Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) (9 page)

TEN

There’s banging. I sit up with a jolt, disoriented.

“Get up, farkwad!” someone yells though the door. Sounds like that Jax guy. “Morning family meeting. Assholes and elbows!”

I run a hand over my eyes, trying to wipe the fog of sleep away. It’s late morning. I can tell from the high sunlight streaming in through the window. Damn, I haven’t slept that sound for a whole night in forever. For the last few months I’ve been crashing in an abandoned warehouse where my hourly alarm clock was a family of rats that liked poking around what little shit I had with me.

Ava’s sitting on her bed, her back against the wall. She’s squinting at a book that’s open on her lap, reading intently. “They’re going on a job,” she says.

“What?”

“That rude boy.” She puts her finger on the page to hold her place and looks up at me. “He says there’s a meeting. They’re going to talk about one of their jobs.”

My pulse picks up. I’m not ready to work with these people—whatever it is that they actually do. I still don’t have a good grip on what goes on around here exactly, who I can trust, and what’ll be expected of me. My guard will be up way too high to be any help to anyone.

“Shouldn’t you go down?” she asks.

“You stay here.”

“I know.”

I stand and slip my shoes on. “What’re you reading?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

Unease fills me. “I don’t?”

She shuts the book and holds it up. At first glance it looks like any other leather journal, a little worn at the edges, its binding stretched to near breaking from all the pieces of paper and dried leaves and stems glued inside. Then I see the faded marking on the cover: the sixth pentacle of Jupiter from the
Key of Solomon
, for protection against all earthly elements. The key has been burned into the brown leather. “
Thus shalt thou never perish
” is written in Latin around the circle.

Mom’s grimoire.

Her blood is in that book. Her tears. Her rage. Her terror. All left behind.
Never to perish
. Protected from anything this earth could do to it.

“How could you bring that here?” I ask, turning cold with fear and fury. “You were supposed to get rid of it!”

I told Ava to bury it after the Marshalls died. She said she would, and I trusted her. I’d have buried it myself, but every time I touch it, my skin starts crackling like it’s about to catch fire. It would take dark magic to break the key. And I don’t go there. Not ever.

Ava sighs, as if I’m the small child and don’t understand adult things yet. “I did, Aidan. I swear. I buried it. Three times.”

“So why’s it in my face right now?” I look at her closely, but she’s the only person I can’t read when it comes to lies.

“Every time I buried it I woke up the next morning covered in dirt, the grimoire back in my hand. I think I was digging it up in my sleep. After it happened the third time, I didn’t see the point in burying it anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shoves the book back into her bag. “It’s between me and Mom.”

“Mom’s dead, Ava.”

Her lips thin. “Maybe. But pieces of her are still here. That’s why I’ve been reading it. I need to know if she’s evil. If I should be listening to her or not.”

I want to tell her—
Mom nearly got you killed with her magic; she’s the reason we’re running
! But I can see it all happening again, repeating in my sister. The darkness is gaining a foothold in her. Or maybe my fears are right, maybe it’s been there the whole time, slumbering in her skin since the moment that demon scratched her, my mom’s heart still in its other claw.

“Please don’t read it again,” I say, “until I can figure some things out. Until we get settled and we know we’re safe.” I try not to listen to the voice in my head that reminds me it’s pointless to stop her reading it now—she probably has the whole thing memorized already.

She rubs her nose and releases a sigh. “If that’s what you want.” She sets the book to the side and picks up her violin. “I’ll wait for now.” Then she sits up straight and slides the bow across the strings, beginning to draw out a quick, frantic tune that seems to match exactly with my insides.

They’re all downstairs in the kitchen. Jax and Lester are sitting at the table, Holly’s buttering a piece of very nutty toast and tapping the toe of her red shoes to a silent rhythm, her ribbon-braided hair swinging across her back. Connor is standing beside Kara, who’s perched on the counter. A faint pump of music comes from her, and I notice she’s got her earbuds back in.

