A Dance With Darkness Part 1

A Dance With Darkness.

Courtney Allison Moulton.

1.

September of AD 1391.

I PULLED THE HOOD OF MY BLACK CLOAK OVER MY head and ducked out of the tavern and into the night, my shoes treading lightly on the damp cobbled street. A carriage pa.s.sed me, rockily swaying side to side, the horses' hooves clip-clopping on the pebbled road, and I lost sight of the demonic reaper I'd been pursuing. I was silent as I crossed the street and moved into the shadows. When I saw the reaper again, he was staring right back at me.

Then he was gone.

I broke into a run. Any pace but a steady walk was difficult to accomplish in a dress. I glimpsed my quarry make a sharp turn down a narrow alley and vanish into blackness. I was careful as I followed him. My sight was superb in the dark, but there were shadows in this alley that no light touched, and where there was no light, anything could hide. I held my breath to listen closely for footsteps. A door thudded shut up ahead and I darted for it. A soft halo of light surrounded the entrance.

It would be unwise for me to follow the reaper into a building that had more than shadows to hide its monsters, but I was unwilling to give up now. I'd waited all night for him to make his appearance in that tavern-a place where humans too often entered never to be seen again-and I would not let him go. I could not allow him to reap any more souls to fill the ranks in h.e.l.l. As an angelic reaper, I was duty-bound to kill as many demonic reapers as I could find.

I called my sword, the silver blade shimmering out of nothingness into being, and I pulled the door open just wide enough to slip my body through the threshold. I found myself inside a candle shop, but the chandler was nowhere to be seen. Beyond a long counter on the far wall was an opening to another room I could only a.s.sume was the workshop. I turned my head to take in the rest of this room, finding tables and cabinets filled with lit candles of different colors lining the walls, giving the room a golden glow and lighting the eyes of the two demonic reapers behind me. Footsteps called my attention back the other way. Another reaper entered the room from the chandler's workshop, followed by three more. Two would have been no trouble for me, but now I was surrounded by six demonic reapers. I had walked into an ambush.

I didn't wait for them to attack. I struck left instead of forward, surprising them and giving myself enough room and time to gain the momentum I needed to bury my blade in the neck of one of the reapers. I hadn't been able to gain quite enough momentum to sever his head completely, but the reaper was incapacitated enough for me to yank my sword back out and cut the throat of another reaper whose blade narrowly missed cutting my own. His body turned to stone. One. I turned around to grab the back of the first reaper's head and dashed his face into the wall, crushing bone and flesh and finishing him off. His stone body shattered when it hit the ground. Two.

I felt steel bite my skin and heat flow down my arm. I gritted my teeth from the pain and cracked my elbow into the nose of the reaper who had cut me. Something crunched in her face and she gargled gruesomely before dropping. Three. Hands grappled and tore at the net holding my dark hair close to my scalp, freeing the locks to grab hold of great chunks of it and rip my head back. I drew a sharp gasp as my body was jerked violently by my hair. I swung wildly with my sword at whoever dragged me backward, and my eyes shot wide as one of the demonic reapers appeared in front of me and raised his sword just beyond the reach of my own. I kicked at him and my foot hit his gut with a dry thud. He snarled at me before raising his sword again and drove the blade toward my head. In the last instant, I wrenched my body to the side as hard as I could, dragging the reaper hanging on to my hair. The sword plunged deep into the soft, tender hollow between her collarbone and neck and she released a strangled, wet scream as blood showered from her wound and down her body. Four.

The owner of the sword gaped in horror as I untangled myself from the dying reaper's grip and yanked his blade from the body before it turned to stone. With two swords in my hands, I slashed at him, but he managed to regain his composure in time to rock back on his heels and avoid my strike. The sixth reaper charged at my left and I swept a sword between us, slicing a deep gash across his chest. He staggered away and I drove toward the other remaining reaper. His blade caught mine and he shoved his power into me, but I had more. My own power erupted, forcing itself in every direction and whipping my hair around me in a violent gale, and I pushed him off my swords just before I crossed them both and slashed, splitting his torso wide open. Five.

