Darkness Fair (The Dark Cycle Book 2) (11 page)

Let go
,
it says without sound. Its ghost lips move but the words come to me through my chest, instead of my ears.

It is a
he
. A man with thick-rimmed glasses and oily hair slicked to the side. From the 1940s, I’d say, by the style of his clothes. I try to feel his story, sense the energy of how he became this thing, but it’s as if he’s blocking me, keeping it a closely held secret, even in death.

Release me
,
he mouths,
or I will tear your lungs from your chest
. His form grows wispy again, features sinking in, becoming a hollow emptiness, hands morphing into claws.

Behind me, Connor begins saying a benediction about light breaking through and about God’s promise to protect.

I ignore the wraith’s threats and yank on the dark cloak, tugging it into the room where Connor has the trap set up.

It screeches again, a sharp-edged sound that cuts at the inside of my skull. The form flies up, over my head, the shadow fabric wrapping around me. I keep my grip, even as it tries to get into the attic. It scrapes at the air, yanking, desperate to escape me, to escape before I imprison it again, like it was before.

As I feel its fear billow out, my own fear fades. My power surges, my mark coming fully to life. Flames flicker over my skin, and whatever confusion I had earlier about my life washes away.
“
HaShem Eloheiynu,”
I say, scripture flashing into my mind.
“
HaShem Eloheiynu
will go before me as a consuming
eish
.”
I yank as a rush of energy courses through me with the word
fire
—
eish
—and force the shadow down into the salt circle with a whoosh of air. “He will consume you,
dybbuk
. He will destroy you, He will drive you out.” And as it hits the ground, my fire travels to the tattered edges of the wraith’s cloak, beginning to consume the darkness. But before more than a few inches can be devoured, the flames are snuffed out by the creature’s movement. It writhes, pushing at the salt boundary with its bony, clawed fingers.

Release me
,
it cries, its visage flickering back to human for a moment.

“We have it trapped,” I say through my gasping breath. Fatigue falls on me as I watch it fight against the salt barrier. My power feels completely sapped from that simple struggle.

Connor moves along the outer edge of the salt circle. “Holy water,” he says.

I pull the flask from my pocket and hand it to him, still not sure it will have any effect.

Connor unscrews the lid and flicks the bottle in the direction of the circle, water drops flying out and sprinkling the floor. The wraith hisses and lunges to the side, trying to get away.

“A little more to the left,” I say, directing him to where the shadow is. “What’re you doing?”

“Hoping.” He flicks more and it hits across the shadow’s legs. Steam rises up with a fiery sizzle. I can barely believe my eyes.

“It’s doing something,” I say. But how? Holy water is just . . . well, water. But then I smell myrrh and frankincense with a tinge of cedar. “What is that stuff?”

“Holy water. With a nice spike of altar oil mixture added for good measure.” He flicks it again and hits the wraith right in the face.

The shadow writhes and wails, coughing up black tar, its form melting a little.

“Do it again,” I say. “It’s working.”

He tosses more and more of the mixture onto the circle, hitting the form again and again until it’s barely a shadow, malformed and crackling, like a piece of ice placed in the hot sun, sinking, sinking into the floor until it’s a small puddle of silver mercury. The webs puff into smoke around us, dissipating. Light beams brighter into the room, cutting across the circle to reveal what’s left of the wraith. And then that puddle bursts into smoke, threading up, up, up in grey strands, through the attic door.

“It’s gone,” I whisper, amazed. I guess I don’t have to worry if I can kill it or not.

“Gone?” Connor sounds unsure. “Like, it left?”

“No, it melted.”

“Holy shit.” He holds up the flask of holy water. “This stuff’s badass.” He laughs and slips it into his back pocket, then frowns in my direction. “You’re bleeding pretty bad there.”

I glance down but can only see my tattered shirt stuck to my stomach. I pull it over my head and wipe the blood from my chest and abs with what’s left of the red cotton. More blood trickles out, trailing down my stomach in thin lines.

I wait, watching the bleeding wounds. But nothing happens. They don’t heal. They bleed, they sting like a motherfucker, and they aren’t closing up like they should.

EIGHTEEN

Aidan

There’s a first-aid kit in the trunk and a clean shirt. After Connor helps me bandage up, I slip on the spare white T-shirt and try not to think about why I needed first aid at all. At least everything at the Fosters’ is done now. I really wish I understood how some oils could destroy a wraith. It nags at me because it doesn’t fit with the knowledge in my DNA, but I watched it with my own eyes. So it must be possible.

