Darkness Watching (Darkworld #1) (31 page)

The one thing about this book that stood out to me was that unlike many of the
venators’
other books, it wasn’t biased in favour of the Venantium. The Venantium implicitly distrusted anyone who wasn’t related to a
venator
, even if they intended no harm. Some independent sorcerers did live in an uneasy truce with them, however.

“Like the fortune-teller,” said Claudia. “She’s not allied to anyone we know of. The Venantium let her run her little stall in exchange for her silence. Sometimes, even they need to ask her advice. To tell you the truth, I thought it was part of the deal that she could never leave Blackstone.”

“I think the Venantium might have something to do with her disappearance,” said Howard. “And I’m not just saying that!” he added, as Leo started to say something. “There’s something odd about it. The
venators
are far more paranoid than usual. I saw hundreds of harpies flying over Blackstone the other day.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Claudia, “but we can’t prove anything.”

The fortune-teller’s absence bothered me; I felt like I needed to talk to her about something, but when I thought about it, my reasons slipped away. This happened a lot recently. I’d get strange impulses and reactions that seemed totally disconnected from what was happening around me. Sometimes, I’d wake up in the night from dreams of being chased and swear there was something I urgently needed to do. Maybe it was stress; those essays were killer. But the dream suggested something was wrong.

It always started with me walking through Blackstone in the dead of night, cobbled streets deserted, the windows in the houses dark. No harpies swooped overhead, and the starless sky looked like an empty void. Always, just ahead of me, there was a figure, tall and black-cloaked.

Usually I awoke before I got farther than the town square, but this time was different. I followed a path I could walk blindfolded now, through the hidden alleyway, into the cemetery. I followed her past the weather-beaten, lichen-splattered tombstones. Every time I rounded a corner, I saw a cloak whipping out of sight. Eventually I reached the low stone wall at the back of the cemetery, and climbed over.

The woods were as silent as the town; not so much as a single night creature stirred, and even my own footsteps were muted. In no time at all, I passed through the trees and emerged onto the cliff top.

Waves lashed against the cliff’s edge, throwing salt spray into the air. The figure stood overlooking the sea, silver-fair hair streaming out, long black dress billowing. The fortune-teller turned to me and cried out a warning I couldn’t hear.

Then the waves rose up to engulf her, and, when they fell with a deafening crash, she was gone.

I stood rigid, drenched in seawater, so cold―

―and awoke, once again, to sleep paralysis and the sound of my alarm clock.

hen I’d coaxed my limbs into moving, I drew back the curtains to be greeted by the rather beautiful sight of the first snow of winter. The field was a glittering white carpet, and frost coated the edges of the window, outlining the view like a scene from a Christmas card.

I smiled at the thought of going sledging with Alex and Sarah later, maybe having a snowball fight―then fell back onto my bed with a groan, as I remembered today was the day of the Big Hike, the one Alex had talked me into signing up for. Looking at the foot-deep snow piled against the building, I could already tell it wasn’t going to be fun.

Alex had to literally drag Sarah out of bed and instruct her, in a mock-stern voice, to get ready. As it was, we barely made it to the meeting place on time. The minibuses were there, and as we climbed aboard one, I saw in the other a face that made my heart sink.

David.

I took a deep breath. It was okay. I didn’t have to talk to him. I rarely had the energy to communicate on hikes, anyway. Besides, he was a spy, and a cowardly one, at that. Try as I might to forget, just a glimpse of him reminded me of how angry I was at being taken in.

The sky was deceptively clear, the winter sun harsh, blinding. We walked past a lake, its smooth oval surface like a silken cloth, reflecting the snow-covered ridges and peaks surrounding it. It was beautiful, but I soon had to put my camera away, needing both hands to keep my balance as we crossed frozen rivers, skirted icy rocks and climbed a slope that gradually steepened until it was almost vertical.

Newly fallen snow coated the path, often masking ice beneath; nearly everyone fell over at least once. Melting snow soaked through my clothes to the skin.

The blizzard started as we neared the summit. A curtain of powdery white flakes swept over us, and soon, we could see nothing but whiteness. Even the leaders looked worried―never a good sign.

“We’ll have to get down soon!” one of them said.

But the path we were meant to be following had disappeared in the whirling maelstrom. Sure enough, an hour later, the leader shouted at us that we were lost.

Everything looked the same coated in white, so this didn’t surprise me.