She doesn’t look up when I enter. Connor does, though. He leans in closer to her, looking protective. The action makes me instantly like the guy—which is good, ’cause my readings are muddy as hell in this house. Probably because of the protections against demons and ghosts that Sid mentioned. But it’s going to make getting a bead on these souls that live here a lot tougher. I’ll need to be that much more cautious.

It occurs to me that that’s probably the reason I didn’t realize Mom’s grimoire was nearby.

But I don’t want to think about that anymore.

Jax brightens at the sight of me. “Ah, the Chosen One has returned!” he says in a very dramatic voice. “The One who shall be the most powerful!”

I give him a look that I hope says:
Shut the fuck up, ass face
.

“Can you really see ’em?” Lester asks, biting on his lip, like he’s nervous. “Like
see
’em, see ’em? With your eyes?”

Jax laughs. “No, he sees them with his butt—what the hell’s wrong with you?”

Holly takes a bite of her sandpaper toast with a loud crunch, watching us all like she’s solving a puzzle.

“Well, Sid sure is thrilled,” Lester says, ignoring Jax. “You’d think we found the pot a’ gold at the end of a rainbow.”

Someone snorts, and I notice Finger in the corner by the refrigerator, watching the exchange.

Connor leans close to me and asks under his breath, “Is what you said true?”

I study him for a second. This guy has seen his own set of horrors, I’m fairly certain. On the outside he looks like your typical California dude, but there’s not a lazy bone in him. He’s all business, this one.

I wonder what happened for him to find his way off the street and into this clan of misfits. It’s hard to picture him as the drug dealer Sid said he was.

I nod, looking him right in the eye, so he sees that I get how serious this all is, too. I want to ask him about his gift—or
curse.
How he reads the past of an object, what it’s used for. But I figure I’ll find out soon enough.

Sid comes in, and the room falls into nervous silence. Sid looks us all over like he’s proud of what he’s collected. “I’d like to wrap up the Reese job tonight, boys.” He glances at Kara and Holly. “And ladies.” Kara pulls the earbuds out and hunches her shoulders. Again I feel annoyance toward my new benefactor without knowing why. Then I catch Connor glaring at him and realize I’m not the only one.

Sid has a suit on again—a different one, but the same style: no jacket, rolled-up sleeves, silk pin-striped vest. He holds his walking stick loosely in his left hand. A bolo hat tops his bald head to round out the look.

He starts talking again. “Day two of filming’s tonight, and we have several things still to get in the can. Remember the details: a haunting—could be psychosomatic, keep that in mind.”

He directs his next words at me. “The subject of the haunting is a boy, about nine or ten. Marcus. His parent is a single mother, and he’s the only child. No male in residence. There are several key components we see a lot in this type of case. One: a recent trauma—in this case, job loss. Two: only the child in the house is encountering the manifestations. And three: the land is a frequent kill site. There’ve been several reported murders over the decades on the land where the apartment complex is located. Might even be a place of sacrifice.”

My pulse picks up speed, realizing by that one statement that this guy really knows his spirit rules—rules I’ve known as long as I can remember, like they’re ingrained in my DNA. I’ve never actually met anyone that understands these things like I do—but then, maybe I just don’t get out enough.

Sid continues, “I told the client we’d be there after seven. Connor, you text me when you’re on-site ready to go.”

Connor nods.

“The camera crew will meet you about forty-five minutes after eight, so we can get shots of the internals, and I can do the mother’s interview. Plus, a few shots of the dead circle.”

I speak up before I realize I shouldn’t. “Camera crew? What the hell’s that mean?”

Jax winks at me. “It means you’re gonna be a star, Pretty Boy.”

“Jax,” Sid says with a warning in his voice. Then he turns to me. “We always film our cases, Aidan. It’s nothing to worry about. We have a budding YouTube channel—you may have heard of it:
Paranormal Truth
. Our
Queen Mary
case has more than three hundred thousand hits.”

