Surrender the Dark

by Tibby Armstrong

  They neared Park Street Church. Its spire gleamed white against the pale blue of the winter sky. For several minutes they were all silent. Brave tourists scuttled around the windswept Common, taking pictures before moving on toward Faneuil Hall Marketplace as a warmer destination.

  “See anything?” Benjamin asked.

  Tzadkiel, whose familiarity with the Common extended to its many uses and configurations over hundreds of years, raised a hand to outline a space in the distance where a network of pathways interconnected. The geometry, now that he saw it, was unmistakable.

  “What does that look like to you?”

  “Hell’s bells,” Nyx breathed.

  Benjamin straightened his spine. “Those paths were put in this fall. The last one was finished right before the snow fell.”

  “That’s a—” Nyx began.

  “Pentacle,” Tzadkiel finished.

  “It goes right over the ley line.” Nyx moved toward the spot, hands lifted. Electricity buzzed over both palms and quickly died. “I can’t access the magic at all. He must’ve completed the last link in the pentacle since we were here.”

  “Which would explain why I could enter before, but cannot do so now,” Tzadkiel answered. “He has formed a boundary—like a moat—around the Common. Under normal circumstances he would not be able to channel enough magic to power it. But now, with the pentacle, he can trap the magic and tap into it from a foci.”

  He scanned the Common, looking for a likely spot, and alighted on a monument at the top of the highest rise in the open space. Unless Tzadkiel missed his guess, the Morgan was tapping into the trapped magic through that stone structure. He returned his gaze to the pentacle, assessing. Silver must run under the pavement in unbroken lines. Break the pentacle, and the magic would be released so he and the mora—as well as Nyx’s mother and the weres—would be able to draw upon it again.

  Speaking of the fae lady…“Nyx, would your father have a reason to deny your mother access to magic?”

  “Of course. He’s a vindictive son of a bitch, and my mother lives to provoke him. It wasn’t always that way though.” Slim shoulders rose and fell. “She had an affair years ago, when I was about eight. My father, who had been besotted with her as mortals often are of the fae, turned from devoted husband to vicious enemy and vowed to see my mother and her people stripped of their…” Nyx’s eyes widened. “Oh, gods. He’s going to try to destroy her bridge to faerie.”

  “Destroy her bridge?” Benjamin frowned and turned his head this way and that as if he scanned the Common for the structure.

  “It’s remade of moonbeams at the New Year and helps to bridge the old and new years. It also is my mother’s path into and out of faerie.”

  Benjamin made a face. “There’s only one path and it’s in Boston?”

  “No.” Tzadkiel ran a hand down Benjamin’s arm. “It is Lady Morgana’s safe path. Other ways may be denied her by enemies, or those who wish to extract a toll from her.”

  “My mother doesn’t exactly make friends and allies easily. With my father sucking up all of the magic, she’ll grow weaker over time until he can overpower her for good.” Nyx appeared worried, but not overly stricken. Apparently, there really was very little love lost between either parent and their offspring.

  Tzadkiel shuddered. By overpowered, Nyx didn’t mean kill. The witch meant, bend the very knowledgeable Lady Morgana to his will and force her to do his bidding. With that sort of power, the Morgan truly would be unstoppable.

  The bells of Park Street Church tolled the quarter hour behind them. Tzadkiel listened to the chimes and realized time was running out. They needed allies.

  “There’s no way you can remove that cuff?” Though Tzadkiel was fairly certain he knew the answer, he had to be sure. “You would be much more powerful and could be of great use to us if you did.”

  “No.” Nyx contemplated the toes of laceup combat boots peeping from beneath a layer of purple skirts.

  In the distance, sirens sounded and several police cars raced past on their way to an emergency. Their bleating pulse fractured the drone of the city and eventually faded on their journey up Beacon Hill.

  “My parents would only use me in their personal war. If I don’t help my father, he’ll kill me. If I don’t help my mother, she’ll banish me to—” Gold reminiscent of mini solar flares sparked from Nyx’s aura with the witch’s head shake. “Never mind. Just believe me when I say this thing has to stay on. With it, I’m not useful or recognizable to either one of them, and they’ll continue to more or less leave me alone.”

