Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1)

by Rachel A. Marks

  “Understandable,” Sid says. “You have questions about your mother. What about your father?” His voice is careful as he asks the question. Measured. As if he knows my fears.

  I look out the window. “I’m not sure about that yet. But he’s also the reason I want to contact my mom’s family. They may know who he was.”

  Sid nods again. “Answers are important.” He turns back around and adds, more to himself, “We all need to know where we come from if we’re going to fulfill our destiny.”

  It’s silent after that. My nerves settle knowing that Sid’s willing to help me, knowing I might actually be one step closer to answers.

  We head to what I think might be Brea or Anaheim. The neighborhood we end up in is nice, with each house a perfect stucco replica of the next. Lots of peach and tan. Not a word has been spoken about the job we’re here for or why Sid wanted me to come.

  We park in front of one of the clone lots, and Sid pulls out a folder from a file organizer at his feet.

  He hands the folder to Connor. “Lester said you saw the footage and read the summary, so I’ll let you take this one. All we need to do for now is get them to sign the papers and hand over the check.”

  “Why me?” Connor asks, looking perturbed. “You’re the paperwork genie.”

  “Actually,” Sid says, glancing at me, “Holly is the paperwork genie. I’m just the closer.” Then he looks back to Connor. “You need to start doing more of the front work. I won’t be here forever, and you’ll need to forward the mission.”

  What does he mean by that? Sid’s only in his twenties.

  “Also,” he adds with a sly grin, “these clients are more into pretty blonds.”

  Connor rolls his eyes and gets out of the Jeep.

  I follow them, catching up to Sid on the walkway. “And what am I doing here, exactly?”

  “Just observe. I’ll be asking for your thoughts after we’re done.” He knocks on the front door. “It won’t take long.”

  “Just pretend you’re not here,” Connor says to me.

  “No problem.”

  A thin guy in a suit and tie opens the door. My first thought is that it’s a bit formal for around the house, when another man—short, rounder, and a bit more . . . flamboyant—comes up behind him, clasping a hand to his chest. “Oh, thank God. I’m not crazy. You’ve found something.”

  “We have,” Connor says.

  The man in the Hawaiian shirt brightens up as if Connor were Justin Bieber. “Oh my, aren’t you cute as button.”

  Connor just glances at Sid, looking tired.

  “Come in,” the man in the suit says. “I have about an hour before I need to be back at the office.”

  “I’ve got all day,” the other man says, waving Connor and Sid in. “When you work in the industry, it’s feast or famine, you know.”

  I follow Sid and Connor in, keeping my walls up against any energy as I walk over the threshold. I still feel a bit of a shiver in the air, but it’s not uncomfortable. It almost feels like a restless child. It seems to be coming mostly from the brighter man.

  The two clients give me curious looks, as if I’m a stray cat who followed them all home.

  “This is Connor,” Sid says, motioning. “He’s going to take point on this case. And this is Aidan. He’s new and will just be observing.”

  The two men shake hands with Connor and introduce themselves. The taller guy in the suit is John, and the other one is Simon. They turn to me, but they don’t offer their hands. Simon just gives me an awkward wave, and John gives me an odd look, like he’s not sure about me.

  We all sit at the dining room table. I listen with half an ear as I study the house and its simple decor. I think most would describe it as tasteful. I don’t see any religious symbols or occult items, or feel any energy emanating from one that might be hidden.

  And then I recognize a picture hanging on the wall. It’s a watercolor painting of a boy standing and looking out at the ocean. And the couch is familiar, too. I’ve seen it all before. In the footage Lester was watching the other day.

  Is this the banshee house?

  Connor points at the top page of a stack of papers he’s placed in front of the clients. “This is the release for filming both your property and your person, and in the next section”—he flips up to the third page and points at the bottom—“it says that you agree to the services we’re offering and that there’s no guarantee for the process. It may work, it may not.”

  John looks over the papers and nods.

  Simon pats his arm. “See, honey, they speak your legalese.”

  “And the payment?” John asks.

  Connor flips to the back page. “That’s here. And all moneys have to be exchanged up front.”

  John, reading intently, nods again.

  Simon smiles at me. “He said moneys,” he says and laughs. “Sounds like monkeys. Are we exchanging monkeys?”

  Connor and John barely seem to notice Simon’s goofiness. But Sid grins back and says, “No monkey business.” And they both laugh like they’re at a party.

  Once John and Simon are done signing, and a few more goofy jokes pass between Sid and Simon, the conversation turns to the case. Connor explains what they found in the video while showing pictures that were in the folder and pointing out things I can’t see from where I’m sitting.

  From Simon’s descriptions—John hasn’t experienced any weirdness—it sounds like a definite time slip: a tear in the circle of time’s fabric that lets a small moment slip through to another, parallel time. Just a quick moment—in this case, a woman wearing a dress from the 1920s standing in Simon and John’s kitchen. A ghost would cause more of a ruckus and would be more obvious on film. But there’s no ghost or anything here—not that I feel.

