Dark Starlight: Archaic Races Book One Page 2

  Dead.

  It occurs to me that I should feel something, but there’s nothing. I just feel hollow inside – numb. I stand still, looking around the familiar sight of the meadow, wondering what to do next. I finger my mud-incrusted dress then start walking, making my way home. I duck back through the hedgerow and follow the path to the backdoor of my cottage. I left my bag in Aunt Katherine’s kitchen, for me to pick up on the way to the wake, so I fish the spare key from under the windowsill and let myself in. I trail mud into the cottage but don’t burn footprints into the flooring, which is good. I suppose if I could feel anything it would be relief.

  I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My dress is ruined and mud cakes my hair and skin. But it’s not what holds my attention. My eyes have always been black, irises almost as dark as the pupils, but now the whites have been swallowed by midnight too. My eyes are like the lightless space between stars, and I stare at them in fascination.

  The darkness inside me feels bigger, like it’s taking up more space in the universe. It feels immense now; it’s power drenching my being, condensing into the wild entity that lives in my middle.

  ‘Prim?’

  I turn at the sound of Katherine’s voice and shut the bathroom door, sliding the lock into place. I pull off my ruined clothes and turn on the shower. When I turn back to the mirror my eyes have returned to normal. Feeling creeps into my flesh, the numbness fading. I step into the shower before my emotions can return fully, letting the hot water turn my pale skin pink. I take time washing the mud from my hair then switch off the water and grab a towel from the rail.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve been different all my life, I can compartmentalise what has happened to me so well. I’ve learned not to react to the strange things that happen until I’m alone long enough to think them through. Whatever happened in the meadow didn’t kill me or anyone else. My eyes turning black is new, but isn’t any weirder than the shadow clouding my frame for as long as I can remember. That’s not to say I don’t feel sick with worry. The image of the dead flowers is clawing at my brain with frantic fingers but I won’t - can’t - freak out yet. Not until I’m alone long enough to figure it out.

  ‘Primrose,’ Katherine sighs as I step from the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

  She only uses my full name when she’s worried or angry, and her expression is definitely worried. Guilt weaves through me. I lost my mum but Aunt Katherine just buried her sister.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur.

  ‘Don’t apologise, Prim,’ she says, closing the distance between us to wrap me in a hug. ‘It’s okay,’ she tells me, rubbing my back. ‘Everything is going to be okay.’

  I rest my head on her shoulder and breathe her familiar scent. The skin on my face tingles where it touches her bare neck, and the taste of her emotion floods my mouth. I pull away so fast I almost get whiplash and stare at her in shock.

  ‘I don’t want to get your dress wet,’ I blurt at her confused expression.

  ‘Oh, Prim, I’d take a soggy dress to hug you any day,’ she tells me.

  I force a smile and step around her. ‘I should get dressed for the wake.’

  ‘I’ll wait downstairs,’ she answers. ‘The rain has stopped, so we can walk to the village hall together.’

  I want to tell Katherine to leave me alone, that bringing up moving in with her and Uncle David every five minutes is driving me crazy. Mum might be gone but this is still my home. Mum left me the cottage in her will and I’m staying put. I bite my tongue to stop from venting, knowing my short temper will cause more damage than good. I remind myself Katherine pesters me because she cares.

  CHAPTER 2

  I take my coffee outside and sit in the starlight, hugging my cup against the chill as I stare toward the meadow. Out there, behind the hedgerow, is a perfect circle of dead flowers. I remember the crunch of them beneath my feet and ponder what it means. I sip my coffee to thaw the cold dread in my middle. The tingling sensation I get from walking on the grass is the same sensation I got when I hugged Katherine after my shower. I could sense her emotion so strong I could taste it, and it scares me to think of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t let go of her. I think of the dead, crispy flowers and bile snakes up my throat.

  I spent the time at Mum’s wake trying not to touch anybody, which isn’t easy in a village of concerned neighbours. People here are close-knit and extra nosey. To them, I’m a sister, daughter, niece or grandchild, even if we’re not related by blood. The community has mothered me to within an inch of my life since Mum died, and it’s suffocating despite the thoughtfulness. The constant uninvited hugging at the wake has left me with the taste of sorrow on my tongue and the bitterness of pity at the back of my throat.

