Darkness Undone: A Novel of the Marked Souls

by Jessa Slade

  No, this was worse than feralis fangs. Of course he was vulnerable to death, but to indecision?

  Steeped in Bookkeeper lore, he hadn’t seen that the mysteries had left myriad hairline cracks, until Maureen had shouted at him, right before she walked away for the last time. “Your crackpot ideas won’t ever mean anything in the real world.”

  His Bookkeeper heritage had been secret, of course—she’d only supposed he had the most doddering odd thesis adviser—which made her accusation undeserved, yet still so true. He would have always been a closed book to her. It was amazing that his mother had stayed with his father long enough to bear children.

  She would have lived if she hadn’t. And he should have known he could never waver after the price had been paid.

  “Your thoughts are louder than Archer’s key,” Alyce murmured.

  He averted his face with a frown. “I don’t know what you—”

  Archer started the car with a grinding rattle as the worn gears inside the wretched vehicle slipped and finally caught.

  Sid pulled his seat belt into place with one swipe and winced as the strap slapped his bandaged shoulder. “I’m not that rusty. Yet.” He raised his voice, not that the talyan in the front seat needed it. “A second opinion sounds good. Call Nanette.”

  Alyce watched him a moment, then pulled her belt across her lap. She sat back, her finger resting on the escape button.

  If only he’d left himself such an easy out. But a Bookkeeper was in for life.

  And—unlike a talya—for death.

  When they parked in front of the squat concrete building, Alyce stiffened, her heart beating a painful double tempo. “It looks like a hospital,” she whispered.

  Sidney took her hand and tugged her gently from her seat. “It’s a church. See the pretty doors?”

  Stained glass spread across both double doors in a golden sunburst on a cobalt field. Pretty, yes. She tucked herself against him as he followed Archer and Sera toward the church.

  Alyce glanced back. Their mottled car waited alone at the curb, though traffic flowed ceaselessly past on the freeway just beyond a chain-link fence. Over the monotone rumble and the thick stink of exhaust, her senses were half-deadened. She hunched her shoulders, but Sidney was pulling her onward between the doors.

  “See?” He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay.”

  “It is okay.” As she passed by, she trailed her free fingers along the cool lead seams of the glass. “I can break through those if we need to.”

  His reassuring smile stiffened at the corners. “You won’t need to.”

  She looked down at the mosaic tile set in the doorway. BE WELCOME was spelled out in the same cheery blues and golds as the stained-glass doors, but she was not well at all.

  Sera glided through the open, quiet vestibule with the ease of familiarity, calling out, “Hey, Nanette!” Her voice echoed from the bigger, unlit room visible ahead of them through another set of open double doors, flanked by decorative flags in the shapes of sunflowers and empty except for row upon row of stacking chairs.

  A small, redheaded woman with milkmaid hips and creamy pale skin to match stepped out of the doorway down the side hall. She smiled a welcome, but she clasped and unclasped her hands in an unsteady rhythm over the pink heart embroidered on the front of her denim jumper. “Hi, hi. Just so you know—”

  A man with eyes more gold than the stained-glass sun rounded the corner of the doorway behind her. Though the corridor was dark, the light through the open door made his white shirt glow. “Just so you know, I’m here too.”

  Archer and Sera stopped abruptly. Alyce grasped Sidney’s hand to keep him from walking into their stiffened spines. The surge of clashing ethers hinted she might be dragging Sidney out through that glass, after all.

  The man fixed her with that gilded glare. “What aberration have you brought to this house?”

  The chill that lurked in the spaces between her bones leached through her. He wasn’t talking to her; he was talking about her.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, her muscles seized as if her teshuva had taken her whole body in its hand, ready to drag her away.

  “Mr. Fane!” Nanette’s voice was an earnest tremor. “Cyril, please. You said you’d wait to see what they wanted.”

  “Maybe I meant lie in wait.”

  “Here I thought angels couldn’t lie,” Archer drawled.

  “And I thought the talyan were repentant, but you’re harboring a …” Fane’s squint was as curious as Sidney’s but edged with aversion.

  Alyce fought the unbearable urge to flee and tugged sharply at Sidney’s sleeve. He winced, but they had more problems than his bitten shoulder. “They are possessed,” she warned.

