Walking Shadow (The Darkworld Series Book 2) (2 page)

In the end, curiosity won me over, and so I joined my fellow magic-users Leo, Claudia, Cyrus, Howard, and Berenice, in Blackstone Cemetery, where, for whatever reason, the vampire had requested we meet.

I wasn’t fond of the place, and not for the obvious reasons. Last time I’d been here, when we’d sneaked into the Venantium’s library, I’d been attacked by a harpy, one of the creatures the Venantium used to carry messages and to intercept intruders. I’d dreamt of the place too often, my morbid imagination conjuring up images of the dead suddenly bursting from the ground with a spray of earth and grass, dragging their decaying limbs through the village of Blackstone, or of me plunging to my death off the cliffs that overhung the ocean, a five minute walk away.

“Why a graveyard?” I asked Claudia.

“I think he might be coming through one of the tunnels,” she said.

I blinked, surprised. I knew there were tunnels underneath the village, including the one that led to the Venantium’s library, but I’d assumed they were generally out of use.

“No, everything’s underground,” said Claudia, when I mentioned this. “Where do you think the Venantium have their headquarters? It’s not easy to hide a huge building.”

I looked down at the grass under my feet in amazement. “What, it’s under here?”

“Sure is. Well, not
here.
If you dig up this ground all you’ll find is a bunch of coffins. But it’s deep under the village, yeah.”

“Wow. What would the Venantium do if someone did try to dig it up?” I said, remembering something I’d seen on the news the other day, about grave robberies.

“It’s too deeply buried. Even below the catacombs. Did you see that news report about the Ghouls, by any chance?”

“Yeah,” I said. “What kind of a name is that for a gang of grave-robbers?”

“Who knows?” said Claudia.

The graves that were dug up had also been spray-painted with obscure graffiti. There were rumours that they were some kind of cult.

“Can we not talk about that here?” said Berenice.

Clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy. Berenice hovered near Howard, who seemed more interested in joining Leo in creating a small fireball in his hand and shooting it at the harpies that circled above the city. When either of them hit one, it exploded in a storm of feathers which swiftly turned to smoke and dissipated.

Cyrus turned to his younger brother and scolded him. “Stop that, Leo. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“Sorry,” said Leo, still grinning. “Never gets old, this.”

I was with Cyrus. I’d felt the pain of a harpy’s talons once before and had no desire to repeat the experience.

Only Cyrus and Claudia showed any signs of disquiet. Claudia paced back and forth between two rows of crumbling tombstones, her dark red hair the only splash of colour in the gloomy night. Cyrus sat on the wall, but looked alert, uneasy. Leo lounged beside him, now making a small flame dance between his hands.

Howard was entirely at ease, his large frame sprawled on top of a grave. Cyrus had said it would serve him right if the grave’s occupant came out and attacked him, but Howard responded that if they did, he’d “beat the shit out of the
venator
scumbag.” Almost all of the people buried there were Venantium members. Howard reserved a special hatred for them, apparently even the dead ones.

Berenice leaned on the grave for support, her elbows resting atop the head of a gargoyle. She was one of those nauseatingly pretty girls who always seem to look flawless, the type who woke up in the morning with salon-perfect hair. She was also a complete bitch. I’d have pitied her attempts to gain Howard’s affections if she hadn’t hated me without reason from the moment we first met. Whilst at the end of a night out, the two of them inevitably ended up at Howard’s place. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Berenice might want more than casual sex.

That was us. The “Circle of Sinners,” as Leo had named us, based on the rumoured belief of some of the Venantium: that all magic-users were devil-worshippers, and were bound for hell. The original idea of Hell had apparently come from the Darkworld, and I could see why. It was a black pit, devoid of life, warmth or light, the realm of spirits in which demons dominated. Apparently it was possible, through the use of a certain spell, to separate from one’s body and to travel to the Darkworld, but there was no guarantee of returning to the physical world at all. Some sorcerers had tried it to gain power, but it never ended well.

Like summoning demons. Knowing I couldn’t be possessed like everyone else could didn’t make me any less scared of them. Even though I’d killed one myself―well, sent it back to the Darkworld, since demons couldn’t really die.

The Darkworld was place of pure magical energy. It was through a connection to the Darkworld that we could use magic. And that made magic-users irresistible to demons.

It was kind of funny that I didn’t expect to see demons in a place like this. The creatures tended to gather wherever a lot of people were, but the Venantium’s barriers kept them away from Blackstone. The only shadow-creatures here were the harpies, which constantly swooped overhead, looking misleadingly like large black birds. In fact, up close they resembled old crones crossed with eagles, and were as hideous as they were vicious.

