Darkness Rising

by Mary Jennifer Payne

  I have no reply. Though I have no idea what it’s like to be possessed by a demon, I was abducted by one and spent nearly half a decade living in the Place-in-Between, where negative energy pervades everything. Not pleasant, but clearly nowhere near what’s happened to Vivienne. Plus, the memories of my time there are nothing more than faint whispers in my consciousness, so I don’t even suffer from any sort of post-traumatic stuff. I often wonder why the demon that took me didn’t kill me and take my soul for itself. It makes no sense … it would’ve been dead easy for it to have had my soul.

  “Remember, we don’t destroy the demon when we behead it,” Amara says, breaking into my thoughts. “When the demon isn’t in a ‘vessel,’ it’s not gone, it’s not dead. It’s simply searching for a new place to inhabit.”

  I stare at her. The air is so thick, so humid under our tarp, I feel like I might pass out. Sweat trickles down my forehead and into my eyes, stinging them.

  “We’re always being warned by Ms. Samson and all the Protectors about demons and Seer souls. But I guess I never really thought about what would actually happen. I imagined the demons would kind of just suck away our powers … and our lives,” I say.

  “Well, now you know,” Amara says flatly. I can feel the anger emanating from her in waves.

  Heavy silence fills the air between us. “I am sorry,” I say, though the words sound hollow even to me.

  Amara narrows her eyes at me again. “The thing I want to know is, why did you take it? I mean, I’ll admit part of me is glad we’ll be better protected tonight, but we were supposed to return the ring to the wall for a reason. So what made you think it was okay to do this? Does Jasmine know you have the ring?”

  “Yeah, she knows,” I say with a nod. “And she’s furious with me.” I pause. Really? This whole thing with Jasmine again. It’s like whatever Jasmine knows or doesn’t know, feels or doesn’t feel, is of critical importance to everyone. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling rising in my stomach. I want to tell Amara everything, to make her realize I’m not the villain here. I’m pretty certain she would’ve done exactly what I did, given the same information. But there’s no way I can fully explain why I took the ring without mentioning Seth. And yet, if I don’t give a decent explanation, Amara is going to hate me. She might even hate me if I do tell her the real reason I took the ring back.

  “I can’t tell you everything. Yet,” I say. Amara’s already trying to pry into my thoughts. “And what I do tell you needs to be confidential, okay? Just for now.”

  Amara regards me carefully, as if I’m some new species of creature she’s never come across before. Something to be wary of.

  “Um, okay,” she says, enunciating each syllable slowly.

  I’ve got to be careful what I reveal to her; I’m pretty sure she’s not too concerned about doing anything I ask of her now.

  “There are some … people that don’t trust the Archangels. They don’t think we, the Seers, should be putting so much trust in them, either. In fact, I’ve been told that it’s dangerous for us, that the angels aren’t necessarily looking out for our best interests.”

  “Okay,” Amara says. “So … who are these people, exactly? And why are they any more trustworthy than the angels? Why are you choosing to believe them?”

  “That I can’t tell you,” I say. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Seriously, Jade?” Amara says, throwing her hands up. “You’re supposed to be a second-born. The way you’re behaving and talking, you’re acting very much like a first-born, and not a very bright one at that. Plus, not only is it pretty effed up for one Seer to keep secrets from the rest of us, but you’re also …”

  A sudden noise stops Amara midsentence.

  We both freeze. I’m afraid to breathe. Maybe it’s just an animal.

  Footsteps. And the sound of keys jingling.

  Someone is outside the door.

  We both lie down flat, hoping to make the tarp look more natural, as if it’s just covering some garden tools or has been thrown in the corner haphazardly. I hold my breath. My heartbeat seems unnaturally loud. I can’t imagine whoever is out there won’t be able to hear it as soon as they enter the shed.

  “Goshdarned thing. Always jamming.” The voice is female and elderly. She sounds slightly confused and shaky with nervousness.

  “Open it!” a male voice snaps. His voice is laced with impatience. “And you’d better not be stalling because you’ve got something in there to hide. Something that might show you’re part of the resistance, part of the CCT.”

  “No, no, not at all,” the woman replies. “There’s nothing of the sort. I’m a proud supporter of Mayor Smith. I came here decades and decades ago as a much younger woman, when the economy in Greece collapsed. And I came here legally. I’m in full support of our government keeping those illegals out.” Her voice cracks. She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears now.

  “Step aside. We’ll take care of it for you,” a younger woman says. “And by the way, Billy,” she adds, “you can tone it down.” I’m guessing she’s an officer or military personnel of some sort, if she can talk to him that way without any consequences.

  There’s a moment of silence. Then a loud bang like a gunshot, followed by a splintering sound at the door. Amara begins to softly hum again. I nudge her with my elbow.

  Another bang. And another, all in rapid succession. I hold my breath, knowing they’re about to enter the shed in the next few seconds. I glance over at Amara. Tears are streaming from her closed eyes and down the sides of her face. I wonder if she’s in pain, if she’s feeling Vivienne’s pain right now. My heart tightens with guilt.

  After one last thunderous crack, there’s another moment of silence. The wood frame has surrendered.

