Black Moon (Silver Moon, #2)

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  Mom’s the first to reach me after I’m, well, me again, encircling her arms around my torso and squeezing until I can’t breathe.

  “Oh, Candra,” she chokes out, “we were so fearful of what they might do.”

  “I’m okay, Mom.” I bend my arms so I can pat her back. “When they told me some of you were injured during my capture, I had hoped it wasn’t as bad as I led myself to believe.”

  She pulls back, cupping my cheeks with her hands. “Whatever happens, you can’t worry about us; you have to think about yourself. I know that seems selfish, but we can’t afford to lose you. Not now. Not after all we’ve been through.” She sniffles and takes a deep breath. “We won’t let what happened on your birthday transpire again. That was a mistake we should’ve seen coming.”

  “Yeah, and next time, if there is a next time, we’ll be prepared,” states Mrs. Rendall.

  I take the moment to look around me, at the people who are willing to sacrifice themselves for my safety. A few months ago, I was just a girl whose biggest fear was starting her first day of school, and whether I would return to Charleston. Now, I have lives to consider, persons who dedicate most of their time keeping me from harm. For many, this would be tough to grasp. For me, their loyalty and efforts mean the world.

  “I have so much to tell you,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well, you can start by cleaning yourself up,” fusses Beth, pinching the tip of her nose. “You smell like you’ve been sleeping with rats.” She shoos me toward the stairs.

  “I have,” I respond. “Although, I think even the rats are on their side.”

  They collectively laugh.

  “I’ll get dinner on the stove so it’ll be ready by the time you finish,” Beth states. “Now, hurry along. Randy, where did we put that air freshener?”

  “All right. All right. I’m going.”

  Closing my bedroom door, I lean against it, hands behind my back, breathing in and out for ten seconds. Being home again is surreal. I was beginning to believe nobody would come for me, that I would rot in that basement. While the first might be true, I’m glad the latter isn’t.

  A hot shower feels nice. Washing away the grime and grit from the last week relaxes my body and mind, except for that incessant nip somewhere in my recesses which warns me everything is not okay. Not yet. Something is missing. I feel as if I’ve misplaced an object and can’t find it, knowing it’s nearby. What is that sentiment? Forgetfulness? But what have I forgotten?

  The realization hits me like I’m a contender in the middle of a MMA fight, who’s losing:

  Ben.

  He was unconscious last I checked. Now that Ali’s dead, what will he think of me? More, what’ll happen when his family goes bat-shit crazy because of my exodus? They won’t recognize he’s responsible for confiding in me the whereabouts of the exit door. But then again, how else would I know?

  Oh, this isn’t good.

  Ben, can you hear me?

  Several long, unbearable seconds tick by before I ask the same question again, to which there is no reply. They’ve done something to him. That or he’s still out cold. But shouldn’t the effect have worn off once . . . once Ali . . .? I can’t bring myself to think about her right now, or what transpired during our fight.

  I dress quickly and tie my wet hair into a ponytail. Wait—what am I doing? I can’t save him. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I puff out a sigh. About the only way I’ll know he’s safe is communication. Unless he responds, I have no method of knowing. And there’s no chance in hell I’m going anywhere near the Conway’s residence again. Since my family hasn’t been informed of mine and Ben’s . . . ordeal, I’ll need extra time to hang on to this secret. Then I’ll tell them everything. Until that moment, I’ll persist at attempting to telepathically converse with Ben.

  Gathering my wits, I head downstairs, where Beth has cooked a meal fit for a king—baked chicken, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes with gravy, mixed veggies, and dinner rolls. My stomach growls in response to the mouth-watering aroma.

  “Oh my,” says Beth, eyes wide. “Candra, did they feed you?”

  Recalling my incident with Ethan, I decide to omit the bad and side with the good.

  “For the most part,” I say. “Nothing like this, though.”

  “Well, grab a plate and fill it full. We can’t have you famished.” Beth points to a stack of platters resting at the side of the stove, ready for everyone to pick one and go.