  Even with the cuff, the witch compelled magic like a moon-driven tide. Gods, someday Nyx would be unstoppable, he had no doubt. Tzadkiel wasn’t sure, however, if he found that idea appealing. With great power came the possibility of great evil, and the witch’s parents hadn’t exactly shown themselves to be paragons of virtue.

  Several more emergency vehicles passed, a few of them tearing through the Common as a shortcut through the traffic on the surrounding streets. Tzadkiel envied them their ability to move freely about the space.

  “Let us get back,” Tzadkiel said, his skin crawling with tension that the sirens didn’t help. “I need to collect my things from the house and get to my mora. I must inform them of what I know.”

  On the return journey, they walked the long way around the Common up Boylston and Charles, searching for any weakness in the boundary surrounding the green space. The moat-like energy field dipped close to the Common parking garage, and Tzadkiel was able to push through for a moment. The effort, however, left him even more exhausted and panting. The boundary almost seemed to shove him outward, whereupon he stumbled and would have landed in the street if not for Benjamin’s quick reflexes.

  Tzadkiel’s breathless “Thank you” was met with Benjamin’s mumbled “Don’t mention it.”

  So many times over the past days the hunter had saved Tzadkiel strife and harm, aiding his cause. Many times, he had wanted to tell Benjamin that he would spare his life if he could—that all personal debts had been erased between them.

  “Benjamin…” Tzadkiel said.

  Benjamin came to a standstill. They had climbed Pinckney Street from the opposite side. Someone had lit a fire in a fireplace, and the strong scent of wood smoke drifted on the afternoon air. The sunset promised to be spectacular, its orange glow already lighting the darkening sky.

  “Oh gods.” Nyx stared in paralyzed horror up the street. “Akito.”

  Tzadkiel followed the witch’s gaze.

  An inferno flared from the hilltop, its billowing flames the orange and red that Tzadkiel had mistaken for the setting sun. Benjamin’s house was on fire, the heat and light of the conflagration so strong with magic that Tzadkiel knew beyond a doubt the structure was already lost. The Morgan had been here, and the destruction of Benjamin’s home was both the man’s final warning and his retribution. Fight him, and they would lose everything. Fight him, and they would all die.

  Chapter 25

  Fire trucks blocked the Joy Street end of Pinckney Street. Mustard-colored nylon hoses connected to flaking red hydrants. Water roared from the business end of the hoses, as firefighters aimed them at the blaze. Women and men, unrecognizable and alien in oxygen masks and flame-resistant suits attempted to knock down parts of the house that still stood. On the sidewalk, Benjamin fell to his knees in a puddle of slush and churned-up dirt.

  Tears streamed down the back of his throat, and mucus clogged his nose. Heat billowed. A window exploded, the sound following the rain of glass around his shoulders. Someone tried to drag him backward, and he fought. Akito was in there.

  Akito!

  Benjamin kicked and punched, went for his weapon. Deafening silence fell, along with darkness. The cushion of Tzadkiel’s bubble of unreality, however, couldn’t erase the stark fact that Benjamin’s best friend was likely dead.

  Tzadkiel held him, his hands stroking and soothing. Soft murmurs of comfort and It’s all right, Benjamin.
Everything is going to be all right rang familiar. The mere act of breathing tore at Benjamin’s chest.

  “Akito.” Benjamin said his friend’s name over and over again—a mantra against a reality his brain simply couldn’t accept.

  There never had been, and never would be, anyone quite like Akito. The memory of the first time they had met was as fresh as new paint on the walls of Benjamin’s mind. He touched its still-tacky surface with tentative fingers, before opening himself to the vivid remembrance.

  “I’m Akito.”

  Benjamin remained silent, not knowing how to respond. His world was a strange, dark place. Faces and sounds seemed to come out of nowhere. This voice, however, sounded friendly and maybe a little weary. After a moment, he swallowed hard and forced himself to speak.

  “Benjamin.”

  “Hi.”

  The kid grabbed Benjamin’s hand in both palms and shook it with earnest enthusiasm. Benjamin jumped, but didn’t pull away. No one but nurses and doctors had touched him in ages. After a few pumps, Akito dropped Benjamin’s hand and plopped down next to him on the common room couch.

  “So, Superman or Batman?” Akito asked.