“The sitch we filmed at the Hollywood sign was my fave,” Holly says. She takes her last bite of toast and adds, “Mostly ’cause Jax practically peed his pants when the EVP said his name afterwards. That was some fan-friggin-tastic television.”

“No, that was fucking scary shit,” Jax says, like he’s trying to defend his fear.

“Language.” Sid scowls at him then nods to Connor, who turns and pulls a jar off the counter. He holds it out to Jax.

Jax rolls his eyes and reaches into the jar, pulling out a small white paper.

“Read it aloud,” Sid orders.

“Ten lines of Hamlet,” Jax says, sounding annoyed. He tosses the paper back into the jar.

“By tomorrow,” Sid says. “Written and oral.” Then he turns to me to explain. “Foul language will earn you a recitation that will grow your vocabulary. Positive reinforcement. Got the idea from this supernanny; she’s a genius.” He gives me a quick smile. “But as to the filming, if you don’t want to be a part of it, that’s fine. We also have a possible deal in the works with a production company, but we can always leave your part of it on the cutting room floor.” He leans in and gives me a look, like he senses why I’d be worried about it—even though I’m not sure why myself. “I don’t leave trails to follow either,” he says.

My gut churns.

“But don’t just observe,” he adds. “Feel free to speak up about what you see or feel on this one. Let’s see your stuff, Aidan.” He knocks me on the arm with his cane, the crystal ball at the tip thudding into my muscle. I bite my tongue as he walks out of the kitchen.

Once Sid clears hearing distance, Jax says under his breath, “Yeah, let’s see what you can do, newb.” And then he swings back to punch me on the shoulder.

I grab his wrist before his fist catches my arm.

The room goes still, all eyes on me.

Surprise, then alarm, fills Jax’s features when I don’t release him right away.

“I’m just playing, man.” He fake laughs. “Shit!”

I let go and back up. I’m used to other boys trying to kick my ass; I’m used to having to defend myself, and I’m good at it. But I see in Jax’s eyes that he’s telling the truth—just a joke, no harm intended. I say what comes to the tip of my tongue anyway. “Touch me again and I break your fingers.”

Lester releases a low whistle.

Jax chuckles nervously. “Wow, Kara, I think we finally found your soul mate.”

And then they all laugh—even Finger’s shoulders shake. Not Kara and Connor, though. Those two just keep looking at me, Connor with curiosity and Kara with growing anger.

Holly starts to sing, “Kara and Aidan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G . . .” as she dances from the room in a blur of colorful clothes.

Lester follows, giggling. Jax walks past smiling and flipping the bird in my direction.

Finger disappears like magic. For such a large guy, he’s silent as a ghost.

Connor comes up to me, looks me over, and then says, “We meet at the van, in the back. Six thirty. A minute late, and you stay home.” He stares at me for a tick longer than is normal—like an alpha dog—and then turns and walks away.

Kara’s the only one left. She doesn’t move off her perch on the counter, looking down at her boots. There’s a skull painted in what looks like Wite-Out on the toe of the left shoe.

“Hey,” I begin, hoping I don’t regret trying to explain this, but knowing I need to get it out of the way, “I could tell Ava kind of freaked you out. She can be—”

Kara hops down off the counter, stopping the words in my throat with her sharp glare. “Just stay away from me,” she says. “Both of you.” There’s no trace of fear in her words or on her face, but I feel it, like a razor against my skin. It’s the only thing I’ve felt in this house since I got here yesterday.

She walks past me, putting the earbuds back in, and a strange foreboding fills me as I watch her go.

Not a good way to start my new life.

ELEVEN

It’s nearly seven thirty at night by the time we get to the apartment. I leave Ava at the house with Holly—reluctantly. There’s no way she could have come with me. I know I can’t watch her every second, but I feel like I need to. Ava pushed me out the bedroom door, saying I was being ridiculous, that I’d only be gone for a few hours and she’d be fine.

But I’m not sure I trust that house yet. I’m not sure if I trust Sid’s protective measures. And I’ve only just gotten her back.

