by R.K. Ryals
~Bezaliel~
“You have to close your eyes, Day,” my father whispered, his hands closing over my face gently but near enough my lashes brushed up against his palms. Butterfly kisses. I had to fight the urge to giggle.
“What am I looking for?” I asked him, not for the first time.
He leaned in closer from behind me, his breath fanning along my neck as he bent even more to accommodate my height.
“The light, Day. Always look for the light."
I squinted against his hands. I wanted so very badly to get this right, to hear approval in his tone as a conclusion to whatever lesson I was supposed to be learning, but my mind was blank. I did not understand him, in so many ways.
“I can’t see anything. There’s only darkness!” I cried. This was ridiculous.
Dad didn’t move, just grew very still in that way of his, the one that reminded me in vivid detail of a marble statue I’d seen in a museum once. It was a little scary.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as the seconds ticked by.
He didn’t remove his hands. The silence stretched.
“There is always light in the darkness, Day,” Dad said suddenly.
I almost jumped as his voice boomed around me. He wasn’t yelling. He just wasn’t whispering anymore. Dad had what I liked to call a large voice. He spoke. You listened.
“You need to learn to look past the dark. If you don’t, it can consume you."
I opened my eyes to look at the back of his hands. I didn’t understand that word consumed. I said it to myself as I stared at the lines etched into his palms. They almost seemed to glow. His hands dropped, but he still held me away. The sun was setting behind us, and our shadows loomed large against the ground, his monstrous one looming over my smaller one. I felt like I was going to cry, and I hunched in on myself as I watched his broad shoulders lift in a sigh.
“Don’t worry, Day. It’s not your time yet,” Dad said.
His shadow hand came to land gently on my small shoulder. His skin was warm. I wanted to lean into it, but I was too hurt by my own sense of failure. I would never understand him.
“I never get it right!”
Stomping my foot, I pouted. He stood and moved around me then, his face stone-like and solemn.
“Day—”
I stomped again anyway. I knew I was throwing a fit, but I didn’t care.
“Amber always gets everything right. Always!” I whined.
Dad studied me a moment before kneeling down in front of me.
“Amber is . . . different,” he said slowly, as if carefully weighing his words, “And it’s good that you two aren’t alike. You are special, Day. There’s a fire in you no one else can see. Not yet, but it’s there."
I squinted up at him. I didn’t understand this stuff about fire, but dad looked so sure, so confident that it made me feel a little better. It didn’t stop me from stomping my foot again though just for good measure. Dad smiled.
And then the darkness came.
Confusion engulfed me. The scene changed. It was like someone pulled a rope and the backdrop was different.
It was sudden, the rain, but I felt it pelting my body unmercifully as the clouds came tumbling one over another across the sky—thick, black, and ominous. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. Lightning flashed in jagged lines across the sky and mud started to slide in large avalanche-like chunks as water piled on top of water. The rain hurt, digging sharply into my skin, and I cried.
“Run, Day. Look for the light,” I heard him whisper in my ear, but when I started turning to look for him, the space behind me was empty. The rain was coming harder, more brutal, like fingers trying to peel away the skin.
“Run. . .” I heard again.
This time I listened, slipping and sliding as I tried to get my feet into the sucking mud. I kept falling, my knees gripped by the punishing ground. I cried harder. Blood was dripping from my face, and I worried skin had indeed been peeled away. I tried running again. I had to run. Had to!
“Dad!” I screamed as I fell again, the earth trembling beneath my knees, bucking and rolling till fissures began to open up along the ground, widening until a large hole had materialized in front of me. There was nowhere I could run, no one to turn to.
“Daddy!” I sobbed as the earth gave way beneath me, and I fell. It was dark. So very dark, and I held my breath waiting for the end.
“Look for the light, Day,” I heard my dad whisper, but as the air rushed in around me I welcomed the darkness. The thought of light now, scared me. I didn’t want to see the end.
“Day. . .”
It was an echo this time. My name moved around me and through me, and I finally found the voice to scream.
“Shit!” I cried out as I sat bolt upright in my bed, the room around me dark except for the single nightlight. I looked at it a moment desperately. I really needed to check its bulb. It had been awhile since I’d changed it, but Grumpy Bear looked as dourly bright as ever, and I gave him a weak thumbs-up sign as I placed my other hand over my chest. My breathing came fast.
The dream. It had been clearer than it ever had been. I could almost feel the rain still on my skin. I cringed, looking down at my bed to be sure my phone was still under my pillow. I hadn’t found the strength to reply back to Monroe.
