Sil in a Dark World: A Paranormal Love-Hate Story

by Brindi Quinn

  “Anyhow,” says Sil. “Are you coming with us or not? Because Keek and I are going to head to the school to set up.”

  “Are you inviting me?”

  “NO! I’m informing you. I don’t care if you come.” She takes her minion’s hand. “Come on, Keek.”

  I’d like nothing more than to stay away from them until the hour of deadline. However, I know that my last chance to act is now. Before the sun falls, I have to convince Sil of her minion’s fault. I have to get her to sincerely try again.

  Thus, I sulk after them.

  Sil and Keek ignore me as they dawdle along the leaf-blanketed ground to the school – the ground basked by golden and orange. Gray the days have been lately. Gray and laced with grayer bouts of cloud. It seems I won’t get a chance to see Sil’s eyes turn electric again.

  So what?

  The brick box of a building looks the same as usual on the outside. On the inside, however, things have . . . changed. In the entryway, the locker stalls have been adorned with spiders webs and hanging pumpkins. Students are in the process of hanging more of both, and one boy’s gotten himself tangled in the webbing. He is wrapped in white around the neck and middle, and attempting to swim out to no avail.

  Sil ambles to his aid. I am left with Keek.

  “Time’s running out for her,” I tell him under my breath.

  “Tch,” says Keek.

  “I assure you, it’s true. Tonight is all she has left. I suggest you confess what you’ve done before it’s too late and Sil’s father is lost forever.”

  Keek gives a start for the second time.

  “Jumpy are we? Yes, Sil’s last chance is quickly slipping away,” I tell him. “Think of how much she’ll hate you if you let that happen.”

  “What do you know?” He is bitter.

  “Unsurprisingly, a lot.”

  Leaving him to stew, I saunter to Sil, who’s yet helping untangle the webbed boy. “I’ll be out back, should you need me.”

  Sil says nothing.

  I depart from her. But before I can make it far – only to the end of the lockers – my personal space is intruded by a person whose sole purpose in life appears to be bothering people.

  “Tran? Yo! Didn’t expect you to come help.” It is the tick, dressed to be some species of . . . super reptile? Most likely something of mortal pop culture. “Sil dragged you here, yeah?” he babbles, fully blocking my escape route. “Wonder how Keek feels about that.”

  I groan loud enough to let it be known. The tick either doesn’t notice, or simply chooses to ignore it as he closes in for discretion. “I saw that just then,” he says hushed. “Are you and Miss Sil in a fight? Man, I feel for you. Sil Tenor can turn to ice when she wants to.”

  “Goodbye, Chif.” I feel no contrition to step around him, thus abandoning his friendship once and for all.

  But it isn’t that easy. He persists.

  “Where you going?” comes his call from behind. “Need any help?”

  I tell him nothing. I certainly do not require assistance for the task at hand.

  Like smoke, I slip away. Away from the costumed students. Away from the reptilian tick. Out the back door of the school. And to the hidden indent of wall where the rest of the symbol has been scrubbed away. By some nosy janitor? Or by Keek himself. It matters not. I’m hoping that a bit of the ash’s power lingers.

  The book I’ve kept with me all this time. Glued to my side since its retrieval, it unquestionably holds the key. And now that I am able to read all of it . . .

  There’s yet a chance I can get Sil to cooperate.

  I place a hand to the brick, rough and jagged to the touch. Finding the thickest part of remaining white is my goal. That part will have the best chance of containing power. I spread my fingers and close my eyes.

  The words of the spell are clearly in my memory. I spent all night reading and rereading them, and now they are as versed as my homeland’s mantra.

  “Shan’t be never, vanished or mislaid, a piece of them, seven corners of Dhiant.”

  I say the words with eyes that are tight, trying to pull from the ash. When that doesn’t work, I instead try to force my latent power into the ash and again I say, “Shan’t be never, vanished or mislaid, a piece of them, seven corners of Dhiant.”

  With a focused mind and fallen lids, I push and wait. I concentrate on my hand on the washed away symbol – on the bones of the deceased. And then I say his name. “Galvin Tenor.” And then I say her name. “Sil Tenor.”

