She remembered his words, his lies. He’d told her that she was evil, that she drew out the worst in people. The lies had clouded her reason, and frozen her words. He’d convinced her she’d wanted to kiss him, to touch him. She’d believed his words, though she’d found him revolting.
Looking back on that incident, she realized for the first time what it really happened. He’d molested her, using magic. Her tattoo had protected her to some extent, but his magic had been stronger.
Tears dropped onto Becca’s hands. A shudder of mixed emotions tore through her. Relief that she wasn’t tainted or evil and grief for all that she lost that night. She ran because she was ashamed of her actions. Actions that she now realized were not her choice.
She’d lost not only her innocence that night, but her family too. Shame and disgust still colored the incident, but some of the heaviness of it was lifted in telling her sister and realizing Becca wasn’t to blame.
Elizabeth knelt in front of Becca, holding her hands.
“Oh, Rebecca. How could he?”
Becca had to finish. She ached to protect Elizabeth and warm her of what was to come. “Jeremiah isn’t the man we knew. He’s a wizard, as dark and evil as they come. It’s his fault our parents are dead. And now he’s after you. You need to get away. Run away.”
Elizabeth’s nose wrinkled up, like it often did when she was confused. She grabbed Becca’s hand and turned it over, running a finger across the scar on Becca’s palm. “Remember this?”
Becca nodded. When Elizabeth was seven, they were play fighting with sticks Becca had cut into swords. Elizabeth had tripped, and Becca accidentally sliced her sister’s hand. Elizabeth had been hysterical. Scared she’d get in trouble from their mom, Becca cut her hand as well to appease her sister. Only a thin white scar remained.
“It was the only way to keep from getting in trouble and save my back side.” Becca had gotten a few swats anyways when her mother figured out the true story, but it did get Elizabeth to stop crying.
“True. But you grabbed my hand and told me we were more than sisters.” Elizabeth squeezed their hands together. “That we’ll always be together, in life or death.”
If only those childhood wishes were true. A sob built up in Becca’s chest. She grasped Elizabeth in a hug, never wanting to let go. Both girls knelt on the floor clinging tight to one another.
“I’ll save you,” Becca promised.
Becca awoke back in the cabin. Silent tears streamed down her face as she stared out into the dark sky. A shiver ran down her back, though a fire now roared in the fireplace.
Was that a dream or something more? She rubbed where the scar was, barely able to feel it anymore. Was it possible that there was a connection she didn’t understand? She would have to ask Darion about it in the morning.
She repeated the promise she’d made to her sister. “I’ll save you.”
CHAPTER 27
Elizabeth’s head felt stuffed with cotton. She had spent the last two days with Paula, crammed into her bed room that grew smaller by the minute. Smoke from the herbs burning in the corner threatened to suffocate her. She hadn’t seen her uncle for days.
This morning, Paula drew her a bath of rose-scented water. Elizabeth should feel spoiled, pampered, like a true bride to be. Yet in the back of her mind, the fact she had not met her fiancé kept pestering her.
She watched her reflection as Paula braided her golden hair and felt like a child. A doll to be adjusted. Lift an arm here. Pin an earring here. Rest now. Eat now.
Watching her pale reflection, an uneasy sensation washed over her. Her latest dream about Becca unsettled her. She stared at her polished hands on the table and remembered her sister’s touch, and tears.
The thin scar across Elizabeth’s palm was barely visible. Could those words Becca had spoken about their uncle be true? Or was it Elizabeth’s own fears and insecurities?
“Can we take a break?” she asked. “Maybe open a window?”
“Tsk.” Paula shoved another pin in Elizabeth’s hair. “We don’t want you to catch a cold. Plus, these herbs help calm nerves.”
Why do I need to calm my nerves? The large garment bag on the bed may have something to do with it. However the herbs helped, they didn’t ease the gnawing in her stomach.
Paula must have sensed her apprehension. “I have something you’ll enjoy,” she said, sticking in the last bobby pin.
She retrieved the garment bag and pulled out a red lace dress. Paula displayed the dress proudly, as if she’d made it herself. The sleeveless dress had a deep neck line, no modest woman would wear, and a tight fit, the red traveling down to the floor.
It was a beautiful dress, yet the pain in Elizabeth’s stomach continued.
“You should see the back,” Paula said, flipping it over. “Jeremiah had this shipped in from overseas. He spared no expense.”
“Why is it red?” Elizabeth asked. “I thought it was a wedding dress?”
Paula avoided her gaze for a brief second and swallowed. “You should be grateful. Not many girls get this kind of dress,” she practically spit at her.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth replied, trying to ease the tension.
“It’s exquisite.”
She leaned forward to touch the gown and knocked over a cup of tea on the desk. It clattered on the carpet, splashing the tea on the dress.
Paula gasped.
Elizabeth grabbed a cloth, and attempted to clean the stain. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop it, you careless girl,” Paula reprimanded, stepping back. She ripped the cloth from Elizabeth and dabbed at the fabric, muttering under her breath.
The uneasy feeling grew in Elizabeth’s stomach as she stared at the dress. “Paula?”
“What?” she huffed.