"He said her aura was black," Monroe had texted.
I closed my eyes briefly, thoughts of Aunt Kyra and the dream clinging to my conscious. Waves of anxiety flowed over me. Sweat made my top cling to my back, and I shivered from the chill. Nausea built and then subsided. Bile rose and I swallowed hard. The dream had never affected me this physically before. I didn't understand it. Was it because of Monroe's revelation about Lady Ky? I bent over a second, letting my head hang low until the faintness passed. It took me a moment to reassure myself, not only that the dream was just that—a dream, but to remind myself that nothing had changed. I was still breathing, I wasn’t falling, and both my parents were still deceased. My body shook as I looked it over, letting my mind slowly let go of the last cobwebs, the tiny fragments of the dream still hovering.
“Look for the light,” his voice whispered again.
I fought not to cry. I missed my parents. Running my hand over my face, I looked again at Grumpy.
“Survived another one, oh Dour One,” I said wearily as I tried to settle back against my pillows.
The moment I reclined, I sat back up again. It was no use. There was no point. My heart was still a jackhammer in my chest and my head pounded relentlessly against my temples. Every muscle jumped restlessly as I swung my pajama clad legs over the side of the bed. Big red hearts surrounded by the small scripted word Juicy swam in front of my eyes. I scowled. It was times like this that I missed Amber coming into my room. My breathing faltered, and I reminded myself to take it slow.
The dream was a double-edged sword, a mix of joy and nightmare. It was agony. But last night it had also been different—more real, more deadly in its clarity. I fisted my hands into the blankets around me. My nails dug into the mattress. Cramps invaded my calf muscles as the anxiety worked its way downward, and I stood up slowly, gasping as the shock of the cold floor against my bare feet brought me out of my reverie. The walls seemed to close in on me, and I cursed under my breath as I stepped on whatever items were playing "trash of the week" on my bedroom floor in my attempt to flee. The Sisters would fret if they saw it.
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” I mumbled as I stumbled to the door and threw it open.
The hallway was already lit, and probably had been since right before dawn. The Abbey really did come alive at ungodly hours.
Something brushed against my leg, and I jumped, my back going up against the stone wall hard before I realized it was the mouser cat my aunt thought would help with the Abbey’s rodents. Exterminators could only do so much in a building as old and as large as the Abbey.
“Want to give me some kind of warning next time, Rav
en,” I growled at the cat as I shimmied past her to the bathroom.
My heart rate was still up but slowing. I didn’t bother looking up into the mirror. I didn’t want to see the sweat on my face and the dark circles under my eyes.
“Look for the light,” his voice whispered around me, and I stiffened.
The voice sounded so real. The nausea came back. I swallowed convulsively. What the hell!?
“I don’t see it,” I gritted out as I gripped the sink so hard I was shocked the porcelain didn’t crack.
“Don’t see what, sweetie?” Diane asked from behind me, and I jumped again. My nerves were downright raw. Diane moved to my side and glanced at me worriedly.
“You okay, Dayton?” she asked. I straightened up. Where had she come from?
“Yes’m,” I mumbled.
Looking behind me, I realized I had neglected to shut the door. Wonderful. Diane narrowed her eyes but didn’t question me further. She knew from experience I wasn’t the forthcoming type. Diane had lost some weight over the years, but she still looked and dressed the same way she had the day she led Amber and I into the Abbey for the first time.
“Okay, sweetie. Your sister is already down in the kitchens, and there’s breakfast in the refectory,” Diane said as she laid some clean towels down in front of me and turned to leave.
I wished I could tell her to stay, but the dream wasn’t a new one and seemed too personal to share somehow. I bit my lip to keep from talking. It wasn’t even about sharing it. I just didn’t want to be alone. The whole week had felt strange. I closed my eyes briefly."He said her aura was black." Today felt scary.
“I’ll warn you though. Your aunt is in the refectory and she’s in a temper,” Diane called into the bathroom.
I sighed and leaned over to turn on the sink, splashing ice cold water into my face. The kitchens it was then. I had chores to do anyway. I couldn’t face Aunt Kyra.
The car ride yesterday still made me angry. I didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand why she refused to talk to me. She was like a black hole. She sucked me dry. She may be the Abbess of Blackstone Abbey, my mother’s sister, and my guardian but she was also one cold sanctimonious bitch. She wasn’t the maternal type and, even after seven years, still seemed to be adjusting to us. And her aura . . . I shook my head hard. No! I couldn't go there! I bit the inside of my mouth, letting the slight pain it caused redirect my thoughts as I dove for the shower then rushed to finish before the hot water disappeared.