  Find him. For her. For me. Find him.

  But though I press and pull and push and draw, nothing comes of it. There is nothing to symbolize that the chant has worked. I am left disillusioned. I land a fist against the wall.

  It smarts, and a few seconds later, a bit of shadow escapes the skin I’ve just torn.

  A pointless move. An attempt at release. But who am I kidding? The only thing in this realm to do that is Sil’s kiss.

  Siiiil.

  I want the spell to work so that she’ll love me. So that I can reclaim my horns and rights. But there’s another part. Something that surprises me even as I think it. Sil curled in a ball. Sil building herself into nests. Sil weeping at night.

  It would also be nice if she were no longer so . . . pathetic. Is that word I’m looking for? No, not quite. She isn’t so much pathetic as . . . It is difficult for me to think through it. So I talk it out. To myself. At the back corner of the boxy school.

  “I think it may be nice if . . . in those moments . . . she were instead . . . smiling. Or glaring. Or even bungling. It might be satisfying if in place of experiencing distress, she would . . .”

  “What are you doing out here, Tran?”

  A crisp voice infiltrates the crisp air.

  And who DARES interrupt me with such abrasive crispness?

  I turn to find who else but Chif, standing there between the wall and a naked tree of middle age. Hell! I didn’t even hear him approach! Weasely bastard.

  “Smoke break,” I lie.

  “I can see that.”

  He can see . . .? Fruck! My wound yet trickles. I hurry to hide it behind the wall.

  “Forgot to tell you before,” he says, approaching, “nice horns.”

  What is this? Small talk? Out here?

  “Yeah, well. Sil’s doing,” I say.

  “Hey, man.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “I get it. The way to a dame’s heart is never easy.”

  “D . . . daem?”

  “Yeah, DAME. Fancy word for lady. Lass. Girl. Woman.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  “Although,” says Chif, ever nearing. “I have heard – now correct me if I’m wrong – that there’s another type of –”

  Another voice intrudes.

  “Whatcha guys doing?” Sil’s swoop-haired head pokes around the corner. In the nick of time, too. Chif was breaching again on my personal space. At Sil’s intrusion, he takes a step backward.

  “Smoke break,” he says.

  “You don’t smoke, do you?”

  “Not me. That guy.” He couples it with a salute – “Later, man.” – and continues walking backwards until he disappears around the corner. I’ve a bad vibe from him. And it almost sounded as though he were referring to . . .

  “Are you back here smoking for reals?” asks Sil.

  “For reals,” I repeat, and show her my hand.

  She stomps on over to inspect the gash. “Yikes, what happened?” she probes. Her concern is genuine. “Looks like you punched someone . . .” And then it occurs to her: “WHERE’S KEEK?”

  “Relax. I punched the wall. And I haven’t seen your minion. I was under the impression he was with you.”

  “Huh. Must’ve gone to decorate the cafeteria.”

  Sure. Either that, or he’s hiding feebly, afraid to face me after our confrontation.

  Sil continues to inspect my hand, and even goes so far as to take it up in hers. “It’s so weird.” She is speaking of my smoke. She put
s a finger just above where the cut is, letting the cloudy blackness trail over her finger.

  “Would you like a taste?” I offer.

  “Ew. No.” She releases my hand.

  “Are you certain? Because if you let me in, I’ll be able to force your undying cooperation regarding our task.”

  “Naw. Doubt it’ll work. I’m no expert but I really don’t think you can control someone into falling for you.”

  Falling for you? Falling for each other. Those were my father’s words precisely. The goal of my mark and me. An impossible goal set for an exiled prince and affectionless girl.

  To her I say, “You aren’t in a mood anymore? Come to ask for forgiveness, have you?”

  Sil shakes her head. “I came because I knew you were slacking off.”

  “I see.”

  Sil is looking into my smoke, chewing her lip, and letting herself be absent. In my experience, absentness is easy to coerce.

  “Let’s try again, Sil.”

  “I told you. Your dad lied, so I don’t see why I should.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that your means might not come until our task is successful?”