When I talked to Holly about keeping a close eye on things, she frowned at me and asked, “Isn’t your sister, like, eleven?”

“She’s almost twelve.”

Holly laughed and shrugged. “Sure. I’ll watch out for her,” and then she walked away mumbling, “Hyperprotective much?”

But I didn’t feel any bad vibes from her, so I decided to loosen my grip a bit and trust Sid that the house was protected. Plus, it won’t be until Ava’s actual birthday that the demons come.

We reach the apartment complex off Balboa. The van pulls into the alley, parking in the rear garage. I try to make myself stop worrying—I need to focus on getting this right. Don’t let them see too much, but let them see enough to win their favor. Sid seems to have pretty high expectations from the sound of it.

The boys all start piling out and unloading the equipment, obviously having done this hundreds of times. Connor and Kara disappear through the gate, entering the building’s poorly lit courtyard.

The apartment complex is small, old. Most likely built in the sixties, but obviously rebuilt, probably after the Northridge quake in ’94. It’s surrounded by wrought iron and fir trees.

“Hey!” Connor yells from the van. “Make yourself useful.” He tosses me an orange extension cord and points for me to follow Lester, who’s walking next to Jax through the back iron gate.

I trail behind and follow directions as the boys set up video and audio in the courtyard. I don’t ask any questions as the lights are positioned and a small area is cleared for a table and computers. I just do what I’m told and keep my mouth shut.

Connor talks to the camera crew when they get there, three guys who look more like hipster coffeehouse rejects than a serious crew, but what do I know about Hollywood? After he gives them some instructions on how small the apartment is, a timeline for the night, and descriptions of what kind of “frames” and “moods” he’s looking for, he waves for me to follow him.

Kara’s standing in a tiny alcove patio, which is really just a slab of concrete decorated with a cracked pot spilling over with wilted pansies. She’s got her back to me, facing a blond woman, and they’re passing a cigarette back and forth like they’ve bonded already. The orange tip glows in the dark.

The blond woman looks like she’s in her midthirties, but as I get closer, something tells me she’s more like midtwenties. Her hair is dull and brittle, her skin is leathery, and her shadowed eyes are full of confusion, like she’s not sure how she got here.

Kara spots Connor and me. She takes one last drag from the cigarette and grinds it into the pot of drooping pansies.

Connor and Kara trade looks, and I can see the silent conversation in their faces:

Seriously, Kara?

Lay off, Connor
.

Connor nods to the blond woman. “Miss Reese, thank you for being so flexible with the schedule. We’ll try to make this session simpler than when we did the day shoot. We just need to get a few more questions on film and do our dead circle so Kara can be sure about her reading before giving it to you. Mr. Siddhapati will be here in the next ten minutes or so, and he can finish off the interview with you as soon as you’re ready.” He motions to me. “This is our new trainee. Is it okay if he follows Kara on her walk-through?”

Miss Reese barely looks at me. “Sure, whatever. Will it cost me more?” She gives a weak—but still somehow flirtatious—smile to the crew behind me.

“No,” Connor says. “The price Mr. Siddhapati quoted you is what it’ll be. Not a penny more.”

She nods and pulls out another cigarette with shaky fingers. “I need sleep.”

Connor gives her an understanding look. “We’ll try to finish this up tonight and get you the peace you need, Miss Reese.”

“Or your money back,” comes from behind us. Sid’s voice. He waves to the camera crew, and they scramble across the now perfectly lit courtyard to obey. They place the cameras firmly on their shoulders, and one guy follows Sid with a boom mic raised high overhead.

“Ah, Miranda,” Sid says, “you poor thing. You didn’t get any sleep again last night?” He takes Miss Reese’s fingers in his, and her face loses its tension immediately. “I’m so sorry,” he says as he pats her hand. “We’ll fix this mess up by the morning, I promise.”

Tears fill her eyes, and she nods again.

He pulls her in for a fatherly hug. “You’ll be fine.” Then he motions at the camera crew, and they lower their aim.

Watching him is fascinating. His words and actions feel so close to the truth that I almost buy his sincerity. Stunning.