One swift shower down and a wardrobe change later, and I was running down the stairs. I was determined to turn my morning around. I needed to turn it around. Hell, I needed my week back. I couldn’t ignore everything that had already happened: the visions, my aunt, Amber, the dream, and the whole revelation about Conor, but I could put a fresh coat of paint on the whole situation. This was my life, my choices.
“Don’t run!” a Sister called out to me, and I managed to refrain from being derogatory. Just barely.
Shoving into the kitchens, I slid to a halt just long enough to grab a broom and cross my eyes at my sister standing at the stove. She ignored me. No surprise. If the rift had been wide before, our conversation yesterday had made it wider. I turned my back on her and began to move around the room. I was feeling better, my body relaxing into my chore when an indistinguishable voice infiltrated a daydream I’d been having. I paused.
“What?” I asked Amber as I turned toward her; sure she’d been trying to get my attention from the stove.
She glanced up briefly, her look confused. A cold feeling climbed up my spine. I shook my head. As edgy as I was, I was sure I was just imagining things. Whatever. I watched my sister a moment.
“You might want to try a little spice in the dish this time,” I suggested helpfully as I moved to sweep the last of the morning dirt out the back door. Kitchen duty was such a pain in the ass. Amber raised a brow but continued stirring.
“The more natural the dish, the more cleansing it is to the soul,” Amber quoted solemnly.
I leaned over the broom and pretended to wretch.
“Is your head always stuck up someone else’s ass?” I asked before dropping the broom and hefting myself up on the counter.
The way she quoted the Sisters seriously grated on my nerves. The broom bounced loudly against the floor and landed on Amber’s foot. She huffed indignantly but refrained from swearing. I just smiled and balanced carefully before reaching up to grasp my prize.
My sister watched me warily but didn’t say a word as I unwrapped the lollipop I had hidden among the kitchen’s plants. It wasn’t my most creative hiding spot but it’d do for now.
“You know that stuff is nothing but solidified poison,” Amber murmured, kicking the broom aside as I hopped back down onto the brick floor.
An image of Conor warning me about sugar and sin made me bite back a laugh. I looked over at her and grinned. Amber was too serious. Mom used to say she was intense and contemplative. My translation for that: Dull! I danced over to Amber and held the pink dumdum up lovingly.
“O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die,” I said theatrically, my hand caressing the stick as my tongue shot out to French kiss the lollipop. With a jolt, I slid down to the floor, my body thrashing in dramatic convulsions.
Amber pinched her lips together, and I knew she was chastising herself for feeling amused. I grinned and arched my brows.
“Shakespeare consorted with the devil,” Amber lectured, and I groaned.
“Oh my God, Amber! Seriously?” I asked before leaning against the counter next to her and stuffing the dumdum in my mouth. She ignored me.
“The Abbess has corrupted you,” I concluded around the sweet lump, the sugar melting comfortably against my tongue.
Amber shifted but still ignored me. Her strawberry blonde hair, pulled tightly up on top of her head, seemed to chastise me quietly as she turned her head away. I tried not to let it bother me as I watched her. But it did.
With her flawless skin and deep blue eyes, Amber looked every bit the Angel. And she thrived off acting the part she wore so well in appearance. Good thing too since, by all appearances, I was the devil incarnate.
“Just a little salt and pepper maybe?” I goaded as she stirred the soup on the stove.
It would slow cook throughout the day, but that wouldn’t improve the flavor. At least Diane wasn’t on kitchen duty. I preferred tasteless over charred. She could clean but damned if she could cook.
“You need to start conforming more,” Amber murmured quietly.
I growled. God, I hated that word!
“No chance of that, sister dear. Love me for the heathen I am,” I replied with an impish grin while holding my heart forlornly. She wasn’t impressed.
“I think the Abbey actually makes you surlier,” I said with a snort. “If that be possible.”
Amber didn’t bother to reply. I fought not to grumble. She bent to her work, and I frowned. Every once in a while, Amber reminded me of mom. I shut the thought down quickly, worrying the wound I'd opened earlier in the bathroom.
Don't feel. Just retreat. I wouldn’t think about them. Not now. Not today. My heart clenched. There are some things time can’t heal.
