Available Darkness Box Set | Books 1-3

by Platt, Sean

  “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

  Not this fight again. Not now. Please, not now.

  He chewed his lip to keep quiet.

  Their tournament of silence threatened eternity. Eventually, Julia pulled away, an awkward moment she tried to improve by heading to the fridge, filling the house with a loud hum and the clinking of dropping ice.

  “I can’t leave it like this. This … fucker,” he finally said, pointing at the stack of photos. “This fucking monster must be stopped.”

  “You can’t save the world. Even if you catch this guy, there will always be more monsters. More evil. More death. When are we going to LIVE?”

  Caleb stared at Julia, too beaten to go over this again.

  “You don’t need to do this. We have enough money. I can go back to work at the firm; they’d hire me in a minute.”

  Caleb grabbed a photo of the boy’s crisped body from the folder, pushed his chair back violently, stood, and shoved the picture in her face.

  “Do you see this? This was a child, for Christ’s sake! How can you ask me to stop? To fucking give up?”

  Caleb’s voice cracked. Julia’s eyes were wide, brimming with tears. He’d gone too far.

  Caleb turned away, dropped the photo on the table, then leaned down and ran his hands through his hair.

  “I can’t. I can’t give up.”

  His phone’s ring broke the silence. He grabbed it off the table and glanced at the window: Mathews.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ve got another body.”

  Caleb closed his eyes.

  Jesus, it’s never gonna end.

  “On the East Coast, Saint Augustine, Florida. Pack your bags; I’ll be right over.”

  Fifty

  Jacob

  Hours earlier

  Jacob sat in the back of the bar, alone, watching life animate around him despite the late hour. He needed to wash away his earlier failure with some alcohol.

  The bar was packed, the music loud and obnoxious, the patrons even more so. He was feeling particularly bleak, and not in the mood for the his minions’ company, waiting back at the motel. Only his driver, Mr. Dark, waited in the car (not the van, which they’d hidden in a local garage) while Jacob took in the local nightlife.

  While at John’s house, Jacob had tried to pick up the scent from Caleb, or any lingering memories that might lead to his other brother. But he’d found nothing beyond humanity’s usual stench. Jacob suspected the woman knew something, but he’d been unable to adequately probe her mind, given his brief window. He could’ve taken her then but didn’t know what kind of bond they had. If John had imprinted her, he’d know if she were in danger immediately, and would come running.

  And while Jacob was confident he could take his brother out, he needed his cooperation. Killing his lover would’ve only complicated matters.

  He’d found John after too many years of the man being nearly invisible, and was now closer than ever to his goals. He had to be cautious, whatever his next move might be.

  Ever since John’s escape from the Guardian hospital where they had hoped to train him as one of their soldiers, he’d stayed off the grid, almost entirely. If he’d been feeding, he’d been as discreet as Jacob in his hunts.

  But Jacob suspected something else was at work, given that John was walking in daylight, and without the aid of his own version of Mr. Dark. Jacob had to assume he’d found someone to reverse the curse that plagued their kind.

  Such fixes weren’t permanent, at least not in any way that he knew of.

  Jacob had only found John after so many years because he’d made the mistake of looking for a death stone from within the network of Otherworlders who trafficked information, magick, and artifacts in a black market so underground, few knew of its existence. The stone’s only use was to kill feeders, and few Otherworlders were brave enough to attempt such a feat. John was a blip on Jacob’s radar ten minutes after his query.

  Jacob wondered whom John planned to kill. It wasn’t as if the world held many feeders. Perhaps John had upset one, or maybe he’d located Jacob, and decided to come after him.

  How ironic it would be if his attempts to kill me led to my finding him.

  If John flew under the radar, Caleb was off of it completely, leaving only one explanation for his complete disappearance. Caleb must have been so thoroughly wiped that he had no idea who he was. Considering the Guardians’ resources, that wouldn’t surprise Jacob at all.

  Of course, there was another alternative: Caleb was dead. Jacob didn’t think so, or the Guardians wouldn’t waste the energy in searching for the Harbingers. Without Caleb, John’s knowledge of the portal was useless. Both brothers had fragments of knowledge, but neither could access the portal without the other one present. At least, that was the legend according to Guardian lore. Since the Guardians’ main job was to keep the portal closed, Jacob figured they knew what they were doing.

  A waitress brought Jacob another drink. He flirted with her a bit; she was young and her aura strong. He was tempted to wait for her after work. Maybe charm her, lure the unassuming to a secluded spot.

  But there was something off about her. She was broken in some way. While taking the lives of the vibrant was the closest thing to joy Jacob would ever know, feeding on broken, sad people with wasted lives had the opposite effect. Those people seemed to decay his core a bit more each time, bringing him closer to the brink, making him hungry to die, knowing that in the end, nothing good lasted and darkness always won.

  Fifty-One

  John

  The phone pulled John from another nightmare into the harsh morning light.

