King of Midnight: Rosethorn Valley Fae #1

by Tasha Black

  “Here you go,” Sara said listlessly as they pulled into the museum parking lot.

  “See you later,” Tabitha whispered as she slid out of the Saab and headed to her own car.

  Sara waited until Tabitha was in her car before pulling out of the parking lot.

  “I’m so sorry, my love,” Dorian told her as she drove them back to her little house.

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” she said. But she sounded wounded.

  When they reached the lot across from her house, she parked the car and stayed seated for a long moment.

  “Let me carry you, my love,” he suggested.

  “I can walk,” she said weakly. But she didn’t move.

  He got out first, and then lifted her out of her seat anyway, carrying her across the road and up the stairs to her little house.

  The spiced floral scents greeted him as soon as he opened the door and somehow, he felt a pang of homesickness in his heart for the place, even though he was there now.

  He carried her up the stairs and placed her gently on the ground.

  “I feel so strange,” Sara said.

  “I know, my love,” he told her. “I’ll explain.”

  But first he undressed her and slid her nightgown over her head. She was barely able to crawl into bed on her own.

  He pulled a quilt around her and stroked her soft cheek.

  “Sara,” he said, rejoicing in just saying her name, even as he knew what he had to do.

  She smiled at him though it appeared to take all of her strength.

  “You’re feeling tired,” he told her. “Part of it is because using your magic saps your strength.”

  She nodded, looking relieved.

  “But part of it is my fault,” he told her.

  “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “You were wonderful.”

  “Sara, I am the King of Darkness,” he told her. “My reign dims everything in the world I rule, the actual light, the spirits, even the energy of the people. I thrive in the shadows, and you need the light.”

  “The weather,” she whispered. “It was supposed to be sunny.”

  She was putting it together.

  His heart ached, even though he was glad she knew, he wanted her to know.

  “Yes, my powers come in like a season,” he told her. “I bring the darkness and the cold.”

  He watched her take it in.

  “I thought you were immune because you were my queen,” he went on. “But I darken everything I touch.”

  “You make me happy,” she said.

  A tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek.

  “Sleep now, my love,” he told her. “I’ll find a way to make it right.”

  19

  Sara

  Sara awoke to the sound of rain lashing the windows.

  For a moment she couldn’t remember why she felt so sad.

  Then she heard Dorian’s words in her head again.

  My powers come in like a season. I darken everything I touch.

  Her heart ached and she reached for him, determined to blot out his sorrow. She had been tired, that was all. Her magic was new to her and so draining.

  But he was gone.

  She sat up and looked around the room.

  There was no sign that he had ever been here.

  She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, hoping to find him in the tub again. This time, she wouldn’t be too shy to climb in with him.

  But the bathroom was still and empty.

  “Dorian,” she called.

  But she already knew he wasn’t there. Her heart had grown so sensitive since his arrival. It was like a compass pointing always toward him.

  Now it spun helplessly in her chest.

  She studied the vine ring on her finger. Had it begun to fade, or was it just her imagination?

  She needed to find Dorian and set things right. There was only one other place to look for him. The mansion. Maybe he had tried to replace the Gan Ceanach’s shard, or maybe he just felt more at home in the old place.

  She showered and dressed quickly then got into her car, willing herself not to break down.

  The rain was coming in sheets - she could hardly see to drive. It made the trip up the driveway to the ridge downright treacherous.

  It was a small price if it led to him. But as soon as she walked in the huge chestnut door, she knew the house was empty.

  She leaned against the threshold, too devastated to move for a long time.

  Please come back to me…

  But the house was still and silent. It was as if there had never been life or magic here at all.

  “Coffee,” she told herself as she drove back down to the valley. “Coffee will help me think.”

  She pulled into the parking lot of Le Sucre, hoping a friendly smile and a hot latte would raise her spirits.

  She opened the door to find the bells were missing from the hinge.

  Carl looked up at her from behind the register and nodded glumly.

  “What happened to the bells?” Sara asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Someone knocked them down,” he said. “I’ll put them back up later.”

  She ordered her coffee and looked around while he made it.

  The high school must have sent a new set of artwork to decorate the walls.

  Every single painting in the place was in shades of blue and black.

  A few customers sat at the café tables, looking out at the rain and listlessly sipping their coffee.

  “Ready,” Carl said.

  She paid for her coffee and snagged a table next to the big plate glass window. She watched the rain slide down like teardrops, obscuring her view of the wooded hillside across the street from the café.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat like that before her phone buzzed, breaking the spell.

  “This is Sara,” she said into it, looking around the café apologetically. It was raining too hard to take the call outside.

  No one even blinked.

  “Hey Sara,” said the voice on the other end. “This is Adam Fife from Springton Real Estate. I know you showed the old mansion in Rosethorn Valley this week.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, hoping she wasn’t in trouble for being over there too much. The house was vacant, and the instructions were go-and-show, so she didn’t need an appointment.