  However, Connor is saying right now to the clients that it is a ghost. And he sounds very sure about it, bringing out news clippings and old photos. He’s explaining that a woman was murdered and her body was found in a nearby ravine. He’s saying that we, LA Paranormal Investigative Agency, believe it’s the spirit of this murdered woman who’s roaming their kitchen. Looking for her lost love or something.

  It’s all total bullshit. Red is sparking in Connor’s eyes like it’s Christmas.

  He’s making it sound very convincing, though.

  And John and Simon are buying it hook, line, and sinker. They shake their heads in sadness for the poor dead woman in their kitchen, and Simon even tears up a little. Then John writes a check and hands it to Connor, while Sid and Simon discuss where a guy can get a decent manicure.

  I sit in shocked, revolted silence. It’s a complete con?

  TWENTY-TWO

  When we’re back in the Jeep, I can’t stay silent. “You were totally lying to those poor guys.”

  Connor starts the engine and drives away before responding. “It’s not as if we’re not going to help them.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about a time slip,” I say. “Except move. You’re not going to help them, you’re going to con them.”

  Sid turns around and looks at me with open surprise. “You could tell it was a time slip?”

  I raise my brow at him.

  “Amazing,” he says, pulling out a small piece of paper from his front vest pocket and writing something down on it with a tiny yellow pencil.

  “Are you seriously taking notes on me?” I ask, leaning forward to see what he’s writing.

  He holds it to his chest to hide it. “I need to know what assets all my soldiers have.”

  “Does Connor have ‘dreamy blue eyes’ on his list of assets?”

  Connor rewards me with a small laugh.

  Sid holds out the paper. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  At the top of the paper it says Aidan, and under that: Speaks/reads Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. He’s just added: Time sl
ip knowledge.

  “No sinister intent; I’m just not as quick in the head as I was when I was young.”

  “You’re only . . . what, twenty-five?” I say.

  “Twenty-four, actually,” he corrects.

  Connor smiles like that’s funny to him.

  “Let’s get back to the fact that you both should be in jail,” I say. “Why are you conning those guys?”

  “We’re not conning them,” Connor says. “Not exactly.”

  “There is a way to be rid of a time slip,” Sid adds. “But explaining all the magical facts and physics of how time works to those men wouldn’t have helped business much. So we put it in a story form they could understand.”

  “You lied,” I say. “Now they think there’s a ghost in their house.”

  “No,” Sid says, “now they can have peace. And soon as we do the sight-blocking spell, the image of the woman in the past won’t be seen by them anymore. Then I plan on doing an added blessing for their home as a bonus. It’s a win-win, you see.”

  But before I can start asking more questions about this spell he’s talking about and why they didn’t just lay out the truth for the two guys—who looked perfectly capable of understanding the subject—before they took their money, my phone rings.

  I pull it out of my pocket, but I don’t recognize the number, so I slip it back in my jeans.

  “You don’t plan on answering that?” Sid says.

  “Nope.”

  It stops ringing and then starts again a second later.

  I pull the thing out of my pocket and answer, “What?”

  No response. I look at the number—it’s the same one. I put the phone back to my ear. “Hello? Anyone? You obviously want to talk to me, so speak or I’m hanging up.”

  “Aidan?”

  I go perfectly still. “Rebecca?”

  She stutters a bit, then says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

  “No! It’s okay. Are you okay? How’d you get this number?”

  “Samantha had it. She said you texted her about the party—that was crazy stuff once you left. We found Will upstairs, out cold. How’s the girl you were with? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Not really. Nothing’s fine. I ask again, “Are you okay?”

  “I . . . I’m . . . I don’t know.” Her voice cracks, and my pulse speeds up before I can keep myself from caring. “You’re gonna think I’ve totally lost it. God, maybe I have, I don’t know . . . I don’t even know if I’ve really seen it, if it’s really happened.”

  “What’s happened?” I ask, trying not to sound like I feel: stretched thin.

  “Charlie texted me,” she says with a sob. “I have his phone in my closet, and no one’s touched it. But somehow . . . he texted me. But that’s nuts, right? He’s dead!”

  The demon. It must be the demon playing with her.

  Now that she’s started telling me, she can’t seem to stop. “Charlie is gone! I saw him in the coffin. How could it be real? How could he text me—oh, God, what the hell’s happening? I don’t know what’s happening, Aidan. I’m losing it. Samantha says I need medication, that I should see a shrink. No one understands. I don’t have anyone, and I’m so lost I can’t breathe. I want to just swim all the way to him, even if that means leaving this place. I can’t keep feeling this . . . death. The only time I’ve seen light is . . . is when . . . I see you.”

  My breath catches at her words, and the feel of it all—her despair, her fear, her need to die—rakes over my skin. “It’s okay, Rebecca.” But it’s not. That demon is about to pounce. And I can’t fix any of it without breaking all my rules about letting people in, helping them, and revealing the secrets that I’ve lived with my whole life. If I don’t let her in a little, though, I’m talking to a dead girl right now, because she’s ripe for being pushed off the edge.

  Rebecca sobs into the phone, and I can almost see her curled in a corner somewhere clutching it to her ear like a lifeline. “I’m right here,” I whisper.

