Kelly Gay - The Better Part of Darkness

Two jinn fell in behind Titus as he sat in the grass with my daughter. My only option was to continue with the ceremony and hope to hell Carreg would come through if I couldn’t find a way to thwart Mynogan’s plan and get to my kid.

My legs felt wooden as I proceeded voluntarily toward the center of the circle. From the corner of my eye, I saw Carreg edge back into the shadows of the pavilion. Weariness swamped me. I was so tired. And I really didn’t think I could handle any more emotion.

That’s good, I convinced myself, just center yourself and focus . Bryn’s crystal charm warmed my chest and gave me the calming comfort of her presence. When she’d given it to me after my death experience, I’d never really asked about its properties. And the only thing she’d told me was that it would help protect me. Fat chance of that now. But if it eased some anxiety, that was good enough for me.

The soft ground dipped beneath my feet, the cool dewiness against my bare skin sending chills up my arms and releasing the scent of tangy grass into the clean air. It’s too beautiful a night for blood and death.

The six figures, Abaddons no doubt, surrounded us, widely spaced around the large circle of grass. My blood pressure rose. How did one kill an Abaddon noble? I drew in a resigned breath. I guessed I was about to find out. Strategies darted through my mind, elusive and insubstantial as I came to a halt in front of Mynogan. I’d become brain-dead. Great.

A victorious gleam came into Mynogan’s eyes as he pulled a dagger from his coat and held it to the moon. It was iron. Black. And so sharp the moonlight glinted off the blade. There was no decoration of any kind on the weapon, giving it an even more sinister appearance.

If there was ever a death blade, this was it.

He chanted in Charbydon, which sounded similar to ancient Hebrew or Aramaic. His confident, rhythmic words stirred power into the night air. Energy gathered and coalesced within the circle. Every hair on my body lifted. Even the ends of my hair curled up as though acknowledging a change in the atmosphere around us. I thought I heard the faint echo of drumbeats, the sound vibrating through me like a second pulse. But there were no drums here.

I swayed as memories darted just out of reach, evading me like teasing fireflies. Not my own, but familiar. Primeval. Basic. Like the drums. On an elemental level, I recognized the power growing within the circle. It was earth. It was matter. Water. Life. Creation. My eyelids grew heavy, my thoughts hazy. Somehow I knew I was connected to this in a way no one else could claim. I was part of three worlds. The individual energy that ran through them all, and made up them all, ran through me.

The cold, rough iron hilt of the dagger pressed into my palm. I glanced down, seeing my hand, a pale contrast to the coal-black dagger. Shivers snaked through me, and it took all my effort just to stay lucid and focused, the chanting having some kind of hypnotic effect.

With a slow glance over my shoulder to Emma, sleeping in Titus’s arms, his face stricken and white as a ghost, and Carreg edging ever closer to them, I drew in my courage, squeezed the blade tightly, and held out my left arm. This was going to hurt like hell.

My pulse beat hard and fast like the drums inside of my head. Tensing, I pressed the blade into my flesh until vivid red blood blossomed over the pale skin. Then, I drew a burning, stinging line from the middle of my forearm down to my wrist, cleanly slicing the artery. I’d seen enough successful suicides to know how to do it right.

Mynogan’s breath hissed from his thin lips, his eyes drawn to the gush of red spreading out in a warm thick line against my skin. I swayed again, but kept my arm out where he could see it, his reaction stirring something in me and triggering a sudden hunger. To kill. To take.

My grip flexed on the dagger. My blood pounded in my ears, blending with an ancient memory of frenzied, writhing bodies dancing around fire as the chanting grew louder. The power in the circle fed me, making these images in my mind, images as old as time. My vision warbled and tilted. I tried to swallow, but my throat and mouth had gone hot and dry.

I blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Then, Mynogan’s fuzzy form came snapping back into view. He remained transfixed and distracted by the blood. And I knew then. I knew what I had to do. It all made perfect sense.

Gathering my waning strength and knowing I had to be fast, I pulled back my right hand and plunged the dagger into Mynogan’s neck.

Startled, he stumbled back.

I was on him like some crazed lunatic in her hospital gown before he could draw on his power, arms and legs wrapping around him and sending him to the ground. Instinct took over. Thighs clamped firmly around his torso, I held his head down with my hand on his forehead and locked my mouth over the wound, pushing the horror of what I was doing from my mind.

The first taste of blood on my tongue threw me into another time and place. The time of Charbydon curses and rituals. The warm, sticky liquid slid down my parched throat, easing the hunger. I bled my blood into the aromatic grass and replaced it with pure evil.

The House of Abaddon had been cursed by blood. Blood to sustain them. And without blood, it would kill them.

Mynogan cursed loudly and struggled beneath me, trying to draw upon his power, but the source of it was his blood, the raw essence of life. And I was taking it for my own. His hand beat frantically at my back, but I ignored it. His power tried to shove me off, but I ignored that, too, taking it from him in long, thirsty gulps. His panic was raw and fierce, but he was weakening under the loss of blood.

No blood. No life. No Mynogan.

Desperate screams tore from his throat. Like a worm, he writhed in my grasp, his movements violent and fast. His voice broke. His nails dug into my back, carving deep, bloody ditches. I felt the skin open, but didn’t feel the sting.

I kept him pinned, sensing that all around me the circle of dark figures was frozen, taken aback by what they were witnessing. The power swirling within the circle threatened anyone stupid enough to enter.

Carreg, I forced out of my chaotic mind, get them away from here now.

He didn’t answer, but I sensed an agreement muted by shock.

Time slowed.

It felt like ages had passed, but, little by little, Mynogan’s body went limp. I relaxed my thighs and hands. The scent of blood hung heavy and sweet in the sticky air. My lips were numb, and my throat and cheek muscles sore from drawing and drinking.

I sucked hard at the last drop of blood from his being and, feeling full and disgustingly sick, I rolled off the body onto my back, my gaze connecting with moonlight and stars. My breath came heavy and fast. The blood that flowed from my arm slowed to a trickle.

My eyelids drooped, my heartbeat slowed.

The ground beneath me shuddered, rousing my waning attention. The moonlight and stars slowly disappeared as a cloudy haze filled the sky. Darkness shot up through the earth like smoke through a screen, swirling in the circle, the force of its wind making my hospital gown wave across my knees and stomach.

A deranged chuckle bubbled from my throat.

There was no way Mynogan’s blood could sustain me. I was human, not Charbydon, and I was dying here in a circle of smut. Smut that grew and burgeoned and would soon cover the city.

Way to go, Madigan. Way to fucking go.

My laughter mixed with hot tears. I should have taken a desk job. I rolled to my stomach and crawled from the circle on my elbows and the insides of my knees, trying not to focus on my left arm flayed open like a butterfly shrimp.

Damned if I’d die in this crap.