  After I finish loading my plate with grub and snatching a seat, everyone else follows suit, grabbing silverware and dishes, covering their tableware with the delectable meal. Mr. and Mrs. Rendall sit at the counter, on barstools. The rest settle in with me at the table.

  There’s a long hush following their presence into the dining room. Are they scared to ask what happened to me during my stint with the Conway’s, what it was like? Don’t they want to know what we’re up against, or have they already figured that part out?

  Dad reaches across his plate, grabs the pitcher of water, and pours the liquid into his glass. After sipping the drink, he sets down his cup and stares fixedly at me.

  “We’ve all agreed,” he speaks up, “that, from this point forward, we won’t keep even a smidgen of information from you. We planned on telling you about the Ancients the day after your birthday, obviously not expecting the Conway’s to take matters into their own hands.” He forks a bite of chicken and lobs it into his mouth. “I assume you were briefed on the history of why the Conway’s want your power.” He’s not asking; he already knows.

  I nod to confirm, just in case.

  Continuing, he says, “And they placed a spell on you to contain the Ancient inside.” He points his fork at me.

  I nod again.

  “Then we have to undo the spell and replace it with our own.”

  Nearly choking on my mac-n-cheese, I rasp, “Um, you do know if you undo the spell I’ll become her, right? I mean, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. The only reason it’s holding now is because a certain living Ancient placed his magic on me.”

  “We know,” says Dad. “Which is why it’s going to take all of us to cleanse you of his magic.” He pauses, hesitant. “That is, if you agree.”

  “What are the repercussions? What if all of this goes awry? Then what?”

  Dad glances to his right, at Mom, and then back at me. “Well, we’ve certainly discussed this aspect. There’s no guarantee, Candra. His magic is powerful, so we have no idea what we’re up against, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “Just because you’re out of practice with magic doesn’t mean I’ll be your guinea pig.” Are they serious? They think they can remove a spell an Ancient cast and then redo it with one of their own? “No,” I say, shaking my head, “it’s not going to work.”

  “We won’t know until we try, sweetheart,” coos Mom. She reaches over and clasps Dad’s hand in hers. “If the Ancient inside of you is suppressed by his will, then we aren’t certain what else he could do with his influence. We need to release you from his bond as quickly as possible.”

  Why does everything have to be so difficult? Five steps forward, two back. That’s how my life goes. We haven’t made progress because we’re constantly hindered.

  “Fine!” I screech, pounding both fists on the table, rattling silverware against plates. “I’ll do it. But I’m warning you now . . . if you don’t find a way to suppress her before I attain my power, then all Hell is going to break loose. The Conway’s ultimate plan is to draw out the Ancients, who are able to move forward and backward through time. While Ben’s power controls the present and future, mine will be the past and the present.”

  The looks on their faces tells me they didn’t know the exact plans of the Conway’s before now. They glance around at one another.

  “Go on,” goads Mrs. Rendall from behind me.

  “Suppose they let Ben and I take over as Ancients; we could literally change history together.
Even if the Ancients were concealed, he and I wouldn’t be rivaled. But a Lowell and a Conway working together? Not gonna happen. So, if they can trap my power and draw it out, they’d have the ability to travel back in time. If they travel back in time, the present would be changed, and my guess is they’d be invincible.”

  “They want your power so they can become Ancients . . .” Jana trails off, eyes leaving mine with a faraway look. “This is bad,” she says, jerking her head to face us. “We have to do something.”

  Like, keep me safe? That’s a good reason. As a matter of fact, I think I prefer that reason most of all. However, the more I consider Ben’s trick of stalling the present and sneaking into my room, the more I realize his family might ask him to perform the same action. They can do that to us any time and we’ll never know. Just zip in and zip out. Tomorrow, we might be dead. Tonight, even. And we’ll never see them coming.