  “I wanted to let you know that my client has accepted an offer for the property,” he said. “I would have called sooner to see if your clients had any interest, but the buyers put a lot of pressure on us to accept.”

  Sara felt the floor drop out from under her.

  “I-it’s under contract?” she stammered.

  “Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t notify you sooner,” Adam went on, oblivious to her horror. “I’m sure you’ll find something else for your clients. It needs a lot of work.”

  “Who’s buying it?” she asked. “Is it that developer?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Technically he wasn’t supposed to.

  “Look, I feel bad that I didn’t call you, so, yeah, it’s the developer,” he said. “But you didn’t hear that from me. And they need zoning approval, so I can keep you in mind if anything goes wrong.”

  “Yes, please do,” Sara said, knowing that her clients had already moved on, and she had no shot in hell of submitting an offer of her own, but desperate for more information and a chance, any chance, of saving the house.

  Maybe it was the coffee, but she felt a small part of herself perk up a bit. And it was a good thing, too.

  After all, there were monsters afoot that had to be corralled for the good of the human race.

  And that mansion belonged to the Kingdom of Darkness.

  20

  Sara

  Sara burst into Morning Star Lodge with nearly as much energy as she had the day before.

  This time, she found Tim sitting at his desk, playing around half-heartedly with his phone, and Tabitha sitting in a
chair by the fireplace, staring out at the rain with a book in her lap.

  It occurred to Sara that she had never seen Tabitha sitting down in this building before.

  Maybe Dorian was right and his darkness was pervading the town. It certainly seemed like everyone had lost a little spring form their step. But Sara wasn’t going to let that stop her from continuing the mission of capturing the monsters and restoring them to their shards. Things might be gloomy in Rosethorn Valley, but no one was going to get seduced by a love demon or eaten by a fish woman on her watch.

  “Hey, Sara,” Tabitha said quietly. “How’s it going?”

  “Everything is awful,” Sara replied. “And getting worse. But we’re going to make it less awful. Come with me.”

  “Is that okay, Tim?” Tabitha asked.

  “I honestly don’t know why you ask me that,” Tim said in a petulant way. “You know you don’t actually work here.”

  A hurt expression marred Tabitha’s lovely features for a moment. But she pulled herself out of the chair and headed out with Sara, leaving her book on the side table.

  As soon as they were in the car and out of the rain, Sara turned to Tabitha.

  “The mansion is under contract,” she explained. “We can’t let it be sold and torn down.”

  “Doesn’t under contract mean sold?” Tabitha asked.

  “No,” Sara said. “It means the offer was accepted, but they will only go to settlement if certain conditions are met. In other words, there’s still time.”

  “Oh,” Tabitha nodded.

  “So what do we do?” Sara demanded. “Can we get it declared a historical landmark or something?”

  Tabitha brightened slightly, presumably because Sara had finally hit on a topic she was passionate enough about to rouse her from the darkness.

  “There are steps to take,” Tabitha said. “I’d probably talk to Helen Thayer over in Tarker’s Hollow. I know she’s been a part of getting sites added to the historical registry before. She could tell us how to get started.”

  “Great idea,” Sara said.

  It made perfect sense. Sara knew Helen Thayer lived in a big, gorgeous old house herself. She was extremely active in the Tarker’s Hollow Historical Society and her network of powerful people seemingly knew no bounds.

  “Helen was a huge help to us establishing Morningstar Lodge,” Tabitha said. “I think she would take an interest in this.”

  “She can’t know about the… magical element,” Sara said carefully.

  “Of course not,” Tabitha said. “Scout’s honor.”

  Sara grinned at her. “Let’s go.”

  Tabitha immediately began scrolling through contacts on her phone while Sara drove. It didn’t take her long to track down Helen, who agreed to meet them right away.

  Twenty minutes later, they stood in the Tarker’s Hollow College library as Helen Thayer paced in the space dedicated to the Tarker’s Hollow Historical Society. The area was lined with shelves, all of which were laden with boxes of files.

  Sara and Tabitha listened as Helen briskly laid out the obstacles they might face. Sara couldn’t help but notice how much the older woman reminded her of Tabitha, especially when she got worked up about local history.

  While she talked, J.D. MacGregor, a teacher at the local high school who volunteered at the historical society, was busy pulling files to see if they had anything related to the mansion.

  “First of all,” Helen said, “this house will never qualify for the National Register, you may as well hang that up right now.”

  Sara typed notes into her phone. No National Register.

  “This is no time for a text message,” Helen scolded her.

  “I’m taking notes,” Sara said, feeling horrified at the thought of disappointing this woman she hardly knew. She imagined the ultra-proper Helen Thayer had that effect on a lot of people.

  “Oh,” Helen said laughing. “You kids and your phones. My niece is the same way. Anyway, what was I saying?”

  “No point trying to get on the National Register.” Sara prompted.

  “Right,” Helen said. “No point at all. National Register is for serious historical events. The Philadelphia area is steeped in history, they can’t hand out a plaque for every place Thomas Jefferson stopped to poop.”