  “And just who is going to pay for this?” the elderly woman asks. “Thieves are going to have a field day if there’s no door.”

  “We’ll send somebody from the city to fix it later today,” the female officer assures her. She’s in the shed now. Her voice is so close, I feel like I could reach out and touch her. If they have any drones with them, we’re done. But it’s a good sign that the officers are inside the shed already; their body heat would confuse any drones’ heat sensors, so we’re likely safe from that threat.

  “Check the cupboard over there,” the female officer says. A door bangs open.

  “Nothing but pottery and art stuff,” Billy says. There’s disappointment in his voice. It’s almost like he’s hoping to find something that will mess up this elderly woman’s life. So much for “To Serve and Protect.” Unless, of course, you apply that policing slogan to Mayor Smith; our police and military seem to be serving and protecting her over everything and everyone else these days.

  “All right, all clear in here,” the female says. “Ma’am, I’ll personally make sure that someone is here for your door within the next few hours.”

  “I hope you find the murderers, including the ones that poisoned all those innocent people. Barbarians,” the elderly woman says. “Hard to believe that even our beautiful young women are being recruited by the CCT now. Just shocking. The more terrorists we execute, the better. Might put some fear into anyone thinking about committing such evil acts.” She pauses. “What’s the death toll at from the water being poisoned? How many millions have passed as of now?”

  “We can’t release that information, ma’am,” the female officer says. “But official news reports estimate at least a million dead, and many more still in critical condition. I’ve lost family members and friends myself due to that attack, so I have to agree with you. Those girls responsible — if they’re responsible — should hang. That’s part of the reason I’ll be pulling a double shift today.”

  We’re not guilty! I want to scream. We’re being blackmailed by Smith and her crooked government!

  “God bless you,” the elderly woman says. “I look forward to seeing those terrorists in cuffs on the news broadcasts tonight or in the very ne
ar future.”

  Over my dead body will you see us in cuffs tonight or at any point in the future, I think. I just hope my thoughts aren’t prophetic.

  JASMINE

  “Careful, it’s slippery,” Cassandra says, as she edges her way onto the first moss- and algae-covered stone step of the staircase that leads down to the riverbank. The steps look like they’re blanketed by an emerald carpet, the vegetation is so thick. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t break our necks,” she adds grimly, as she tightens her grip on the rusty metal handrail and descends.

  I glance at Lily. Her face is covered with beads of perspiration even though it’s cooler here than in Toronto. A pale-grey hue still lingers under her skin, and dark, bruise-like smudges frame her eyes. Usually Raphael is able to heal us completely, so Lily’s ongoing weakness is super concerning.

  “Low tide,” Cassandra declares as she steps onto the wet sand beside the river’s edge. “I guess that’s why we’re able to walk down here.” There’s barely anyone in sight along the riverbank. Other than a couple of guys around our age goofing around throwing chunks of wet sand at each other, and a man with his head down, likely examining the ground beneath his feet for washed-up treasures, this stretch of the bank is mostly empty.

  “London is one of the only cities that was somewhat prepared to prevent the flooding from rising sea levels that would’ve destroyed it,” Lily murmurs. She points downriver, away from the city proper. “They built these barriers to keep the rising ocean from flooding large parts of the city. And then they had to keep building them higher and higher and reinforcing them as the ocean levels rose further. That’s why London hasn’t sunk like Mumbai or Miami or even Toronto Island. I mean, it’s not even half-gone, like New York. And the population is much more dense here. Imagine if they ever had to evacuate millions of people to higher ground, like New York City did after that storm.”

  “I have no idea how you know all of that stuff, but maybe it would’ve been good if the city did sink, considering how it’s the epicentre of all of this demonic and Place-in-Between junk,” I say, kicking absently at an empty shell with the toe of my boot, flipping it over to reveal a shimmering pearl-coloured belly. “Maybe if London here in our world had been completely destroyed by water, then the Place-in-Between and all the demons would’ve disappeared as well.”

  “Sure,” Lily replies. “Maybe you’re right, and maybe it would’ve destroyed the Place-in-Between or something. But if that had happened before this year, chances are Jade wouldn’t be back with us now.” Her voice is tinged with sarcasm. “Honestly, Jasmine, I love you, but sometimes you need to think before you say things.” She wipes away the perspiration on her forehead.

  Heat rises from my chest up to my face. I keep my lips clamped shut tightly because Lily’s right — even if I do think she’s overreacting to my comment, which was only meant to be kind of a joke. I’ve heard the same message enough times from enough people to realize that plenty of individuals get tired of my smartass comments. I might be impulsive, but I’m not super thick. I just need to remember to think before I let words spew from my mouth.

  I watch as a solitary seagull glides overhead, emitting a sad cry. Looking at the murky, winding trail of the river, I wonder just how much life is still left in there, what with the warming of the water. No wonder this is the first gull I’ve spotted; its food sources are probably pretty scarce.

  “Raphael was smart to send us this way,” I murmur. “Much less chance of getting seen and recognized.”

  Lily and Cassandra both nod. “I just looked up the Trafalgar Tavern in my video watch,” Cassandra says. “The guide is telling me we only need to walk about three or four more minutes at this pace.”

