Dark Shadow Page 4

  “It’s smoke,” I confess. “Darkhaven is on fire.”

  But my sudden rush of fear for the unsuspecting humans of my small town is overridden by my dread for my lover. Because only I know that this fire is meant not for the people of Darkhaven but for us.

  For me.

  For him.

  Chapter Three

  My feet pound against the earth, the vibration of its vicious beating resonating through my legs. It soothes my nervous muscles—the very ones I have not used in battle for far too long.

  I feel the call to war like a wolf feels the pull of the moon. I have come to understand that chaos is in my blood, and the reality of that makes the crystal dangling at my neck buzz with excitement. I smile as it warms against my skin. In these moments of turmoil, it sparks to life, reminding me that it is only one magical burst away from aiding me if I should ever need its assistance.

  As Jasik, Malik, and I swiftly approach the village of Darkhaven, my heart is ready for this fight, but my mind is elsewhere. I replay my conversation with the other hunters over and over again, a sickening, twisted way to continue torturing myself.

  Holland has never been one to brawl. Even though Amicia always considered him an invaluable asset and strong ally, his time is better spent in the books and cooking up spells. He despises confrontation—I know that now. And the more I think about how often I have brought this feud directly to him, the more my insides twist into a painful lump. I hate myself for getting him involved, even if his arrival meant the reconciliation of his romance with Jeremiah.

  Jeremiah and Hikari are not with us either. With Holland offering to stay behind to protect the manor and remaining vampires in case our assumption is correct—that this fire proves to be a trap—Jeremiah made it clear he was staying behind too.

  We all agreed we might be walking into a bad situation, but only Jeremiah feared the trap might not be for those who go but for those who stay behind. And with that dreadful thought consuming his imagination, he refused to leave Holland behind. I admire his loyalty to his partner, and I can’t blame him for ditching us in favor of love.

  Hikari said she was staying behind to help ease Jeremiah’s guilt for choosing Holland over his duties, and no one argued, even though we are all secretly aware that the loss of Amicia has taken a great toll on her. The truth is, ever since we lost our leader, Hikari has been…different. She mopes silently through the house, keeping her head down and her nose out of our troubles.

  I could tell Malik was contemplating ordering her to join us, but he never did. We didn’t argue with her logic, because in the end, we are a group of six. Splitting us down the middle, divvying our strength so everyone has a fair chance, seemed like the right thing to do. But was it the smart thing? I guess we will find out.

  Thinking about our situation gives me a headache. It took mere seconds to make our decision to aid Darkhaven, but in doing so, we were forced to abandon both the manor and remaining vampires who call it home. Before, rushing to help another came easy to us, but now, without Amicia, we have to choose—the manor and the vampires who rely on our protection, or Darkhaven. Should the decision come so easily?

  The closer I am to the billowing smoke, the more I start to wonder if running toward a blazing inferno with only two allies beside me is a good idea. After all, Darkhaven still has witches to protect it. My nest only has five hunters and a witch who despises conflict.

  As we approach the edge of the forest, I clear my mind, readying myself for what may wait beyond the tree line. There is no point in hashing out past mistakes when I can’t change them—and honestly, I don’t even know how I would change them. Both our vampires and the humans need protection. But what’s done is done. I need to remain focused and diligent if I am to overcome the mess we’re in.

  With smoke swirling upward into the dark sky, I realize even the moon is hiding, as if it too fears what is to come. The uneasiness settles over me, like a warm blanket on a hot day. It makes my skin crawl, and I fight the urge to scratch at my flesh.

  Something flashes in the darkness, and I almost welcome the distraction. I peer toward the treetops to get a better look, all while effortlessly maneuvering through brush.

  At first, I discover nothing but darkness, each shadow forming its own shape. As I rush steadfast into the unknown, the shadows morph into something else completely. And then I see it—at least, I think I do. Something dark and menacing, watching and waiting. I think it smiles at me, but I know that’s impossible, for crows cannot smile. The glint in its beady eye drains the blood from my body, and I nearly pass out.

