deeper into the community of Havenwood Heights. “Turn left here,” he advised when I came up to a fork in the road.

  “It’s so quiet here. I can’t decide if it’s eerie or peaceful.”

  Beck’s eyes sharpened. “I’d say it’s both. A lot of power and magic dwell here.”

  A shudder rolled through me. “I’ll say so.”

  “That’s her house there.” He pointed to the right side of the street where it curved into a cul-de-sac.

  I pulled my car up to the side of the road outside a three-story mansion. The exterior was a deep brownish-red brick with white trim that popped against the dark walls. Ivy clung and climbed over the arched windows. Two round towers flanked the house on both sides. A set of double doors greeted us as we strutted up the stone pathway from the driveway.

  “How do you know her again?”

  “School, but we don’t talk much outside of class. Different social circles.”

  “Can we trust her not to blab to the entire school?” I inquired.

  “She’s trustworthy,” he assured.

  I exhaled and extended my hand to press the doorbell, but my finger never reached the glowing button. One of the massive doors swung open, and a woman in her forties with long dark curly hair swept into a messy bun stood in the doorway.

  “Hello, Mallory. Beck.” She nodded at my best friend beside me.

  My mouth dropped open as I continued to stare at Ronya Augustine, my Awakening Lab teacher.

  “You’re the witch?” I blurted.

  Chapter 12

  She winked, her eyes sparkling. “Life is just full of surprises, isn’t it?”

  I’ll freakin’ say.

  Gesturing with a sweeping motion of her hand, she stepped to the side. “Come in. Beck mentioned you might be in need of some help.”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, thank you,” I replied, hoping the stunned expression would soon leave my face. As we followed Mrs. Augustine down her hallway, I nudged Beck in the side. “Why didn’t you tell me your witch was a teacher?” I whispered between my teeth.

  “You know the rules,” he gritted back.

  Humans couldn’t know we existed, and talking about supernaturals in public was highly frowned upon due to rule number one.

  Beck and I sat on a plush cranberry-colored couch decorated in a paisley pattern. It was one of the softest pieces of furniture I’d ever sat on. A fire was burning low embers in the hearth, filling the expansive ceilings with the sounds of crackling wood. The room oozed warmth.

  In my head, I pictured a black cauldron with murky green goop bubbling over a fire and a broomstick leaning against the wall. Nothing could have been further from the reality of Mrs. Augustine’s home. It was absolutely lovely.

  “Tell me why you think you need my talents?” she asked, getting straight to the point. I appreciated her directness.

  “Mallory is hexed,” Beck proclaimed candidly.

  Mrs. Augustine’s eyes bounced between us, brows lifting ever so slightly. “I see. Tell me why you think you’re cursed, Mallory,” she directed at me.

  Under these conditions, I figured it was best to hold nothing back. “Goddess Styx told me that a blood hex was inflicted on my father, and I inherited his blood debt when I came into my gifts, being his only child.”

  Her expression remained unmoved, and I took that as a good sign. “Do you know what kind of blood hex we’re dealing with?”

  I paused, unable to answer immediately. It was difficult to admit what I was afflicted with. “Death,” I said flatly.

  The room went utterly silent. I swear even the fire in the hearth stopped breathing for a moment. Mrs. Augustine took a deep sigh. “A blood spell is serious magic. Do you know who cast the spell?”

  I shook my head. “No, not exactly.”

  Her lips pursed together. “Well, it would be helpful if we knew more about the curse and its origin, but considering who your father was, we’ll have to work with what we got.”

  “You can help me?” I tried to keep the desperate hope at bay, but this was my only hope.

  “I’m going to do my best. This is a kind of curse that doesn’t have room for error, or you can accelerate its potency.”

  “We definitely don’t want to do that,” Beck said, echoing my thoughts.

  Mrs. Augustine uncrossed her legs and stood up before going to a bookshelf on the same wall as the fireplace. Her fingers ran along the spines, searching for a specific book. They all looked old and dusty to me.

  “Here it is,” she said, tapping her finger on the spine before removing it from the shelf. She didn’t immediately come back to the chair but stroked her hand down the front of the cover as if she was paying homage to the words that lay between the pages. “This has been in the Vanden family—my family—for generations.” Her feet sank into the plush carpet as she came to sit back down with the book resting in her lap.

  I got my first look at the spellbook I prayed would rid me of this hex. The leather bounds were weathered and frayed slightly, as if the book had been quite loved. The cover had an emblem on it, possibly the Vanden Coven’s crest. It was a piece of history, and I wanted to touch it, was drawn to it. The book itself seemed to pulse with energy that woke up the nymph inside me.

  I wasn’t the only one who felt it.

  “Holy shit,” Beck exhaled, drawing my gaze to the shifter at my left. His eyes were burning like hot molten silver, hands clenching the end of the couch cushion.

  I wanted to ask him if he was okay but thought it might be better not to draw attention to the pull of what we all felt, so I refocused my attention onto the book.