I try and get a better bead on him, his soul, away from the muted fog of the house, but Connor taps my arm and motions for me to follow Kara as she slips away.

So I turn from my curiosity and comply, figuring there’ll be plenty of time for reading Sid. I follow Kara to the door of the downstairs apartment on the end. The smell of dryer sheets fills the air; it mingles with stale cigarette smoke and mildew as she reaches for the doorknob.

A buzz of lingering violence reaches my skin. I really don’t want to feel this. I hate knowing people’s business, especially the dark kind—which is all I ever seem to see lately.

Kara stops before she opens the door. She glances behind me, maybe checking to see if we’re alone, and then she says, “Just so we’re clear: I don’t like you.”

There’s a fierce look in her eyes.

“I mean I
really
don’t like you.”

“You mentioned that.”

“But we have to work together. So I’ll suck it up. But you should know where you stand.”

Her hostility is taking me off guard. I’m fairly certain she’s not the kind of girl you want on your bad side.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m reading you. Loud and clear. For some mysterious reason, you now hate me.” Even though I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Ava. Kara’s barely said two words to me since meeting my sister.

She looks to the side like she’s searching for something and chews at the corner of her lip.

“Shouldn’t we start the torment of working together now?” I ask.

“What’s your deal?”

“You’re the one with the deal, Kara. You’ve given me the ice treatment since I moved in. Apparently the kiss at the club the other night was a mistake. I get it. Apparently you’re freaked out about my sister. Whatever. Can we just move on?”

She opens her mouth to speak and then closes it. After a second she says, “Fine. We have to work together, so we’ll call a truce. Just keep yourself out of my space.”

I have no idea how those two things are mutually possible, but I nod in response anyway. “Sure. Got it.”

“And if this is gonna work, you need to tell me everything you see. Everything.”

“Sure.”
Not
. I study her, trying to figure out how to balance this, trying to find something trustworthy about her that I can connect with. “I’ll tell you what I see,” I say more gently, shoving away my frustration. She revealed parts of herself at the school to save me, so maybe I can peel back a layer or two of my own for her in return—an olive branch of sorts.

She nods, looking more lost than nervous now. “We need to focus—I need to focus.” She turns and opens the door.

I let my internal walls down reluctantly, step into the apartment after her, and hold my breath, waiting for the first blow.

A wave of nausea hits me, then there’s prickling against my skin, like something pulling on my arm hairs.

“It’s Kara, Marcus,” she calls into the apartment. “Are you here?” She whispers to me, “Marcus is the kid. He’s the one stuff keeps happening to, his mom says. Nightmares, night terrors, shadows. Typical stuff.”

“What do you think it is?” I whisper back.

She shrugs. “Negative energy for sure.”

All I can do is pray it’s not a demon. I don’t have anything but some salt and sacred dirt in my pocket, the
hamsa
I got from Hanna—which isn’t much good in a fight—and my old Star of David amulet that my mom gave me. The last thing I need is another demon figuring out I can see it and trying to make me its lunch.

Looking
at the Other realm, opening myself up wide in front of strangers, isn’t on the top of my to-do list. It’s like being naked in a pit of snakes. But it’s too late to turn back now.

I look around, collecting my thoughts. There’s a maroon vinyl couch with cigarette burns on its left arm. The walls and ceiling are yellow from smoke. The carpet is shag—green and ratty. A weak light shines in the corner, and the muted TV plays
Nick at Nite
. A crucifix hangs over the doorway to the hall, and there’s a dent in the drywall to my right that looks suspiciously like a fist. Echoes of past anger tinge the air.

My own memories of bruises and punctured drywall swirl through my head.

Mom grabs the man’s arm. “Stop, Frank, please. Leave Aidan be.”

The man turns, like a spring being released, his fist colliding with her delicate features in a meaty thud. “Shut up, bitch!”

I shake it off and bury the memories as far down as they can go, not wanting to attract whatever’s in this place.

