I close my eyes and welcome darkness, banishing complex thoughts. My room is silent, as is most of the house. I hear the soft vibrations of noise somewhere far away—probably from the kitchen, where the others are celebrating another night of life. They’ll refuel, and tomorrow they’ll go on as if nothing happened. Meanwhile, I’ll continue berating myself internally. I’ll also train with Malik and study with Holland.
I cocoon myself beneath covers I don’t really need but find comfort in using, and I tell myself I’m going to fall asleep as soon as I clear my thoughts. Instead, I’m staring at the ceiling fan. The blades run in circles, twirling round and round. They’re passing so quickly, it looks like there’s only one blade, but I know there are five.
I try to distract myself by counting them. I use my heightened senses to slow down the speed and watch as each blade passes overhead. I count to one hundred, mesmerized by the steady flow of motion and sound. Darkness creeps into the room. A wave of misty haze creeps closer and closer, until I close my eyes to it.
Later, I open them to a different place. I’m no longer lying on my bed. I’m standing in a field of wildflowers. Grass is alight with shades of yellow, purple, red, and orange. The soft smell of sweet citrus wafts toward me. The flowers smell like a strange mix of fruit and grass.
The forest is all around me. The trees are erect and do not move even as the wind shifts. They’re stiff, unnaturally unyielding, and a shiver works its way down my spine. I feel like I’m being watched. Somewhere, hidden among the trees, seeking refuge in the darkness, someone is watching me.
The tiny hairs all over my body don’t literally stand on end, but they alert me nonetheless. The shift in the breeze is brushing up against something that’s not supposed to be out there, and that subtle change is alerting my senses to danger.
Since I am not really here, I believe I am safe. How can my astral form be endangered? I think if I tell myself enough times that nothing can hurt me, I will believe it. Isn’t that how trickery works?
Shadows from trees loom closer, moving, swaying, springing to life. The branches of a single tree sway in the breeze, and instinctively I cover my chest. Remembering the pain of my earlier assault, I suck in a sharp breath.
I know I’m not in that place anymore. The monster is forever gone. He can’t hurt me again, yet I relive that moment in my mind, condemned to endless torture.
Is he here? Is he inhabiting this astral plane? I thought I sent him to hell, but what if his soul ended up here, in my dreams?
The shadows from the trees blend into one solid figure. It takes shape, growing a torso, limbs, and a head. I watch, terrified but frozen in time. I want to run, to scream, to search for help, but I cannot. I’m not in the real world anymore. I’m dreaming. I learned long ago that I cannot change what unfolds in this timeless place. I’m here to watch, to learn, to be warned. That is all. Spirit is a ruthless tyrant, and she will not be fooled by my yearning for trickery.
Even though I know I should be safe, my fear is constant and threatening to spill from my chest. The shadow morphs into something stronger, something larger, and it begins to shift toward me. Slowly, each agonizing step closes the space between us. It moves so slowly, I’m torn between wanting to delay the inevitable and just getting it over with already.
As I watch it approach, I am mute and paralyzed in place. I choke out a muffled cry, but I know no one can hear me. I’m alone in this place save for one—the monster who has returned for me.
The shadow man is so close now. I fear I could reach out and touch him. But what would become of me? What will happen when the monster can grab on to my flesh once again? If I cannot move my flesh, I only have my mind to save me.
“I know who you are!” I shout, finding both my voice and my strength in one fell swoop.
The shadow stops, arching its faceless, black-pit head to the side. It has no eyes, no nose, no facial features at all. Its entire body is nothing but darkness, a shadow that is a constant reminder of what awaits me when death finally claims my soul. The undead don’t make it to Summerland, where Papá awaits Mamá and me.
I know this is the rogue I killed. Who else would haunt my dreams? I was too confident to believe I was rid of him for good. Now, he mocks me. His shadows are slick and sleek, like the puddled goo I melted him into before he turned to ash.
“I’m not scared of you anymore,” I say. I don’t scream, but my voice is not soft. My words are sharp, my tone clear. If I speak only the truth, then he must believe me.
