Dark Magic (Darkhaven Saga Book 2)

by Danielle Rose

  “We have a situation,” Malik says.

  Jasik tosses his legs over the side of bed and strides toward him. His feet are bare, and the hardwood floor squeaks under his weight.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He need not respond. I already know the answer. There is only one person who can ruin my day. I made my peace with her last night, but that never seems to be enough.

  They say they want me out of their lives, but how can I walk away if she keeps pushing us together?

  “The witches are outside,” Malik says.

  It feels like every single tiny hair on my body stands on end. My senses are acutely aware of everyone in the room. I hear Jasik’s breath hitch and Malik’s disgruntled tone. I hear my heartbeat race to brain-tingling levels, and I feel my insides twist.

  Can there never be peace?

  “They’re here?” I ask.

  “They want to speak with you, Ava,” Malik says, confirming my question.

  This catches my attention. “Wait—You talked to them? You went outside?” I ask.

  Malik nods. “Someone had to. They knocked on the door and shouted that they weren’t leaving until someone answered.”

  I frown. “How did they know where to find us?”

  “What do you mean?” Jasik asks.

  “How did they know where we live?” I say, shaking my head. “I never knew this place existed until you brought me here, so how did they find us in one night? I spent years patrolling these woods, and I never found this place. There’s no way they could without help.”

  “Maybe they used magic?” Jasik offers.

  I did consider this. If they had something or someone to search for, they could try a locater spell, but they would need something to connect where they are with who they seek, like a link. To find me, they couldn’t just connect to my magic; they would need something of mine to find me. And they couldn’t use just any item. It would need to be something spectacularly special—something I covet.

  My heart sinks.

  “My stake!”

  I rush around the room, frantically searching for the clothes I discarded after I showered. I find them in a bundle on the floor, but my jacket isn’t there.

  “Where is my jacket?” I shout as I tear through the pile of dirty clothes. Maybe if I keep looking, it will magically appear.

  Jasik dashes to my makeup table, where he must have left my jacket last night. In a flash, he’s back, handing the garment to me. “Here.”

  I search the pockets, but I don’t find it. My heart stops.

  “No,” I whisper. “It’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?” Malik asks.

  “I must have dropped it in the fight.”

  I’m shaking. I ball my hands into fists and scratch at my palms, hoping to steady my breathing. I can’t think. I can’t focus. My mind is foggy, my brain heavy in my head. The room is closing in on me, and I can’t breathe.

  “You think the witches have it?” Malik asks.

  I nod, grinding my teeth. “I think they used it to find me.”

  “Maybe they’ll give it back,” Jasik says.

  I want to be hopeful, but Mamá knows how much this stake means to me. It’s one of two items I have of Papá’s, and now that she hates what I’ve become, I think she would keep my stake from me out of spite.

  I bet she has it on her. It will be strapped to her thigh. She’ll want me to see it, to know she has it and used it to take away our peace of mind. The witches know where we live, and now they have the upper hand. At any point, they can visit us when the sun is high in the sky, and they can use their magic to spark a flame that sends us all straight to hell.

  “I hope so,” I whisper. My hands are white-knuckled fists, holding my jacket to my chest as I try to steady my racing heart. “It was my father’s.”

  Jasik rubs his hand up and down the length of my back, cooing me into relaxation. I lean against him, resting my head against his arm. Just when I thought the witches were out of my life for good, they’re back, and I’m missing the only thing from Papá I can actually touch.

  I toss my jacket on my bed as I open the drawer to my bedside table. The small black jewelry box is still tucked safely inside. I pick it up and run my finger along the edge. This is all I have left of him now. I take a deep breath and touch the silver cross.

  The vampires watching tense. I hear their breath catch as I run my fingertip down the length of the cold metal. I wait for something to happen. Anything at all. But nothing does. I grab on to the cross and pull it free from the box. The box falls to the ground in an echoing heap that tears through the silent room. The cross rests in the palm of my hand, and I spin to face the others.