  “Huh?” Benjamin frowned.

  “Who would win a battle? Superman or Batman?”

  Benjamin tried and failed to find any trace of humor in Akito’s question. The kid was serious?

  “You think I’m an idiot…” Akito started to get up.

  “No!” Benjamin snatched for Akito’s hand. “Don’t go. I just don’t know a lot about superheroes. Is there much of a difference between Batman and Superman?”

  “Is there a difference?” Akito hooted. “Man, have you got a lot to learn. First, let me tell you about my superpowers…”

  “You can’t see the A on his chest, but it stands for asshole,” one of the other patients mock-whispered near Benjamin.

  Benjamin was out of his chair and on the patient so quickly that the orderlies didn’t have time to stop him. He landed three good punches to the kid’s bony nose. Rough hands lifted Benjamin off the floor, restraining him. The sedative they administered wasn’t a surprise. The fact that he wasn’t alone when he woke up later, however, was.

  Akito held his hand. “You awake?”

  “Yeah,” Benjamin mumbled.

  “Want to hear about my superpowers now?”

  It was as if the conversation had never been interrupted by Benjamin’s angry, albeit protective, outburst.

  Benjamin smiled despite himself and rolled to make room for Akito to sit next to him. “That’d be nice.”

  He’d already known what superpowers the kid possessed, though—honesty and loyalty, love and friendship—and he had them in abundance. Those were qualities Benjamin would have given his life to protect. Would give his life to protect.

  “Goddammit, Akito,” Benjamin screamed to the heavens, and struggled against Tzadkiel’s hold until he was too exhausted to struggle any more.

  “Do you think you might be able to come back to us now?” Tzadkiel asked, sometime later. One hand rested at Benjamin’s nape, while the other stroked the middle of his back.

  Benjamin looked up and realized they were some distance from the now-smoldering ruins of his home. He breathed deep, welcoming the burn in his lungs and the rawness in his throat.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and separated himself from Tzadkiel, self-conscious. “Sorry.”

  Attempting to step away from Tzadkiel’s sturdy support, however, was a mistake. His knees wobbled and he would have sat down in the gutter if it weren’t for a hand under his elbow. The haze between Benjamin and the rest of the world shattered, and brought with it light and sound and color. Night had descended. Smoke coated the air and the back of Benjamin’s throat, along with the residue from tears he couldn’t shed.

  Nyx rushed toward them and grabbed Benjamin by the arms, giving him a shake that rattled his teeth. “Hell’s bells, where the fuck have you been?”

  “Tzadkiel,” Benjamin said into her hair, then held on to her for dear life and breathed deep.

  “We should get somewhere safe,” Tzadkiel said.

  Benjamin wanted to rail at the vampire—to tell him this newest tragedy in a lifetime of tragedies was his fault for drawing the coven’s notice. He found himself nodding instead. His attention drifted to the fire trucks and the bustling crew. A cop separated himself from the group and glanced in their direction. Benjamin stiffened, remembering his other encounters with law enforcement and emergency personnel.

  “And here I figured you’d be the one to burn the place down,” Benjamin said to Tzadkiel in lieu of the other, bitterer things he could have said.

  Tzadkiel cast him an arch look, but didn’t deny the claim.

  Benjamin turned to Nyx. “Can I stay at your place for a while?”

  Nyx hissed through her teeth, clearly doubtful about the idea. “My father will track us there eventually if he has a bead on you, which I’m betting he does.”

  An onlooker pointed toward Benjamin, and the officer’s attention returned to their little group. Benjamin swore under his breath.

  “Come with me,” Tzadkiel said. “We must talk, and then we can find a place for you to stay.”

  They walked away at a relaxed but quick pace, losing the officer as they stuck to the shadows away from the lamplight. A garden gate provided a shelter behind which they hid as the man walked by. When they emerged, he had gone.

  Numbness overtook Benjamin’s mind, cushioning him in a haze of cotton. His head was so crammed full of the stuff—sinuses, brain, throat—he was surprised he could breathe. Nyx walked on his right, holding herself around the middle. Tzadkiel, on Benjamin’s left, stared straight ahead.

  “I’m going to kill your father,” Benjamin heard himself say, his tone flat and emotionless. Dead, like his insides.