“The Abbey has a long history, Dayton, and an even longer tradition. Don’t always knock it so much, huh?” Amber said carefully as she stepped away from the stove and glanced at her watch.
I frowned. Her words about "being accepted into the fold" rang through my head. There was no way to repair this week. Too much had transpired, and the Abbey was the worst part. It was my modern day Hades. The Sisters were constantly filling my sister’s head with drivel. I blamed them for the tension between us, and I didn’t appreciate the rift. Damn it, I missed my sister!
“Been talking to Lady Ky much? We won’t be here forever, Amber. Why are you so set on this place?” I asked her with a "crunch." Oh yeah, cotton candy heaven. I never make it through the
whole lollipop. I wouldn’t win the "how many licks does it take to finish the dumdum" contest.
“Didn’t you know the Abbess is secretly a foul monster dressed as a penguin?” I asked.
I grinned at her but, truth is, I believed the monster part. Her idea of guardianship translated into overbearing tyranny. I, personally, had no desire to please her. If there was any reason to be bulimic, she’d be it. Gag. But, while I maintained my distance, my sister seemed obsessed with pleasing both Lady Ky and the robed women that made the Abbey their home. It drove me nuts. "He said her aura was black." I shivered.
“Just sayin’. If the bird man can escape Alcatraz, we can escape Blackstone,” I said around the now crumbled candy. Amber fidgeted.
“Maybe I don’t want to leave, Dayton. Maybe there’s more purpose here than you think."
My mouth dropped open. I had always suspected her interest in the Order, but I never suspected it was more than curiosity.
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
Amber kicked me in the shin. Jesus!
“Damn it, Amber!”
Amber looked ready to kick me again.
“Drop the cursing, Day,” Amber ordered as I hopped around the kitchen nursing my throbbing ankle.
“Lecture me next time, would you. Save the physical abuse for the crones."
Amber shook her head. She hated when I referred to the Sisters that way. And I was all about disappointing lately. I just didn’t see what the big deal about the Abbey was. Amber was in her first year of college and still living here. I didn’t understand it. God help me if Amber really decided to become a nun. A thought passed fleetingly through my head, and I frowned. Surely not . . .
“You can’t replace her you know,” I said quietly.
Our mother. That's who I meant, and Amber knew it. She stiffened before swinging around, her hands on her hips and her glaring gaze meeting mine evenly. It made my heart clench.
“I’m not trying to replace anyone, Day!” Amber argued, her shock and anger evident as she moved close enough to me her nose almost touched my forehead. I hadn’t inherited my father’s height gene. It showed.
“It’s just . . . ” Amber frowned. “I’m trying to make her proud. One of us needs to."
She retreated a few steps as she spoke, her eyes wide. It took a moment for her words to register but, when they did, the sting whacked me squarely in the soul. I wanted to protest but found I couldn’t. The insult sat heavily between us. Anger and embarrassment clawed itself up my neck, appearing as a flush along my cheeks. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I turned away. What had happened to the two of us?
“Look, Day—”
I shook my head slowly. Words wouldn’t help right now. We both knew it.
"Mom wouldn't be proud of this," I whispered, my voice hoarse with unshed tears.
I put pressure on my tongue with my teeth. I was so not going to cry! A loud banging from the hallway diffused the situation, and we both stiffened. No, not now!
“Dayton Marie!” a voice yelled from the corridor, and I stuffed the lollipop stick quickly down the front of my shirt and into my bra.
Amber rolled her eyes. Aunt Kyra materialized at the door looking weary and exasperated, a sheaf of papers hanging from her fingertips. I cringed.
“What is this, Dayton?” she asked angrily. I shrugged. My heart was very evidently not into arguing.
“Rewrite it! And I mean it, Dayton. I’ll call the school and see if they will take a redo or extra credit. An F!”
She held out the papers, and I took them gingerly. I knew better than to say anything.
“What am I going to do with you?” she murmured almost to herself. She turned away from me.
I stood up straight. There was no way I was cowering in front of her or Amber. Not today. I was my father’s child in a lot of ways. Stubborn was one of them.
“It was one paper,” I said defensively.
She didn’t turn around, but she did shake her head.
“It’s not just the paper, Dayton. It’s everything,” she said wearily. “The cursing, the disobedience, your choice in friends . . .”
I stared unblinkingly forward. If I was supposed to act suitably chastised, I was going to disappoint.
“I don’t get it! Am I that bad?” I asked, my eyes moving between Amber’s gaze and Aunt Ky’s back. Neither one of them moved. After a moment, Aunt Kyra looked over her shoulder.
