Dark City (The Order of Shadows Book 1) (20 page)

"
I
'm impressed
," Stroud said. "My Hexling was skilled. It decimated highly trained knights and-"

"It was predictable," I said. "But most of the people you ambushed with it didn't see it coming. I did."

"Clearly there's more to you than meets the eye." Stroud held his hands out, coaxing the shadows back towards him. They formed a black, swirling pool at his feet. "I've only been in this world a short time, but I've seen considerable evidence of the fragile mental stamina this place inspires. I see it in you too." He closed his eyes and clapped his hands.

The dark pool shifted and three black columns rose up. They formed bodies with defined torsos, arms, legs and heads. Shadows swirled around them, refining their features as sparks ignited in their eyes.

My heart ached when the recognition took hold.

Tom, Hellwyn...and Willow.

The venomous expression on her face was like a sucker-punch.

Tom was the first to strike. The sword had been formed from shadow, but it cut like a razor. The slash in my thigh would have been deeper if I hadn't jumped back. It smarted as if the blade had been laced with acid or salt.

I barely had time to move as Hellwyn lunged forward. Her sword struck the sleeve of my coat as I pulled away. Tom leaped forward, his sword sweeping in a black arc towards me. I ducked as it sliced through the air above my head.

Tom's shadowy form was thrown off balance. I stepped forward and drove my sword through his throat. Dark drops of matter misted the air. Tom clamped his hand over the wound but the inky blood continued to flow. The shadow creature swayed on its feet and the lights in its eyes began to dim as the phantom unraveled to nothing.

Hellwyn's sword rushed towards me.

"Block!" I fell back and hit the floor hard, my sword deflecting the majority of the blow as I scrambled back to my feet and a second figure closed in.

Willow.

Her sword grazed my hip as I rolled to the ground amid a shower of sparks. Then both Willow and Hellwyn came at me as one.

I dropped to my knee and parried Hellwyn's blade.

"End!" My sword arced back, passed through her midriff and she burst into slivers of shadowy smoke.

Willow's sword came from nowhere. I managed to block the brunt of the blow but the tip slashed the back of my hand, opening a gash in my flesh. I cried out in agony as my arm spasmed. It felt like a stream of icy fire had been injected into my veins.

I crumpled, barely countering her second and third strike.

She brought her blade up for a final stroke, leaving herself wide.

I fell forward and drove my sword through her heart.

She spasmed, her eyes wide. Her look of anguish made me sick to my core and it was all I could do to keep myself together. "She's not real," I whispered. "She's-"

The agony of my wounds raged. It felt like my blood was turning to ice. As if a deep black contagion had seeped into my veins and was slithering toward my heart.

Willow's shadow form began to fade, the betrayal on her fleeting face the deepest wound of all.

I climbed to my feet, fury coursing through me as I charged toward Stroud. He watched, his face impassive. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked.

I had no words. I brought up my blade as one intention passed through my mind.

Stroud shook his head. "It's a pity to see such a talent go to waste, but clearly there's no other choice." He closed his eyes and raised his hands, as if intending to bring the ceiling down upon our heads. The last of the shadows snaked towards him and the room became impossibly bright as he opened his mouth to swallow them. His skin turned from ashen to coal and his eye sockets filled with pools of darkness, as if the shadows had consumed him from the inside out.

He thrust his hands out.

With the roaring crash of a tsunami, two black tentacles shot towards me, their barbed tips aimed at my heart.

There was nowhere to escape, no defense.

I closed my eyes and opened my soul to the deep magic buzzing through the asylum. It thrummed up through the floor and filled me with a heady rush.

The shadows continued to thunder towards me. I let them. As they smashed into me, it was all I could do to stand against them. Then my whole body convulsed with the raw and terrible force.

I opened my mouth to release the crescendo of power building inside me and my cry became a hungry, primal roar.

Images flashed through my mind, terrible vignettes of pain, squalor and despair. Echoes of the patients who'd lived and died in this terrible place bound within the darkness and festering energy Stroud had been feeding off.

When I opened my eyes I saw the world through a filter of unfettered fury and hatred. I rushed towards Stroud. He glanced toward the door as if seeking help. I threw out a command, it smashed shut and dust drifted like snow from above.

Stroud backed towards the painting. I conjured a ball of jet black flames in my hand and let it fly as he stepped back into the portal. It burst across its surface, turning it fiery red as the flames danced across the canvas.

A voice cried out. I couldn't understand the words, but they were Stroud's. He glared at me for a moment then his dark ghostly face merged with the flames, and he was gone.

The fire roared, illuminating the boiling swirls and ridges of black paint. Faint figures were tossed within its dark waves, the artists who had somehow been coaxed to paint out their despair, madness and torment. And in doing so, had opened a portal between worlds.

I strode from the room as it filled with the acrid burning fumes, my body coursing with malevolent black, evil intent.

T
he magic seethed
through me as I stalked down the corridor. It whispered, cajoling me to do terrible things. Slash, burn and maim. To smash anyone I encountered into dust.

It was impossible to defy the urges as they raged, demanding violent resolution. They rooted deep within me like a black pestilence and the terror I'd once had for this place was long gone.