  “Meh,” says Sil.

  Great. “And I suppose asking you to do it for my sake would get us nowhere?”

  “For your sake?” Sil’s gray eyes travel to mine.

  “That’s right.”

  “Because it’s something important to you.” She isn’t asking, merely stating.

  Naturally it is important to me. The most important thing to me. Rather, ONE of the most important things to me.

  Sil contemplates something – I’m not sure what – taking fair time to weigh whatever it is. “Okay,” she says when finished. “Guess it can’t hurt.”

  It comes as no small surprise. Before I can ask for restatement, she slides her hand beneath my shirt, and without so much as a prodding, positions her hand against my chest. Like someone under the spell of a gorgon, she sets her gaze firmly on mine and begins at once:

  “Blood and smoke. Soul and shadow. Heart and void. I love you, demon boy.”

  Demon boy? She is supposed to say my name. But her deviation isn’t troubling at all. What’s troubling is my reaction to the change. While she stands still, palm spread on my chest, I observe my fingers feeling their way around her waist – an action entirely their own.

  I love you, demon boy. Though they aren’t part of the incantation, spoken that way, her words hold something over me.

  “Try again, Sil.”

  Sil is nervous. My fingers on her waist make it so. It’s been a while since I’ve made her rise. “D-demon?” she stutters.

  “One last time,” I speak into her ear.

  “D-don’tcha think we’ve tried enough?”

  “Do it, Siiiil.”

  She growls, and I feel her tremble ever so slightly.

  “B-blood and smoke.” No longer under the control of a gorgon, she holds her eyes to mine only unwillingly. “Soul and shadow.” These words come as choppily as the first time she spoke them. “Heart and void.” She swallows. “I love you, . . . Wayst.”

  The spark to signal my part of the deal doesn’t happen.

  There is no pulse or flicker or spark.

  Not a visible one, at least.

  But there is something.

  Something has happened.

  I am kissing her. On her red-painted lips. With my hands around the back of her waist.

  Were I to think with reason, I’d think it ridiculous.

  I am not, however, thinking with anything other than impulse. Sil’s mint is siphoning into me. And I am not sure whether I kissed her or she kissed me. All I know is that I don’t really want Sil to die any longer. Her mint is too valuable. A precious thing that must remain in existence. The taste . . . the scent . . . and I can also feel the mint through my fingertips. The taste. The scent. The feel of Sil is better than anything.

  Sil doesn’t do much to speak of, but stand and keep her lips loose. Loose is better than tight, I suppose, as far as lips go. She keeps a hand on my chest. I am painfully aware of its existence, for it feels as though it might turn strict at any moment and force me away. Rejection again. The other hand she dangles flaccid.

  I hold her and kiss her and don’t press my luck, for I know the moment of minty indulgence will be over all too soon.

  And then a miracle happens. Sil . . . unthaws. Her rigid, prudish nature melts, and she opens her mouth just little. Just a slight shift into relaxation. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough of an invitation for me, for I am hungry for an invitation.

  Siiiil.

  And now we are kissing deeper. Aside the scrubbed away symbol. On the night of our sentencing. The warm feeling of release returns to my stomach, melting the frustration and annoyance I’ve felt.

  Release.

  Sil is the only release.

  One of my hands finds her cheek. I hold it and take in breaths of Sil, and at long last, Sil’s hand on my chest finds its way out of my shirt. Both of them are around my neck. I pull back the darkness of my closed lids to see what her reaction is to all of this. To see if she’s obliging me or indulging herself.

  What I see is no comfort. Her brows are furrowed – almost as though she’s in pain or the like. It is nearly enough to make me stop. Almost. In the end, I am too selfish, thus I keep going. But still . . . pain? We can’t have that, now can we? No sorrow for you, Sil. You’re mine. All mine. And I don’t want you to make that face while you’re kissing me. I fold my arms around her. Her brows soften.

  Very good, Sil. That’s better. That’s . . .

  I am dizzy. Slowly it comes, but once it hits, I must stop what I’m doing. I pull Sil’s bottom lip along with me before separating our mouths. Suddenly I am top-heavy. I sway to the side.

