Slither of Darkness

By Lydia Renfield

A tattered, forged birth certificate, her dog, a curse, and the guy she tried to kill crisscross the country, trying to outrun the faery that wants to keep them prisoner while trying to find out who she really is and why they can make the whole world fall down. That is if the faery and her army of creatures don't kill them first. Kedzie wants to be normal. She wants to finally finish high school. After more than a year on medical leave, she now gets her chance. It was short-lived. One day

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781644622759

Book preview

Chapter One

An indistinct number of years ago

The music of my alarm was getting louder the more I tried to ignore it the way we always ignore my birthday, which was a month ago. Just as I decided I’ve had about enough, my bedroom door flew open, deepening the dent in my wall. This set Bedlam off, bristling and eliciting a warning growl. Of course, it was my younger sister, Trista. I hadn’t even fully peeled my eyes open when she launched into her usual tirade. A self-pitying rant about how it was bad enough to be subjected to riding in my truck but having to get there late yet again and bear all of her friends see her getting out of it was just the height of embarrassment, never mind that my stupid mutt was always there. I started to wonder when she was going to breathe, but her last remark elicits a warning snarl and lip curl from the aforementioned mutt. Thankfully, this got her to flee squealing from my room, her perfect prissy heals click-clacking away. What a way to start my day; another lecture about the importance of the haughty, bubble-headed clones she calls her friends. Bedlam let out a chuff of satisfaction at her departure. I set to work getting ready under the discreetly watchful eyes of my dog. Dog, yeah, no, that term is used very loosely. Sure, she could pass for a dog if you were far enough away. Get within ten to fifteen feet, and your opinion drastically changes. She looks like a cross between a wolf and a hyena. She has graphite-colored fur all over, except for the stripe of inky, black fur that runs from her forehead to the middle of her back, and the whole stripe will stand up straight when she is in warning mode. But her most dominant feature are her eyes. They are the gold of the high noon sun with a ring around her iris, the color of fire. I found her or, more accurately, she found me on a dark night as I sat in the shadows on the curb outside my house, trying like hell to figure out how to explain my split lip, broken ribs, and concussion. Whether she adopted me or vice versa was irrelevant. She’s mine as much as I was hers.

There was something about today. I felt that stirring somewhere deep inside me. Hell, if I knew what it was, only that it was there, and it wasn’t going away. We were out the door and had my truck revved up and growling before little miss high and mighty knew what hit her. Good thing she chose to sit in the backseat in her pathetic attempt to hide. Bedlam would never let her sit shotgun. As we pulled into the parking lot, I let out an exasperated sigh, followed by Got your wish, Trish. You’re not the final arrival. She absolutely hates it when I call her Trish. To me, it’s a ploy to get her to rattle me so I can call her fish. A short while ago she had somehow successfully persuasively insisted our parents let her get her lips done, though she only really had to convince our mother because our mother regularly dismisses our dad, almost as much as she is dismissive of me. Now, I’m not saying she doesn’t look like a largemouth bass . . . wait, I just did, didn’t I? Trish to Tish to fish, not a huge leap.

I don’t technically go to high school though I will be getting a diploma, and I am of that somewhat tender age. Things got a little out of control about halfway through senior year. After spending a few months locked in the prison of my own mind, unable to even bear sunlight, I was able to go back. By that point though, I had to be put on what they called a modified schedule. I spent my days in the studio (read: converted janitors closet.), or helping the art teacher get ready for a class, or help keep things together during class. That was really the only contact I was allowed to have with the student body. Supervised. Well, other than my sister, but I’m sure she wished otherwise.