Time slows. I can hear the steady ticks of my bedside alarm clock and the slow swooshing noise from my ceiling fan. I remember I am not in a field of wildflowers, even if the grass tickles my bare feet. I am in my bedroom. I inhale deeply, hoping to sense something recognizable, but I do not smell the familiar scents of the manor. Instead, I smell flowers and weeds and an incoming rain.
The shadow beast takes another step toward me. He’s so close, I can reach out and touch him, but I do not.
My arms are shaking at my sides, but I still stand tall. I want to protect myself from his attack, but I resist the urge to cover my chest with my arms. I can’t let him know how he still affects me.
My lip quivers as I stare into his empty, soulless face.
He takes the final step toward me.
We now share the same breath. I hear his ragged breathing. Each inhalation crackles, and I gnaw on my lower lip to steady my racing heart. I remind myself over and over again that I’m dreaming. He cannot hurt me here. My astral self is safe on this plane, even if my mind wants to fool me.
The shadow reaches for my arm and takes my hand in his own. I do not fight him, even though I’m screaming inside. I want to stop this, to wake up, to back away, but I don’t. Because that’s not how this works. I am but a puppet in my mind’s eye. This dream must play out as it’s meant to, or it will not serve its purpose: to warn me of incoming danger.
As the shadow turns over my arm to bare my forearm, I feel a slop of bile working its way up my esophagus. I hate that he’s so close, that he’s touching me. It takes all of my attention not to squirm from his grasp and run through the trees. If he can seek refuge among darkness, I can too.
Suddenly the air is hot and hazy with mist. The earth beneath my bare feet is warm and moist. The soil is loose, and my toes dip into what was once firm, cold. My white nightgown is far too sheer and flows in the breeze. Sweat dribbles down my forehead and stings my eyes. I want to shake it away, but I cannot. Salty streams slide into the crevice of my mouth, and I lick my lips.
The shadow speaks to me, but I don’t understand its words.
“What?” I say. My mind is foggy from the rush of the elements. All at once, they attack my vision, my voice, my hearing, my touch, my taste. I can’t focus on just one thing, and it’s making me nervous.
The world around me silences. I no longer hear the clock or ceiling fan. I don’t hear the birds chirping or the mice scurrying. I can’t hear the leaves blowing in the wind.
The same foreign words echo around me, but I know they’re not coming from the shadow creature. I stare at its blank face and squint. I try to make out features, perhaps lips, but I cannot.
The shadow grips tightly to my hand, squeezing so hard, it makes my bones ache.
It speaks again. This time, there is no mistaking its words or the creature’s identity.
“My will be done,” she says.
A cold chill works its way down my spine. My gaze darts forward and meets her cold, steely eyes. They look just like mine—or they used to.
“Mamá?” I whisper.
A sudden flash of silver radiates across my vision, and the blade is brought down. It slices through my flesh, leaving a large crimson gash in its wake. Blood gushes from my pale skin, the wound sharp, edgy, and gaping.
I scream, engulfed in a pain so great, it feels as though this simple mark is ripping my soul from my body.
I fall to my knees and bellow until my lungs burn. Tears str
eak my face, and snot bubbles in my nose. My throat is coarse as I howl at the moon, for she has abandoned me when I needed her the most.
Mamá speaks, and all at once, the pain is gone, the world is silent, and I am still.
Hollow. Trapped. Dead.
Chapter Eight
I feel uneasy today. I woke from my dream in a sweat and had to take another shower. If I were still a witch, I would believe spirit is warning me of impending danger, but since I’m not just a witch, I don’t know that I have access to my psyche in the same way. So far, I’ve only used one specific type of magic. It looks a lot like fire magic, but it feels different. Maybe I’m overthinking everything and overreacting right now. Perhaps my dream was simply a nightmare.