  As soon as I made it home I took another shower, trying to wash the layers of other people’s grief from my skin. I tried to sleep after, but every time I close my eyes all I can see is Mum’s coffin lowering into the ground. My eyes are raw from crying and lack of sleep, and my skin prickles with the strength of the darkness inside me. I’m a hot mess with no idea how to fix it.

  Awareness prickles down my spine and the hairs on my nape stand up. I look up from the coffee cup in my hands and search the garden. I’ve never been afraid of the dark because it’s a part of me, but I can feel someone out there, watching. It’s like nothing I’ve felt before, and I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. I push from my perch on the patio wall and move to where the feeling takes me. The sensation of someone being there grows more intense the closer I get to the hedgerow.

  I stop just before the archway leading to the meadow. ‘I know you’re there,’ I shout.

  Sensation washes over my skin, like a physical caress. I suck in a breath at the foreign feeling and back up a step. The darkness inside me fizzes to life when something presses against it. It feels similar to when Mrs Jacob’s cat rubs up against my leg in greeting, except it’s not a physical touch. Whatever it is just brushed against my darkness, a part of me that isn’t physical, and I’m too shocked to move. My darkness presses back, brushing against the entity in response.

  ‘Knock it off,’ I hiss when whatever it is curls around me in an intimate caress.

  A deep chuckle sounds from beyond the hedgerow and amethyst light shines through the densely packed leaves. ‘You no longer wish to play, Anya?’ the voice rumbles.

  Holy crap.

  I stare at the light through the hedgerow, wondering if this moment is real or if I’ve finally lost it. It’s so long since I slept, and the grief of losing mum could’ve finally pushed me over the edge. I pinch my arm and frown at the little hurt, before looking back to the light in the hedgerow. Something about it invites me in. I can’t explain what it is exactly, just that an unseen part of me wants – needs – to get closer. It’s in direct contrast to my brain, which has little red flags of danger waving around in warning.

  ‘Who are you?’ I ask, fighting the need to inch closer.

  ‘I’m yours,’ the light answers.

  ‘My what?’ I ask, losing the battle and creeping closer.

  Bah, it’s just so enticing. I want to touch it, smell it – taste it. Blaring sirens have joined the little red flags in my brain. I shouldn’t get any closer, but I want it more than my next breath.

  Another deep chuckle accompanies the sharp pounding that’s starting behind my temples. I’m split between the instinct to run and to move closer, and it’s making me sweat. My stress level is DEFCON 1 and this guy is teasing me? My infamously short temper flares and I grit my teeth to hold back a retort, angry at the fact I’m still creeping closer. The wildness in my middle is gripped with desperation to meet the owner of the light behind the hedgerow and I can’t deny it. Despite my apprehension, I’m sure I want to. All my life I’ve been an outsider; different from everyone around me, and I’m curious to learn more about the owner of this purple light. I’ve wished for so long for someone to understand me – to see the secret parts of me.

&n
bsp; ‘I’m your equilibrium,’ the light murmurs. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally find you, Anya.’

  I frown at his answer. He speaks as if he knows me when I know nothing of him. There’s a familiarity in his tone I don’t like and it’s keeping me cautious. It’s curtailing my desperation for someone to know all of me, by injecting logic into the situation. My darkness can do some pretty freaky things and this guy is calling me his equilibrium – his symmetry? He seems to know more than I do on the subject of my otherness and I don’t want to end up like the man on the beach.

  I take a deep breath and back up a step. ‘I think you’re mistaken,’ I answer. ‘My name isn’t Anya and I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  The leaves are still too dense to see through the hedgerow and it makes me nervous that I can’t see him. I take another step back and straighten my spine, trying not to show my underlying fear.

  ‘Why don’t you come through the archway, so I can see you,’ I say.

  A rumble of amusement sounds through the leaves. ‘You’re a delightful surprise, Anya.’

