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

by Brindi Quinn

  In response, Sil’s eyes widen. Her hand falls from my chest and retreats into her lap. “Whoa! Demon, your eyes are REAL red now! Redder than I’ve ever seen ‘em!”

  At last, the time has come for my part of this bothersome deal. My role in the task is at hand. My fingers trail themselves to Sil’s chest.

  I am emotionless for fear of being reckless.

  “Smoke and blood,” I utter. “Shadow and soul. Void and heart.” I swallow back my pride, which obstinately forces its way up my throat. “I suppose it might be said that I love you as well, Sil. For the record, I also hate you. But –” Blue and red are locked in captivity. Fire and ice. Love and hate. “But . . . really, I do think there’s a possibility that . . . I love you, Sil Tenor.”

  And again we are kissing. This time I know for certain:

  I did not kiss her. She did not kiss me. We kissed each other. We are both headstrong enough to seek the upperhand. Neither of us will give in, and so we kiss each other with vicious, hateful love.

  I don’t yet notice, but a mark is beginning to form on my right bicep. A red heart crowned by darkened horns.

  ><

  There’s a thing or two to be said about a man that lives not for himself.

  Or so I’ve heard.

  But what I’ve come to understand – and I assure you I’m right – is that there’s even more to be said of man that lives for his sake as well as the sake of another. Harboring the concern for two people is quite a challenge.

  That’s fine. I’m always up for a challenge.

  “YOU’D BETTER OPEN UP THAT DOOR, DEMON BOY! OR SO HELP ME!”

  Ah. The voice through the squalid bathroom door belongs to charming Sil. She loves me. And she knows it. And that makes her all the more disagreeable.

  I smile to myself, not because I enjoy the insult, but because she is leaning against the door. I can smell her there. Her mint warns me of her presence each and every time, leaving me one step ahead.

  Careful not to alert her to my intentions, I tiptoe to the door, undo the lock, and . . .

  Sil stumbles, floundering, into me.

  This time, we both fall on our asses. I scoop her into my arms in a knight’s hold. Damsel Sil isn’t much of a damsel to speak of. She isn’t much of a lady to speak of, either. But then again, that quality in a woman is something I find . . . appealing.

  Today, she’s broken out the suspenders for a second appearance. Suspenders clamped to skinny jeans and a shirt of a rainbow missing half of its sequins. Sil is a slob. But she’s my slob. I kiss her neck.

  “Let’s try again, Siiiil,” I suggest.

  “You perv. There’s nothing to try anymore.”

  Hm. Right she is. For who could have guessed that the true test of sacrifice was something so trite as sacrificing my pride? Pedestrian, really. But upon sparing Sil, my test was aced and my exile was over.

  That doesn’t mean I need to go running home to daddy, though, does it?

  Not in the least.

  “Ugh.” Sil squirms away. “What were you doing in there for HOURS?”

  Hours? Let’s not exaggerate now, Sil.

  “Cleaning your mirror,” I tell her. “And you’d better not smudge it up again. Good god, Sil. What do you do, smear you body greases all over it each day?”

  She shows off a heartless grin. “Maybe.”

  Appalling. And yet adorable in some twisted way. Something’s wrong with me. My pheromone receptors are broken.

  “Let’s go, you twit. We’ve got an appointment, and we mustn’t keep that pleasant old-timer waiting.”

  Sil and I are off to the cemetery. The field of wind-worn stones through the woods behind Sil’s house. The woods are all but naked now. And in the mornings, they are tipped by frost. As it is now morning, Sil inches closer to me for warmth. I take hold of her hand, and she weaves her fingers through mine.

  Mmm. The feel of Sil is better than anything. Nay, Sil is better than anything.

  “Have you spoken to your minion lately?” I ask. I don’t refrain, though I already know the answer, for hearing the answer is more satisfying than most things.

  “Nope,” says Sil. “I still haven’t forgiven him.”

  “And the tick?”

  She shrugs, unaware. “Nobody’s seen him.”