As I said, there was something different in the air today. I was sitting in my studio, stretching canvas on the frame I had nailed together just before lunch. The overhead light seemed off somehow. I looked up, and I noticed it appeared lower. I stood and then froze as I realized it was getting lower. I wondered if this was going to be my last day to suffer through my last day ever. In my peripheral vision, I could see the framed picture of me and Bedlam sitting on the beach, watching the moon rise and the waves crash. At this point, I knew, beyond a doubt, that I can’t go out like this, not now. No one would take care of her. She wouldn’t let them, and she’d wind up joining me, both of us before our time should’ve been up. Sparks flew as the fixture gave way, and I put my arms up, palms out to shield my face, as if that would really help stop anything that was about to happen. A whispered no escaped my lips as I turned my face away and a tear slid down my cheek. Then there was nothing, nothing but a blinding heat on my hands while my body felt cased in ice. But the expected crash never came. Was I already dead? I turned my face slightly toward my arms to peek through the small space between them. What I saw broke me out of the deep freeze I was in but did nothing to the gut-wrenching heat on my hands. The only light was from the sparks coming off the broken wires of the fixture that was suspended mere inches from impact. There was no explanation I could have formulated at the time for what had just happened, let alone what set that event in motion. But I then reached out, palms still facing what was left of the fixture, and moved it to a safer place to fall. As soon as I took my hands away, there was the earsplitting crash I have been afraid would be the end of me.

It could have been a second or an hour that I stood there. In a distant corner of my mind, I could hear my blood racing through my veins as my heart pumped frantically, but my breath was almost nonexistent. There was a panicked pounding on my studio door, and just before it burst open, I could’ve sworn I heard a giggling as if more than one someone had gotten away with something, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. And then there was nothing but the tumult of questions and people freaking out. I found myself being gently spoken to of nonsense soothing while being firmly escorted from the room. I realized, almost too late, that a fire had begun to smolder. I broke free to grab my picture off my desk. It seemed no one noticed that the fire jumped back from where I walked; even creeping smoke made way for me. After I was sure my picture was safe, securely tucked in the crook of my arm, I left without another issue, let alone another word. They seemed to chalk it up to shock. It wasn’t. I wasn’t shocked so much as confused. So as I sat on the incredibly loud paper cover of the cot in the nurses office, I pulled back into my mind, something I learned to do when I needed to figure something out. The rest of me was on autopilot. I answered their idiotic questions of what, how, when, and why. The where was painfully obvious. Are they giving you trouble again? How are things at home? I sat trying to make sense of all of what had just occurred. Everything and not one of them knew about or could comprehend, but I was starting to. What broke me out of my reverie fast enough to nearly give me mental whiplash was the question You weren’t trying to hurt yourself, were you, Kedzie? The mere insinuation that I would have ever thought to try to do that, let alone that I do not have the know-how nor the inclination for something as elaborate as that, especially for something so deeply private as attempting suicide. That is what snapped my attention back to the present. The speaker was abruptly brought into sharp focus. I knew who I’d see. That teacher, if you can call her that. The one that seemed to have made it her life’s mission to be the cheerleader and staunch defender and ass-kisser to the in-crowd. I tend to think she was trying to make up for or, more accurately, relive her glory days of high school as the queen bee. Only this time, she could do it better. This time, she had authority.

So I met her eyes and raised my chin in utter defiance while injecting as much venom as I could into my voice and said, No. The disgust was so obvious, a deaf-mute would have picked up on it. "I most certainly was not trying to hurt myself. Don’t be a twit! And I resent your implication. What I can tell you is that I have no other explanation for what happened except for sabotage. Maybe you should look into that. And while you’re at it, since you seem to be so goddamned interested, why don’t you find out who the fuck was able to get into my damn studio, a place that is supposed to be completely off-limits, except to certain staff members!" The small crowd turned to the teacher I had just exploded on. Some even had accusation in their eyes.

I began to feel an iciness creeping up my spine and spreading. My fingers began to get warmer and warmer, spreading to full-blown burning. This time, there wasn’t a complete stop to anything. It was more of a severe slowdown, as if those around me had been submerged in honey. I could actually see how their eyes rolled up as their lids came down to blink, all of them, until I reached out to touch that teacher. She didn’t exactly notice what was happening, only that something was different. In that eternal feeling moment, I said to her what I’d been itching to say for such a long time. If you’ve ever seen The Godfather movies, you might be able to somewhat picture it. The scene I knew it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart.

