Page 50 of The Rising Dark
She tried to remember Lavinia as she had been this morning, her eyes softened with sleep and satisfaction.Tried to get some comfort out of the memory.But no matter how much she attempted to hold the image in her mind, it kept slipping away from her, fleetingly out of reach.
Michelle stood up, restlessly walking back and forth through the room.The movement helped a little bit.Some of the jitters in her legs stilled—or perhaps they were just less noticeable when she was moving.It had gotten darker in the apartment, the sun disappearing in a bank of clouds.She’d have to turn the lights on, or Zachary would have to sit in a dark room when he was done with his smoke.
Michelle leaned over to turn the switch on the lamp that sat on the side table, when she froze.Her eyes had caught a movement.
“Zachary!”she shouted.
He turned around, cigarette held loosely in his hand, a question in his eyes.Michelle yelled again, gesturing for him to come in, to please get away from the demon that was tearing through reality beside him.Before Zachary could react, one arm cloaked in shadow appeared behind him.It was almost comical, the way he looked at Michelle quizzically, while his death loomed over his shoulder.
This couldn’t be happening.It was impossible.Lavinia was with the rogue right now, the Sisters were at his doorstep, and yet somehow he had sent a demon here.In her anxiety and nervousness, Michelle hadn’t realised the sun had set.Congealed time moved so strangely.It had snuck up on her, snuck up on both of them.And the balcony wasn’t protected.
The demon’s talons flashed pure darkness, and Zachary screamed.It was a horrible sound, carrying the agony he felt when the talons dug into the flesh of his back.Michelle didn’t wait to see what happened next.This time, she would not be a bystander.She wouldn’t, couldn’t watch as Zachary died, the kind man who had ordered food and made sure she’d eat only an hour ago.She couldn’t watch as the demon tore him apart, until he was little more than the dead bodies she’d seen earlier.The Sisters were too far away.
It was just her.And this time, there wouldn’t be a gorgeous vampire bursting in at the last moment to save her.
Without thinking, she grabbed the lamp right in front of her and tore its cable from the wall socket.Her hand scrambled on the balcony door handle, Zachary’s scream quieting into a low moan.He had collapsed onto his hands and knees.It was only a couple of steps, but in that strange way of nightmares, it seemed like it took minutes for her to reach him.The demon raised its head, the glowing coals that sat in place of its eyes trained on her.Michelle raised the lamp and brought it down onto the creature’s head.The lampshade crumpled and burst into flame.Underneath, the light bulb splintered, glass flying.
The demon didn’t even flinch.It left Zachary for dead, blood spilling from his shoulder onto the ground.Michelle desperately wanted to check on him, make sure that he was okay.There was no time.The demon came at her, and she warded off his outstretched talons once, twice, wielding the lamp as if it was one of Quintia’s training swords.It kept coming, relentless, and her panic rose to a fever pitch.She reached out, trying again to hit the demon.Impatiently, it grasped the metal bar of the lamp stand and tore it away from her, the lamp clattering onto the ground.The railing of the balcony dug into Michelle’s back.Somehow, she had gotten turned around.The demon stood between her and the open door to the apartment, the only place where she could be safe.
She was trapped.The demon had no face, consisting only of shifting smoke.Somehow, it seemed to be enjoying itself.It was enjoying Michelle’s panic.Savouring the fear that shook her legs.There was no way for her to go.
This was it, Michelle realised with painful clarity.She was going to die.She would never see another sunrise.She would never be able to kiss Lavinia again, tell her how much she wanted to be with her.Tell her she loved her.
The demon lunged and Michelle’s world turned black.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lavinia had found the rogue.He was crafty, she had to give him that.He had laid trap within trap, spell within spell.Some of them were deadly, others just aimed to delay or confuse.Despite his efforts, the Sisters were closing in, the witches behind them.Lavinia’s instinct had been correct: the rogue had hidden himself towards the north wall, as far away from any entry points as could be.The closer she got, the stronger the stench of his blood became, overpowering even the cloying scent of the excess of magic he’d manipulated.As Lavinia slashed through a wall made of a translucent silver web, she saw him flitting behind a pile of upturned desks.Beyond the desks was the wall of the warehouse.There was nowhere for him to run.Even if he somehow blasted through the wall itself—and having seen what he could do, Lavinia didn’t doubt for a moment that he was capable of it—Messalina would be on the other side, waiting for him.
It would take only moments for her to get her hands on him.