  Nobody, huh? Well, I have. Or rather, I saw to it that he was extinguished from this world. As one of the mortals most recently spirited away, he is one of Dhiant’s newest inhabitants.

  “Brrr,” says Sil.

  “Nearly there,” I tell her.

  I am able to feel our destination before I see it. It’s been stained by under-light that reaches me through the trees. Stained? Or perhaps it’s always been there. Perhaps it was just magnified. I am drawn to it. I am eager to enter, to see if Sil’s eyes shine brightly under its recently powered-up influence.

  They do.

  And so do mine.

  Blue and red, we search each other, and we both experience reluctant happiness. The corners of our mouths twitch in unison. I want to kiss her. I always want to kiss her. But not yet. Our associate is waiting.

  The cemetery is empty. “Wait here a moment.” I set Sil beside the church before making my way to the back of the graveyard, where the open grave is now full of fallen leaves. Checking first over my shoulder to make certain that Sil cannot hear my methods, I then close my eyes and give the headstone a kick.

  “Wakey, wakey, Urnk. We’ve arrived.”

  “The spoiled prince, come to disturb my slumber? To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Now, now, no need to play fatuous. Surely you heard us summon you last night. I told you we’d be coming. Imagine my surprised when I learned it was YOU of all things.”

  “Keep in mind, fool daem, that if your words were untrue, your cursing will be inevitable.”

  “Right. I assure you I’m entirely scared.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “NOW, would you like to see her or not? Because if you don’t trust me, I have no problem taking my mark and leaving.”

  “Fetch her.”

  “Then behave.” I open my eyes and call over my shoulder, “All right, Sil. It’s fine for you to come now.”

  Unenthused, she saunters over. She does not hurry, as she is afraid to believe this is real. Getting her hopes up only to be disappointed would do nothing but result in more treacherous night cries. For that reason, I too am hoping for the best.

  When she reaches the side of hole, I don’t hesitate to pull her into my lap. “Close your eyes, Sil, and listen.”

  She obliges. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Wait a moment,” I tell her. “And whatever you do, don’t open your eyes.”

  Of course Sil deems it necessary to do the opposite of what I instruct of her. Her eyes snap open and with them comes a burst of blue. “What are you planning to do to me, pervert?!”

  “Just close them, would you?”

  Sil is tiring.

  With a growl, she obeys. I wave my hand in front of her face to make sure she isn’t cheating. Seems just the sort of action naughty Sil would execute, and if she is, I’ll have an excuse to scold her. But alas, she cheats not. Bittersweetly satisfied, I pull from my hind pocket a switchblade retrieved from Sil’s shed.

  I know what must be done. Without delay, I press the blade to my skin, slice open my palm, and let my smoke flow into her face.

  “Take a deep breath, Sil.”

  “A BREATH? Why? Did you fart or something?”

  “Classy, Sil. Really classy. If you’d like to continue being rebellious, we can give up on this whole –”

  She breathes in a large noseful of me. My smoke slides fluidly through her nostrils and into the deep parts of her lungs. Mm. At last within her. Were I yet living for my sake alone, I’d give in to the urge to take control of her movements. Ahhh, the things I would make her do, if given free reign.

  I’d force her to . . .

  And also to . . .!

  The thought is too temptin
g. I shake it away.

  This is something important for Sil. The smoke of Dhiant is to be used to fulfill her deepest desire. Still, I can’t help but inquire –

  “Taste good, Sil?

  “Ur . . . I’m afraid to say so, but yeah. What is it?”

  “Magic,” I lie.

  “That so? Huh. It tastes like . . . mint.”

  Mint? Seriously!? How ironic. Not to mention arousing. The smoke responds by flowing more quickly out of my wound. I attempt to contain myself. I cannot allow her to have too much.

  “Now what?” Sil becomes impatient.

  I close my eyes so that I will be able to hear what happens in the darkness. “Go on,” I instruct her. “Speak. Haven’t you a speech practiced for an occasion like this?”

  “Psh. No!”