  “Great news,” Larry said into the phone. “I just got a call from a buddy who told me that cops spotted a guy in the act of torching this girl yesterday. Sounded just like a feeder! She died on the scene, but he got away.”

  “How is this great news?” John wiped sleep from his eyes, heading downstairs and into the kitchen. “Wait, are you saying … ?”

  “This happened yesterday while you were with me. And you never left your house, though I did get a good look at Hope in her nightie.”

  Ignoring Larry’s crudeness, John paused, switching gears. “Well, if it’s not me, then … ”

  “There’s another feeder,” Larry said, his mouth full of sandwich.

  John had known of other feeders, but they were rare, and never careless enough to litter their trail with bodies. He thought of the death stone he’d been trying to get. He’d intended it as a precaution against himself, for Larry to use on him if he ever got … out of control. But maybe there was another threat on his horizon.

  He’s here. He’s found you, and he’s taunting you.

  John felt a sudden itching in his brain, like a forgotten memory on the edge of discovery.

  “Hold on a sec.” John set his phone on the counter and closed his eyes to see more clearly.

  Something buzzed in the air, at the fringe of his vision — something just out of place.

  He opened his eyes and scanned the kitchen. The itch in his brain grew stronger. He looked at the fridge and immediately saw what he hadn’t quite known he was looking for. Beneath one of the six Pizza House magnets blotting the fridge was a business card that stuck out like a light in the darkness.

  What’s this?

  Hope had come home late last night, out with friends, so they’d not had a chance to talk, really. She hadn’t mentioned the card, or why it was on the fridge. John could see Private Investigator in Helvetica across the card before reaching the fridge. His itch grew to a steady buzz, swarming like muffled, angry bees inside his brain.

  His fingers touched the card. Sudden sickness swept through him, his stomach rolled, and Jacob’s image bubbled in his mind.

  John dropped the phone and raced upstairs to where Hope was still sleeping. He flipped the light switch and shook her awake, holding the card in front of her.

  “Who gave you this card?”


  Hope woke, confused, worried. “What’s wrong?”

  “The card — who gave this to you?”

  “A private investigator came around yesterday; the Ashbys hired him to help find their daughter.”

  “What did he look like?”

  She told him, then, “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to tell me everything he said, everything he asked you.”

  “What’s going on?” Hope’s eyes were wide, her voice high, fingers clenched her pillow.

  “What did he say?”

  Hope told him, as best she could in her sleepy haze, then she remembered that the man had asked John to call him.

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  John shook his head, sorting his thoughts.

  He’s found me.

  “Who is he, John?”

  “We have to go.”

  “What are you talking about? Go where? What’s going on?”

  John ran to the closet, grabbed a duffel bag, crossed the room to his nightstand in three long strides, snatched his keys, went to the trunk, collected some items, shoved them in his bag, and closed the zipper.

  “What’s going on? Tell me, John!”

  “I don’t have time to tell you now; you have to trust me. That man who came to the house is dangerous.”

  “Who is he?”

  “My brother.” He raced downstairs and grabbed the phone. “Larry, we’re coming over. Now!”

  “Come on!” John yelled to Hope, “We need to go now!”

  “But,” she called from upstairs, “I need to pack some — ”

  “There’s no time, we’ll get anything you need on — ”

  The doorbell cut him short.

  Fifty-Two

  Caleb, John, And Hope

  Caleb

  Caleb rang the doorbell again.

  Agent Michael Wu, a young agent who’d been with his group for about six months, stood beside him. Wu was quiet but discerning, usually able to pick up on the subtleties most people missed in conversation. Plus, Caleb smiled at the thought, Wu was a helluva shot.

  The door opened, and a dark-haired man in his late twenties said, “Hello?”

  He was obviously harried, but there was something else, too. Something in his eyes, something odd, or almost familiar, that caused Caleb to pause and involuntarily put two fingers to his right temple.

  Wu introduced them both then informed the man that they were talking to neighbors about the missing Ashby girl, particularly about a coworker of hers, Maribel Ruiz, murdered yesterday.

  “No, I’ve never seen her,” John said, “didn’t know Rebecca, either.”

  “Is there anyone else home we can talk to?” Caleb still couldn’t shake the oddly familiar feeling from the stranger.

  Where have I seen this guy? I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere.

  He didn’t think the man at the door was guilty of murder, but there was something off about him, beyond the weird vibe of familiarity.

  This guy knows something.

  “My girlfriend, but she’s still in bed.”

  “Would you mind?” Wu asked.

  “You want me to wake her?”

  “We wouldn’t ask, but time is of the essence.”

  John

  John invited the FBI agents inside and offered them seats in the living room. They declined, preferring to shuffle their feet on the porch. John shrugged as though he couldn’t care less then raced up the stairs, two and three steps at a time.

  His mind and heart were thudding. He hoped he’d been able to hide the shock at seeing his brother. John figured Caleb’s mind must be turning, trying to untangle John’s reaction.