  I come to an abrupt stop and rest my palm against a nearby tree. The bark is rough, and it scratches my palm. I welcome the sensation, letting it ground me as I continue to stare at the bird. While I catch my breath, I clutch my chest, but my fingers are drawn to the crystal. I squeeze it tightly, finding the stark edges of stone comforting.

  “Ava, what is it?” Jasik asks. He speaks slowly, carefully, and I’m sure the sight of me holding the amulet is revolting, considering what this weapon contains. But I don’t release it. It almost feels like I can’t. Like the pendant itself refuses to relinquish me, not the other way around.

  Jasik’s gaze follows mine, trailing upward. He squints, allowing his vision to adjust to the darkness looming overhead. I know the exact moment he sees it. He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, and that’s when I know the crow isn’t my imagination playing tricks on me. It is really there. Watching. Waiting. It caws, a forceful burst that makes me flinch, and I know it’s warning me of impending doom.

  “Is that—”

  “The crow,” I whisper, cutting him off.

  “Let’s go. We need to keep moving,” Malik says. He never looks up.

  A natural-born leader, Malik is always the voice of reason during even my darkest moments, and even though I want to obey, I can’t. My legs do not move. My limbs are numb and heavy, and my vision swirls. My mind races with the realization of what is happening. Holland and I were right to fear the crow, for it brings nothing but devastation.

  “I know what it is warning us about,” I say, my voice so low I wonder if I have even spoken at all.

  “What? What is it? What’s coming?” Jasik asks. His brow furrows, forming a deep crease.

  “The fire,” I whisper. “The witches.”

  We emerge through the tree line and step onto the property of my childhood home. It looms overhead, boxy in shape, with startling gray wood planks weather-worn by the tumultuous winter months.

  The woods spill into the backyard, and I think about all the times I played here as a child. I never had that fancy playground equipment my other friends had in their backyards, but I never needed that. Even as a child, spirit was strong. I would invoke the elements, garnering just a taste before my strength dwindled.

  I close my eyes and see it: me, as a child, wrapping sticks in twine to create villagers. I would craft their homes out of stones I found littering the streets. I buried bricks, leaving only the tops bare, to form roads. My little village resembled Darkhaven, a place I loved calling home. Now, the sight of it makes me sick.

  I walk closer, the shock of what I see silencing my cries. The stump in the center of the yard that is used as their altar during rituals was from a tree that fell after a particularly gruesome storm. My father repurposed it, and it remained there ever since. I remember watching him prepare nature’s offering. Abuela was by his side, using her air magic to slice through the trunk with such ferocity and precision, I ran back inside the house and refused to come out.

  That was my first real taste of the power behind magic and the first time I feared my elders. Afterward, I made a point of obeying any order, of becoming the best witch I could possibly be—even if my coven’s constant doubt in my abilities made it difficult to remain obedient.

  I am reminded of all these things because as I walk through the backyard, wavering closer to the house I lived in all my life, I am mute. I can’t speak
my truth aloud, but I relive these memories in my mind. They loop round and round, smothering what little optimism I have.

  The fumes are so strong I can hardly breathe. The house my father built with his own two hands is on fire, the thick smoke swirling into the air, black and ominous.

  In the distance, I hear the crow’s caw. It morphs from an eerie, singsong melody to a harsh, abrupt caw, as if its life has been smothered too.

  “Ava,” Jasik says softly.

  His voice pleads with me, as though he is afraid of what I might do. But what can I do? The damage has been done. I cannot save my house, but the people inside… My mother… I have to believe she made it out. A strong spirit witch has the ability to tap into the elements—any one of which could have saved her.

  Something prickles in the back of my mind. Something I know I am supposed to remember. But every time I search my memory to unveil the secrets there, the crystal at my chest burns against my skin. I wince at the pain, even as I welcome the distraction.