  The crushing reality of this is with an Ancient on their side, the Conway’s will always win. If I can figure out a way for Daciana and me to share the same mind, fifty-fifty, then I can help my family and friends. With Daciana’s power, I might stand a chance at surviving, since she’s as old as Alaric.

  “Earth to Candra. Are you there?” Jana yells, pulling me out of my reverie. She snaps her fingers at eye-level in front of my face.

  “I’m here,” I respond.

  “Good,” she says, sitting back in her chair. “We didn’t know what was going on. You had us worried.”

  “Candra, dear, why don’t you get some rest and we discuss everything in the morning?” suggests Beth. “You seem exhausted.”

  I shake my head. “No. You guys have to perform the spell tonight; we’re running out of time. And there’s something else I need to tell you.” I pause. “It’s an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s not going to work,” Jana argues, concerned by the idea of Daci and me sharing the same body, but she’s not seeing the bigger picture, which might save us all.

  “You don’t know that for sure,” I counter. “Besides, what choice do we have? It’s either this or we’re back at square one. Your powers aren’t as strong as the Conway’s, so my safety will continue to be an issue.”

  Mom and Dad glance at each other, as do Randy and Beth, and Jana’s parents. They know I’m right about this.

  “I hate to admit it, babe, but Candra has a point,” Blake tells Jana, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “We don’t stand a chance against Ancients and the Conway’s unless we have some big guns on our side.”

  “And I hate to break it to ya,” I add, “but this isn’t anyone’s decision except mine. I choose this, with or without you all.”

  They waver on joining me, until Dad says he’s in. Mom, too, followed by Randy and Beth. Then Blake. Jana’s parents. And, finally, Jana.

  I bob my head once. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  We come to the conclusion the basement is best suited for this type of activity, in case the ritual goes askew. My lovely birthday chair sits in the corner, and the windows and ceiling fixtures have been repaired since that night.

  “Looks like you guys cleaned up nicely,” I tease.

  Blake blows a raspberry. “Pain in the ass is more like it. I have nightmares about stepping on glass.”

  “Over here,” says Beth, pointing to an area beyond where I sat during my birthday, in a secluded crook of the basement. “This should do.”

  “All right. How does this work?” I ask.

  They gather in a circle around me, holding hands. I feel like I was born a witch rather than a werewolf. Keep dreaming, Candra. Being a spell-caster is probably ten times easier than being a giant furbag.

  “We need you to remain perfectly still,” says Beth. “And one more thing: we don’t know the effect this will have. You may be Candra in five minutes, you may be her, or you may be both.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” I mumble, limiting my emotions, which are on the brink of insanity at the moment. My future rests in the hands of my loved ones. This isn’t a simple fix; this is madness.

  Beth nods to the others. Eyes shut, they begin chanting; a low hum of orchestrated voices, which rapidly ascend into flailing tongues and eerie cadences. I can’t decipher the words, or their meanings. What I do understand is the effect they establish on my physical being; sharp cuts of magic inhibit my aptitude to think rationally, my insides warp in ways they shouldn’t, and there’s a darkness that slowly fogs my mind, plaguing me.

  I fight her—Daciana—with every last atom of my soul.

  And she fights back.

  Strange to believe a miniature war is taking place inside me. Either I win or lose, but for certain: there’s no turning back now. She has a tight grip within, but my motivation to survive is even stronger than her love for Ulric. I can’t leave those I care for behind. Not again, anyway. If Daciana is unleashed, havoc will reign.

  Concentrate. You can do this, I tell myself, closing my eyes.

  Release me, dear Candra. I will show your foes the meaning of pain, says Daciana.

  Struggling to control Daciana takes its toll on my physical and mental state. The circle better finish their magic soon; otherwise, I won’t be able to manage Daciana’s strength, which greatly surpasses mine.

  Release me, Daciana purrs. Release me and all of your worries will be over. I will take care of Alaric for you, lovely Candra. All you have to do is free your mind.