I told her, Do you honestly believe that I don’t know you are out to get me and you’ll pull whatever bullshit tricks you can to get me hauled out of here by the proverbial men in white coats with their butterfly net? Well, from now on, you’re going to want to reconsider your petty, baseless vendetta or whatever stick you have stuck in your ass. She attempted to muster defiance, which made me dig my fingers into her shoulder, which almost made her legs give out from the pain. I stared squarely into her eyes, but before I could get out a word, I heard a harsher version of my voice say, A reckoning is coming. Your place in the sun and their good graces is coming to an end very soon. There is fire and darkness coming, and it just might come for you.

It was then I noticed the absolute stillness. Everything and everyone in the room had stopped, except for me and her. From the second I had touched her, no one was even breathing, and the clock wasn’t ticking. Hell, even a fly was frozen in mid-flight. She was so far beyond fear, she didn’t even notice that, as soon as I let go of her, everything picked up as if nothing had happened. That eternal moment never existed. She was so shaken up, I don’t think it ever occurred to her to notice. My only guess is that, she knew better than to say anything about it. She most likely thought better of saying anything about what may or may not have just happened for fear that she’d sound even crazier than everyone already believed I was. That perception alone isn’t grounds for expulsion, not yet anyway. She had no way to explain what had just happened, at least not without outing the fact that she does indeed have a personal problem with me, and that would never fly at the school. I wasn’t worried about her blowing up my spot. Her ego would never let her say anything, especially if it would make her seem weak in any way, but more so she would never risk leaving those bimbos without someone to defend their right to torture whoever they want for whatever reason.

As anyone who has been in the position of outcast well know, those with the biggest egos that have or take the seat of perceived power are, at their core, the most breakable. Even the slightest shadow cast upon them by the harsh light, they crumble like a house of cards in a stiff breeze.

The cacophony of voices turned to the best way of handling the situation from cleanup and repair of my studio to how to better handle security of that space for safety reasons, peace of mind, and a load of other crap I didn’t bother listening to any more. Ah, yes, safety. Whose though? Obviously, I couldn’t be trusted in their eyes to interact with the student body or gen-slop as I had come to call it. But they couldn’t very well have someone endangering the life of a student. No one wants that on their conscience, let alone blood on their hands. At the same time, there really wasn’t anything else they could possibly strip me of. I was already under constant supervision or at least as close as they could legally get to that. They hadn’t insisted on an ankle monitor or worse, a GPS RFID chip implant, though I’m sure, behind closed doors, that idea had been raised a time or two.

I’ve never been a stranger to raised eyebrows. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, and I remember a lot. My mind is steel-trap, which is a blessing as well as my bane. The good memories I have are all too often overshadowed by the sheer number and magnitude of bad memories. I imagine, eventually the good ones will just stop trying to push up altogether. Hell, I’ve already given up the ghost of the notion of having a normal life, and today’s events have just further proven that I’m right to do so. After all, isn’t holding out hope for that akin to keeping a candle burning for a love you lost that has not only moved on, but has also forgotten even your memory? But I digress, as is my nature.

I was led to the art room and unceremoniously guided/manhandled into the backroom where the drying racks, kiln, and supplies were kept. It had no windows and only one door, which can be locked from either side. A hard-eyed goon gave me a derisively appraising look. He was careful not to make further physical contact then left before I could say anything, slamming the door loudly in my face. I was still numb as I heard the lock being driven home and the muffled jangle of keys on an overloaded key ring. What I didn’t hear were retreating footsteps. A second set of heavy steps sounded as well as the sound of an art stool being dragged across the already overabused floor. The metallic screeching and scraping was almost too much for the complete stillness and peaceful quiet I so relished every day. Then I heard the same stool taking the abuse of a body that was way too heavy and tall for its intended use. There was muffled grumbling, something about all those years at the Academy, Quantico, and SERE only to be a goddamned babysitter to an attention-seeking reject. The grumbling, pissing, and moaning continued, but I just mumbled, Asshats, then walked away to find a dim corner with just enough light for me to see my picture.