  I step closer, ignoring the voices of reason behind me. Drowned out by the thickness of the air, my allies are suppressed. I cough and blink excessively, but my eyes still sting; my lungs still ache. And my feet continue moving forward, as if I am no longer in control, driven by a force I cannot see.

  “We can’t go inside,” someone shouts. I think it’s Malik, but I am not sure.

  I am only a few feet away from the sliding glass doors that once led to the dining area off the kitchen. The glass is gone, shattered and scattered across the grass. It crunches beneath my feet, burrowing deeply into the soles of my boots. Somehow, I know they will remain lodged there, even if I try to dig them out. A small piece of the beauty this house once embodied, they will remain with me for years to come.

  Something occurs to me. What if my mother is trapped upstairs? It’s late. She should have been asleep when the fire was cast. I glance up, moving my arm to shield my eyes from the bright orange flames that lick the side of the house. The fire is warm and radiant as I try to locate the bedroom windows. They too are gone. Flames flutter through the open squares, dancing to silent music heard only in my mind. It is a sickening song, but I sway to it as I try to steady my footing.

  Someone grabs my arm. I feel the firmness of his grasp, and I turn to face him. The vision of Jasik is blurred before me, and this is when I realize I am crying. I did not feel the tears, even though I am engulfed in the pain. I collapse against him, erupting in anguish and anger. I scream against his chest, but his solid, muscular frame swallows the sound—almost as if I never made a noise.

  “We need to leave,” Malik says, and I feel Jasik’s body jostle as he nods in agreement.

  The exact moment I want to argue against leaving, I remember what the intensity of this fire made me forget. The crystal at my neck cools as I remember, and I grab on to it, making certain it is still there. The sudden flash of truth—that this crystal made me forget this horror—floods me with fear.

  “Let’s go, Ava,” Malik says when I don’t move.

  But I can’t leave. Don’t they understand? I can barely move. I am rooted in place, secured by the realization that I did this. I might not have struck the match that lit the flame, but I left them powerless. As much as I hate my former coven for the hell they put me through, I would never have condemned them to this, to being burned alive. The irony overwhelms me, igniting my own internal blaze.

  I push Jasik away, stumbling backward. As they approach, I shout at them to stay away from me. They think I am upset with them. I can see the pain and confusion strewn across their faces, but that’s not why I need space. I’m afraid that if they get too close, I’ll hurt them. Not because I want to. Because I have to. The sensation to commit an evil act is bubbling inside me, fueled by the fire encircling us.

  I ball my hands into fists at my sides, squeezing so hard I am certain I will crush the tiny bones there. I dig my nails into my palms until I bleed, and I let the smell of my own blood wash over me. The sound of my grumbling stomach calms me, helping to steady my breath. Focusing on just one sense, when they are all rapid firing, helps to clear my mind.

  But I am still angry. Only now, my anger has turned to hunger. I crave answers in a way I have never before experienced, and I know I will discover the truth, even if I have to let this whole town burn in order to find it.

  “Ava, we must leave,” Malik says. “Humans are already starting to gather out front. I can hear them. Focus on that sound. Let it ground you.”

  He holds his arms out before him as if to caution me. His eyes are wide, but the loud beat of his heart echoes in my mind. He is afraid. But why? Is he afraid of me or of what I plan to do?

  “Listen to them,” he says again.

  I nod, and taking his advice, I listen. My senses stretch out around me, cascading through the house until I reach the front door.

  And that’s when I hear it.

  A dozen tiny voices screaming for help.

  The witches.

  I suck in a sharp breath, my eyelids jolting open.

  Something flashes behind Jasik’s eyes—maybe fear or the desire to stop me—but I am gone before he can protest. I sprint into the house. I make it to the front door, steering to the right to take the stairs two at a time.

  Halfway up the creaky stairs, I slam my foot too hard against wavering wood, and my leg falls through. I drop down, catching myself before my entire body plummets into the embers beneath. Still, the flames dance across my boot, and my feet swell and sweat at the intense heat ravishing below. As I try to gain better footing to free myself, I wiggle my moist toes. Sweat dribbles down my forehead as I pull myself up, grunting so loudly I am shocked the others don’t come to my aid.