  Sara nodded, but decided not to type that part.

  “The State Register might be a possibility,” Helen said. “But they won’t be rushed, and time is not on your side. This house has a bid on it, right?”

  “They accepted the offer,” Sara said. “It’s under contract.”

  “Doesn’t that mean it’s sold?” Helen asked suspiciously.

  “Uh, no, it means that if all contingencies are cleared, then they’ll make settlement,” Sara said. “But something like a zoning ordinance could put a stop to it. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Ah,” Helen said wisely. “A local ordinance would absolutely impact zoning. But Rosethorn Valley is notoriously loathe to impose restrictions on homeowners.”

  “Hmm,” Sara said, searching her mind for alternatives.

  Helen resumed pacing.

  “I know the head of borough council,” Tabitha offered. “She comes to my family’s dinner parties.”

  “I know Ann Perel as well,” Helen said. “But she won’t let her social connections influence her. She’s duty-bound, a real battle-axe.”

  Helen nodded approvingly at her own assessment.

  Sara suspected Helen had been referred to as a real battle-axe herself, and was proud of it.

  “So what does she care about?” Tabitha asked.

  “The taxpayers, the Rosethorn Valley Swim Club and the Arts & Crafts movement,” Helen said. “Too bad that massive castle of yours wasn’t designed by William Price.”

  “Nope, it’s ancient,” Tabitha said. “I looked it up. Llewellyn Maene brought it over from Wales, half a century before Price got to Rosethorn Valley in the early 1900s.”

  Helen froze mid-stride.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  “It got here half a century before Price,” Tabitha repeated.

  “Did you say Llewellyn Maene?” Helen asked, turning to face Tabitha.

  “Yes,” Tabitha said.

  “Look it up, Jerome,” Helen trumpeted.

  “On it,” Mr. MacGregor said.

  “Ann Perel’s maternal grandfather was a Maene, if I’m not mistaken,” Helen said. “If that’s the case, then this may be personal for her. Not to mention the fact that her grandfather was a woodworker for Price. Which possibly relates this house to the Arts & Crafts movement - at least peripherally.”

  “So you’re saying we have a chance at this?” Sara asked.

  “Maybe,” Helen said. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, these fights can be long and arduous.”

  Helen studied them each for a long moment, as if considering something, and then spoke again.

  “And whatever you do,” the woman warned. “Don’t tell anyone about the magic.”

  Sara felt the whole world spin around her for a second.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she managed.

  “Come now dear,” Helen said. “There’s no use trying to be coy about it. The way you talk about it, it’s obvious there’s more to this house than you’re letting on. And besides, Jerome smelled it on you the moment you walked in. Isn’t that right, Jerome?”

  Sara turned to J.D. MacGegor, who only gave her a don’t blame me shrug, and went back to his paperwork.

  Sara wasn’t sure how to respond.

  “It’s okay,” Helen told her. “Ever since that portal was opened in Tarker’s Hollow, there’s been no shortage of magic floating around our area. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Come over for dinner sometime, and my nephew Hector can tell you all about it. He’s part of the pack that’s guarded the portal since long before Tarker’s Hollow or Rosethorn Valley came to be.”

  Sara’s mind reeled. She’d always known there was something speci
al about her home, but she never expected anything like this. And she’d certainly never expected to hear someone so proper speaking about it so matter-of-factly. A few days ago, she would have wondered if maybe the lovely Helen Thayer hadn’t gone off her rocker. But after what she’d been through, it actually made a weird kind of sense. And it was oddly comforting to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by this influx of new magic.

  “In any case,” Helen continued. “You might have a shot at protecting the mansion, but keep your arguments grounded, and keep the magic to yourself. Not everyone is as… open-minded as we are.”

  Helen’s final warning sounded more than a little ominous. But Sara and Tabitha were too busy grinning at each other to take much note.

  Despite everything else she’d said, Helen seemed to think they had real a chance at success. At least there was some small ray of sunshine in their world today.

  They had hope.

  And sometimes that was enough.

  21

  Dorian

  Dorian had been walking since dawn.

  The stretch in his muscles felt good - it meant he was still alive, that he had not cut out his heart when he left his queen.

  The soil under his boots was damp and slippery with the rain, but the King of Darkness was in his element, and his footsteps were measured and steady.

  At last he reached the summit of the ridge and looked out over the acres of cloud-cast woodland.

  Somewhere in this wilderness, destiny awaited.

  He bowed his head and called to the darkness.

  He felt it rising in him, a fluttering of wings, a cry of sorrow so heartbreaking it nearly split him in half.

  Dorian let the transformation wash over him. His head fell forward and in the span of a heartbeat, his body dissolved into a murder of crows.

  Unleashed from himself, his conscious mind split into fifty-eight parts, and his sorrow eased into a fraction of itself.

  As one, his many parts took to the sky, searching for the light.

  His inner eye saw stone cottages and winding rivers. He saw statues and gardens, and dead logs like corpses stretched across the forest floor.