  “Not demonically,” he said in a low voice. “Nanette is angel-touched, and Fane is a warden with the higher angelic spheres.”

  “That is why they are very not okay,” she whispered back fiercely. “They might … They might …” She caught her breath on a helpless sound of uncertainty as she tried to explain. She had to go; she had to run … but only a dark void spread where her reason should have been.

  Sidney pushed his spectacles higher, as if he could see what had stolen her words. “Might what? Don’t be afraid.”

  Fane narrowed his golden eyes, which didn’t lessen the lethal light. “She should be afraid. The sphericanum has overlooked the league’s insurrection, but embracing this little imp is the breaking point.”

  He stepped fully into the hallway, revealing the sword in his hand. Though the blade was no longer than his forearm and softly pitted on the edges, the etched sigils traced on the metal wavered as if through intense heat.

  Without a twitch of her long red coat, a knife—straight and deadly—suddenly glinted in Sera’s hand. Archer bothered with no such subtlety. From beneath one blinding sweep of black leather, his battle-axe unfolded in a heavy fan of shining blades, each snick of spreading metal more decisive than the last.

  He took a stance half a stride ahead of his mate. “Is the sphericanum up for waging a three-way war, Fane? If not, piss on that flaming sword of yours.”

  Sidney squinted. “That’s a warden’s hallowed relic? I thought it would be … brighter.”

  “Oh, it’s burning,” Alyce murmured. Her gaze felt melted to the sword, and she couldn’t look away. Each flicker sent a wave of weakness through her knees, like a fever making her sway, though her pulse raced fast enough to leave without her.

  Nanette stepped to one side, patting the air as if trying to extinguish something on fire—tempers, at least, if not the sword. “Everyone, please, calm down. We’re all friends here.”

  Sidney stepped between Alyce and the sword. “Actually, Nanette, only you are listed as friend in the archives.” He jerked his chin at Fane. “You have a question mark by your name.”

  Fane wrinkled his lip. “A question mark? I’m hurt.”

  Sera lifted one shoulder as she made her knife disappear into her sleeve. “Not a big black question mark. A penciled one.”

  “Allies at least,” Nanette said hurriedly.

  Fane’s sneer twisted his face into harsh, uneven lines. “Allies wouldn’t break the concord that has held us to our vows for aeons—”

  “Well, you can’t execute them here tonight,” Nanette interrupted. “My husband will be here to let the chorus in for practice in less than an hour.” She flattened her palms, hand over hand over the pink heart, her gaze on Sera beseeching. “Mr. Fane came after I talked to you. I didn’t know—”

  “I came when I heard you all were coming.” Fane kept his sword at a threatening angle toward the talyan.

  Archer mirrored his menace with axe poised perpendicularly to the sword. “The sphericanum bugs phones?”

  “‘Bug’ is such a lower-realm word.” After another moment, the point of Fane’s sword dipped aside. “But I’ve heard the chorus. God knows they need the practice.”

  With a negligent flick of his wrist, as if he’d inten
ded to get around to it eventually and had just been distracted, Archer collapsed the fanned blades of his axe.

  Nanette stepped forward, her gaze on Alyce as soft as spring grass. “You aren’t like the other talyan.”

  “My demon is faint,” Alyce said. Not so faint that it didn’t compel her to take a wary step back, careless of the hitch in her gait that had brought them here. The golden glare of the angelic energy blinded her and lengthened the shadows behind it. Anything could be hiding there. The ever-watchful devil danced along her nerves, with all the grace she lacked, and a protest burst from her. “They’re coming.”

  Sidney’s hand closed on her shoulder and made her realize how hard she was shaking. “Just Nanette. She needs to get close enough for a quick look.”

  A haze of gold threaded between Nanette’s fingers like a cat’s cradle. “Weaker than my angel even. Blocked somehow.”

  “Blocked?” Sidney frowned.

  “It’s not a technical term,” Nanette murmured. “It’s about feeling.”

  Sidney crossed his arms, his jaw set off kilter. “I can’t fix her with a feeling.”

  Archer rumbled something low under his breath that made Sera utter a laugh, even lower and more breathy.