  Out of breath and dizzy from hunger, I crawl up the rest of the stairs until I reach the top landing.

  Standing tall, I swipe away the sticky sweat at my temples and stumble forward. My boot and jeans are singed, exposing the burnt flesh beneath. It is raw and bruised, and I grind my teeth as I carry on, ignoring the stabbing pain in my calf, knowing it will eventually heal on its own. But my mother won’t be so lucky.

  I open my bedroom door, finding no one, but still, I whimper as I watch the few belongings I once possessed perish in the fire. I leave it open and limp to the guest room door—again, I find it empty.

  I hobble to my mother’s room and reach for the knob. I suck in a sharp breath and yank my hand free. The emblem on the doorknob is burned into my flesh, so I ball my fist and bang on the door, screaming for my mother. No one responds.

  I step to the side, resting my palms against the warm wood walls, and use my good leg to kick open the door. A blast of flames erupts into the hallway, and I stumble backward, just out of reach. I throw my arms up in defense, summoning enough air magic to steer the blaze away from me. It bursts from my palms, shooting as cascading puffs of icy wind. It quickly smothers the flames meant to tarnish my flesh.

  Weakened, I crawl to the door, the heat within the bedroom so intense I can barely keep my eyes open.

  Peering into her room, I whisper her name. No one responds. I call louder, my chest heaving, gasping for breath. Still, I receive no response. My gaze settles on her bed, which is doused in fire. But she is not there.

  With every room cleared, I claw my way to the stairs. I pull myself up using the railing, and when I place my foot on the first step, the floor crumbles beneath me. I teeter, nearly falling into the fiery abyss, but I manage to maintain my hold on the rail long enough to leap down.

  I land awkwardly, and something in my ankle snaps. I shriek and stumble forward, landing on my behind. I lean against the front door, grabbing hold of my ankle as I close my eyes, my head spinning. I curse inwardly, the pain almost too much to bear.

  Already my bones are mending, using my heightened vampire abilities to heal the torn flesh. But I try not to focus on my wounds. I will survive this fire, but I know others won’t be as lucky. I listen for the voices I heard earlier—except now, I
can only hear my vampire allies. Jasik and Malik are arguing outside.

  “We have to help her!” Jasik shouts.

  “Stop!” Malik shouts. “You are blinded by your feelings for her.”

  Jasik pleads with his brother to release him, and I know Malik must have bested him in a fight. They continue to argue, and I know Malik will never release him. The only thing he fears more than losing his hunters is losing his little brother.

  “Look at the house, Jasik,” Malik says. “Entering is suicide.”

  At that, I open my eyes. All around me, the fire flashes, sizzling and luminescent. With each second I remain seated at the front entrance, the heat intensifies. I feel it lick my skin, and I wonder if I will melt before I find the witches. Malik is right, this is certain death.

  Just when I allow his warning to get the best of me, I hear them again. The timing is so perfect, I wonder if the gods and goddesses truly want me to save them.

  They whimper, their voices weak. And all at once, I know where they are.

  I lunge forward, limping through the hallway as my ankle continues to heal. I move as quickly as I can, seething with each step I take. I reach the closet door, thrusting it open so harshly it breaks from its hinge. I push it aside and step through.

  The basement door is already ajar, and thick wafts of smoke seep through the small opening. I pull it open enough to squeeze through, and I cover my mouth with my arm as the smog intensifies. As I descend into the flashing pit, this does nothing to help my breathing, so I continue to hack, peering only through slits in my eyelids.

  I reach the bottom step and lean against the wall. I gasp, sucking in a long lungful of air but feeling no closer to actually breathing. I am woozy from blood loss, giddy from lack of oxygen, and groggy from hunger, and somehow, I know I won’t make it out of this basement without help. It’s a stark realization that washes over me, clinging to my chest, pressing down on what little lung capacity I have maintained during this daring rescue.