  “What’s wrong, demon boy?” Sil catches my elbow. “Are you swooning?!”

  “No, . . . I’m not swooning, . . . you twit.”

  But I am falling. My mind is careening down a deep, spinning hole.

  “Whoa! Your hand,” says Sil through the darkness. “It’s bleeding – smoking a lot more than it was.”

  When I discover what she’s talking about, I understand the reason for my weightless head. The smoke is henceforth billowing out from my hand. Like a chimney’s exhaust, the smoke is rising up in a straight line. Too straight. Something isn’t right. The smoke is trailing straight into . . .

  “The window?” Sil sees it too. “Of our classroom?” she says.

  “Someone is . . . pulling it . . . out.” This is highly unmanly. Were it not for the brick behind my slumping back, I’d topple to the ground.

  “Dang! You’re even paler than usual,” Sil says. “Wait, what do you mean, pulling it out? Someone’s doing this?”

  “I feel like . . . I’m . . . about . . . to pass out.”

  Sil glares at the window. “I’m gonna go see what’s going on up there.” She gingerly releases my elbow. “You stay here!”

  No, that isn’t a good idea at all. But before I can protest, Sil is gone. Gone running up to the top floor. Though I want to stop her, I can barely stand. I am being bled out. Drained. Quickly, too.

  Darkness swallows me. The opposite of Dhiant’s under-light. An icy, wet darkness slips over my body like a glove.

  I am cold and shaking.

  Death is not supposed to happen. I am an immortal. We do not die. But our lives CAN be forcibly taken. And when that happens, we are no longer daems. We turn into something inhumane. Non-existent ones. We are . . .

  “Demon.” I can’t become a demon. Sil hates demons.

  The coldness pours over me. I am numb, starting at the hand forsaking me. Though I have tried to stop the rushing of shadow, it continues to flow, forcing aside anything I hold against it.

  Cold. Numb. Dark. Without Sil. Without mint. Without light.

  . . .

  And then a plushy arm is there, helping me stand. A squishy body is making me to lean against it. The per
son to whom the parts belong to is stealing the tome from my limp hand. The person begins to read from a page, using words that are of Dhiant.

  “Shan’t be taken, wounded or weak, a piece of them, protection of Dhiant.”

  The words are certainly otherworldly, but when this person speaks them, they sound like mortal tongue. It is the same thing that happens when I read from the tome. But this person is much too plush to be a daem.

  What follows is a sprinkling of a white, chalky substance into my leaking smoke.

  Keek has just performed a spell using white ash.

  The shadow begins to flow backwards into me, and the more it does, the more I regain consciousness. The minion stands at my side, holding me up, and looking with concern at the overhead window.

  “How . . . are . . . you . . . here?” I try to focus on his face. “I . . . thought . . . you . . . were . . . the . . . one . . . up . . . there.”

  “Up there?” He frantically looks to the window. “Sil just ran by me in the hall and ordered me to come out here. What’s going on?”

  Damn! “Up there,” I huff. “Sil . . . is . . .”

  But I needn’t say more. Using all of his goblin strength, Keek hoists me up and proceeds to pull me back into the school. A trail of smoke follows us, ever receding into my body where it belongs.

  We hobble up a set of steps. And then another. And midway up the third, we hear a scream. Not a girlish scream, but a girl’s scream, nonetheless.

  Sil.

  I have regained some strength on the labored climb up, though not all of it has returned. Not by a long shot. I use whatever I have to push past Keek and run to the source of Sil’s cry. Keek is close behind, breathing heavily over my shoulder. Fighting to be first, we barrel through the door of the classroom I share with Sil and Chif.

  Both are in the room.

  Both? I’d expected to find Sil, but what the hell is Chif doing there?!

  The off feeling I had for the tick comes to full fruition as I lay eyes upon the placement of his hands. Using all upper-body strength to subdue her, he has Sil forced halfway out the open window.

  “Tran-a-lan!” he declares when he sees me. He acts as though I am a comrade just arrived to a party. “What happened, man? Looking a little pale there. You might want to sit down.”