Before I went to bed, Holland told me we would meet in the solarium at dusk to begin our training. I’m not sure what to expect. I bet he doesn’t know what to do either. I suppose we’re just going to unleash the magic inside me in a controlled environment and hope for the best. Unfortunately, the best means not killing anyone, which means we can’t work here. We need to be far away from the manor—and the vampires—before I’ll feel comfortable enough to tap into my magic.
My magic.
It feels weird calling it that. Ever since I first used it while hunting with Jasik, it never felt like it was mine. It felt like it wasn’t supposed to be part of me at all, and if Holland’s right about vampire and witch mythology, then it really isn’t mine. It’s the part of me that should have been released into the earth when I took my final mortal breath.
The moment I woke as an immortal, I should have only had access to vampire perks. A creature with all the enhancements of a vampire—strength, speed, endurance, healing—and the magic of a witch is one to be reckoned with. It’s freaky to think that I am that creature. And I used to think these hybrids only existed in books and movies.
I’m not the only one in the room. Unfortunately, I’m sharing the space with Malik, not Holland. I’d really like to leave before the house awakens. So far, every time I’ve had to meet with Holland, he’s been late. I wonder if this is a trend I should expect from him or if he’s just having trouble adapting to the vampire lifestyle. I assume he went back to a human’s schedule after he and Jeremiah broke up, so I grant him leniency. It took me a while to acclimate as well.
“Don’t be nervous,” Malik says as he strolls over to me with mug in hand. He takes a loud slurp of his drink and sets the cup down on the table.
I was pretending to read a book I found in the parlor, but I close it now, not bothering to save my spot. Malik eyes the title curiously as he takes a seat beside me. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile floor, and I shiver. Slowly, I’m getting used to my heightened senses. These things aren’t bothering me as much as they used to. Now if I can just get my emotions in check…
“I’m not nervous,” I confirm. I paw at the book, playing with the edges. The leather cover is fraying, and it’s almost impossible to read the cover text. I spin the book around in circles with my fingertips. “I just wish Holland would hurry.”
“What’s the rush?” Malik asks. He takes another sip of his breakfast. Unlike the rest of the house, I woke up early to feed. I wasn’t sure how much I’d need to drink in order to refuel from yesterday, and it turns out, I needed a lot. I didn’t want the other hunters to see me gobble down so much blood. I feel weak requiring so much, even if I did sustain several near-fatal injuries.
“I just want to get this day over with,” I say in a huff. I realize I’m acting every bit the seventeen-year-old girl that I am, and it does annoy me to be so bratty.
Malik freezes at my outburst. He’s holding his mug to his lips, but his Adam’s apple hasn’t bobbed. Clearly he isn’t drinking. He’s letting blood pool against his lips as he determines his next move.
“I guess I’m a little stressed,” I say softly.
He swallows hard and swipes his tongue over his crimson-stained upper lip before answering me. “Understandable.”
In this light, he looks so much like his brother. My heart leaps when I stare into his eyes and sense Jasik staring back at me. Normally when I look at them, it feels like the two couldn’t be more opposite. But now, I don’t think that’s true.
They have the same crimson eyes all vampires have, but the shape of theirs are almost identical. They have the same nose and the same ears and the same subtle English accent that’s been coated with decades of American living. Malik’s voice is deeper, and his body is broader. Jasik is leanly muscled, while Malik has more bulk. I learned this the hard way during training, when he absolutely doesn’t hold back. If I could bruise, I’d be a black-and-blue mess twenty-four-seven because of him.
Malik wears his hair buzzed short, while Jasik’s is longer. Often he’ll come down for breakfast with that just-out-of-bed tousle I’m sure he works hard for. Malik looks like he’s spent his life in the military, fighting wars to honor his homeland. I suppose he has. We are at the forefront of the war against rogue vampires in Darkhaven.
“You’re going to do fine, Ava,” Malik says. His words offer me comfort. I care about what he thinks of me. He’s like the older brother I never had.