“If we die up here, I’m blaming you, Alex!” said Sarah.

“We’re not going to die!” Alex insisted, though her bravado had slipped somewhat over the past hour. Snow clung to our hair and melted; I shuddered as it trickled down my back.

On the descent, my torchlight flickered and died, leaving me in semi-darkness penetrated only by an endless swirl of snowflakes. Blindly, I struggled on, not knowing if we were even following a path any more. I’d faced death so many times lately, it seemed absurd that it might be the elements that killed me after all.

It was so cold the breath felt frozen in my lungs. Gasping, dragging my numb feet, I reached out to the Darkworld and conjured a small light. It made little difference in the blizzard, but I felt less hopeless, less resigned to defeat.

Then I heard a relieved shout from up ahead; someone had spotted a landmark. In minutes, we were within sight of the small village where we’d parked the two minibuses.

Sarah was almost sobbing. “Thank God,” she said.

We piled back into the minibuses, too exhausted to speak. Icy mud coated my hiking boots, and snow had piled up inside my hood. I just wanted to take a hot shower and fall into bed.

Half an hour’s drive later, through winding country roads buried under snow, the minibus started to slow. When we reached a particularly steep hill, the tyres lost all grip. The bus slid downhill and backed with a groan into a wall of packed snow.

Again and again, the driver struggled to guide the minibus up the hill. Eventually, someone told us to all get out and push, which we did, pushing our protesting limbs into action, but even the combined strength of the entire group couldn’t shift the minibus. We were stuck.

As I sank against a snowdrift, utterly spent, pain shot up my arms and a queer feeling shivered through me. I found myself standing up and moving closer to look at a dark patch of trees just off the path.

Someone was standing there, just in the shadow of the trees.

I walked toward the figure, almost against my will. I couldn’t see his face, but he looked familiar. A guy with dark hair.

David?

Pulled by some instinct, even though a voice in my head screamed at me that I was stupid, I followed him.

It was hellishly cold. Icy water penetrated every inch of my clothing, soaking into my skin. But another kind of coldness drew me, one that writhed in my veins like slow poison, drawing me toward the forest, even as instinct told me to flee.

I walked on, stumbling over the snow-covered undergrowth. Not a pinprick of light penetrated the thick canopy above. These were unfamiliar paths, not like the woodland trail on campus. The trees were gnarled, hostile figures, clustered around me like conspirators drawing me into a sinister trap.

Get out of here!

But still I walked; I had no control over my legs, and I felt more terrified than I’d ever been in my life. It was like I was possessed. I couldn’t turn back, not even to look at the path behind. Something was controlling me.
Subliminal magic?

We walked until the trees thinned out, revealing a run-down, overgrown cottage. Flurries of snow danced around us, like spectres. The figure stopped.

He turned back to look at me. He wasn’t David. Of course he wasn’t.

Terrence grinned at me, holding up my amethyst pendant. A wild light shone in his grey eyes, and I could see that in the centre of his forehead, another stone winked at me, white as the snow around us. The heart of a demon had melded into his skin.

It happened in a lightning flash of clarity. I remembered it all. I was part demon. The crystal was my demon heart. And he had it. He had control over my every move.

“Did you think I was that loser? I didn’t expect you to be so blind.” This was the first time he’d ever spoken to me directly, and it was only now that I realised his voice was completely emotionless. It was like being addressed by a machine. The smile that stretched his face looked unnatural.

Through frosted lips, I managed to speak. “You have something of mine,” I croaked, indicating the necklace.

Idiot,
the voice in my head said.
Way to state the obvious.

“I know,” said Terrence. “Well, technically, it’s your family’s treasure, but it’s yours by right of birth. This must have the combined strength of ten generations, at least. And only you can control it. Which is why you’re going to help me.”

His smile widened. It looked almost inhuman now. I couldn’t remember ever having seen him smile before―or say so much at once. It was like he’d been saving his words for this moment.

“I―I don’t understand,” I said, desperately playing for time.

“It’s quite simple. See, few things can dominate a demon. You can threaten it with fire, but that’s an unreliable method at best. For absolute control, you need the power of another demon. A stronger one. You. You get me?”

A shadow flitted across his face, and, for a second his outline blurred, showing something else beneath.

A dark space.

“I knew you were something different. I knew you were like me. But I never guessed you were a demon. Now we’re more alike than ever.”