Where Darkness Walks (Mortgatha Trilogy Book 1)

WHERE DARKNESS WALKS

BY

DONNA HAWK

Smashwords Edition

COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Donna Hawk

Elizabeth Hawk Publishing

All Rights Reserved - Donna Hawk

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing from the publisher/author.

ISBN-13: 978-1480203655

For Diana, after all, it’s HER carpet!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

About Donna Hawk

CHAPTER ONE

DARKNESS PEERED through the wall between worlds until its attention landed on the Earth world. In its devious way, it chuckled, causing bolts of black lightning to crackle across its own enslaved lands. This Earth world, with its simple people, would make a good conquest. Darkness was restless. Light was nearly extinguished in its own shadow realm of Mortgatha, and Darkness was hungry. Anger shook Mortgatha as Darkness growled through the misty shadows of its skies. It couldn’t just enter the Earth world; it would have to be invited.

THE WIND BLEW SHARPLY OFF THE LAKE. It was cold for May, bringing in rain from the east. The clouds that gathered in the sky were black with grief, booming out sorrow in the spring storm. At least, that’s what it felt like to Clarie.

Sixteen-year-old Clarie Perl held a crushed paper in one hand. Running under the football bleachers behind the school, she sank to the ground, scraping the back of her dress against the metal posts. The metal was rusty and sharp but her legs simply would not carry her any farther. This hidden underside was dirty, filled with abandoned popcorn bags and forgotten programs. The edge of the field was dotted with t-shaped light poles that swayed dangerously in the wind.

The weight of the note she carried anchored her fingers to the ground under the bleachers. Though the ground was smooth, it was bare of grass and weeds, even when the weather encouraged growth. As a light rain drenched her face, black mascara streamed down her cheeks, leaving streaks of soot on her skin. Tears and rain splashed on the note and mixed with the spreading ink as water saturated the paper. She couldn’t read the writing on the note any more. The rain had washed away the words but not the message.

With her knees drawn to her chest, Clarie rested her forehead against her warm flesh, ignoring the once-beautiful satin prom dress she wore. Like the dress, her heart crumpled into a ruined mess. Would she ever be able to love again?

As she slipped into her first formal, she’d felt like a princess. Was that only a few hours ago? It was supposed to be the best night of her life. How quickly things changed.

The rain began pouring in earnest. Clarie held the crushed note against her chest.

Water rushed down around her ankles and turned into mud. Thunder crashed overhead and rain poured out of the sky with the same passion that tears flowed down Clarie’s face. Her beautiful dress was soaked through; her mother’s vintage slippers were ruined.

Clarie leaned back against the metal supports behind her and inhaled deeply to catch her breath. Then she noticed, near her in the soft mud, there were several little seed pearls scattered about. She fingered the sweetheart neckline of her dress, touching the threads where the pearls had once been. Like her life, the dress was no longer perfect.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d gotten ready for this momentous occasion: her high school prom. Her date was her boyfriend, Rand. They’d been steady companions for more than a year. However, tonight of all nights, she’d noticed a difference in the way he looked at her and in the way he looked at others. It was a subtle difference, but one she should’ve seen coming.

As they danced, his eyes traveled across the crowd, following the glittering, colored strobe lights from the DJ’s equipment. He never looked at her, never said she was beautiful, and even the flower she wore on her wrist looked sadly last minute. Did anyone else notice Rand’s distance and preoccupation? No, to them he was as cordial as ever, always the gentleman. But to her, he was cool and aloof. She could’ve been his sister.

To bring his attention back to her, she had patted his shoulder, then slipped her hand around his neck affectionately. What are you thinking about so hard? she asked, but his attention remained on the crowd. For the first time, she was filled with doubt. Rand, please tell me what you’re thinking about. Are you mad at me or something? Clarie tried to laugh, but it sounded strained even to her.

At last, she stopped dancing and Rand finally looked down at her in surprise. Do you want to stop dancing? he asked. Even his voice sounded flat.

Clarie decided to try a different tactic. She frowned at him, then turned her face away trying to look as angry as she could. I thought I’d ask you the same thing. If you don’t want to dance with me, then just say so.

She was met with a stony silence. Her heart skipped a beat before she gave up and looked back at him. To her chagrin, he had continued to scan the crowd all around them. Oh, I see how you are, Mr. Rand Ayers. You’ve got eyes for everyone but me. What’s the matter? Do I have dirt on my face or are you just tired of looking at me?

Finally, Rand looked down at her again. There was no sparkle of affection in his handsome blue eyes. Are those my only two options? he asked. I know my timing is horrible, but Clarie, you don’t really know me. No one does. The vacant look on his face turned into a mild frown. Nothing in my life is turning out the way it should, he murmured more to himself than to her.

She gulped loudly, though it couldn’t be heard over the pounding music. Clarie tried for a smile. You’re scaring me, Rand. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were breaking up with me. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, praying he’d deny the possibility.