Connor gave Mrs. Foster two of the spirit pouches that Kara made, telling her to keep them wherever she and the baby slept. With the wraith gone, she should have the peace of mind she needs to settle her spirit, though.

We pull up to my great-grandmother’s at six thirty, just as the sun is beginning to sink lower over the water. Before I do anything else I climb down the rocks to check on Ava. As I descend I have to grit my teeth and try to ignore the stinging in my muscles and this damn headache that won’t quit. Connor starts the rune placements around the house, working from the outside in. In the car, he explained that he’d write symbols on rocks and organize them in different patterns to create a muting, similar to the blocks at the LA Paranormal house, along with other patterns that will sting demons a little, like an invisible electric fence. Finally, he’ll place a couple rune stones that will create confusion spells. It’s going to make one hell of a cocktail when he’s done.

When I get to the cave, the place feels quiet. There’s no change since yesterday. Ava’s pale silhouette appears silver grey as twilight settles within the stone walls, and her body remains locked in that strange sleep. The pieces of the dog carcass are gone. Hopefully Eric came in and cleaned it up, otherwise I’m not sure how it all disappeared.

I stand by the altar for a second and do what I always do—what I’ve been doing every day for weeks: I reach out with my mind, looking for her. I find nothing but stillness. She’s not dead, but she’s not here, either. It’s like staring into an empty room. I want to shake her, to scream,
Come back!
But I shove the torrent down and turn and walk up the beach to the house.

I look around the yard, trying to figure out where to start. I might need to get into the house and hide some of these spirit pouches if this is going to work, but I don’t want to bother my grandma and Fa’auma unless I really have to, so I’ll leave that until later. The pattern I’m going to use out here is a sort of
keep out
sign. I’ll create a triangle north to south with the third point directing the energy west, toward the sunset.

I try to ignore the burning of my sliced-up midsection as I grip my bag of pouches, feeling the weight of the spells inside the sack, each one filled with sacred dirt, rye, salt, and a small piece of rowan wood with a balancing number sequence written on it—
333
, most likely—wrapped in a hundred percent cotton fabric that’s stamped with a circled Star of David. If all that doesn’t do the trick to keep the demons away, I have no idea what will.

Just as I get ready to place the first pouch, I feel something come up on my right, quick and silent.

I spin, backing away in a defensive posture before I realize who it is.

“Eric,” I say, pain sparking across my torso from the quick movement. “What the hell?”

“I’ve come to help.”

“I thought you were already here.”

“I mean, I’ve crossed over.” He holds up a hand, showing me he’s flesh. I didn’t even notice he looked different because of the surprise of seeing him, plus the sun is turning to dusk over the water behind him, shining in my eyes.

He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair a light brown instead of blinding gold. He’s Eric again.

“Wow, so you’re really here.”

“I am.”

“Should I be worried?” What sort of bad development could’ve made him come back? He was so adamant that he’d be staying on the other side.

“No, there are just some things I can only fix in this form. And I’ve decided to make myself available to you while I can.”

“We can use all the help we can get.” I hold the bag open for him to take some of the pouches.

He takes one and walks toward the rock ledge, then turns back to me. “Will this do, to begin?”

“Sure,” I say as I move to a spot beside him and bend down to tuck a pouch into a gopher hole beside his foot. I grit my teeth as I stand and he leans closer, like he’s curious.

“Are you feeling unwell?” he asks, studying my face, my shaking hands. “You seem . . . depleted. And I smell blood.” He sniffs at the air like a hound. “Why do I smell blood?”

Well, I did just destroy a wraith, and my wounds aren’t healing. But I felt exhausted before that, too, and this headache is making my vision blur. “I’m fine,” I say as I move to another spot a few feet away. “I just came from a job and didn’t get a chance to clean up good.”

Eric seems to accept the answer. He looks over the cliff down to the water beating against the rocks far below.

“Hanna’s worried about you,” I say. I probably shouldn’t butt into this whole thing between Eric and Hanna. It’s not like I understand cross-world romance. But I can’t seem to help myself. “You should let her know you’re okay.”

He doesn’t react or speak. He just takes another pouch from the bag I’m holding and then bends down to tuck it inside a rock crevice, just under the lip of the ledge.

“Do you even care that she’s wrecked?” I ask, wondering if he’s really as cold and indifferent to Hanna as he seems.

His eyes snap to mine. “Of course.”

“Then why are you hiding out here? Why aren’t you letting her know you’re okay? If you can be fleshy for me, you could at least call her.”