  Mrs. Augustine had opened it up and was flipping through the pages until she came about midway through. Her finger skimmed over the text. “Hmm. That’s what I thought.” She adjusted her glasses and glanced upward at Beck and me. “A blood spell requires blood to break it.”

  “I hope you’re not squeamish,” Beck commented.

  I shot him a droll look, because I was exactly that when it came to blood . . . and needles . . . and sacred knives used in magic.

  “What does that mean? I need to sacrifice some of my own blood?” I asked.

  “Or get a vampire to siphon it,” Beck mumbled. He was so not helping.

  A light shone in Mrs. Augustine’s eyes. “You’ll need more than your blood. This kind of spell is created with darkness. It must be broken with both light and dark. The blood of a goddess is as pure as it comes.”

  It was the dark that had me worried. That was exactly what had started this mess.

  “And the dark?” I inquired.

  “Demon blood,” Beck piped in.

  I turned to Mrs. Augustine for confirmation. She mulled it over for a hot minute. “Yes. A demon would do.”

  “But not all
demons are bad,” I opposed, making sure I had all my supernatural facts correct.

  “No, but the root of their heritage is, just as the origin of yours is good,” she explained.

  Beck crossed his legs and leaned back into the feather soft cushions. “How lucky for you that you’re dating a demon. Makes things less complicated.”

  I frowned at Beck. “How so?”

  “You don’t have to go hunting one down now,” Beck said.

  “Torent is only half demon,” I pointed out.

  Mrs. Augustine took the floor again. “Many of us have blood that’s been diluted down through the ages, but the essence of where we come from is still there. I don’t think the spell requires purity. A demon’s blood, combined with yours, should be strong enough to weaken the touch of death.”

  I pushed against the unease that had slithered inside me. This was what I had asked for—a way to rid myself of the death following me. “Great. Now I have to convince him to give me his blood.”

  Beck’s lip gave a one-sided shrug. “Shouldn’t be hard. He’s in love with you, after all.”

  I elbowed Beck in the side.

  “What do I do with the blood?” I inquired to Mrs. Augustine. Details were important when dealing with magic. “Spread on the ground in a star or something during a full moon?”

  Mrs. Augustine continued to read through the old text. When she lifted her gaze, unease skittered through me. Something in her eyes alarmed me. “You drink it.”

  That’s what I was afraid of. “Wonderful. I’m a bloodsucker now. I can’t drink his blood.”

  “You will if you want to stop randomly killing things,” Beck snapped.

  He had a point. I did want the curse to stop. “Am I supposed to walk up to him and ask to suck his blood? That’s not creepy or anything.”

  Beck rubbed the tip of his nose. “Like you said. Vamps do it all the time. Not a big deal. Put it in a milkshake.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Except I’m not a vamp. I’m a water nymph. No blood.”

  Beck brushed off my abhorrence to blood with a noise in the back of his throat. “He’ll probably be all into it. Make it sexy or something. Suck on his neck,” he offered.

  “You’re so not helping,” I groaned, dropping my face into my hands.

  “Hey, I did find someone to help you break the curse, didn’t I?” he reminded me. What a good friend he was.

  I lifted my chin. “Yes, and I love you for it. I seriously don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Beck’s eyes twinkled. “I could only imagine the walking hot mess you’d be.”

  “Before anyone goes drinking someone’s blood,” Mrs. Augustine interrupted. She had the patience of a saint, listening to Beck and I ramble without telling either of us to chill out. One of the reasons she was a great teacher. “You need to bring me the blood so I can enchant it first, and it can’t be done just anywhere. We’ll need to return to the spot where your father last cast his magic.”

  There was always a catch.

  I swallowed. The idea of returning to the place where a boy had been killed and my life had been altered before I was born gave me chills. “And this will end the hex?”

  “Yes, I believe so,” Mrs. Augustine said, giving me a soft smile. “A full moon would give the spell its most potency.”

  In theory, it sounded too simple. I found that the simplest things were often those hardest to achieve, so I was under no delusion that ridding myself of death would be easy.

  Beck and I left Mrs. Augustine with a solution, but I didn’t feel relief as I expected. What I did feel was as if something dark was on the horizon, just waiting to crush my hopes. A shudder rolled through me like a spider walking down my spine. This hex wouldn’t give in without a fight. The shadow of death on my soul was growing. I could sense it, whether I wanted to admit it or not. Perhaps it was aware of my plans to destroy it. Perhaps that was part of its defense. I only knew that the urge to hurry was racing through my veins.

  “How are you going to ask him? Maybe we could make a sign or litter the ground with roses, make it romantic.” Beck had been chattering nonstop since we got in the car. I only actually absorbed bits and pieces of what he was saying, but I got the gist of his question.

  I shook my head. “I’m not asking him to the freaking prom, Beck.”

  His lips curved as the golden ball of sun began to dip over the horizon, streaming rays of orange onto his blue hair. “This is way more intimate.”

  A weird phantom of cold traveled in my chest, causing my breath to catch. And then it was gone.