  That invisible caress curls around me again then, sinks beneath my skin to stroke the entity in my middle. I inhale a sharp breath and back away, indignation flaring through me. Did he-? Did he really just cop a feel? I feel violated in a way I can’t describe and I stumble back a few more steps.

  ‘Hey,’ I snarl ready to march to the other side of the hedgerow and beat the crap out of him.

  ‘Prim?’ Aunt Katherine says from the cottage, snapping my attention to the back door. She’s silhouetted in the doorway, light spilling out from the kitchen behind her. ‘Are you out here? I can’t see you.’

  I glance back to the hedgerow but the amethyst light is gone, taking the sensation with it. I huff, a little disappointed but still annoyed and freaked out enough to be glad he’s gone. He’s bloody lucky he left when he did because I’m fuming.

  ‘I’m here,’ I call to Katherine and make my way back to the cottage.

  The back of my neck prickles as I reach where Katherine is standing. The hot weight of his gaze presses against my back, igniting fresh anger inside me, but I dare not look back. Having Katherine here clouds any curiosity I have about him with fear. I don’t know who he is and I can’t put Katherine in danger.

  ‘What were you doing out there?’ Katherine asks when we’re back in the kitchen.

  I put my coffee cup on the side by the sink and turn to face her. She gives my pyjamas an assessing look then meets my gaze with worried eyes. I can see the speech coming before she even opens her mouth.

  ‘I’m not moving in with you and David,’ I say before she has chance to suggest it again.

  ‘Primrose-’ she starts but I cut her off.

  ‘I want my key back.’

  I go to her keys on the table and start to unwind the key she has to my cottage from the bunch. The encounter in the garden has me freaking out. The last thing I need is for Katherine to come barging in unannounced on something she won’t understand. If she gets hurt I’ll never forgive myself. Katherine comes over and tries to wrestle her keys from me, but it’s too late. I’ve taken my key back and hold it tight to my chest.

  ‘Primrose Finley,’ she snaps, ‘give me that key.’

  ‘It’s my key to my home,’ I answer then take a breath at the hurt in her expression. ‘It’s not I don’t love you, Katherine,’ I say. ‘But I’m a grown woman and I need time to grieve.’

  ‘You can still greave if I have a key,’ she argues.

  ‘Not properly,’ I counter. ‘Not without worrying you’ll find me upset.’ I take a breath choosing my words carefully. ‘I know you love me but I’m twenty-two. I cared for mum in this cottage through her illness. Things happened inside these four walls you know nothing about. Mum and I planned her funeral together. I helped her pick out a coffin and flowers. We spoke of the songs she wanted playing. I cooked her meals and helped her in the shower. I brushed her teeth when she was too weak to lift her hands. I’ve proven I’m capable. Mum’s life insurance means I don’t need money, and I know where you are if I need to talk.’ I take a deep breath and wipe tears from my face. ‘I’m not telling you this to be cruel,’ I sniff. ‘I just need my space, and you love me so much you can’t help but invade it.’

  ‘I’m smothering you,’ Aunt Katherine says.

  I nod. ‘A little.’

  A lot, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings more than I have. Her overbearing qualities are from a good place, but there’s a reason my cousins moved far away. They love their mum, but Katherine’s love is of the intense variety.

  She sighs. ‘Christine warned me about doing this,’ she admits.

  ‘She did?’ I ask, wondering when Mum had chance to speak with Katherine alone. I’ve been pretty much glued to Mum’s side for the past nine months.

  ‘Yeah,’ Katherine sighs. ‘She ordered me not to smother you after she was gone.’ She shrugs and looks at me with watery eyes. ‘I suppose I’ve failed already with that then. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

  I grab a box of tissues from the kitchen table and offer it to her. She takes one and dabs her eyes.

  ‘I’m doing okay,’ I assure her.

  She cups my face and studies my expression. ‘You look so much like my sister,’ she tells me. ‘Sometimes just seeing your face makes my breath catch.’

  ‘Except for my eyes, right?’ I murmur.