I felt a sharp, agonizing rip in my body and looked down to see a blade plunged through my gut. The final reaper had recovered more quickly than I antic.i.p.ated. Fiery pain rolled through my belly like a billowing inferno and I almost fell to the ground. If my knees buckled, then I was dead. I was not ready to die yet. I'd come too far to accept death now. I stepped forward, pulling off his blade, and the pain reignited full force. I turned to him and my eyes took him in. He was bigger than I was, stronger, and older by a century at least.

He kicked me, driving his boot right into my healing belly wound and cracking deeper things, and I doubled over with a gasp of pain. He raised his heavy sword high over his head and brought it down, but I caught it with one of mine. There was no way I would win a battle of brute strength against him like I had against the last reaper. I pushed my sword into his as he forced all of his might into mine. I wouldn't last more than a heartbeat, but that was all the time I needed. I let up, and he lost his balance as his body carried him forward. My second sword buried itself into his chest with precision, giving me an inch between metal and heart. Skill trumped brute strength any day. I tossed the sword I'd claimed from one of my fallen foes to the wooden floor with a clatter. The reaper I skewered lowered himself to his knees, gritting his teeth in pain; he had accepted death. Pathetic. I leaned over him and grabbed a fistful of his tunic.

"Who are you working for?" I growled into his face. "Why are you in London?"

"I will tell you nothing," he spat. "Take my fingers, my eyes, whatever you wish. I will not betray my mission."

My lip curled. If I tortured him, I was certain I could get something useful out of him, but I knew I didn't have that in me. I may have been built for violence, but I wasn't built for cruelty. "Then you have no purpose."

I released his tunic only to twist my sword right into his heart. His head lifted in agony and he opened his mouth to let out a low whine. He fell, crumpling to the ground, and his body shuddered for several long moments as he slowly turned to stone. Six.

I slumped, exhaling and then wincing. One of my ribs was broken. Possibly two. I looked down to examine the wound through my belly. My dress was shredded and I could see the wound struggling to heal. I needed to eat in order for my body to regain the energy it needed to heal my wounds.

"You killed six of my best men," came a voice behind me, and I spun around. Another reaper stood in the doorway to the chandler's workshop and I wondered how long he'd been standing there. He was demonic, without a doubt. With the other reapers gone, I could feel the pressure of his dark power shoved into every inch of my body like I was sinking through deep water.

Though my breathing was ragged and I couldn't quite stand straight, I prepared myself to continue fighting. I lifted my sword and poised it at the final reaper. "I have a seventh heart left to take tonight."

His smile was slow and wide. He was beautiful-that I had to give him. His eyes were blue like poison, brighter than any jewel-like blue diamonds that did not reflect light, but generated their own from tiny stars burning within. "Very bold," he said, those eyes flashing. "Very bold, indeed."

My smile matched his as I hid my pain. "I did just kill six of your best men, did I not?"

He laughed and put his hands on his hips. "Now what? You're wounded, exhausted, and you still have the master of your fallen opponents to contend with. Still bold?"

I did not falter. "Always."

He vanished suddenly and reappeared directly in front of me. His hand grabbed my sword wrist and twisted, forcing me to cry out, but I didn't drop my blade. His other hand grabbed my free arm and held it tight. His strength was unfathomable. Fighting him was hopeless and suffocating, like being buried alive. I ground my teeth together, breathing rapidly.

"Who are you, little angelic reaper?" he crooned, his face close to mine.

I lifted my chin to look right into his poison-blue eyes. "The wolf does not tell the stag her name before she takes his throat."

He dipped his face closer to mine. "If the wolf asked for the stag's name, he would gladly give it. Especially when entranced by such an exquisite she-wolf with emerald eyes."

