The Better Part of Darkness

She screamed inside.

Fire. Dear God, she was on fire!

The rush was so loud and hot, her eardrums felt as though they bled lava. And then the images started, bursting through her damaged, swollen mind. So much pain. Everywhere. She wanted to die, and she would have if she hadn’t already. Death. Murder. Sex. Blood, so much blood. Dark figures. Torture. Pain. And power. Dark power. It hurt. Hurt because there was light, too, and it battled inside her, tearing her apart, fighting for domination. Good things. Good deeds. Love. Growth. Seeds sprouting through green grass, unfurling and growing into sturdy, ancient trees. Crows cawing endlessly. The drip of water. It was too much, too many images, too quickly. She screamed again.

And then she was outside in a circular meadow, naked under a full moon. Surrounded. On her knees. And the man in black and the man in white took turns slicing away small pieces of her flesh, like children who dole out portions.

This piece is mine, that piece is yours. One for me, one for you.

I shot up into a sitting position on the bed, my heart thumping hard and fast against my rib cage. My fists clenched the sheet, and my eyes were wide open, but unfocused. My lungs burned as adrenaline pumped through my system, tasting like dry iron on my tongue.

Breathe, Charlie. No big deal. Just breathe.

Repeating the mantra over and over, I felt the adrenaline finally slow, allowing me to draw in long drafts of air until my lungs didn’t hurt so much.

Chills erupted all over my skin, the nightmare of my death leaving me feeling cold and clammy. Like a corpse. I might have claimed to be used to it by now, but, honestly, every time I woke, it felt like the first time. The only difference: each time left me more exhausted and weak.

Relaxing my death grip on the sheet, I scrubbed both hands down my face to stir the blood flow and then rubbed my cold arms for warmth.

Concentrating on getting warm instead of being picked apart by good and evil allowed my blood pressure to return to some semblance of normalcy.

Then I closed my eyes, regulated my breathing as Doctor Berk had instructed, and pulled my feet inward until I sat cross-legged on the bed. My wrists rested on my knees. Mostly, I did this to calm down and push back all those images bouncing around my mind.

When I woke, especially the last few months, the sensation, something akin to strength or power, vibrated through my veins, making me feel as though my whole body hummed just a little. So I banked it, used the meditation to push all that good and evil shit aside and pull up my humanity. Me. Charlie Madigan. That was who I was. Not some weirdo walking dead person whose insides raged every damn night with images of darkness and light.

Once I had my mind under control, I glanced around my bedroom, drawn to the only light in the dark room. My alarm clock.

“Damn it!”

I had just enough time to get dressed and meet Hank for our trip to Underground.

Ten minutes later I stood in front of the full-length mirror and sighed. Well, this would have to do. My hair was down and messy from the nap, but finger-combing had gotten out the worst of the tangles. I had on the jeans and red V-neck T from earlier. I added faded brown cowgirl boots Bryn had given to me for my birthday last year and put a pair of gold hoops in my earlobes.

Full-blown makeup had never been my thing, so I washed my face, put on some lotion, let it dry, and then dusted my face with powder, added a little brown eyeliner, went heavy on the black mascara, and then applied some lipstick that matched my shirt. It made my lips look insanely obvious, like an overripe plum. I looked as though I was on the prowl for sex—not exactly what I had pictured wearing to The Bath House. But, the hell with it, maybe I’d get lucky. My reflection frowned back at me. Or not.

Downstairs, I pulled my old suede jacket from the closet, the faint scent of leather making me breathe in a little deeper. It was tailored to look like a short blazer, but it would hide my firearms, and it was light enough to keep me from overheating. Functional and stylish.

Headlights from Hank’s car flashed across the front window. I hit the inside light switch to off, turned the porch light on, grabbed my keys off the foyer table, and then slid my weapons into their holsters. I answered the door with one hand and tugged my hair from underneath the jacket with the other.

Hank’s large form hovered in the doorway, the serious expression on his handsome face going all cocky. “Hey, is Charlie here?”

I shook my hair out. “Ha, ha. You’re not funny.” I was becoming more and more convinced my daughter was getting her sense of humor from Hank.

A slow smile lit his face as he looked me up and down. “This may be the first time you’ve ever taken my advice. You look …” He paused, trying to find the right words.

“Like I just got out of bed?” I pulled the door closed, locked it, and then ushered him off the porch and down the driveway.

“No … I like it. It’s a good look on you.”

“It’s not a look. I just woke up. But I did do the lipstick for you, so we’re even about the whole oracle thing.”

He grabbed his chest and grinned at me over the hood of his shiny black Mercedes coupe. The street lamp highlighted the sparkle in his blue topaz eyes. “For me? You’re the best, Charlie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said dryly, opening the door and sliding into the supple leather passenger seat.

My spirits lifted, and the memory of my nightmare quietly slipped into the far recesses of my mind. Thank God for Hank. Thank God I hadn’t been partnered with a stiff. If there was anyone, besides Emma, who could change my mood for the better, it was Hank.

As soon as he backed out of the driveway and slid the gear into drive, I held out the matches. He grabbed them, holding them in front of the steering wheel so he could watch the road and take a look at the graphics. “Where’d you get these? Because I know you’ve never been there. Veritas is a members-only club. Most people who go to The Bath House, even regulars, don’t know it exists.”

“Exactly why we should crash the party.”

He winced. “No crashing. Subtle investigation. Come on, say it with me … Subtle investigaaa— Eh, forget it. Lost cause, I know.” He tossed the matches back to me. “How’d you get them?”

“Auggie. He gave them to me right before he died. Those guys that attacked us, they had to be the ones supplying the ash. Auggie was seriously spooked. I’d never seen him like that before. He said the drug is made from a Charbydon flower.”

He grabbed his cell and began texting.

I stiffened and grabbed the dashboard as his fingers flew over the smooth black keyboard. “I hate when you drive and do that.”

He smiled without looking at me. “I know.” He finished and then tossed the cell back into the empty cup holder. His speed verged on texting genius. “Research should be able to put together some possibilities. That might narrow things down a bit, give us some idea of where it’s grown, who could be making it.”

“My money is on the jinn.”

“Could be. Or could be they’re just the movers, not the source.”

Hank took a left onto Courtland as I glanced at the digital clock in the console. The Bath House was one street over from Bryn’s apartment above her shop on Mercy Street. But it was past ten now, and Emma would already be asleep. Still, I made sure my cell phone was loud enough to hear in case Bryn called and then I refastened it back on my belt.

“Oh, yeah, I stopped by the hospital,” Hank said on an afterthought, “to check on Amanda.”

“You did?” I gave his shoulder a good squeeze.

He shrugged, and I knew the ego was coming. “I know, I know. I’m just a well-rounded, sensitive guy.” He flicked on the right blinker to turn. “She’s still in a coma, but stable. Just like the others.”

I, on the other hand, felt horrible for not stopping by the hospital. I’d had every intention, but then there’d been Doctor Berk, stopping by the store, and then making it home in time to get Em off the bus. And, of course, Will had showed up.