“Dayton—” She paused and looked away. “We have a guest coming to dinner this weekend. He’s coming to meet you specifically. Don’t mess this up.”
My brow furrowed.
“Me?”
Aunt Kyra nodded.
“Do not mess this up,” she repeated firmly.
WTF! I glanced over at Amber, but she just shrugged and looked at the floor. I knew that look. She knew something.
“Is it about the paper?” I asked in confusion. I knew Mr. James was going to give me a failing grade. I’d seen it in his face. And it wasn’t the first run in I’d had with my philosophy teacher. He was a total prejudiced ass.
“He’s a recruiter,” Aunt Kyra said, and I froze. For college? Me thinks not.
“To see me?”
She didn’t answer, just gave me one final look before walking out of the room. Aunt Kyra wasn’t one to elaborate on anything. Did she seriously think being vague was part of her "mommy" job description? My fingers moved restlessly over the essay in my hands. A recruiter? That made no sense. Amber was the scholarly one. With my grades, I’d have to go looking for the colleges, not the other way around. I wasn’t dumb. I just didn’t try hard enough to get good grades.
“Is this some kind of school thing? Is it about my birthday?” I asked Amber once Aunt Ky disappeared. I noticed a figure loitering in the hallway trying to make herself appear small, but it was a familiar one and I concentrated on Amber. She shrugged before moving to stand behind me. She peered over my shoulder and moaned. It brought my attention back to the present and to the group of papers in my hand.
“What?” I groaned. “The whole point of philosophy is argument.”
“Argument, Dayton. Not re-theorizing. You were always good at telling stories. No wonder you failed."
My spine stiffened. I’m pretty sure she was trying to re-direct my thoughts, and it worked. The insults were really starting to dig. It still didn’t answer my earlier questions, but I let her re-direct me all the same. I’d find out soon enough.
“I wasn’t re-theorizing. Read the paper,” I said with a huff as we both moved out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
“I thought it was ambitious,” the figure said from the corridor, and I paused with a grin. Amber kept walking.
“You would,” Amber called over her shoulder. She walked down the hall toward the refectory as I turned to face Monroe.
Monroe leaned against the wall with a smile, her vintage jeans and 50’s flavored cream top clashing with the usual collection of black robes that normally inhabited the place. She dropped her bag, and I rolled my eyes at yet another big beaded purse on the floor between us. I was refraining.
“Lady Ky can smell bad news from a mile away. She’d put a drug dog to shame,” Monroe quipped before blowing a pink bubble and popping it with her fingernail. The two of us needed to take out stock in DumDum and Hubba Bubba.
“That’s an understatement,” I mumbled as I leaned against the wall next to her. "I'm not re-writing it."
Monroe looked up.
“Then don’t."
“I don’t see the point anyway,” I complained.
I was irritated about the whole thing. I had way better things to worry about than a disgruntled philosophy teacher who, in my opinion, didn’t teach us anything. Mr. James abhorred arguments. It was almost as if we were supposed to take what we heard and live it, breathe it, be it. He really unnerved me. I got that most of the girls were in love with him. He was young, too young to teach in my opinion, a
nd I have to admit, pretty hot. But still a total dictator.
“How was your night?” Monroe asked quietly.
My problems came rushing back. Monroe’s last text sprang into my head. "He said her aura was black."
“Can we not go there right now?”
I wasn’t avoiding the issue really. I just didn’t know what to do about it. Neither of us said anything for a few moments. Monroe picked up her bag and nodded toward the stairs. I kicked away from the wall.
“So, you ready for your birthday tomorrow?” Monroe asked suddenly, smoothly changing the subject as we moved toward the Abbey’s living quarters to grab my back pack. I looked over at her and groaned. Wrong change of subject,
“Not really."
“Oh come on, Gizmo! It’s your birthday!”
I gave her the look.
“We don’t celebrate birthdays at the Abbey, Roe,” I said off-handedly. She knew that.
“Maybe your aunt will this year. It’s your last year harassing her,” Monroe said with a laugh. I grabbed my backpack and picked up a wadded up piece of paper off my floor. I threw it at her head. She ducked. It missed. Damn.
Chapter 9
He will not stop now. He has corrupted the Order. And he has an insatiable thirst for blood. His control is impressive, but limited. I have watched too long, forbidden to interfere. She will not be cowered, I know her well. These things I know. What I had not counted on was the Other. He has surprised me.