  But John had another, more pressing concern. Their being in the same room could trigger either Caleb’s memories, or worse, his abilities. In either event, it wasn’t a risk John could take, especially not with Jacob nearby. John was certain his oldest brother would sense if Caleb were to suddenly go online.

  While John had never sensed Caleb, he had sensed Jacob at times. He could feel him out there in the world, though he’d usually been at a safe distance — until now. And while John had managed to mask his signature on their radar, Caleb would pop up like a fire in a snowstorm if he suddenly reverted to his feeder state.

  Hope greeted John with more questions.

  “What’s going on? Who’s downstairs?”

  No sense lying.

  “Another brother.”

  “What?”

  “Only he doesn’t know he’s my brother. And he’s with the FBI.”

  Hope stared at John as if he’d just said the world was made of rubber bands and he needed his kazoo to fight the Jabberwocky.

  He put both hands on her shoulders and met her eyes, trying to reassure her. “Everything will make sense, I promise. But right now, I need your help getting them out of here. I need you to play dumb.”

  “That,” Hope said, “won’t be a problem.”

  Hope

  Hope had been plucked from a peaceful dream and delivered into chaos.

  She tried to bury the rising tide of fear and uncertainty crashing around her. Nothing was solid, her world suddenly filled with hidden dangers — from the bald man who turned out to be another of John’s brothers to the missing girl that seemed to ignite the match now lighting their world ablaze.

  The painting flashed through her mind. It was easier to believe John’s innocence before FBI agents stood on their porch.

  She shook the agents’ hands. The world moved like slowly rolling fog, as did her thoughts. Her legs became noodles. She stumbled forward.

  The man who introduced himself as Agent Caleb Baldwin — John’s brother, Caleb! — caught her. She smiled sheepishly. “Wow, I’m not really awake yet,” she said with the same laugh she’d used to eek extra dollars in nightly tips.

  Hope couldn’t help but stare at Caleb, remembering pictures of him from John’s locker. They didn’t look much alike, but at the same time, knowing they were related, she could sense similarities between them, vague shapes on a smoggy horizon.

  Why aren’t either of them acknowledging they’re brothers? Does Caleb not know? And if not, why isn’t John telling him?

  The agents showed them pictures of Maribel and asked questions about Rebecca, the same ones they’d already been asked by the police. Maribel didn’t look familiar at all. Hope hadn’t seen her in her paintings — a small relief.

  “Do you think this Maribel woman knew something about Rebecca’s disappearance?” Hope asked.

  “It’s too early to speculate,” Caleb said. “Right now, we’re trying to follow every lead and gather as much information as possible.”

  Caleb

  Caleb couldn’t shake the nagging thought that these two knew something. Every instinct said he should haul their asses in for questioning, toss them in separate rooms, and go to town. At the same time, another part of him insisted that he was wrong. This wasn’t about their guilt, and they didn’t know a thing about this case. They were hiding something else entirely. He could drag them in, he supposed, but a lighter touch might be better.

  He’d give them his card, leave, and assign a tail. Maybe even follow them himself.

  Caleb handed his card to Hope. “If you think of anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem, give me a call. Anytime, day or night.”

  “Will do,” John said.

  Caleb reached the edge of the porch and turned back to John. Again, he caught that look in his eyes. John didn’t turn away as he had before. Instead, he met his gaze and held it. Caleb said, “I’m sorry, have we met? Your face seems so familiar.”

  John shrugged. “Have you eaten at Umberto’s? I’m a cook there, though I rarely leave the kitchen.”

  “No.” Caleb shook his head. “It’s been McDonald’s and gas station grub since we got here.”

  “I have one of those faces,” John half smiled. “I get it all the time.”

  “Well, you all have a good day, and remember,
call us if you remember or see anything.”

  “Will do,” John said then shut the door.

  Fifty-Three

  Hope And John

  Hope

  “Now can you tell me what the hell is going on?”

  John was too busy racing through alleys and peeling around corners on his way to somewhere he wasn’t telling, splitting his eyes between road and rearview, acting like he couldn’t be bothered.

  “The less I tell you now, the better off you’ll be,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.” John’s eyes darted at each building, car, passerby, as if he expected an ambush at any moment. His panic reminded Hope of a dog backed into a corner, teeth bared as imminent doom descended like a shadow.

  “Do you have your cell phone?”

  “Yeah,” Hope said, fumbling through her purse. She handed John the phone with trembling hands. He lowered the window and tossed it onto the street.

  “What the hell?”

  “No phones. No credit cards. Nothing they can use to track you.”

  “You’re scaring me, John! What the hell are you involved with? Who are they?”

  The car bounced hard off a pothole, and for a moment she thought the tire had blown or the car would be ripped apart by the force of the impact. But it kept plowing forward. For the first time, she hoped that John would stop the car so she could jump out and put as much distance between them as possible.

  For the first time since meeting John, Hope’s doubts outweighed her love.

  John

  John never saw it coming.

  Sure, he’d been prepared for any eventuality. He’d spent a lifetime planning for the worst possible outcome. But somehow, he never imagined having to explain it all to Hope.