  Her gaze hardens for just a second, before she hides her hatred. I look so much like my mother we could’ve been mistaken for twins. My hair is the same shade of blonde and I have the same skin tone and features. Except for my eyes. Mum’s eyes were the same blue as Aunt Katherine’s. My onyx gaze is the only trait I inherited from my father, and I learned from an early age to never ask about him. Not that Mum or Katherine would ever tell me anything, but the sorrow in Mum’s gaze was enough of a deterrent.

  All I know is Dad left before I was born and broke my mother’s heart. I have no doubt Mum loved me, but I saw the pain in her face when she looked at me sometimes. Aunt Katherine noticed too, and she developed a deep sense of bitterness for the man.

  Me? I feel nothing for my father. He was gone before he knew Mum was pregnant. I can’t blame him for abandoning me when he had no knowledge of my existence. I used to be angry that he broke my mum’s heart, but over the years some of my anger transferred to Mum. How could she pine over someone like that? I’ve gleamed that she and my dad were only a thing for a few months in the spring I was conceived. Then he left without a word and it destroyed her. I don’t understand how she could let it affect the rest of her life. It makes me angry when I think of the sad looks she gave me growing up. I made her sad, not because of anything I did, but because she let the memory of my father break her.

  My mum was a fragile, delicate sort of person. She was easy to talk to and full of kindness. She was a bright star in the world, even days from dying. She loved me so much the darkness in me craved her presence. My darkness was drawn to the warmth of her love, wanted to bask in the sensation, and enjoyed nothing more than wrapping midnight tendrils around her.

  I’m the polar opposite to Mum. There’s nothing fragile or delicate about my manner or personality. I don’t go out of my way to hurt people, but I’ll only tolerate people for so long before my temper gets the better of me. People don’t flock to be near me. I’m literally shadow compared to my mum’s sunny persona. There’s more than one reason why the eligible guys in the village don’t ask me out. Forgetting that I spent the last nine months caring for Mum, I’m quiet, more than a little weird and I punched Kevin Spencer in the face when he grabbed my backside in the post office once. The cocky idiot whined like a little girl, blood dripping down the front of his shirt, as he stared at me in disbelief. Needless to say I ruined my chances of dating anyone that lives close by.

  My mind drifts to the guy hiding in the hedgerow at the bottom of my garden. His voice had a way of curling around my insides and lodging an an
noying nugget of sensation at my core. He’s not here, but my awareness of the encounter hasn’t faded.

  ‘You’re nothing like your father,’ Katherine says, bringing my focus back to her.

  ‘So you knew him?’ I counter.

  She purses her lips and releases my face, pulling me into a gentle hug. ‘I’ll back off,’ she tells me, studiously ignoring my attempt to push for information.

  ‘You’re going to have to tell me about him one day,’ I say when Katherine draws away.

  ‘I promised Christine I wouldn’t,’ she admits.

  I stare at my aunt in disbelief. ‘What?’

  ‘She was just trying to protect you,’ Katherine answers. ‘That man ruined my sister. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.’

  ‘I did,’ I admit, feeling off kilter at how frank Katherine is being. It’s the most open she’s been with me concerning my father, and perhaps it has something to do with trying not to coddle me.

  ‘I promised Christine I wouldn’t talk about him, so don’t ask,’ she tells me. ‘She doesn’t want you to get your heart crushed in the same way hers was, and I happen to agree with her on that.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Don’t make me break a promise to my dead sister, Primrose,’ Katherine cuts in.

  I shut my mouth and concede. I’ve lived without knowing my father this long, what will it hurt to never know him? A small, desperate part of me despairs. I’ve just lost one parent and the hope of ever knowing the other is tied into a promise my aunt won’t break. Anger at my mum’s sneakiness burns through me. How dare she make this decision then leave? Dying wasn’t her choice, but she has taken my choices from me. It’s my future and I’ve got to navigate it without her now.

  I walk Katherine to the front door. She kisses me on the cheek and I watch her walk away, until the road curves enough that she’s out of view. I shut the door behind her and lock it with the key I confiscated from her bunch. I go back to the kitchen and make another coffee. I’ve slept about six hours in the last week and it’s taking its toll. Makes me wonder if I hallucinated the amethyst light and the voice behind the hedgerow.