I had no fear now.

I
was
fear.

Nightkind wandered from the cells and feeding rooms. They stood before me and howled with defiant fury and despicable threats.

I met their eyes.

And they began to cower.

They'd shown no mercy to their victims, to those vulnerable wretched figures still cowering and crippled in the cells. So I'd show the tormentors no mercy either.

Two hulking wolf men rushed at me.

The power surged through me as I punched through the chest of the first and squeezed its pulsing heart into pulp. My hand was wet as I pulled it out and threw the creature against the wall.

I drew my sword, beheaded the other and kicked its twitching corpse to the floor.

The rest began to flee. I grabbed one, a demon with an ancient, wicked face.

"Please!" it begged.

It tried to squirm free but I held it tight and stared into its eyes. "Who was he?"

"Who?" I could almost see the thoughts racing through its wicked mind and the lies it was desperately constructing.

I placed my palm on its forehead until it screamed. "And you think you're evil." I grinned as I pressed my hand harder. Its knees buckled and it almost dropped to the floor. I grabbed the fiend by the shoulders and smashed it into the wall. "Tell me who he was or I'll fucking eviscerate you." Somewhere inside, I knew this wasn't me, but it seemed whoever I'd become was on the verge of getting an answer.

A strange expression passed through the demon's eyes as it gave me an almost beatific smile. "The walker?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "The shade in the shadows? A great, great force. The greatest force I've ever seen."

It spoke like a religious zealot. The irony of this wasn't lost on me.

"Tell me who he was."

The demon stopped struggling and went limp in my hand. "Do what thou wilt," it said with another serene grin, "shall be the whole of the law."

I broke its neck and dropped it to the ground. The others, having witnessed our exchange, turned and scattered.

I went after them, cutting them down one by one, spattering the cracked walls with their blood. Howls and screams broke out, shrieks of terror and pain. The walls seemed to shake with their cries, as if recalling familiar pleas from decades past.

I marched on, making my way through the bloody asylum. Consumed by a terrible black rage matched with an evil, eldritch force. Except it wasn't me. It was someone else. And I could only watch as this relentless dark stranger entered cell after cell and cut down the monstrous inhabitants within and gruffly freed the wretched humans stained by the gore of their abusers.

Panic swept through the asylum.

Many of the creatures fled.

Many died.

Soon, it was empty.

I
stood before the doors
, my sword dripping, and gave one last roar as I forced the rage and horror out of me. And then I threw them open and staggered into daylight.

The bright sun hit me hard. Nausea overwhelmed me. I dropped my sword and leaned over as my body rejected the magic's black poison. Remnants of it still swirled through my system as I straightened up and wiped my mouth.

I reached into my bag, found a spent crystal and held it tight as I channeled the last of the abominable energy into it. Swirls of inky darkness passed from my hands, turning the clear shard a deep opaque black.

I'd need to find a safe place to dispose of it, somewhere far from this cursed, desolate place.

The mild September sunlight felt almost blinding. I pulled out a pair of shades and slipped them on.

The forest surrounding the building was still, the creatures that had fled the asylum, long gone. A few straggled, broken people emerged from the building, their eyes wild, their faces lost. I'd have to call this in.

I dialed Underwood and gave him a heavily edited rundown. He sounded dubious, but that was a problem for some other day. Next I called Dauple, who could barely contain his excitement.

Ashcombe's dented Jag gleamed upon the drive.

I placed a hand over the keyhole. The door clicked open.

I drove away and didn't look back.

I
hobbled
up the stairs one at a time, my body aching, my head numb. I'd hoped to get to my apartment unscathed, but Mrs. Fitz was at the ready, her hand on her hip.

She took one look at my face, nodded politely and closed her door.

The second I stumbled into my apartment, I stripped off and threw my clothes into a black trash bag. They couldn't have been washed, but even if they had come clean I never wanted to see them again. The coat was a different matter. And I wondered if there was a dry cleaners that specialized in magical armor. One that didn't ask questions about blood, especially when it came in odd colors.

I took a hot shower and filled the room with steam. Then I sat on the edge of the bath and stared at the tile floor, before staggering back to the shower and scrubbing down all over again. Only then did I feel halfway clean.

The bed seemed to swallow me up as I fell upon it and passed out.

* * *

I
awoke
from what felt like a year's worth of bad dreams. Each had taken me back to the asylum where I'd found myself gliding down the corridors, bombarded by the screams of agony and delight coming from the cells.

Every route had taken me to the same end; the room with the painting.

No matter how hard I ran, the portal pulled me in, swallowing me up into the deep swirling abyss.

Each immersion into the canvas had been witnessed. People surrounded me as if standing before an exhibit. Many of the witnesses were from my past; my foster father, his bitch of a girlfriend, Tom, Hellwyn, Underwood and Willow. And there were others I didn't recognize. They'd gathered to see the monster, the beast Morgan Rook. I watched too, as if through the lens of an all seeing eye, and recoiled as my face split with sadistic evil.

I rampaged, sword in hand and cut the witnesses down, one by one and endless streams of blood washed over the floorboards.