“When am I going to meet my fiancé?” Elizabeth needed to have something to look forward to amid the dark confusion and loneliness of the last few days.
“What?” Paula jerked back. “Really? I have enough to do without all of your questions.”
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
Elizabeth’s mind swirled in the smoky room, trying to untwist what Paula had said, or what was left unsaid. She was supposed to get married. Jeremiah had set the date only days away. But where was the groom or a white dress?
She looked up at the window. Random clouds littered the sky, unsure if they wanted to rain or let the sun come out to play. They taunted her with clean air and cool breezes.
She pulled the chair over to the window and worked on the lock, constantly listening for sounds of Paula out in the hall. After several minutes, she tugged it open. A gust of air swam into her room, carrying the smell of musty trees and fallen leaves. Memories of home tore at her heart.
As the air cleared her mind, her thoughts pieced together. Her head pounded with the events of the last couple of days. There wasn’t going to be a wedding. She’d never picked a wedding cake, or chosen flowers, or even met a groom. She didn’t even know her fiancé’s name. Or maybe
Jeremiah told her, and she didn’t remember?
Maybe her dream with Rebecca was a bigger warning than she realized. If she only had the courage her sister had. She remembered the red dress Paula showed her. It would look better on a prostitute than a bride.
Elizabeth wasn’t sure of anything. She grabbed a glass of water on the desk, draining it and then setting it back down. Her thoughts jumped to Jeremiah’s news of her parents’ death, his promise of a kind husband to care for her, and that everything would be okay. He had a way of convincing her.
She didn’t know what was real or what was part of a fabricated fairy tale. How could she get married in days to a man she had never met? She didn’t want to. She could refuse, but somehow, when Jeremiah came back, he would convince her otherwise.
But where could she go? The city? With no experience and no money?
She traced the scar on her hand. Her heart raced. If she didn’t go now, she wouldn’t have another ch
ance. Pearl earrings lay on the desk. She grabbed them and the matching necklace in the drawer. They were worth plenty.
She had always wanted to get married, to have the perfect family life. But not like this. Not forced into something she wasn’t sure of. She looked over her room one last time— neat, well furnished, picture perfect by all means. The idea of staying to play a part she didn’t choose made her ill.
She crawled out the window and didn’t look back.
Darion stared into the fire that popped quietly in its brick resting place. With a wave of his hand, the flames danced at his command. It had been something he could do for years, and it calmed his nerves like nothing else.
Becca was the exception, except for the other half of the time she set his nerves on edge.
Fire was different. He had control of it, though powerful and dangerous. He understood it and could control and warp it like no other he had ever met. The thrum of power was exhilarating.
For years he had flown under the radar of the coven. Now, he was getting ready to fly right at them. There would be no hiding after that. Just running.
Becca stirred on the couch across from him, and he could hear the faint murmur of the other two upstairs. They didn’t understand, except maybe the slave girl. The coven was strong enough to do things to a person that would leave them begging for death for years.
Becca slowly woke, and he wished they could just run. The two of them. Give them time to discover her powers, maybe even each other again. There wasn’t time for that.
And if he didn’t go with her, she would be dead. She still might die, and that was another alternative he couldn’t live with. How much was it going to cost to keep her alive?
“How long have I been out?” she mumbled.
He closed his hand, the flames lowered to an ordinary dance. “It’s almost noon.”
“Damn.” She sat up quickly and grabbed the couch for support. “We need to get moving, get planning.”
“We have time, and we’ll need it. How about coffee first?”
Her eyes were half closed as she tried to pat down her tousled hair. “There’s coffee here?”
Her vulnerable demeanor was a rare appearance that amused him. She wore the rumpled silver dress that showed one shoulder, soft and bare.
He warmed the mug by hand, before handing it to her. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She sipped the drink. “Hmmm. This is good.” She curled her legs under the blanket and stared into the fire. “How much time do we have?”
“Three days till the full moon. We’ll have to get gas but should be able to make it up to Ryma’s estate in half a day.”
“Why not go now?”
He scoffed. “You really think we can just stroll in there?”
“You’re a magician. What do you need to break through the wards?”
He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or scared of her ignorance. “You have too much faith in my magic. Ryma’s one of the Coven of Abbadon, and he rules the city coven. I couldn’t step on his property without his knowledge.” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated at the impossible task ahead of them. “Jeremiah would love to have you. And we haven’t even talked about what happened at the market. Whether you want to admit it or not, you have powers. They must have been suppressed by the tattoo. Any wizard who knows you’re untrained would kill to have you.”
He wanted to shake her, get it into her mind what they were up against. But one look at her staring into her coffee told him she might have an idea.
Before she could answer, Grace came strolling in, clean and dressed in jeans and a dark long sleeved blouse. She plopped down near Darion. “So are you two plotting away in here without us?”
Caleb followed Grace in and sat near Becca on the couch’s arm rest.
At least he finally found a shirt.
He watched Becca with a possessiveness that got under Darion’s skin.
“You two both need to figure out where you want to go,” Darion said. “We can stay here for a couple more days, and then I can drop you off wherever you want.”