  She stalls because she is worried of a bad outcome. I give her body a squeeze. “Do it, Sil. You’ll be glad for it.”

  “Um, h-hello? Is anyone there?” she says with apprehension.

  There is silence. Sil sniffles. And then –

  The urnk speaks in a tone far softer than he’s ever used with me. “Ducky? Is that really . . .? If I find out you are deceiving me, foolish prince, you’ll pay for –”

  “Why don’t you have a look before you go making pointless accusations and empty threats? Hmmm?”

  This time, the urnk takes a moment to appraise Sil. I assume that’s what he’s doing, anyway. To me, it’s all just blackness. It’s the same for Sil. She waits in darkness, holding her breath, and afraid to recognize the urnk’s voice.

  “D . . . ducky? Ducky! But you’ve grown!”

  There it is. Sil releases the tap and lets herself be vulnerable. Her tears come. I can hear them. “D-daddy?” she pushes through the blubs. “Daddy!”

  “My duck! I couldn’t imagine that you lived! An eternity feels to have passed since I was human!”

  Yes, that would be the jetlag between realms.

  I open my eyes, thus exiting from the urnk’s view. It isn’t that I wish to pay them respect by removing my intrusion into their reunion; rather, the situation is sweetly moving, which makes it unbearably uncomfortable. I cannot stand it.

  Sil rocks in my lap, muttering at the invisible being. I wrap my body around hers and keep her secure.

  In the meantime, there is also someone searching for me.

  A quiet voice finds its way through the light-stained cemetery. I don’t know if it is audible to anyone else or not. With Sil preoccupied, there’s no one else to ask. It doesn’t matter. The message is intended for me, and me alone.

  “Thou must return sooner or later,” it says.

  “Piss off, Father.”

  I hold Sil tighter.

  I am enjoying my exile. Much more now so that I know I can freely return whenever I please. The tattoo on my arm is proof that my horns have returned, and even though they cannot be seen in the mortal realm, their power is with me.

  So, too, is Sil with me.

  Sil is mine.

  And at the end of her short, fleeting life, I’ll spirit her away with me.

  Sil will always be mine.

  Thank you for reading SIL IN A DARK WORLD!

  If you liked this book, please write a review and tell a friend!

  If you enjoyed the style of this book, you may also enjoy THE DEATH AND ROMANCING OF MARLEY CRAW or ZILLOW STONE, also by Brindi Quinn!

  More Info

  About the Author:

  Sil in a Dark World: A Paranormal Love-Hate Story was MN author Brindi Quinn’s fifth published work.

  Shortly after finishing college in 2010, Brindi began her mad dash into authordom. The Heart of Farellah Trilogy was first to hit shelves in 2011, and she hasn’t stopped since. In addition to her debut trilogy, Brindi’s publications include: Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles, a third person sci-fi romance; The World Remains, a dystopian adventure; Atto’s Tale, the miniseries spinoff to Heart of Farellah; The Eternity Duet, a two-part fantasy romance; The Death and Romancing of Marley Craw, a sexy postmortem tale; and The Ongoing Pursuit of Zillow Stone, a post-apocalyptic series.

  Brindi considers herself a nerd, indulging heavily (when she can) in video games, anime, manga, horror flicks and good sci-fi TV. Brindi recently set off on a grand adventure. After spending a time near the northern coast of California, she’s currently tucked away in a cozy hobbit hole near Seattle.

  Follow Brindi on Twitter:

  @Brindiful

  AND connect with her on Facebook:

  Facebook.com/Brindiful

  About the Cover Artist:

  Ben Clemann is an amateur artist from Minnesota; and though his degree is in Youth Developmental Studies rather than Visual Arts, he has still been drawing since before he could pronounce the letter "r". Among his studies in youth culture and pop artistry, he also enjoys other pursuits of many things of academic and artistic nature, including philosophy, psychology, sociology, theology, and a wide array of arts visual, musical, literary, and martial. A true ‘Jack of All Trades’ . . . and master of none.

  View his other artwork at:

  www.otakumako.deviantart.com