I would not take his bait and ask him his name, but deep inside, I wanted to know who he was. He was powerful and he had to be important if he was master to others. I knew nothing about him other than that he was demonic and he was older than all of the reapers I'd put down tonight combined. He had both my hands trapped and I was in a vulnerable position, yet I felt no threat. I had survived many battles, defeated many enemies, and I knew what it felt like to face someone who wanted to taste my blood. This demonic reaper had no interest in killing me. I had to know why.

"I am Bastian," the blue-eyed demon said. "I hope we meet again."

Then his hands were off of me, and he was gone. I stood there, breathless and alone, and shocked that I was still alive. I had not felt even a shiver of fear lick up my spine until I heard that name, a name feared by every angelic reaper who valued his life, and I realized the full extent of my luck. He couldn't be the Bastian, one of the most powerful reapers in the known world. He was rumored to be in the Far East and far, far away from England. His presence here could mean nothing good for any of us.

But why had he let me live?

2.

I CONCEALED MYSELF BY DISAPPEARING FROM human sight within the veil of the Grim and flew above the city toward the country and toward home. With every beat of my wings, my body screamed in pain. My thoughts were consumed by Bastian and how lucky I was to have escaped when I was so terribly injured and exhausted. Had he decided to fight me, I would not be breathing right now. The night was pitch-black; the thick clouds overhead blocked any moonlight that might illuminate my path, and the only light came from a pa.s.sing carriage or two with lanterns swinging at the coachman's side. By the time I arrived at the old cottage, my wounds had healed, but I was on the verge of collapsing. Candlelight glowed in the window by the door and I knew Nathaniel was home and awake. I pushed open the door and my friend's gentle face and copper eyes met mine from his seat at the table.

I struggled to peel away the wool of my blood-soaked cloak from my dress and skin. Nathaniel was used to me coming home like this, and he weighed my healed injuries and tattered clothes without much concern. Such was the life of a demonic reaper hunter. He was just glad I'd come home at all.

"That must have been some fight, Madeleine," he said, and got to his feet. I didn't have to tell him how badly I needed to eat.

"I almost didn't make it out alive," I replied. "And that's putting things lightly."

A large pot of delicious duck soup steamed over the fire, making my mouth water. Nathaniel filled a bowl for me and set it at the table. "You eat," he instructed. "And slowly. I don't want it all coming back up."

It took quite an effort not to guzzle the whole bowl without using a spoon. He was right, though, as he was about everything.

He brought the washbasin to the table and dipped a rag into the water. He lifted the rag and squeezed out the excess water before wiping the blood from my healed skin. "You're lucky I have such a convenient friendship with a dressmaker. Tell me what happened."

"I followed one back to a chandler's shop," I said between mouthfuls of soup. "Right into an ambush."

He dunked the rag into the bowl. My blood swirled in the water. "How many were there?" He wiped at more blood.

"I killed six and kept one alive, but he didn't talk."

"Did you torture him for information?" He gave me a serious look.

I glared at him. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"One who gets her job done."

"Nathaniel," I murmured crossly. He was my dearest friend-my only friend-but sometimes he took the business side of our relationship a little too seriously.

"There have been over two dozen powerful demonic reapers to arrive at court in the last month," he said. "We have to find out why they are here before they outnumber the humans at court."

"Do you think they're here to pick off the n.o.bles one by one for their souls? To completely annihilate the English court?"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shrugged. "I can't say, but the situation is quickly becoming dire. We need more forces."

"What about the Preliator?" I asked. "Can't we call for her?"

"She's in Africa," he replied. "I saw Berengar not two weeks ago and he told me she was in Ghadames. It would take her and her Guardian months of travel by sea and land to get here. We're on our own until then."

"I thought her Guardian was dead."

"This is a new one."