Immediately, I cringe at the thought. If Malik is like an older brother to me, then that would make Jasik my brother too. That bothers me more than I care to admit. I wouldn’t mind Malik as a brother, but Jasik is another story. My feelings for him grow stronger by the day—and not just because he’s my sire and we’re irrevocably linked in a way I don’t quite understand. I feel different when he’s around. I feel…free.
I smile and say, “Thanks.” I appreciate how hard Malik tries to make me feel comfortable around him and the other vampires. Sometimes I’m not sure if it’s because he truly cares for me now that I’m a vampire or because his brother sired me. Or maybe it’s because he knows something is happening between his brother and me. Regardless, I feel safe when he’s around, and in a town crawling with enemies, a girl can get used to safety.
The rumbling of someone running down the stairs echoes in my mind. I lean over in my chair, getting a full view of the sitting room straight ahead. The best thing about this manor is the layout. The solarium has access to every room on the main level except for the kitchen, which means I’m never too far from anyone or out of earshot. I have to remember the latter when I’m sharing secrets.
When I was just a witch, I was always on my own. I confided in Liv and no one else. I was okay with the solitude, though. I suppose that makes me perfect for the vampire lifestyle. Aside from my nest-mates, I don’t see anyone from the outside world. Living in a Victorian manor decorated with antiques, I sometimes forget what year it is.
Holland rushes down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the ruffled layers, and scans the rooms, not taking a relaxed breath until our eyes meet.
Sorry, he mouths to me, and I smile to let him know I’m not bothered. He doesn’t seem to believe me.
I think about Malik’s words. Everyone is so confident I’ll be okay. They all seem to believe I am strong enough to control the magic coursing in my veins.
“I’m going to do fine, huh? I guess we’re going to find out,” I say to Malik, finally responding to his earlier comment.
I stand and push in my chair. When I reach for the book, Malik stops me.
“I’ll put it back. You stop stalling and get to training.”
I roll my eyes. The ever-present protective older brother strikes again…
“So sorry. I overslept,” Holland says when he reaches the solarium.
“It’s no big deal,” I say, shrugging.
“She’s not lying. She likes to procrastinate on training days. Don’t you, Ava?” Malik says, and I jab him in the shoulder with my elbow. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he snorts at my lame attempt to injure him.
Holland laughs at our interaction before asking, “Are you ready to go, then?”
“Sure you don’t need
another nap?” someone says.
The three of us turn to face the intruder. Malik is once again mid-drink, and I’m tempted to tap the bottom of his mug so a little goes up his nose. Next time he’ll think twice before calling me out on my procrastination habits in front of a new trainer.
Jeremiah makes his way over to us. His ’locs are pinned in place and resting atop his head. Unlike Malik, who is sporting some serious casualwear in the form of sweat pants and a T-shirt, Jeremiah is dressed for battle. I assume he’s patrolling tonight, and I can’t help but wonder if he requested this shift. Or am I to believe it’s purely a coincidence that he is canvassing the very woods where his ex-boyfriend will be training?
When it comes to vampires, I’ve learned there are no coincidences. He wants to make sure his ex is safe while training with me in the middle of nowhere, and that only slightly offends me.
I don’t hide the sly grin that forms, and Jeremiah doesn’t miss it. He pretends not to notice, but silently I’m telling him he’s fooling no one with his behavior. He’s not over Holland, and I’m not so sure Holland is over him. I wonder if I should pry while training today. I was able to get information from Hikari before Holland even arrived, and I’m guessing Holland is dying to spill the beans. Who else can he talk to about his vampire ex-boyfriend besides me, the half-breed?
“I think we should go. It’s getting a little crowded in here,” Holland says. His words are sharp, but I can see straight through his tough demeanor. Beneath it all, he’s hurt. Jeremiah needs to stop being such a jerk when he’s around. Otherwise, he’ll never win back his ex.
I didn’t realize how stuffy the air inside the manor was until we get outside. It feels nice to breathe deeply and enjoy nature. It’s been a long time since I have been able to stroll through the woods and not worry about someone watching me.
Dark Magic (Darkhaven Saga Book 2) Page 9