  Nyx’s head came up. Her eyes shone with tears. “Not if I get to him first.”

  “It is possible your friend was not in the house,” Tzadkiel offered.

  “He wasn’t.” Nyx hugged herself tighter.

  “What?” Benjamin nearly tripped over his own two feet in his haste to face her. “Akito is alive?”

  Hope should have been bright and shiny, filled with Christmas morning and soaring butterflies. One look at Nyx’s stricken face, however, poured a mixer-full of concrete on the idea, burying it for good.

  “Is there something you know that we don’t, Nyx?” Benjamin asked carefully.

  Nyx hugged herself tighter. “My father has him.”

  Brain skittering sideways into confusion, Benjamin waited for her to say something else. When she didn’t, he lifted his attention to Tzadkiel.

  “How do you know this?” the vampire asked.

  Nyx held out a palm. A diamond stud earring rested there, pinned through a note. “This is his.”

  Benjamin took the note and read it in the light of Tzadkiel’s aura.

  Tzadkiel peered over Benjamin’s shoulder and lifted his head, expression as bewildered as Benjamin felt. He came willingly.

  Three words. You had to credit the Morgan for his ability to be succinct.

  “But why?” Benjamin looked to Nyx. “Did he know your father was coming?”

  They stood on the corner of the Boston Public Garden nearest Boylston Street. In the distance, Benjamin heard the strains of a band at one of the grand ballrooms in the hotels that hugged the park’s perimeter. A few guests smoked and talked on the sidewalk, glassware dangling in their fingertips as they celebrated a wedding or birthday, perhaps. Life went on, most of the city unaware of the supernatural war coming to a head on their doorstep.

  “Not that I know of.” Nyx darted a glance to Tzadkiel. “I only know he hates my father.”

  While it was understandable that Akito hated the Morgan, Benjamin couldn’t fathom what about that hatred would make his friend go willingly with the man. He and Akito both knew Nyx’s parents weren’t to be trusted. Either Akito had gone out of his mind, or…

/>   “Oh fuck.” Benjamin whirled and punched the nearest lamppost, then brought his fingers to his mouth. He swore again, this time around his knuckles. “I’d better be wrong about this.”

  “Wrong about what?” Tzadkiel asked on the heels of Nyx’s “Spill it, Fuller.”

  The problem was, he knew he wasn’t wrong. Dread and anger knifed through him as he repeatedly added two and two, and came up with four. Fisting his own hair, Benjamin spun around in a circle and stomped his foot.

  “Does he know about the kylix? What it does?” Benjamin couldn’t remember if he had told Akito all the details of Tzadkiel’s quest, but he had a sick feeling either he or someone else had.

  “He and I talked about it with Tzadkiel some after you mentioned it last night,” Nyx said, her expression turning doubtful. “He was awfully curious about it. You don’t think he…?”

  “Agh. You stupid fuck, Akito.” Benjamin dropped his hands to his sides and faced Nyx and Tzadkiel. “He went with them because he thinks he can get the kylix.”

  Classical features dipped into a disbelieving frown, marring the smooth skin of Tzadkiel’s forehead. “Why would he do this for me? Knowing who I am to you? What I intend?”

  “I never told them what you intend.” Benjamin lifted his chin. “I kept my word.”

  He only hoped Tzadkiel would keep his own when he found out what Akito was likely to do with the mora’s most sacred artifact if he actually got his hands on the thing.

  “What exactly do you intend?” Nyx’s hands were on her hips as she faced Tzadkiel.

  Cold and exhaustion threatened to drag Benjamin to his knees. He so didn’t want to do this now.

  “Nyx.” Benjamin touched her arm and got a shock to his hand for his efforts. “Ow. Shit. Nyx. Dammit.” He flopped his hand around, trying to shake off the resulting discomfort. “I nearly lost Akito tonight—and I still might if he tries to turn himself immortal—into a superhero”—he gave Nyx a meaningful look—“with that fucking cup.” He glared at Tzadkiel, daring the vampire to comment on the revelation. “And I don’t want to hear a gods-be-damned word out of you about it if he does. I’ll take care of this.” Somehow. He turned back to Nyx. “And you just chill. This is between me and the—between me and Tzadkiel.”