  The brothers are staring, jaws slack, eyes wide. Their shock is evident. I hold out my hand, unable to speak, showing them the cross. I walk toward them, and both scurry back until their backs are flush against the wall. I stop before I touch them.

  “H-How?” I stutter.

  “That’s not possible,” Malik whispers.

  Jasik steps forward and reaches for my hand. Time seems to slow as he moves closer and closer. His fingers are long and slender, pale and cold. His hand shakes as he tries to steady himself for impact.

  Malik grabs his brother’s hand before we make contact. He moves so quickly, I flinch.

  “Don’t!” Malik shouts.

  Jasik shakes free and quickly rushes forward. The moment his skin graces the cross, it sizzles. He shrieks, an earth-shattering scream that pierces my heart. His hand is set aflame, and he yanks his arm back to extinguish the fire. He cradles his wounded arm against his body and rocks back and forth.

  I wait for his skin to heal, but it doesn’t.

  “What’s happening? Why aren’t you healing?” I ask. I look at his brother to Jasik’s wound and back again.

  “It takes a lot longer to heal this type of wound,” Jasik says. He grinds his teeth when he talks and groans at the pain my cross caused. I never realized one simple religious symbol held so much power over the undead.

  Malik disappears into my bathroom and returns with bandages. He wraps his brother’s wound quickly, applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

  “I warned you,” Malik chastises.

  “I needed to see,” Jasik explains.

  Malik shakes his head and mumbles under his breath before turning to face me.

  “These wounds are more painful and take longer to heal,” Malik explains. “This is why that was a stupid idea.”

  “But I can touch it,” I say softly. I clasp my hand, relishing in the feeling of the cross against my skin. I haven’t touched this treasure since I turned, and it’s killed me to feel so disconnected from Papá. Every time I thought of him and how detached I felt from my heritage, I died a little on the inside.

  I fumble to unlatch the chain before securing it to my neck. The metal is shiny and bright, and it feels cool against my skin. I keep my hand on it, unable to stop myself from making sure it’s still there. I can feel it against my skin, and it hums. I close my eyes and let that feeling wash over me.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper. I want to scream, to cry, to shout. I’ve never felt so happy, so beloved, so enthralled with any one object in all my life, but this cross means more to me than I could ever explain to the vampires. To them, it’s a symbol of death, and it’s the main reason the witches have a hard time seeing vampires as good, pure beings.

  “It appears you have a few more tricks up your sleeve,” Jasik says, trying to keep the mood light.

  I smile at his words, excitement bubbling within me. “I wonder what else I can do.”

  I open the door and step onto the front porch. Per my request, the vampires have agreed to stay inside the manor, but I know they’re waiting in the foyer for this meeting to inevitably go wrong.

  Before I stepped outside, the vampires told me what would happen if the witches attacked. There would be no backing down. They know where we live
now, and they brought the fight to our doorstep. The hunters must protect their nest. Doing so means the witches will fall.

  Once again, Amicia gave me a choice: us or them. I chose the vampires without hesitation.

  Now, I’m staring at my former coven, and I can’t help but feel powerful. They seem small, frail, and feeble. I strut toward them, instinctively patting the gargoyle on the head as I take the steps down to the front walk.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I approach the witches.

  “Did you think you were the only one who could show up uninvited?” someone asks.

  I glance at her, my irritation growing. I recognize her immediately as Liv’s mother. Her brown hair is erratic with tight curls. Her skin is pale, but not as pale as mine. Her long, flowy pants flicker in the breeze, and her eyes are light brown. I notice the dark circles under her eyes almost immediately. I’m happy to know I’m not the only one losing sleep these days.

  I’ve met her a total of two times. After my last visit, Liv told me I wasn’t allowed to come over anymore. Her mother didn’t agree with our ways. She was a free-loving flower child, and she didn’t believe in violence. To spend time together, Liv would sneak out at night to patrol with me. When she slept over, she told her mother she was staying somewhere else.