  I glance at Sid. He’s hanging intently onto every word.

  “Listen,” I say, “I’m going to give you an address, and you’re going to pack a bag of clothes for the night. Then you’re going to go there. Are you ready?”

  She sniffs. “Uh-huh.”

  I give her the address for Sid’s house, repeating it twice. “You got it?”

  “Yeah.” She sniffs again. “When can I—”

  “Just come. As soon as you can.”

  “Okay.” Her voice is small and far away. It’s silent for a second. “Thank you.” And then she clicks off the line.

  I hang up. Shit. What did I just do?

  “Why did you give that girl our address?” Connor asks.

  “Yes, who is she?” Sid scowls at me.

  Neither of them seem happy about what I just did. Well, they can join the club.

  TWENTY-THREE

  When we pull into the garage, Connor jumps right out, but I stay, still a little in shock at having invited Rebecca here. Sid doesn’t seem inclined to leave the car, either. After a few minutes of silence, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Do I need to say it?” he asks.

  “I know, it was dumb.”

  “This place needs to be kept a secret, Aidan.”

  I nod.

  “Who is this girl?”

  “I met her at SubZero.”

  “A club bunny? You gave our address to a club bunny?”

  “It’s not like that. There were these guys, and I saved her, and then there was this demon, but I wasn’t sure what it meant because the sigil was so monumental, but then I went to the party, and the demon confronted me, and it knows that I can see it, and I have no idea what to do about it, but I know it’s not good and that it wants Rebecca dead like her brother and that it’ll skin me alive for helping her—”

  “Whoa!” Sid says, holding up a hand. “This demon knows that you can see it?”

  I swallow hard. “I don’t think it realized that it could touch me physically, though. I don’t think it—hell, I have no idea. Who am I kidding? I’m in so far over my head.”

  “Do you think it told others?”

  “It said it’d keep quiet as long as I stayed out of its way.”

  This seems to shock him. “It said—you understood it?”

  “Yes.”

  He thinks for a second. “I suppose this makes sense, considering.”

  “Considering what?” Makes sense? None of this makes sense.

  “You already said that you spoke several languages. Now you say that you understand the language of angels—fallen ones, that is. I could be right: this could be the gift of tongues.”

  I stare at him, a little stunned. “What do you mean you were right? You knew I had this . . . tongues thing? What does that even mean?”

  “It’s why I was so interested in the languages you speak. They link to deeper parts of the—”

  He stops, maybe sensing how lost I am about what he’s saying. Then he starts over. “Look, this gift creates a bridge in your mind—we’ll call it Wisdom. Some believe that King Solomon had this same gift, an ability to speak in all tongues.

  “Legend has it that he also knew many sacred texts by heart and could recite them on command. As his father, King David, said: Your word I have hidden in my heart . . .”

  My insides go still at the revelation that I’m not the only one who’s ever had these odd abilities. Solomon may have lived thousands of years ago, but he lived. And there may be others besides him—besides me—who have gifts like this. My ability to see demons, my knowing . . . it’s all pieces of a puzzle.

  Sid seems to sense my reaction. “The texts? Is that another one of your gifts?”

  I nod.

  He blows out a long breath, looking stunned. “Then you definite
ly have the gift of Wisdom, not just the gift of Sight. Amazing.”

  That’s one word for it. I just want to know why.

  “So all that with the demon and the Rebecca girl happened last night?” Sid asks.

  I nod again.

  “And you brought Kara home after everything and you had sex with her?”

  “No!”

  “You were in her bed this morning. Naked.”

  I choke out a laugh. Where did this come from? “I had my pants on. She had her pants on.”

  He doesn’t look pissed, which feels weird to me; however, he does seem determined to uncover the truth. “But something did happen.”

  “We kissed. That’s all. And how is this relevant or even any of your business?” I snap.

  His eyes hover on my mark and then flick back to my face. “Be careful with her, Aidan. She’s . . . delicate.”

  “Fine,” I say, even though she seems like the least delicate girl on the planet.

  He opens the Jeep door and gets out. I follow, asking, “So maybe you can help me with the demon? And Rebecca?”

  “What is it you think I can do for her, exactly?”

  “I just . . . I can’t do this on my own. I need to somehow trap the thing to keep it from spilling my secret to the rest of the horde.”

  “Trap a demon.” His voice sounds incredulous as he walks out of the garage and down the path across the backyard.

  “I do it all the time,” I say, trailing behind. “To the smaller ones that discover I can see them. In a spirit bowl or a hex box. Even a simple circle will do it sometimes if you surround it in the right text.”

  He laughs, throwing his head back. “You, my boy, are perfection.”

  “Glad you’re impressed,” I mumble.

  “Merely surprised you’d know that kind of trickery. And all on your own. Yet again, amazing.” He stops beside the shack and turns to study me for a second. Then asks, “How large is it, this demon?”

  “It’s a midlevel one, I think.”

  I can tell by his reaction that he knows exactly what I mean. Somehow I’m not surprised. “And it’s assigned to this human, Rebecca?” he asks.