She renewed her assault on the magical web.Beside her, Brigh let out a wordless battle cry that reverberated in Lavinia’s bones.Outside, the sun was setting.A whisper of night brushed up against her, promising power beyond her daytime limits.The muscles in her arms burned, fighting against the strange resilience of the wall of magic.Brigh added the strength of her axe, and two of the witches stood behind them, their eyes closed, an eerie, unnatural light shining from their palms as they did whatever they did to counteract the spell that had summoned the wall.
Sweat poured down Lavinia’s forehead, slicked the small of her back underneath her armour.She switched to a two-handed grip, putting all of the strength of her shoulder and back into the thrust.A few strands of the web unravelled.Octavia joined, then Luce.The invisible force that fuelled the Sisterhood rose between them, around them.Together, the witches at their backs, they tore through the wall.
There was no time for celebration.They were like hounds who had caught a scent.Wordlessly, they surrounded the pile of furniture that hid the rogue.A glance was shared between them.Outside, the sun cast its last rays across the city.The stars rose, keening a hunting song.
The Sisters charged.Lavinia vaulted over the desks, her knees and hip protesting as she landed.The moon took over, blanketing her in the power of the night, raising her strength despite her fatigue.
The rogue sat in a circle of blood.By the bitter smell of it, it was his.He bled freely from a cut on the inside of his arm.With one finger, he drew another sigil onto the concrete beside him.At the rush of approaching footsteps he looked up, his bloodshot eyes flashing yellow.He hissed, baring stubby and poorly formed fangs.Then, he smiled, planting his hand onto the floor and whispering a word in a language Lavinia didn’t understand.
Reality tore, not just once, but twice, thrice, countless times.The tears birthed shapeless horrors of shadow and fire.Demons.
There was no time to think, no time to breathe.One moment, there had only been one rogue to contend with.Now the Sisters were inundated in demonspawn, tearing, burning, snapping at the Sisters.She had a fleeting thought that she’d hoped the witches had taken cover, as their skins were unprotected.Lavinia spun out of the path of a hellhound, giant fangs snapping shut where she’d stood only a moment before.She stabbed through the heart of a tenebris, its body of shadow curling back into itself with a hiss.The rogue, where had he gone?She scanned the battlefield, ignoring the blood and fire and unholy screeching of the demonspawn.The rogue was at the heart of all of this.He was the one who directed all of them, who controlled them.He had to be stopped—not just now, but forever.
He would never be able to threaten Michelle ever again.
A white-hot rage tore through Lavinia at the thought of Michelle, at how close she had been to death if Lavinia hadn’t happened to be at the right place at the right time.Michelle could have been one of these poor souls, trapped in his unnatural grasp.He had to die.
Lavinia kicked a tall, horned demon in its back, the impact causing it to fall onto the blade of Octavia’s sword.She slashed at another, tearing its arm from its shoulder, the limb turning to ash before it hit the ground.The stench of sulphur suffocated the air as she fought her way through the throng.
Everywhere demons roared, crawled, slithered, and strode, their burning eyes full of hate.A brief opening formed after Luce pierced a hellhound with her spear.The rogue had turned away from battle, probably to summon yet another abomination.His energy seemed boundless, spells spilling from him one after another.They had to stop him now.
The fire of night in her veins, the thought of Michelle on her mind, Lavinia let go of any further thought beyond the flow of the battle, the feel of the sword, its grip slickened by her chafed and bleeding hands.She paid the minor injury no mind, only used the pain to focus her on her single objective: reaching the rogue.Step by step, she fought through countless demons, pushing or kicking them aside for her Sisters to finish off whatever they could.She knew they were there.She knew they would protect her back.She was the point of the wedge, coming closer and closer to the rogue, bent over another one of his creations, drawing with one bloody finger.
Lavinia broke through.She didn’t waste any time, didn’t wait for another demon to appear or attack.Within the blink of an eye, she was at the rogue’s back.She lifted her sword, but before she could bring it down, the rogue rolled away, hissing and baring his misshapen fangs as he crouched on the ground.
In a way, finally coming face to face with him was a disappointment.Up close, this rogue looked like any other.His skin was waxy and grey.The blood vessels of his eyes had burst, bathing his irises in red.His clothing was torn and soiled, the blood of his victims coating the fabric of a threadbare hoodie.His gaze had that edge of the predator, that animalistic quality common to all rogues.But at the same time, there was a gleam of cunning and self-awareness, an intelligence that had not yet been burned away by bloodlust.Rather than fleeing or mindlessly attacking, the two instinctual options that a rogue would choose between, this one threw some makeshift magic at Lavinia, forcing her to step aside.The rogue used the opportunity this created to draw further lines, completing the intricate design he had shaped onto the floor.His hand was steady, keeping one eye on Lavinia’s approach.