  “Why are you here?” I say, looking directly at Mamá. My gaze settles on her hips. My stake is not there. When I meet her gaze again, she is smiling. She knows I know how she found me, but what she doesn’t realize is how close she is to the edge. She will return what belongs to me, even if I have to take it by force.

  “Relájate, niña,” Mamá says.

  Relax? She can’t be serious. Our greatest enemies just showed up on our front lawn, and they don’t exactly have a history of being helpful or wanting peace. Them showing up here can only mean one thing, and it won’t be good.

  “We need your help,” Liv’s mother says.

  I gawk at them.

  “Are you kidding me?” I blurt. My tone betrays how laughable I find this. For months, I’ve done nothing but try to help them. Time and time again, I risked my life to save theirs. My friends even joined me to help them, and they’ve been nothing but dismissive.

  “We know this is—”

  “Unbelievable?” I interrupt.

  “Ava,” Mamá says. Her tone is cold, sharp, and it makes me feel like a child again. I’m no longer the strong, powerful woman I was just a second ago. I’m weak, vulnerable, and desperately seeking my mother’s approval. I hate her for making me feel this way.

  “We can’t find her alone,” the witch whispers. Only then do I see the tears blurring her vision. She lets them flow freely, not brushing them away or hiding her weakness.

  “Find who?” I ask. “What happened?”

  “A witch is missing,” Mamá says.

  I shake my head. “No, the rogue explained that was just a trick, a setup to get us all together. He lied. He didn’t take anyone.”

  “No, mija,” Mamá says. “Someone has been taken.”

  “When? Who? How did this happen?” My thoughts are spiraling out of control, and I can sense the witches aren’t telling me everything. I’m tired of their lies. I was supposed to be free of them and this burden, but here they are, finally seeking my help. I’m not sure how I feel about this. So badly, I want to scream that I’m not falling for this again, but instead, I remain silent, waiting for her response.

  “We haven’t seen her since last night,” Mamá says.

  “Who? Who is missing?” I shout.

  I’m annoyed and frustrated that the witches still aren’t telling me everything. I don’t understand what’s going on. How could someone be missing? We killed the rogues. I refuse to believe one escaped just to return yet again and rehash a failed plan.

  “Who is missing?” I ask again.

  “Liv.”

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is a team sport, and this career wouldn’t be possible without the tireless efforts of a select few.

  To Heather, Robin, and Shawna—you three are what keeps me sane. Publishing isn’t easy, but having a trio of strong women to confide in helps make it fun. I wouldn’t be where I am in my career without your support, talent, and wisdom. I appreciate you all.

  To my momma—I really hit the family lottery when I got you. You are fearless in your shameless promotion of my books (even when the cashier at the gas station really doesn’t care to hear about my job). I love you.

  To my readers—I literally couldn’t do this job without you. A writer is nothing without a reader, and I never forget that. I am a full-time author because of you, and I am eternally grateful. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your support and excitement never go unnoticed.

  To my Waterhouse Press family—I never imagined my life could be this exciting. I owe so much to you, and not a day goes by when I don’t feel immensely grateful and incredibly honored to be part of this family.

  Continue the Darkhaven Saga with

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  Also by Danielle Rose

  Darkhaven Saga:

  Dark Secret

  Dark Magic

  Dark Promise

  Dark Spell

  Dark Curse

  Pieces of Me Duet:

  Lies We Keep

  Truth We Bear

  For a full list of Danielle’s other titles,

  visit her at

  DRoseAuthor.com

  About Danielle Rose

  Dubbed a “triple threat” by readers, Danielle Rose dabbles in many genres, including urban fantasy, suspense, and romance. The USA Today bestselling author holds a master of fine arts in creative writing from the University of Southern Maine.

  Danielle is a self-professed sufferer of ’philes and an Oxford comma enthusiast. She prefers solitude to crowds, animals to people, four seasons to hellfire, nature to cities, and traveling as often as she breathes.

  For more information, please follow Danielle Rose at:

  DRoseAuthor.com