When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set

by Shalini Boland

  She swept quickly down the stairs, along the black marble aisle, past Siena, and out of the chamber, smoke swirling around her gown in a flurry as she departed. Theria was most certainly proving to be a threat to the future Pandora had planned for herself. She would undoubtedly have to come up with an arrangement to have The girl disposed of.

  “What were you thinking?” Abaddon boomed at Theria, glaring at her, reading her. “Is it not enough that we fight the Bulguardians, while the city burns below us, that you feel the need to fight, kill, within our own family?”

  Theria struggled and broke free from his grip. “She is not family or one of us, and I will kill her, drag the lecherous bitch back to the gutter where she belongs. Have you forgotten how this war started?” she hissed at her brother.

  Abaddon turned sharply and walked down the black stairs. He had not forgotten.

  Siena moved forward and looked up toward the child now sitting tall in the massive throne. “Cousin, there is a time and a place. This is not that time, nor the place.”

  Theria materialized beside her, listening.

  Siena gently caressed Theria’s face in her hands. “When that time does come, and it will, little one, I shall stand by you, you have my word. I will happily cut the whore’s throat for you while you watch the blood she is not worthy of drain from her veins and watch her face and body decay into nothing more than dusty remains. Although…I do think it more fitting to let her live out her lifetime trapped eternally in the body of a shriveled up old woman. That would be far more painful for her to endure than death. Imagine, little one, when her reflection in the mirror is no longer immortalized in the eternal beauty that Cerberus has bestowed upon her, but instead the face of a sagging old hag.”

  Theria was euphoric with the images Siena conjured up in her mind. “Thank you cousin Siena, you are correct of course, your thoughts are—”

  “Ladies, enough of this,” Abaddon roared. “We fight a war with an enemy far more threatening than my brother’s whore. You must leave now, Siena. Track down and destroy our enemy. They have all but left the city now. Many have fallen to Earth, they are scattered far.”

  “Hunt and destroy the Royal Guard first, their beloved Pinnacles will be no match for us without their protection. The Royal Guard will blend in very well on Earth; the mortals will be unaware of their existence among them. I sense only a handful of Guards in Altair now, and those, I will contend with myself. The City of Altair will then be ours, once and for all. Our forefathers’ demise will eventually be revenged.”

  “Who will join me in the fall to Earth, Cousin?” Siena asked Abaddon anxiously.

  Abaddon watched her as thoughts of the hunt began to quicken her steady pulse. Adrenalin raced through her veins, distracting her elegant poise. Her slender fingernails grew quickly into long yellowy talons. Her attuned hunter instincts awakened within. She restrained herself against the sensations that pulsed through her veins. Closing her eyes for a moment, she relaxed. Her yellowy talons slowly recoiled back into perfectly manicured fingernails. He smiled.

  “Take as many as you need, Siena,” Abaddon answered, pleased at her hunger for revenge. “Your sister, Raven, and your brother, Tyler, take them both. Tyler has become lazy, weak. He needs the hunt to become stronger. You will teach him.”

  “I will go with you, Siena,” Theria announced. “I look forward to entertaining myself with the mortals, I have missed that. They make for an enjoyable sport, not to mention an excellent source of sustenance while I hunt and destroy our enemy on foreign lands.”

  Abaddon was jubilant knowing he would not have to contend with the ongoing self-indulgent battle between Pandora and his sister. His life would be less stressful. He would have further time to indulge himself with other pursuits that were far more pleasurable.

  “Good girl, Theria. Cerberus will be pleased with your enthusiasm and commitment.”

  Theria was obviously not pleased with his ‘good girl’ remark, but disregarded it. She was still swept up in the ecstasy of Siena’s plan for Pandora.

  “Let it go!” Abaddon implored Theria as he willed the silver dagger up off the floor and into his outstretched hand.

  He sliced the cold blade effortlessly across his palm. A pool of black dense blood oozed from the wound in his hand before it healed. He extended his bloodied palm to Theria, and she kissed it. Siena did the same. “To family,” they chanted in unison.