The
other
me,
my dark self, had clapped his hands. It made no sound in this world, but I was sure it had been heard in some other realm.

As I got out of bed the dreams continued to swirl through my head but as I stood, my body exploded with pain, and the imagery ceased.

I stumbled through to the living room, made coffee and slumped onto the sofa, nestling the cup in my hands and absorbing the scalding heat.

I checked my phone. A message from Glory was awaiting my reply.

Tom's funeral. It was this afternoon. Somehow I'd lost a whole day.

I sat back, contemplating the black coffee lapping against the side of the white cup. I wondered if I'd ever know who the shade Rowan Stroud really was, and whether or not I'd ever find him. More unfinished business, like Elsbeth Wyght. Two monsters, waiting to be slain. Someday.

I glanced up at Willow's photograph. "I think I nearly had her," I said. "Nearly." I gazed at her wild eyes and her soft kind smile. "Next time. I swear it."

A heavy darkness fell over me. I was too tired to fight it.

I sat and stared at the carpet until a fat, powder-blue Persian cat called Ash dropped in and padded across the floor. He jumped up beside me, his yellow-orange eyes wide as he gazed up and cried. I lifted a leaden hand to pet him and he purred like a muffled engine.

A Siamese slipped through the window next, along with her sister and two new cats with long black hair. They sat around me in a circle, staring.

It took me a moment to realize I was smiling. "Okay, I get it." I stood, stretched and went to the kitchen to fetch their breakfast. "No rest for the wicked."

* * *

I
saw
my reflection in a shop window, superimposed over fashionably dressed mannequins. The black suit and tie made a crisp contrast against my cream-white shirt. I hadn't worn this since Willow's funeral. This realization brought another wave of sadness and the sky overhead swirled with dark grey clouds. A fat raindrop struck the sidewalk ahead of me. I was so lost in my thoughts that I failed to notice the taxi that had pulled up, until the driver sounded his horn.

I looked up to see Underwood's violet eyes sparkling through the back window. He opened the door and nodded. "Get in, Morgan, I'll give you a ride. Where are you going?"

My voice sounded monotone as I named the cemetery. There was no point in rejecting his offer.

"Nice to see you in a suit." Underwood smiled. "But I'm very sorry for the occasion. The way things are going it seems likely we'll be attending many funerals over the coming months and years."

His eyes gleamed as he studied me. "You left quite a mess behind."

I glanced at the driver: a middle aged man with a thick beard and glassy eyes.

"Don't worry." Underwood said. "He won't remember either one of us, let alone our conversation. Tell me what happened at the asylum? Dauple said it was an out and out blood bath."

"I went and sorted out some problems, just like you told me not to." I matched his stare. "Someone had to do it."

"And do you care to explain how one man created such a scene?"

"I suppose we were both...misled about my abilities?" I matched his anger as the taxi crept through the traffic and thundering hail turned the world outside into a blur of white.

Underwood appeared to bite back his first response and slowly the fire in his eyes began to dim. "I knew you were gifted the moment I saw you. I also knew your power could go either way. For good or bad. I wanted you under the umbrella of the Organization. That way we could channel your gifts, use them for good. Whatever that means."

"You should have trusted me."

He shook his head. "You were eighteen. Undisciplined. I loathe to think of the trouble you could have gotten into if you'd have realized your capabilities."

I shrugged. I could see his point but refused to concede it.

"Exactly. You'll never know, and neither will I. You were like a weapon, Morgan. I had to make sure you were secured, or that we were the ones to wield you."

"Who am I? And why-"

"When it comes to your past, I know about as much as you do. It's never interested me, it's irrelevant."

"My past's pretty relevant to me." I glanced outside. A young girl stared at me from the car in the next lane, her face indistinct through the hail-streaked window. I forced a smile. She returned it and waved, then turned back to her doll.

"My job was to turn you into an asset, that's all they asked me to do, nothing more. And maybe one day you'll thank your lucky stars." He sounded resigned."Fine. Do whatever has to be done. Dig up the past. Find out who you are, or who you were. But in the meantime we have work to do. And I need to know you're with me."

And what if I'm not,
I wondered as I looked over at him. He smiled at me, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. I nodded. I was with him. For now at least. It was better to have the Organization behind me than standing in my way.

Underwood glanced at his cufflinks. They gleamed faultlessly. "Everything's changing, you don't need me to tell you that. But it means I'm going to need your
full
attention, Morgan. There are forces working against me. Elements..."

"In the Organization?"

He drew his lips into a line and glanced away. "Take some time off. Grieve. Recover. Recharge. Then come and see me. We need to discuss what happened, in detail. All right?"

"Sure."

Underwood had never really been this open with me before, so I decided to ask a question that had been bugging me for years. "Who runs the Organization?"

He smiled. "Who knows? I just follow orders. So should you."

The car pulled up to the curb. Graves stood in a row behind a high black iron railing. I got out to find the hail had subsided into hard cold rain.

I turned back to the car to see Underwood glance up at me, a strange expression in his lilac eyes. Hope? Fear? Or both?

Then the cab pulled away and he was gone.