I slid down the wall. Though my eyes burned and stung, the tears wouldn’t come. I’m not one for crying. I never had been. I’d sworn I cried my last tear the day I found out the truth and who I wasn’t; the day I can never forgive her for. I just sat there on the cold tile floor, listening to the muffled sounds of the world continuing without me while I just stared at my picture, trying like hell to recapture the peace I felt when it was taken in order to hold myself together. I had no idea how much time had passed. I may have even dozed off, but eventually, the door opened, and the burly guard with the chip on his shoulder stepped in, this time accompanied by a no less intimidating woman.

They stood there like they owned the world, and I didn’t match with the color paint they picked out for their living room. I could only guess they were there to escort me to my truck to go home. The woman was a walking contradiction though, which was especially unsettling considering the day I had. Her face softened to a distant cousin of kindness as she motioned me forward. Mr. Hard-ass just glared, but I could have sworn there was a hint of fear that flashed in his eyes. I trusted neither of them. She walked beside me, but it was glaringly obvious that she was taking great pains to avoid even an accidental touch. As we walked the deserted halls, Mr. Hard-ass informed me that my parents were called to pick up Trista, but since it’s forbidden to have student vehicles parked overnight on school grounds, I was allowed to drive myself home. My parents would explain what would be happening in the next few days or weeks, he added with a smirk that was so obvious that I didn’t need to see it. In a hushed voice, so as to not intentionally have dick boy behind us couldn’t hear, lady contradiction told me that my dog hadn’t let anyone near my truck, so there wasn’t any other option. They had to let me drive home. I could just picture it; Mr. Hard-ass trying to get within ten feet of my truck. She would’ve gleefully set him straight that having balls bigger than your brains is the fastest way to have said balls forcibly removed by a giant dog. Now, mind you, neither her nor I condone violence, but that’s also not to say we are totally opposed to using it should there come a situation where violence necessitates survival. Though no more force should be exerted than is needed to diffuse the threat, and never revel in the use of violence. Today, though, I started to think that maybe a little fear, real fear, not ignorant fear of the different, wouldn’t be a bad thing. All while still wondering about the hows and the whos, and lest I forget, the faint and fading giggling when it seemed no one was around. Classes had been in session, and there was nowhere for anyone or anything to hide in my studio.

Chapter Two

At the point at which I was released from protective custody, it was long dark. I was as glad for that as Bedlam appeared to be. She seemed relieved to find me unscathed as she gave me a sniff once I climbed up into my truck. I saw miss contradiction and the wannabe badass shudder at the sight. The engine roared to life, and they walked away. We drove home and found that my parents were either blissfully ignorant of today’s events or just plain ignorantly blissful. I was essentially held up and guided by Bedlam as I dragged my ass up to my room. I didn’t even bother to get out of my clothes, let alone pull off my boots. I just collapsed onto my bed. I had heard Tish in the shower mid-chorus of the latest crappy auto-tuned pop song on the way to my room, so I knew getting washed up would not happen for at least ninety minutes. She’d emerge from a thick cloud of steam, which guaranteed she’d used all the hot water on purpose. So I just turned my head away from the light that I hadn’t bothered to turn off. Bedlam pulled the blanket I made over me then she settled herself against me, from the back of my shoulders to my feet facing the door. I knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight.

I rolled my whole body over and called her name. I gave her three tongue clicks for her to turn around on the bed and come up to eye level. She knew three clicks meant I was in serious need, so she didn’t hesitate. I threw my arms around her, buried my face in the fur on her neck, and sobbed until I fell asleep. It was not a peaceful sleep. I dreamt I was dreaming a dream. I heard the same giggling echoing off unseen walls all around me. As the giggling got louder, I began to run. I fully expected to see Bedlam at my side; she wasn’t. At this thought, the laughter peaked into absolute cruelty. It then began to speak a language I’d never heard but gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I froze. The lights came up without warning. I found that I was standing in a kind