  As we trudge along, the heavy, wet sand and silt sucking at our feet, I look out at the buildings lining the other side of the Thames. There are a variety of modern-looking apartment buildings, many of them in various states of disrepair, though nearly all boast solar panels and green roofs.

  I bring my gaze back to Cassandra’s back. Like her, I’m nervous about revealing our identity to this Clarence guy, but what other choice do we have? It’s not like we can wander endlessly around London, especially when we’re wanted for terrorism, and I’m pretty sure we don’t have the power to flip between locations in the here and now, and commercial air travel is totally suspended … so it looks like we’re not getting back to Toronto anytime soon. I wonder how Mom is doing, especially with the current attacks. My throat tightens and tears blur my vision. Hopefully Jade made it back and is with her right now.

  Cassandra stops at a short flight of grey stone steps nearly identical to the ones we took to get down to the river’s edge. I notice the waves are now licking at her shoes. It seems that the tide is coming back in.

  “This is it,” she says. “We need to go back up to street level and into that building right there.” She points toward an imposing ivory-coloured building towering above us. The words Trafalgar Tavern appear along the upper edge of the building in black lettering.

  None of us move toward the steps. And that’s because we’re all wondering the same thing: are our faces and identities as wanted criminals being shown constantly during every news presentation, live-streamed 24-7 onto video watches and plastered on the side of every form of public transit? Will we emerge at ground level only to be spotted straight away and reported to the authorities? Or has ours been just an intermittent story, one of the many about the CCT, refugee “invasions,” and the need for nations to be vigilant against outsiders that threaten to overburden their fragile economies, ecosystems, and resources? Regardless, there’re bound to be drones patrolling London’s streets, and they’ll be able to pull up our profiles in no time if we’re in databases as suspected terrorists.

  The odds are not on our side at all.

  I take a deep breath. The grey clouds above me suddenly feel ominous and suffocating. “We need to make sure we’re reading the minds of the people around us, especially this Clarence guy,” I say.

  “If he knows we’re Seers, he might just block us, though,” Lily says.

  “That’s true,” I admit. “But if he’s on our side like Raphael says he is, there should be no reason for him to do that.” I pause, glancing along the riverbank. “In fact, if he does block us, that’s a clear sign that we need to get out of there. And fast. If that happens, we should have a meeting place.”

  “The only place we know is that train station,” Lily murmurs.

  “And going back to that station would be nothing less than suicide,” Cassandra says. She glances down at her video watch and presses the screen. “Meeting places in Greenwich,” she says. Looking up, she gives both Lily and me a wry smile. “Either we meet at a secluded place, where we completely stand out to anyone who happens by and one or more of us might get lost trying to find it, or we chance going to a more crowded area and hope that people don’t recognize us.”

  “But let’s try not to get split up, okay?” Lily says, her eyes widening with worry. Her voice is breathless, weak. It’s easy to read her thoughts: she knows something’s not right with her health-wise and is afraid of being left alone without me and Cassandra’s protection.

  “Of course,” Cassandra says, taking her sister’s hand and giving it a squeeze. She’s obviously read Lily’s thoughts as well. “But we need to be ready for any situation, and Jasmine’s plan is a good one.”

  I raise an eyebrow in her direction. Did she just compliment me twice in the last few minutes?

  Cassandra looks back down at her watch. “Apparently there’s an observatory at the top of the hill over there.” She points beyond the Trafalgar Tavern. “Across that road. We can meet there. It’s in a park, so if one of us begins to feel nervous about being spotted or anything, there should be bushes and stuff like that to hide in. I say we meet around the back of it if anything bad happens. Of the observatory, that is.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “Looks like it’s time for us to go and ha
ve a little chat with Clarence.” Stepping forward, I reach out and grasp the black wrought-iron bannister beside the staircase.

  I really hope Raphael’s guiding us in the right direction.

  The three of us step onto a grey cobbled street beside the Trafalgar. The small pedestrianized area directly in front of us is dotted with several long wooden picnic tables that are likely from the turn of the century; the wood is frayed and peeling from the passage of time and what little rain England still gets. And there’s a metal statue of this skinny, serious-looking dude wearing what looks like a pirate’s hat punctuated by a feather. I’m guessing he was once someone important.

  A smattering of people are sitting at the tables, chatting, reading, and intently watching their video watches and tablets. They don’t give us so much as a glance. Nearly all of them are clutching what look like pints of cider. It’s pretty much the only alcoholic beverage available in most parts of the world now. A memory of Smith drinking her blood-red wine floats into my mind, and I push away the worry about Eva, Jade, Mom, Mr. Khan, and the others that rears its head as soon as I think about home. I’ve got to focus on the here and now.

  “Heads down, and move toward a wall once we’re inside, so we’re not as obvious,” I whisper as we weave our way around the outdoor tables toward the thickly lacquered black doors at the entrance to the pub.

  We step inside the building.

  “Woah,” Lily says, keeping her voice low as she looks around. “It’s like stepping back in time. Like, centuries.” She wrinkles her nose. “It even smells old.”