Kara pauses as we come to the hall and says, “Marcus, I have a friend with me. Can we come in?”

I wait behind Kara, watching the dark hallway.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” someone says from the other side of the farthest door, a little boy.

My heart stutters at the sound of the small voice, at the fear in it.

The door opens and a brown-haired head peeks out. “I think it’s angry from the last time. When you guys left the other night it got real bad.”

Kara ignores the comment. “Marcus, so good to see you. Can you come chat with us on the couch, buddy?”

Marcus steps out farther. There’s a Superman comic book gripped in his fist. “Yeah, sure.” He sighs and pauses to glance up at me through thick-lensed glasses. “Who’s that?” He’s wide open as can be, his colorful energy reaching out in curiosity—no trepidation, no fear, just innocent vulnerability. He’s got no walls at all.

No wonder the stuff is touching him. It sees his soul like an invitation to connect. It might even be using his energy to manifest.

“This is Aidan,” Kara says.

We move to the couch, and Marcus and Kara sit down. I turn off the TV and settle in a chair across from them.

Marcus studies me for a second before turning to Kara. “Isn’t the camera stuff done yet?”

“Sorry, bud, just one more run-through. We shouldn’t be long. And you already did your talking with Sid, so we’re good. In a few days you can tell the camera if we did our job or not, okay?”

He kicks at the shag carpet with his shoe. “Yeah. Okay. But I’m not sure the ghost is gonna leave now.” He starts chewing on his bottom lip and rolling the comic book tighter.

“What’d it do?” I ask quietly.

Kara gives me a look; obviously she wasn’t expecting me to talk.

“It was throwing stuff around. My mom’s mirror broke.”

“Does it scare you?” I ask. He doesn’t seem terrified like most kids would be. Mostly just annoyed at Kara and everyone being here again.

“Why do you think it got mad?” Kara asks, which is what I was wondering.

Marcus shrugs, looking evasive. “It’s just that you’re not helping none. And it makes my mom real mad when stuff happens. She yells at me and makes me sleep in her room on the floor.”

Kara frowns at his words. “Why didn’t you tell us last time how your mom reacts?”

“’Cause she wasn’t too bad off,” he whispers. “And . . . well . . .” He shrugs again.

Kara and I share a look.

“Does she hurt you, Marcus?” Kara asks, sounding a little like a social worker.

The kid looks at her like he’s thinking the same thing, his energy closing off some. “She just gets mad is all. Like always.”

Kara takes the hint and asks him about his comic book. He lights up immediately at that and begins telling her a million things in rapid succession about how the villain gave Superman red kryptonite. I motion to Kara that I’m going to walk around, and she nods, then goes back to listening to Marcus’s story of red kryptonite and fast cars as Superman goes rogue.

I slip into the first room across the hall. There’s an ocean of laundry on the floor. The bed is nearly stripped, only a sheet and a pillow on it. Surfaces are mostly bare, and things are scattered on the floor—lotions, cheap jewelry, candles, nail polish—like they got swept off the dresser.

I take a deep breath and place my hand on the wall as I try to look deeper.

A flash of red and a scream
. I stumble back a little but hold firm to the feeling coming at me, pull on it a little to maybe see more.

A kitchen knife falling to the carpet, covered in blood
.

Screaming, screaming, screaming her throat raw.

I close my eyes tight and try to get a better, clearer image, but all I can see is the red flashing over and over and the knife, the woman’s screams. It doesn’t feel recent. It must be something from another resident. Not this boy, not this woman. But whatever happened has left its mark. It’s still echoing. The red energy of death.

Sid did say it was a kill site. That usually means there’s been more than one murder in the same spot over the years—again and again—caused by some dark energy that attached itself to the area a long time ago.

Energy that attracts all kinds of things.

I walk out and into Marcus’s room, slowly. The emotions hit me like a kick to the center of my chest, and I see the hint of a shape on the other side of the bed, sheer white energy swirling over the spot.

The air’s sucked from my lungs; I have to grip the wall to hold myself up.