“This isn’t a movie, Aidan. Flesh and infatuation are temporal. There are more vital things that need my attention right now. It is the end of the world, after all.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, feeling like he’s making excuses. And nothing’s over until it’s over. “The woman loves you like crazy. And angel or not, you’re being an ass.”

He just stares at me, blinking like I spoke Farsi.

“Or not.” I sigh and walk to the next spot that needs a ward, closer to the path that leads down to the beach.

He follows me, looking out at the violet and orange sky. “You think that’s true? She cares about . . .” he glances to his open palms in front of him, like he’s studying something strange, “ . . . me?”

“I’m pretty positive she
loves
you.” I lean down, gritting my teeth again to hold in a hiss of pain, and find a spot to bury the pouch.

“She doesn’t know me like she thinks.”

I make a small hole for the ward, then place some rocks over it. “Just trust me, Eric. Hanna cares about you.”

He releases a long breath, like he’s resigning himself. “It doesn’t matter. The Brethren don’t think like that. We’re not entitled to.”

I give him a disbelieving look. “Sounds like you think like that, at least a little.”

He pauses, taking in my words, and then he comes closer, asking quickly, “How does it feel, this human love? Aren’t you afraid of it? It seems so . . . powerful and dangerous.”

He’s right—it is scary. Terrifying, really, opening myself up, only to be torn to shreds if something goes wrong. And if Kara’s taken from me like everyone else I’ve cared about . . . But it’s too late now. I’m consumed by her already.

“This isn’t about me or Kara. This is about a woman who’s been good to you, good to me—a punk kid—and you haven’t given her the respect she deserves. You didn’t prepare her at all, you just left, and I’m fairly sure she would cross oceans to be with your lame ass.”

He frowns, like I hit a nerve. “I never promised her anything. There are things she might never know or understand.”

“So she doesn’t know you’re an angel?”

He shakes his head. “She believes I’m something
more
, but she isn’t sure what I am. I can’t speak the truth aloud to anyone unless I’ve been released to, as I was with you. It’s forbidden. And so is attachment. Especially of the sort between a man and woman.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” I say, wondering how a guy that can read minds in the spirit realm can’t see the truth of what’s right in front of him in the flesh. “Just call her. It’s not huge. Just a word, so she’ll know you haven’t totally left her for good.” I start walking down the path that descends to the beach, looking for another spot.

“But I have left her for good.”

I turn back around. “Wow.”

“I have to follow the Law, Aidan. My attachment to her became too strong, so I felt it was time to move on. I’ve left myself vulnerable to discovery and let my flesh grow too strong. I have new sympathy for the Watchers of old.”

“For a guy so determined to keep your angelic self a secret, it seems to me like you’ve been leaving her crumbs everywhere. What about that ossuary you showed her?” I ask. “The one you got in Iraq? She said it held answers about why you were here.”

He goes perfectly still and stares at me, tension in every molecule. “She told you about the bone box?” As if it were some state secret.

I hesitate before answering, “She asked me to read it. And the stuff I saw—”

He comes at me, taking me by the arm, stopping my words. Panic bursts from him in a sudden explosion. “You touched it? Did your power spark? Did you link to the energy?” Every question seems more urgent than the one before.

I stutter, “Just for a second. Nothing bad happened, Eric.”

The frenzy of emotions bouncing between us seems to grow more frantic with each passing second as he stares, studies me, searching for something, his green eyes wide and panicked.

“How much—how much energy did you feel?” he asks, gripping my shoulder tighter, each syllable underlined with a jerk of my body. “What did you see?”

I hold up a hand. “Okay, calm down. Nothing happened. Really. All I saw were some women preparing him for burial. That’s all.”

“How were you seeing?” he asks quickly.

I don’t want to answer. Whatever he’s worried about, it’s bad. Very bad, by the feel and look of him. But I say it anyway. “It was like I was inside his body.”

A chill fills the space around us and he releases me like I’m tainted. “
Adonai
, help us,” he whispers.

I stumble back. “Holy hell, what the fuck’s the problem?!”

“I should have never shown her. It’s too soon for this to happen.”

“Who? Hanna? What in the hell is in that box, Eric? You’re freaking me out.”

He shakes his head, his misery a bitter tang in the air. “It’s the Harbinger of this world’s end.”

“In a bone box?” That makes no sense.

“You’ve linked to him, reminded him of his humanity.” Eric’s helplessness is so thick around us, it’s tough to breathe.

“Who?! Who the hell did I just connect with?”

He looks over to me, weighty desperation in his eyes, as he whispers two words, “Your father.”