  The private pleasure in the sound tore through Alyce. She’d rather face all the sharpened weapons in the room at once, but even as the demon urged her away, she raised her gaze to Sidney’s. He watched her over the upper rims of his spectacles, looking every bit as desperate to leave.

  And as dreadfully bound.

  “You don’t understand,” she whispered.

  “I want to—” Whatever else he’d been about to say shattered in a spray of breaking glass.

  Alyce whirled toward the front doors. The teshuva jerked up her arm in front of her face to catch the brunt of stinging shards, borne farther than any blow should have propelled them.

  The belling wave of demonic energy—so strong the blue and gold slivers hung suspended in the clotted air—almost buckled her knees.

  Fighting the teshuva’s hold, she spun back to Sidney. “Run!”

  But the seven devil-men who strode through the splintered doors had other ideas.

  Sid grabbed for Alyce, but her sleeve slipped through his fingers. Running into the fray. Bloody hell, he’d already done this once.

  Trapped in the gravitational pull of her slight form, he took a step after her, but Archer’s big body knocked him sideways. Sera, a stride behind, jolted him the other way. He stumbled and fell to one knee. Fane at least had the decency to vault over him.

  Nanette hauled him upright, wrenching his shoulder, and he bit back another curse. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Not this time.” He raced past her to the fire extinguisher halfway down the hall. He’d noticed it hanging next to Fane’s head in case somebody needed to knock the smug angelic warden unconscious.

  His shoulder protested more sharply when he ripped the red canister from its mooring. He didn’t have time to read whether it was a Class A or C extinguisher. It certainly wasn’t Class D for demons, but at least it could be used at a distance. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d be much help in close quarters, except maybe as a distraction.

  As quick as he’d been, the talyan and warden were quicker. When he returned to the foyer, Archer, Sera, and Fane bumped elbows in a barricade of bristling fury and swinging steel against the invaders.

  But beyond them, the djinn-men were a wall of unrelieved gloom.

  Viewed straight on, they looked—except for their medieval array of swords, staves, and one sickle—like common thugs in dark jeans and black hoodies. But when Sid glanced around wildly for Alyce, twists of poison-yellow fog smeared the edges of his vision.

  She charged past with one of the decorative flags wielded like a spear in her hands; a flimsy fiberglass spear trailing a vinyl sunflower.

  The intruder with the long-handled sickle grinned when she barreled toward him. He spread his arms wide, free hand tilted palm up in a ya-kidding-me gesture.

  He coughed out a laugh like a lungful of unfiltered cigarette smoke. “You’re making this too easy, heshuka.”

  Sid didn’t bother wondering what the djinn-man meant. He yanked the pin on top of the extinguisher and clamped down on the trigger until metal grated on metal.

  The cylinder kicked hard in his grip. He aimed the cloud of white powder high for the djinn-man’s malicious grin, thinking he’d at least trigger a blink. Instead, the powder hit the leading edge of the djinni’s powerful aura—and clung like a smothering blanket.

  The djinn-man shouted and swung his sickle through the fog, but the floating particles closed seamlessly behind the blade.

  Alyce ducked the blind swing and darted in low. She thrust her flag spear upward with both hands. The djinn-man screamed, and his demon’s etheric energy stained the cloud with sparks of yellow lighting. The reven around Alyce’s neck shimmered violet as if in answer, and she jammed the spear deeper until scarlet streamed through the white fog.

  Sid eyed the amplitude differences between the djinni’s lightning and the teshuva’s twinkle. Alyce’s demon just didn’t have the power to match, overcome, and absorb the other demon, so she wouldn’t be able to kill the djinn-man. She’d at best made him unholy pissed.

  The last spray of powder cleared the nozzle, and the extinguisher sputtered out in his hands. The sickle came swinging down through the thinning fog, on a collision course with Alyce’s exposed spine.

  Sid leapt forward, choking on the hanging particles. “Sera! Archer!” He thrust the empty cylinder ahead of him.

  The sickle clanged into the metal and sliced halfway through. As the remaining gas in the extinguisher whistled out, the djinn-man loomed from the cloud, his eyes flaming yellow. Alyce’s spear had pierced below his rib cage and emerged in a wreck behind his collarbone. His hiss of rage was even more demonic with the bloody spittle that dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  He hauled on the sickle, but the blade was trapped by the jagged gash in the canister. Sid clutched the extinguisher, muscles locked against the djinn-man’s strength.