  Abaddon placed the bloodied dagger into Theria’s small hand and wrapped her fingers around it. All traces of Abaddon’s blood vaporized into the silver razor-sharp blade.

  The dagger was a bequest to Theria from her grandfather. “You will be needing this on your journey, little one,” he had said, handing the dagger to her moments before he died years ago in their dark underground lair.

  Abaddon kissed them both; he could taste his blood on their dampened lips. At another time, he would have found the sensation arousing and acted upon his urges. However, he knew they must go, time was of the essence. Abaddon would seek out Cerberus’s wife, Pandora. She was always happy to please him, and in so many ways that delighted him.

  Those thoughts he kept locked away from all prying minds. Should Cerberus discover the tryst he had with Pandora in his absence…he could not bring himself to imagine the wrath his brother would bestow upon him. He pushed those thoughts far from his mind. He would plant them in someone else’s mind if the need arose. Let someone else be the bearer of Cerberus's deadly wrath.

  Abaddon accompanied Siena and Theria out of the smoky chamber down a long wide black marble hallway to a pair of solid floor to ceiling wooden doors. The stone walls were adorned with masterpieces depicting the beauty that was once bestowed upon the Imperial City. Abaddon spoke in hushed tones as they floated effortlessly across the cold marble floor.

  “When the House of Bulguardi has been completely overthrown, and Empyrean City has been rebuilt to its former glory and ruled by our own, you will both be well rewarded. I will see to that personally. One House, The House of Grigori will reign supreme. The Bulguardians and their precious Pinnacles will cease to exist, extinguished. Without their guidance mankind will turn on each other and eventually obliterate themselves from existence.”

  At the end of the long hall, two guards, dressed completely in black, stood at either side of the massive double doorway. Their unmoving faces portrayed their Mongol heritage. Black inked symbols adorned their smooth foreheads, a testament of their eternal pledge to guard Lord Cerberus and the House of Grigori. The guards turned, bowed their heads, and pulled open the massive timber doors. A squall of grey smoke from the burning buildings and souls below billowed through the doors and swirled around them.

  Abaddon, flanked by the two silent guards, halted in the massive doorway as he watched Theria and Siena continue down the torch lit stone hallway hand in hand. Onward toward an illuminated grand staircase carved entirely from white polished marble. An exquisite diamond-encrusted candelabra hung above them. They stood at the top of the staircase and looked down toward a crowded foyer. A large assembly of Grigorians, of various ages and nationalities, all dressed in black, had gathered silently below in the dimly lit foyer. Their glowing catlike eyes turned upward in unison toward the two women. The assembly had been patiently awaiting the arrival of the two women that now prepared to descend the elaborate marble staircase. Soon, they would be given their destructive orders.

  Abaddon called to them. “One more thing before you take leave…” The two women halted on the staircase and turned to face him. “I want the girl alive!” he demanded.

  They nodded and continued down the curving staircase, grey smoke cascading around them.

  Abaddon turned and made his way quickly back down the long hallway. The huge doors closed silently behind him. He knew where to find her. She would be waiting for him, as usual.

  Pandora was bored frequently now that her husband Cerberus was constantly distracted fighting this gruesome war. She was often eager to find wa
ys to meet her needs, alleviate her boredom. Abaddon met those needs perfectly. Should her husband Cerberus become a fatality to this war, Abaddon would become the next Lord of the House. Her title ‘Lady of the House’ would remain intact. She had no intention of becoming a mere mortal again, standing by hopelessly as she watched her youthful beauty fade with old age. The thought sickened her. She shivered at the appalling thought.

  As for Abaddon’s needs, he would make do with his brother’s wife, for now, until the girl he desired to please him was found and brought to him. The fact that the girl he desired despised him meant nothing to Abaddon. He did not love her; he did not understand the meaning of real love. His kind was not capable of that emotion any longer. He was mad with the desire to posses her, to taste the pure blue blood that pumped graciously through her silky youthful veins on his hungry lips. Then, none could rival his strength, not even his brother Lord Cerberus. He, Abaddon, truly would reign supreme. He would no longer be bound by the Principle Laws of the Seven Pinnacles. All would fear him, bow at his feet. Empyrean, the Imperial City of Altair, would be his.