  “It blows my mind you think that,” I managed to respond, rubbing a hand over the spot between my breasts.

  He shrugged. “You’d be surprised the power blood can have on us.”

  I didn’t want to know, and yet, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I was going to find out how important blood could be. Ironic, since it was why I was in this mess to begin with.

  But seriously, how was I going to ask Torent for his blood? I don’t know why I was suddenly stressing about it. He would gladly give me a gallon of his blood if it meant saving me. Why was I having such a hard time digesting the way he felt about me?

  I should be rejoicing or some shit.

  I took the weekend to marinate on the whole I-need-your-demon-blood thing and decided I would ask Torent face to face on Monday. It was the kind of request that required a personal touch, no hiding behind a text.

  Odd thing was, Torent seemed to be avoiding me. I didn’t want to come across as the clingy girlfriend, but it was unusual for him to flat-out ignore my texts.

  My whole weekend was blah. I felt out of touch and disoriented, and I didn’t know if that was because of the situation or if the hex was affecting me. But by Monday, I was going stir-crazy and dying to get out of the house.

  I was eager for the week to start. Said no teenager ever. Case in point. Something was truly wrong with me.

  Mine was one of the first cars to swing into the parking lot, which meant I had time to kill. Time was not my friend. My knee bounced while I let the car idle, keeping the heat on low so my bones didn’t freeze.

  When most of the lot was filled, I took another sweeping glance for Torent’s Jeep. Had I missed him somehow? Digging out my phone, I sent him another text to join the twenty other unanswered ones I’d typed since Friday after leaving Mrs. Augustine.

  My insecurities were rearing their ugly heads. This was one of the reasons you hadn’t wanted to date, I reminded myself. Your heart gets crushed when he inevitably disappoints you.

  But I’d thought Torent was different. He had me convinced he was not just any other guy. Then why was he giving me the cold shoulder? Why had he suddenly dropped off the face of the earth? Had he finally given up on me? Or maybe all he had ever wanted was sex. Well, he had gotten it and now was no longer interested.

  The game of chase was over.

  And I was the one left to pick up the pieces.

  I exhaled sharply, leaning my cheek against the chilled window. Calm down. You’re jumping to conclusions. You don’t know what’s happening. Maybe he lost his phone.

  That was it. He must have lost his phone.

  Exiting the car, I joined the masses herding into the building, all the while keeping my eyes peeled for Torent and his Jeep. The sinking feeling in my stomach was becoming heavier. Skipping my locker, I headed down the hall toward his, hoping to catch him before the bell rang. I continued to watch my peers rush down the halls and tried to muster up courage. You can do this, Mal. There is no way Torent would refuse. No. Way.

  The problem was, he was nowhere to be found.

  The bell rang, and a hole formed in my chest. It wasn’t like Torent to run off to class without seeing me first. Had I become dependent on him always being there without even knowing it? I put on this I-don’t-need-a-guy front, but deep down I relied on him.

  My internal alarm was telling me something was wrong, but my brain was telling me not to
be a clingy girlfriend, so I brushed it off, consoling myself it wasn’t a big deal. I’d catch up with him in class or at lunch.

  Wrong.

  By the end of the day, I realized Torent hadn’t shown up to school today. He was taking a mental health day. Nothing unusual about that, but I felt as if I was scrabbling at excuses for what my gut was warning me.

  Two more days went by with no word from Torent. He wasn’t at school. He didn’t answer my calls. Or respond to my texts. All of which caused my worry to quadruple.

  Something was wrong. Torent only had a week of school before finals, and then he would have the credits to graduate. He wouldn’t jeopardize that unless something was seriously wrong.

  Beck came up behind me and draped an arm around my shoulders. “This has gone on for long enough. You’ve been moping around all week. Have you forgotten about the cake?”

  I cringed at our secret word for the blood hex. My feet kept slowly walking down the hall toward my locker. “How am I supposed to ask for his help if he is ignoring me?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Torent be avoiding you? He loooooves you.” If hearts could shine in someone’s eyes, they would be glimmering in Beck’s as he drew out the word love. He was such a sucker for romance.

  A frown pulled at my lips. “How should I know? He won’t take my calls.”

  Beck squeezed my shoulder. “I guess then we make him talk to you.”

  “Just how do you propose we do that? And before you suggest kidnapping, the answer is no. That’s off the table, not even a suggestion,” I said, already anticipating where his thoughts would go.

  An ironic twist appeared on his lips. “God, your mind is dark.”

  I angled my head to the side. “Are you telling me that wasn’t what you were thinking?”

  Removing his arm on my shoulders, he adjusted the bag on his back, lifting the strap up higher. “I plead the fifth.”

  “I’m not looking to join my father in jail.”

  “Good point,” he conceded, after rolling the idea around for a few breaths.

  I grabbed Beck’s hand and pulled him faster through the hallway, heading away from the lockers. Twinkles of Christmas stars glittered over our heads, the school in full holiday spirit. “Come on.”