  “Out of the way!” Fane lunged toward them. With his sword arced high over his head, his white shirt drew taut, revealing spatters of crimson and no corresponding holes.

  The djinn-man keened, an inhuman sound, and the yellow afterimage of his djinni hovered in a funnel around him as if seeking to escape. In the demon’s distraction, his wounds pulsed fresh blood.

  Sid heaved the fire extinguisher, so hard the stitches in his shoulder popped audibly. But the djinn-man staggered, and Sid tackled Alyce, both of them falling to their knees just as Fane’s sword swooped by them.

  The blow missed them all by a hand span.

  And still the djinn-man shrieked across multiple octaves. He staggered back, reaching not for the spear through his torso nor to ward off Fane’s second X-marks-the-spot swing. Instead, the djinn-man raked his fingers through the fleeing miasma of his demon.

  He’d have had more luck catching smog out of a tailpipe. The djinni tore itself free from the man. For a heartbeat, the two were superimposed.

  Fane thrust once more, and this time the blow pierced both demon and man.

  Another screech, unfettered by the human throat, ripped through the church. Alyce cried out and tucked against Sid’s chest as the shock wave of ether blasted past them. He held her tight, wishing he could make himself bigger by force of will to cover every millimeter of her. Whatever force destroyed the djinni, he couldn’t risk letting the backlash touch her.

  The intruder, human again without his demon, sagged on the point of Fane’s sword. The faintest line scored the warden’s forehead between his eyes as he yanked his weapon free.

  Sid pulled himself to his feet, hauling Alyce behind him, to finally do as Nanette had suggested and get the hell away.

  The djinn-men had obviously come to the same conclusion. Two lay incapacitated on the floor at Archer’s feet, and Fane’s hallo
wed sword swept hungrily through them in twinned screams. But the other four pounded toward the door.

  The one in the rear paused to slam the butt of his trident against the mosaic in the doorway. The blue and gold tiles fountained around him.

  “Next time,” he shouted.

  He and his brethren vanished, leaving the low sun to shine through the broken door across the devastation.

  Archer pursued but skidded to a halt amidst scattered glass and tiles, his cursing drowned out by the squeal of tires. “Next time?” He whirled his bloody-edged axe at the nearest innocent wall, but he hauled up short when Sera snapped his name.

  Nanette crept from the hallway where she’d taken shelter. “Mr. Fane? Cyril? Are you hurt?”

  From his hunched stance over his sword, Fane straightened abruptly. “They didn’t touch me.” His glance at the talyan was scathing. “You demon-ridden are fine, of course.”

  Sid touched Alyce’s trembling shoulder and clenched his jaw to keep from reminding the warden that beneath their demonic overlays, the talyan were as fragile as any of them. “What the hell was that about?”

  Sera toed the withering corpse nearest her. Without djinni energy to hold the years since possession at bay, time was rapidly reducing flesh to bone and bone to brittle shards. The bloodstains had already turned to dust. “They’ve never come at us before.”

  Sickle-man’s body caved in with a soft, stinking sigh. Fane’s lip curled in disgust. “Have you forgotten Corvus Valerius already?”

  “He was alone,” Sid pointed out. “And two thousand years of possession had made him insane. This”—he spread his fingers at the corpses—“was calculated.”

  Archer bumped the axe restlessly against his shoulder as he returned to their little circle. “Not so special. We’ve seen feralis packs ever since that damn Bookie weakened the Veil and brought through the demon that possessed Sera.”

  Sera rolled her eyes at Sid. “I tell you, chick talyan and nosy Bookkeepers really put a hitch in the league get-along.”

  Archer tangled his fingers in the chain around her neck and reeled her closer. The stone in his ring reflected the same coruscating whorls as the pendant at the end of the chain. “You know I’d go through hell for you, love. Because I have gone through hell for you.” As if having her close made the axe redundant, he collapsed the sheaved blades and tucked the weapon into the fold of his coat. “The horde gathering is old news. Corvus even kept his own collections of lesser tenebrae.”