  So persuasive. In another time and another place, I might’ve given in, listened to her words and let them caress my ears with hopes of leaving everything behind and pressing forward without hesitation. But in this very second, while I’m combating to help those I love, the need to be with them, to assist them in conquering our enemies, has never sounded more appealing. Almost as appealing as Daciana’s vocabulary.

  Almost. But not quite.

  Nice try, Daci. Let’s say we make an arrangement. You stay where you are, and I’ll stay where I am. How does that sound? I ask.

  She laughs. That is not a bargain at all. You want to keep me trapped for centuries as Alaric once did. No, I am aware of trickery and those who practice it.

  Do you want to see daylight and be rid of me, or not? Here’s the plan: if Ben and I control you and Ulric long enough, we can destroy Alaric. When it’s over, and Alaric is gone, we’ll release the two of you so you can be together again.

  Dead silence. She must be contemplating this. I wish she’d hurry; it won’t be long before the circle is closed and our chance is ruined.

  Give me your word, Candra. Your word and nothing else.

  I promise, I say. I’m internally pinky-swearing with you right now.

  What?

  Never mind. Yes, I promise.

  Then it is done.

  The mass I’ve pressed against for the past five minutes has evaporated. Daciana no longer wrestles with me. I open my eyes and observe everyone staring.

  “Did it work? I mean, are you . . . you know . . . you?” asks Jana, removing her hands from the circle and cautiously stepping forward, reaching out to touch me.

  “Of course it worked,” I say. “When have I ever had a horrible idea?”

  ~*~

  Okay, this really was a horrible idea. Daciana is toying with me, making things that are normally easy . . . well . . . difficult. For instance: in the past two days, when trying to shift into my werewolf form, I was only able to half-shift. Who half-shifts?

  Me, of course. Thanks to my new B-F-F Daci.

  And when I try to sleep, she talks. Constantly. There hasn’t been a boundary between her thoughts and mine, but that’s about to change. If she wants out, she has to play by my rules.

  Could you please be quiet for, like, two minutes? I beg.

  You never said I could not speak, she replies. How will we ever progress if we fail to communicate?

  Ughhh. I snatch a pillow and throw it over my head. Shoot me now.

  We can chat a
s long as you want, but let’s keep it to normal business hours, I say. None of this keeping-me-awake-after-midnight crap. I can’t function without some zee’s.

  Some what?

  Zee’s. Sleep. You know.

  No, I am sure I do not know what you are talking about. Nevertheless, I will quiet down. But remember: the less you correspond with me, the less I will aid you.

  We’ll talk tomorrow, like normal people.

  Except nothing about speaking to an Ancient living inside me is normal. Forget any preconceived notions about schizophrenics—I’m becoming one. Daciana isn’t stupid, though; she knows what she’s doing. If she continues to weaken my defenses, then I’m royally screwed. I can’t wear myself thin. Annihilating Alaric will drain most, if not all, of my energy. Energy I won’t have if Daciana continues her nightly ritual.

  The longer I lie here in newly-found peace, the tougher it is to fall asleep. Tomorrow, Randy and Beth promised everyone we’ll study procedures for handling Followers. As in, we’ll be disposing of them, completely. I shudder at the thought of having to face one or more again. I wish I had a sidekick like Jana is to Blake, or Blake is to Jana. The way they take people out is fearless, brave at best. I may not have those two around when all of these acts of courage are said and done, and the concept saddens me.

  They are very valiant, indeed, says Daci.

  I groan. I thought we agreed—

  Just my opinion, she interrupts. But, if you must know, I believe they will stay close to your side for the remainder of their lives. And you with them. Many wish for a friendship such as the one you three share, but most will never see their wish granted. Cherish that love, Candra, because true friendship does not oft come to pass.

  I will, I advise her, meaning it.

  Come now. Gather your rest. You will need vigor for the tasks ahead.

  She’s right. Later in the morning, at seven-thirty on the dot, Beth ambles across the upstairs hallway, beating the bottom of a metal pot with a large spoon.