"Ah," I said dimly. It was an enormous honor to be chosen by the archangel Michael to become the guardian of a relic, but the greatest honor was to be Guardian of the Preliator, the most powerful creature on Earth and the only one able to wield angelfire. She was reincarnated each time she was killed in battle, but it was her Guardian's duty to protect her mortal vessel. The honor was the greatest indeed, but it also came with a very short life expectancy.

"Did anything else happen?" Nathaniel asked as he finished up and dropped the rag in the bowl.

"Bastian was there."

His eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

"Bastian did not engage, but I'm sure he orchestrated the meeting between the demonic. He left before I could fight him." What I didn't say was that Bastian had let me live. I wouldn't have stood a chance against him after that battle. Though I ached to know why he spared me, especially after I killed his underlings, I wanted even more to know what he was doing in London.

"His presence isn't unexpected," Nathaniel said. "There will be a ball held at Lockmoore Castle tomorrow night. A masquerade ball. Evantia has apparently purchased this castle and is living there. She is rumored to be in charge of the demonic at court."

"Evantia," I repeated grimly. She was even more infamous than Bastian. He did her dirty work. I should have known if he showed up, she would not be too far away.

"You don't sound surprised," Nathaniel noted.

"Of course if Bastian is in London, his mistress would be too."

"The masquerade allows us an opportunity to infiltrate," he continued. "You are our best fighter and so I think it should be you alone. There's too much risk in sneaking in a group. I imagine humans will be in attendance, but don't be surprised if the castle is full of only the demonic. I know you can handle it, Maddie."

Infiltrate a demonic masked ball? This sounded like possibly the most dangerous mission I'd ever undertaken and possibly ever would.

3.

NATHANIEL HAD ARRANGED FOR ME TO ARRIVE AT Lockmoore Castle in a carriage. I preferred to sneak my way in through a servants' entrance or a hidden pa.s.sageway, but Nathaniel was sure I'd be detected. Better I waltz in as if I'd been invited, but not attract attention. Blend in. The demonic in attendance would be less suspicious of me if they saw me arrive rather than appear out of nowhere. They would know I was a reaper, but if I kept to myself, no one should be alerted of my more celestial heritage.

The swing of the horses' gaits pulling the carriage along gave me something to focus on so I wouldn't work myself into a panic. I was stepping barefoot into the vipers' den. But if I succeeded in deciphering the motives of the demonic, then we could run them out of town, or more preferably wipe them out. But as my driver pulled into the path leading up to the house and I spied the vast numbers of the demonic elite filing into the castle entrance, my nerves tightened and my heartbeat raced. I drew a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs until they could stretch no more, and I held it, prolonging the moment when I'd have to let it all go and abandon the safety of the carriage.

I still held my breath as we rolled to a stop and my driver hopped down from his perch, his boots padding softly on the well-trod dirt. He lifted the latch on the door and swung it open to let the fresh air, voices, and music rush into me. He lifted a hand to mine to help me down the unsteady carriage steps to the ground. I lifted my skirts-made of a deep violet brocade threaded with silvery green detail-as I walked, and then let them trail behind me as I continued up to the castle. My mask, simple with violet plumage and the same silvery green thread, concealed most of my face and would hopefully prevent me from being recognized. My dark hair was braided and knotted in a net of matching thread and pearls. I wondered why Nathaniel had given me such a beautiful and striking costume. There were too many pairs of eyes fixed on me.

The castle loomed overhead, its stone walls devoured by ivy creeping toward the roof's many peaks, chimneys, and towers. From my view, there was a myriad of windows-most more than large enough for me to fit through-but I saw no other doors besides the main entrance. I would need to establish an escape route before I got in too deep tonight. The interior was alight with countless candles and chandeliers of iron, and the floors were filled with demonic reapers. They danced in the ballroom, surveyed from the overlooking balconies and staircases, and dined from tables filled with delicacies of expensive fruit and meats. Luxurious tapestries depicting scenes from hunts and from mythology draped over the walls, and spread across the stone floors were ornate eastern rugs.