  The dark mass of followers in the foyer began circling the woman and the child.

  “Are you ready, little one?” Siena asked.

  “Yes, I am ready,” the girl replied with an evil smirk spreading wide across her face.

  “Then so it shall be.”

  And with that, the masses closed their yellowy eyes, bowed their heads, and were gone.

  The Fall had begun….again.

  Chapter 2—Reflections

  Darwin, Northern Territory Australia

  Year: 2001 AD

  A dainty eight-year-old child sat in the back seat of a restored sky blue Holden HX Station Wagon as it drove along the hot bitumen road toward the city.

  Toward torture, she thought unhappily as she concentrated hard on her unsmiling reflection in the shiny glass window of the vehicle. The scenery through the window was nothing more than a vapor of undistinguishable images rushing by in a hurry to go nowhere.

  She was on her way to ballet lessons. She knew that most little girls her age loved the ballet slippers with the satin ribbons that laced up their legs and the pink net tutus. However, she was not one of them, she hated ballet lessons. She sighed and the face in the glass reflected her emotions. Distaste.

  She listened to her parents sitting in the front seat of the car casually discussing the weekend that lay ahead. Her concentration remained glued to her reflection on the glass window.

  She was momentarily hypnotized by how ghostly it looked floating in the window looking back at her. The flashing scenery outside was nothing more than a mass of non-descriptive blurs.

  An apparition, she thought to herself, she liked that word. Apparition, apparition, apparition, she said the word to herself over and over. Then suddenly she stopped, aware that something had changed.

  The reflection in the glass had transformed somehow. The face looking back at her was no longer hers. The face in the glass smiled at her. The reflection wasn’t unlike her own, but it was different. The reflection had blonde hair, like she had. The girl was about the same age as she was.

  She put her hand up to her mouth, testing. The reflection did not; it just continued to smile at her. Then it giggled, imitating the entrancing sound of crystal wind chimes being stirred by a flutter of tiny wings.

  “Who are you?” Grace asked the giggling reflection in a whisper. She glanced at her parents quickly to see if they had heard her. No response. Her parents continued on with their conversation.

  “My name is Hope,” the reflection answered silently. “Why are you so sad, Grace?” she asked with gentle concern and in a voice only Grace could hear.

  Grace answered silently in the same manner, only her lips moving to form the words. “I have to go to ballet lessons, and I don’t want to. I don’t have any friends there, I don’t belong. I hate it...’ She frowned and lowered her gaze.

  “What if I go with you, would that make it better, make you happy?” the reflection asked.

  Grace’s face lit up as if it was Christmas morning. “Yes... would you, really?” she responded silently.

  “Of course, but you know that you are the only one that can see me, hear me, you have to remember that. It is our secret.”

  “How come?” she asked out loud.

  “How come what, sweetheart?” her father asked, looking at his daughter’s reflection in the rear vision mirror with a big smile on his friendly face.

  “Oh nothing, Dad, I'm just thinking out loud,” she replied quickly with a tight smile on her face.

  She hated to lie, but how could she explain…this…Hope.

  The reflection giggled again. “I’m only here for you, Grace, for as long as you need me.”

  The station wagon pulled up outside the small dance studio. A group of other little girls had gathered outside waiting for class to begin. They twirled, hopped, and bowed in little pink leotards; satin slippers adorned their tiny feet. Coordination, obviously, had yet to be learnt.

  Grace Connors frowned momentarily as she watched the other girls, then she quickly gathered up her ballet slippers, backpack, and slid out of the car. Perhaps today would be fun for a change, she thought. Perhaps today she would fit in. She shook her head; she didn’t want to get her hopes up too high.