He didn’t need extra Mundanes around to protect. Becca would be hard enough.
Caleb head snapped up. “I’m staying with Rebecca. I have more reason than you to find Elizabeth and to get back at these bastards.”
“Possibly.” Darion turned to see if Becca was going to respond, but she focused on the fire so he continued, “But only one of us knows exactly what we’re up against and has the power to do something about it.”
“I’m not helpless—” Caleb said.
“Why don’t you tell us what we’re up against?” Grace interrupted.
“There is no we.” Becca finally joined the conversation. “It’s too dangerous. And I’m not sure we can trust you.”
Grace laughed. “The way I see it. There is us and them. Those against the market, against the magicians that rule over the city, and against them taking what they want. I know what side I’m on. Especially after being a slave to them for the last eight years. I’m just a lowly Mudane.”
“I’m not a—” The words froze in Becca’s throat.
With a sneer, Grace turned toward Darion. “So what’s the real story?”
“We’re going to Ryma’s estate in the north.” “For a gathering, right?” Grace asked.
“Yes. The first moon of autumn.” He had gathered the information from the market. It was surprising what security would spill with a few drinks in their belly.
“So they’ll do the rising then?”
Darion cocked an eyebrow, wondering if maybe Becca was right not to trust this girl. She might have learned about coven gatherings as a slave, though.
“What?” she asked in defiance. “I already know you guys are going for her sister. But just wondering what they have in store for her. They don’t go to that much trouble for just another pretty face.”
He didn’t have to look at Becca to feel her rage across the coffee table. He exhaled loudly. “Who were your past owners?”
“Farina’s for the past couple years, and before that Zaq.”
The Farina family of magicians had been in the city since the takeover, respectable with a few wayward sons. Zaq on the other hand— “Do you mean Zaqar?” he asked.
“If you mean one of Ryma’s chosen thirteen, then yes. I lived with the devil himself for three years. And if it’s an important gathering, he’ll be there.”
Darion leaned against the back of the couch. He had only met Zaqar on a few occasions. Ryma kept him outside city limits most of the time. His place was a remote land, full of gangs and savages, because his behavior could be swept under the rug. The older ruling families looked at him with a bit of disgust at the rumors of his experiments. Darion could only imagine what this girl had gone through.
“If you come, he would recognize you,” Becca said.
“You could ruin any chance of getting my sister.”
A calmness fell over Grace as she turned to Becca. “Oh, I’m counting on him recognizing me the next time I see him. As I slowly take the last breath from his body and kill the son of a bitch, he’ll know who I am.” Her fists whitened by her side. “Don’t worry about me, girlie. I know what I can do.”
Darion stood and went by the fire. The warmth soothed the irritation growing within. “We can’t even consider taking either of you, when we don’t know how we’ll get inside ourselves.”
Flames popped, but no more ideas rushed forth. Getting inside Ryma’s gathering would be almost as hard as getting out with her sister. “I’ll think of something. Until then, Becca needs to start training. So we’ll need some space. The sooner Becca begins, the stronger she will be at the gathering. Cramming years of training into days will be hard enough.”
“Training?” Becca said, a hint of hesitation in her voice.
“Yes, training.”
Grace stood, opening the door. “Well, have fun you two. Nothing like playing with demons—so I’ve heard.”
&nb
sp; Becca glowered in her direction. Good thing Becca wasn’t a pyro, Darion thought, her temper was fiery enough. Maybe that was why he liked her.
Caleb squeezed her shoulder before leaving. “Good luck.”
The fire grew slightly behind the grate. Darion calmed it down with a wave of his hand. Becca turned to face him. Her jaw tightened and her hands were clenched in front of her, as if she was readying herself for some kind of torture.
He couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face. “You ready?”
After a quick breakfast and change of clothes, Becca headed downstairs to meet Darion. She’d located some dark sweats and a long-sleeved shirt in a boys room, more comfortable than the dress, but a bit short on her.
She found Darion back in the front of the fire, a large book spread out on his lap.
“What is it?” she asked.
The old book had a leather cover worn with age and lined with gold. “A grimoire. Thankfully, I found a copy in their library. Most families own one.”
“A what?”
“A book of magic. A bible of sorts for black magic.”
“Right, black magic. Of course.”
“This explains a lot of the basics of magic. Where we get our power from, how to build basic pentagrams.”
“Pentagrams—” Becca sounded idiotic, repeating everything he said. She was just struggling as magic was becoming her reality.
He set the book aside. “Do you remember at the market when you felt your magic?”
“I honestly thought I was going to die, not do magic.” A cold realization poured over her. She was a magician. This monster lived inside of her, screaming to get out. Maybe it would have been better if she would have died back there. No, not with Elizabeth held by Jeremiah.
He brushed a hand through his hair. “Magic emerges gradually as a child ages. By five, most parents know if their child carries any magic. But it’s uncontrollable. Wizards come into their full power by their teens. Some settle in nicely. Others lash out like you did. A power raw and uncontrolled. My coming of age was a bit of a nightmare.” A briefed sadness touched his eyes.
Demon Rising (Dark Rising Trilogy Book 1) Page 18