I had attended b.a.l.l.s and masquerades before, so I was no stranger to the festivities. I recalled a harlequin in Paris who was an angelic reaper famous among humans for his fire-breathing and disappearing acts. Some reapers had natural abilities that astounded even their own kind. This harlequin would make fire dance in his palms and spread over his entire body until he was drowning in flames, and then he would vanish into the Grim as if he had burned up. Moments later, just as the crowd began to panic, he would reappear in a flash of fire, perfectly unharmed and seemingly resurrected. However, Evantia's masquerade had no fire breathers, no humans, and the only masked reapers prowling the halls were demonic.

I set about my plan to determine an exit. I made note of how to return to the front doors, but that would be my last resort. Making a quick escape through the middle of the ball would be conspicuous and potentially disastrous. Glancing over my shoulder to ensure I wasn't being followed, I caught sight of a familiar face. Her white skin seemed to glow around her black gown, and her pointed face-still somehow lovely even with all those angles-was framed by endless red tresses. At last, Evantia in the flesh.

Luckily she hadn't noticed my pausing and staring for several moments. I gathered my senses and spun, heading for a dark hallway leading away from the main floor. A hand clasped mine and pulled me against the body of a tall man whose face was hidden behind a sinister coal-black mask topped with horns, revealing only soft, sensual lips and burning, poison-blue eyes.

"You are very foolish for coming here," he said, his voice low. "Suicidal, perhaps."

"Bastian," I said, taken by a pang of surprise and foreboding in my gut. "How did you know who I was? What if you had grabbed someone else and called them suicidal?"

He smiled, flashing bright white teeth. "I could tell by your lips. And your eyes. I could forget neither, She-wolf."

"I was just going, so if you'll pardon me." I began to pull away, but his grip was unyielding.

"You dressed for a masquerade and came all this way only to turn around and leave?" he asked, skeptical and teasing. "You never did tell me your name."

I took my hand back. "Why would you want to know my name?"

"You know mine. It's only fair."

"I don't want you to know my name."

His smile became a quieter, more secret thing. "Then I shall continue to call you She-wolf."

I narrowed my gaze at him, having had enough of his distraction. He knew I was angelic and I couldn't imagine him not revealing my secret to the entire castle. I had found myself in a very bad predicament. "I'm leaving now. Good-bye, Bastian."

His eyes haunted me from behind his wicked mask. Then, to my shock, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, his breath warm and gentle. "Always a pleasure."

He vanished from my sight, so fast my eyes couldn't see him, but I needed to know his position. He was certain to be out there in the crowd somewhere, watching me, perhaps planning to go to his mistress and alert her of my presence. My mind was screaming at me to get out before this got any worse, but he had been right, in a way. I hadn't come all this way for nothing.

I scoured the maze of castle corridors for an exit, but there were none to be found. There was no doubt Evantia had chosen this place for that reason. She would want to know exactly who entered her domain and from where, and she wanted to make sure they left the same way they came.

The corridor I searched now was dark, the torchlight sparing plenty of patches of shadow for me to lurk in, but when I heard voices coming down the hall, I searched for a place to hide. I tried the doors nearest me, but they were locked. Just as my heart began to pound, I discovered an unlocked door and I pushed it open slowly and quietly before squeezing myself through and closing it behind me without a sound. I found myself in a sprawling bedroom with an enormous, canopied, four-poster bed with silk-draped columns, a wide desk of dark wood piled with books in front of a wall of bookcases, and windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

Footsteps sounded just outside the room. On either side of the windows were great, heavy curtains, and I dashed toward them and concealed myself in the folds of fabric and shadows. The bedroom door opened, sliding heavily across the floor, and several figures entered. From my hiding place, I was totally blind and I silently cursed myself. If I had slid underneath the bed, then I could at least count the pairs of feet in the room and see their movements. I prayed my mistake wouldn't cost me my life.