  “Bye, Mum, Dad, see you later,” Grace called over her shoulder as she skipped and giggled all the way to the entrance of the dance studio.

  “See you in an hour,” her mother Kate called back, shaking her head in confusion.

  “And I thought you said she didn’t really like ballet lessons?” Brian said as he watched his daughter with all the other little girls.

  A bright light reflected off something his daughter held in her hand, it shone in his eyes; he frowned as he watched his daughter disappear into the foyer with all the other future prima ballerinas.

  Kate smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Normally she doesn’t, maybe she’s made a friend?”

  “Yes, probably…” He nodded. “Well, that is good then. I was wondering when that was going to happen. I’m sure she will make more friends soon.”

  Kate looked at her husband with a questioning frown. “I’m sure she will...”

  They drove off silently down the street, deep in thought, Kate, happy that Grace had made a friend, at last and Brian, happy that she would be safe.

  Chapter 3—Hallelujah

  “Goodnight, little one, sweet dreams,” Brian whispered in Grace’s ear that night as he tucked her up in bed and kissed her goodnight.

  “Goodnight, Daddy,” Grace cooed, releasing her tight grasp from around his neck. He tickled her and she giggled.

  He made his way to the door, then paused to reach out and touch his daughters pink ballet tutu that hung on the back of her door.

  “Goodnight,” he whispered, knowing only one would hear him. “It’s Hope, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s Hope,” came the silent reply.

  He walked through the doorway, turning the light off as he left the room, confident in the knowledge that Grace was in very safe hands. But for how long? he wondered. His confidence wavered, a frown creased his forehead. They had all heard whispers. And with the sudden arrival of Hope, although welcome, it was an indication that the enemy was hovering somewhere, and not too far away.

  When the door closed behind Brian with a click, the light from the hallway evaporated, leaving Grace’s bedroom in darkness.

  Hope materialized from the darkness and sat on the end of Grace’s bed. A soft glow emitted from her dainty body, dimly illuminating the room. Grace smiled at her and sat up a little, resting on her elbows, and listened intently as Hope spoke.

  Grace fell asleep that night listening to stories that her new friend Hope told her. The stories were from another time and place, a very long time ago. Stories that would stay hidden within her, locked away safely in her subconscious until it was time… time for her to remember them.


  A gentle breeze danced through the bedroom windows, billowing the sheer pink curtains. Hope slid off the end of the bed, walked over, and covered the sleeping child, tucking a white stuffed rabbit called Bugsy under her slender arm. She walked over and peered through the window and out into the darkness of the night. There was a full moon. Bright stars shone through the rolling grey clouds above.

  She stood silently, closed her eyes, shrugged her shoulders, then took a long breath, and exhaled. Slowly, like a flower coming into bloom, small white feathers started to unfurl between her shoulder blades. By the time her magnificent wings had completely bloomed they dwarfed her small frame. Hope’s eyes remained closed, seeing, hearing.

  She could hear Grace’s rhythmic breathing as the child slept peacefully in the bed behind her. She heard a news broadcast being televised down the hallway in the lounge room.

  “A 7.6 magnitude earthquake has hit El Salvador,” the news reporter announced, “killing at least eight hundred people and leaving thousands homeless. Many still fear for their lives as more quakes are predicted...”

  Crickets chirped outside the bedroom window. A frog croaked in a downpipe signaling rain. Five houses down the quiet tree-lined street, K. D. Lang sang Hallelujah on a radio.

  Hope heard a child humming to the same song three blocks away. She could see the small redheaded girl resting peacefully in the crook of a dying old man’s arm… waiting.

  His room was dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp and the moonlight that eased its way through dusty floral curtains. An old framed wedding photograph of a happy couple sat on the table beside the lamp. Meager furniture lined the walls. Old family photographs filled dusty picture frames on a set of drawers. The old man slept on a double bed covered with crumpled sheets. An old wheelchair, its paint faded and scratched, sat empty on the left side of his bed, the grey rubber tire tread worn down with use.