Berenice said, through chattering teeth, “How long is this guy gonna keep us waiting? I’m freezing my ass off here.”

It figured she’d be the first to complain.

“You didn’t have to come,” said Leo, shooting down two harpies at once. “Beat that,” he added, to Howard.

Berenice shrugged. “What if he attacks us?” she said.

Howard shot a couple of harpies out of the air, too.

“He won’t. Vampires aren’t savages,” said Leo. “They’re people, like us.”

“They bite people.” Berenice shuddered theatrically.

“They can’t help it. It’s an instinct they can’t control.” Leo threw another fireball, igniting three harpies at once.

“Whatever. I’m not getting too close to it, anyway. I hear they live like animals.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Leo, with so much venom that Berenice looked at him in surprise.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vampire’s advocate now, Leo?” she said.

Leo glared at her. “I just don’t believe in prejudice.” I was surprised too. He’d never reacted to Berenice’s barbed comments like that before.

An uneasy silence fell all the same; whatever he said, maybe there
was
the possibility of an attack. Almost unconsciously, the way we were arranged covered all directions, in case anyone sneaked up on us. I found myself seeing shadowy figures behind every grave. Why
had
the vampire insisted we meet here?

As this thought crossed my mind, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and a figure came out from behind one of the large tombstones. He walked towards us at a slight crouch, as if unwilling to draw attention to himself, his head bent. The air seemed to tighten as he approached, and my own breathing seemed unnaturally loud. I tried to make out his features, but beneath the towering graves, I could only discern his white-blond hair.

When he stood a few feet away from us, he hesitated. At that moment the moonlight fell on his face, and with a sinking heart, I recognised him.

Oh, God,
I thought.
Not him.

he week before, I’d gone out with my flatmates, Alex and Sarah, and a few other people from the Literature Society. There was a book-themed pub crawl in Blackstone, and Alex, Sarah, and I had dressed as the nineteenth-century poets, Byron, Shelley, and Keats (although Alex kept forgetting which of us was which). We sat around a table at the Coach and Horses, Blackstone’s most popular pub, reciting terrible attempts at poetry, when I noticed a guy staring at me from the other side of the bar.

He was short and slightly chubby, with white-blond hair almost the colour of snow. He had a nervous look about him that reminded me of a rodent. His eyes kept darting around, as if looking out for someone, but they’d always come back to me. It was a bit unnerving, to say the least. When we got up to leave, and move on to the next pub, he appeared behind me.

“Hey, you’re Ashlyn, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said warily.

His face broke into a smile of relief. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages. I’m Conrad, by the way.”

“Um… nice to meet you,” I said. “Um, why did you want to talk to me?”

“Can we talk alone?” He shifted from one foot to the other.

I glanced at my friends, who were looking at me curiously. “Sure.”

We moved away from the group. I saw Alex give him a suspicious glance as he beckoned me down an alleyway.

“You’re not planning to murder me, are you?” I said.

I’d meant it as a joke, but he flinched. “No! No, of course not, why would I kill you? You’re beautiful. Sorry, that came out wrong. I’m making a mess of this.”

Dear God.
“You’re wasted,” I said. And it was true. I should have guessed from the way he’d been putting away pint after pint in the pub. He could barely walk in a straight line.

“Sorry, I was just nervous. I wanted―I wanted to ask you… will you come to the Valentine’s Day ball with me?”

I stared at him. “Um… what?”

“Want to come? To the ball, I mean?”

Was this some kind of joke? Quite apart from the fact that I didn’t generally have guys falling at my feet anyway, the ball was nearly a month away. Besides, I hadn’t been planning to go at all. Fancy events were definitely not my thing, the winter dance being the exception.

“Um. I kinda already have plans…” His eager look made me want to back away, which was probably the opposite of what he intended. I was pretty certain my face was on fire. Plus I still wore that ridiculous Percy Shelley wig and a costume like one of the admirals from
Pirates of the Caribbean.

This couldn’t possibly get any more embarrassing.

“Oh, it’s okay. Just thought I’d ask. I’m doing English too, by the way. I’ve seen you around. I’ve never had the courage to speak to you before,” he babbled, and I actually did back away as he made to put a hand on my arm.

Jesus.
He didn’t seem particularly threatening―not that I judged by appearances, considering everything that had happened in the last few months―but all the same, I automatically reached out to the Darkworld and felt my fingertips begin to freeze. I could defend myself, in theory, but I’d rather not cause a scene.