Kelly Gay - The Better Part of Darkness

“Please. I can take care of myself. Why do you think they’re waiting outside ?”

Her bravado made us both laugh, but I came to another understanding. My sister was a force to be reckoned with. She hadn’t earned her spot at the League of Mages by being a weakling. I hugged her one more time over the counter, taking a deep breath of her herby scent. “I love you, Bryn,” I mumbled against her hair.

“Love you, too, Charlie.” She eyed the charm in my hand. “It’s got enough magic in it to use twice, but it’ll wear off fast. Should be just enough to get you to the car and back.”

A new appreciation blossomed for my little sister. “Thanks.”

She walked me to the door. “I’d wait until just before you open the downstairs door before invoking the charm.”

“Got it.”

I was an emotional wreck walking down the stairs. Thankfully Bryn had closed her door behind me and locked it. The last thing I wanted was an audience when I invoked the charm. Magic made me extremely uneasy. It was a practice that I avoided at all costs. And now here I was about to invoke my first spell. Bryn’s probably jumping up and down with glee behind the door, I thought.

At the exit, I drew in a deep breath, reminding myself that I’d faced harder things than this. Invoking a charm should be a breeze. There was nothing to be afraid of, except maybe turning myself into a donkey. Way to be positive, Charlie.

Okay, I could do this. I didn’t have time to deal with two black mages right now, and getting to the car and then to Will’s was priority number one.

With the soda can in one hand, the edge of the Doritos bag held between two fingers, I opened my free hand and read the inscription exactly as it was written. “Brac sabacus romulatus abento inveridon.” I read the clockwise spiral, repeating the chant the four times it was written before the spiral ended in the center.

Nothing happened on the inside, but the air around me condensed to a palpable energetic force. The hairs on my arms stood straight. Holy Mary, Mother of God. I’d done it! Well, at least, I thought so. A feeling of accomplishment went through me. I turned, wanting to race up the steps and tell Bryn.

But it would have to wait.

Here goes nothing. I gripped the knob, creaked the door open, and slipped through the small opening. Hopefully they hadn’t seen the movement of the door. I stepped onto the sidewalk and into the hustle and bustle of Mercy Street at night. The exhausts on every pub and restaurant were working overtime, sending the aroma of food into the air. It all smelled like French fries. I scanned the crowd. Shoppers. Pub crawlers. Couples. And then I spied them standing in the shadow of a large potted palm tree, which held open the door to Abracas Bar & Grill. A long line of patrons waited for tables in the popular eatery, giving the black mages even more cover.

The undercover cop didn’t even see them. I probably wouldn’t have either if it wasn’t for Bryn. Or maybe I would have if I had remembered to tap into my newly discovered gene pool—hard thing to do if you spent your life relying on your human traits and training.

Their once-green aura was tainted with the smut of darkness. It surrounded them like a dirty cirrus cloud. I and other law enforcement called them Pig-Pens. I didn’t make it up, but it sure as hell fit. That was the price they paid for sacrificing their Elysian power for the dark power that fed Charbydon. One male. One female. Both tall and thin with their shoulder-length hair tied back from stoic faces. Their pearly dark eyes scanned the crowd, and they stood so still I wondered if they could be seen by your average Joe.

With a deep breath, I stepped off the sidewalk and into the street at a fast clip. They didn’t follow. Thank you, Bryn! I thought, breaking into a run.

Twenty minutes later, I pounded on Will’s front door in the newly developed and swanky town home community of Weston Heights. He wasn’t answering and my concern spiked. “Will?” I called loudly. “Will, open up!” I pounded harder and rang the bell several times.

Please don’t tell me I’m too late. I hurried around the landscaped walk and knocked on the neighbor’s door. The porch light was off and there were no lights in the windows, unlike Will’s brightly lit end unit. My heart thudded hard. Panic surged through me. My hands trembled as I pulled my weapon, moved to his front door, gathered my energy, and kicked the door directly above the knob. It splintered open with a loud crack.

Carefully, I edged inside the hardwood foyer, staying against the wall and praying they were okay.

Down the hall, the living room opened into a vaulted space. Furniture was upended. Pictures askew on the walls. Fear stole my breath. I was too late.

I found Will’s body facedown on the floor.

“Will!”

Quickly, I scrambled over the chaos and knelt by his side. His pulse was faint, but still there. Thank God it was there. With shaking hands, I called 911 and then continued through the house, yelling for Emma.

Somehow I knew she wasn’t there, but I checked anyway, checked every goddamn room, closet, and corner. In the bathroom, I slumped against the wall, holding my Nitro-gun to my chest, the pain washing over me in enormous waves. The sour burn of raw anguish built in my torso and throat. I couldn’t remember how to breathe. It felt as though everything—soul, heart, lungs, skin, and blood—was being sucked away, leaving behind a hollow shell.

She was gone. Em was gone.

Find Em … have to find Em. Have to breathe.

My lungs deflated.

Pressure built in my chest and face.

Numbness stole through my oxygen-deprived limbs, but slowly a vibrating, demanding force, my will, shoved me out of my immobile panic. Breathe, Charlie! I gasped for air, heart straining and tired lungs filling. Finally.

I pushed away from the wall, my senses returning, and then I sprang into action, flying down the stairs to Will, heart and lungs trying to keep up and recoup.

“Will! Will, wake up!” I turned him over, tears choking my words. My shaking hands roamed over his head, neck, and torso, but there were no outward signs of trauma. Fueled by desperation and adrenaline, I slapped him across the face, screaming his name and shaking him by the shoulders.

His eyes blinked open with a start. Oh, thank you, God. “Will, where’s Emma?”

He didn’t answer, but his gaze darted around the room as though seeing it for the first time.

“Where did they take her? Did they say anything?” My heart was pistoning so fast, tears flowing, throat closing. “Come on, Will, please stay with me.”

Will’s arms moved slowly over his head, and then he gave a lazy, thorough stretch. I released his shoulders and sat back, dumbfounded, as he yawned, pushed up on his hands, and graced me with a blinding grin.

The aura around him went from his usual cloudy blue to gray with black swirls. Dread sucked the air from my lungs once again. I floundered around for the Nitro-gun, which I’d set on the floor before checking him for injuries, and then scrambled back on my rear, pointing it at him. It clattered in my hand, I shook so badly.

“You must be Charlie.” He sat up all the way and inspected his hands.

“Who the hell are you? And where’s my kid?”

He stopped examining his hands to study me for a moment. One corner of his mouth twisted into a half smile. A shiver crept along my spine. “I’m the guy your hubby sold his soul to.”

Shock siphoned the blood from my face. “I don’t believe you. Will would never do that.”

His head cocked slowly. It was Will, but it seemed like a puppet worked the strings, a puppet still not used to its body. “I have the paperwork, signature and all.”