His answer was to smile and nod at one of their classmates as she walked by. Her heart raced inside her chest. Surely, he didn’t mean it! Clarie curled her fingers into the lapel of his suit to keep his attention. Listen, I’m going to check my makeup. Take a deep breath so when I get back, we can talk about this. Nothing is going badly for you. Our lives together are just beginning. Please, she pleaded. "I want my Rand back!" She turned and left him staring after her.

When Clarie emerged from the restroom a few minutes later, she stopped in her tracks in stunned silence. Rand was on the dance floor, wrapped tightly in the embrace of another girl, slow dancing to Clarie’s favorite song. His blonde head was bent close to the girl’s face.

Clarie’s chest tightened painfully. Several students jostled playfully nearby, bumping into her and breaking her attention. When she looked back up, Rand was nowhere to be seen, and someone had slipped a note into her hand. She read the words but couldn’t quite believe their meaning: it said simply, I’m sorry. Clarie had carefully woven her life to suit Rand, tried to be all that Rand wanted. She was devastated.

There was barely daylight left when she ran out of the school, ignoring the shouts from one of the supervising parents, and into the dark football arena. Thunder rumbled overhead. The air was heavy with an oncoming storm.

Now, under the bleachers, she fingered the fallen pearls that had decorated the bodice of her dress. She knew the chaperones had called her dad, so when he found her, she wasn’t surprised. Clarie stood, giving her dad a wet hug and burying her face in his shirt.

Why, Dad? she croaked against his chest. Rand just dumped me. Why would he do this tonight? It was supposed to be the best night of my life.

Even good people sometimes do mean things, kiddo, even if they don’t intend to. The only thing you can do is pick yourself up and move on the best way you know how. He shook his head sadly. Rand was just doing what he needed to do to be happy. It wouldn’t do to force him to hang onto someone when his heart isn’t in it. When your mother left, I thought they might as well cut my head off and throw me over the back fence. I didn’t care about nothin’. And then I looked at you, with the sparkle in your blue eyes— Sam kissed her forehead affectionately —and I knew I had to stay strong for my little girl. You were so tiny and couldn’t understand what had happened.

Clarie wrapped an arm tightly around her father’s waist and leaned against him all the way back to the house. Sam Perl was a rock: a strong person, emotionally as well as physically. He was the only person she had left in her life that meant anything to her. Daddy, she whispered, If it wasn’t for you, I’d have nothing left.

I know that’s the way it seems, he sympathized quietly. But baby doll, you’re only sixteen years old. I know you were fond of Rand. But that’s way too young to give up on love.

When Sam got Clarie home, she silently bathed and got into bed. Though she was warm and dry, she could still feel the cold rain pelting her skin and see the satin dress fall to ruin under the unforgiving downpour. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep easily, praying that she’d never have to wake up and remember that Rand didn’t love her anymore. Just when my life was getting good, she mused as sleep claimed her, it just figures something would come to bite me in the butt.

LIFE DID NOT CHANGE all that much for Clarie. She couldn’t see herself ever going to another prom, however, knowing Rand was never going to dance with her again. She spent most of her time in the woodshop, scouring old finishes off discarded furniture, only to make them shine like new. This passion was now her obsession.

Two years before, she had begun taking an interest in the old furniture Sam often refinished. Though she was young, Clarie had soaked up everything he taught her. His infectious enthusiasm for woodworking, specifically refinishing furniture, turned into a business, small but lucrative, and Clarie spent hours in the garage helping him fix, sand and finish.

Sam had recently quit his job at Castle Truck Line to devote himself to refinishing the furniture; he’d hated being a salesman. Finally, he had more time on his hands but even more things to do. With Clarie’s interest in woodworking to help him along, he began turning a bigger profit. He built a woodshop to work in beside the house. The shop turned out to be Clarie’s haven: a place that gave her some freedom and the chance to work late into the night if her schoolwork allowed it.

As much as Clarie stayed busy with her work, she cruised through the end of the school year as if it didn’t exist. She ignored the elbow jabs as she walked by a group of girls who had thought Rand was crazy for chasing such an ordinary girl as Clarie. He could have his choice of any girl in the school and to them she didn’t measure up against the competition. She ignored the taunts in the cafeteria as she walked by certain tables. She was anxious to get school over with.

Because of the breakup with Rand, she had other problems to deal with. Every guy she never wanted to know stopped her in the hallway and wanted her attention. Had Rand sent them her way in an effort to distract her attention from him? She sneered angrily. Particularly persistent was a guy by the name of Bulldog Shue. Genetically unfortunate, having inherited the worst features of both his parents, Bulldog acquired his nickname as a young boy because of his striking resemblance to his pet.

Even if Bulldog hadn’t smelled bad, she hated everything else about him. He stole cigarettes from the local convenience store, he was a bully, he ditched school regularly, but most of all, she didn’t like the way he always looked at her as if she were naked. Most of the time she could pretend he didn’t exist, but he always seemed to know where she was.

The last few weeks of school were a never-ending test of strength and torture. The weather finally warmed up, and with the beginning of summer, Clarie finally came to the conclusion that Rand was truly gone from her life. As the numbness started to wear away, she began to face the days of getting her life back to normal. She needed a new normal where she felt like she was in control again and Rand wasn’t eating up every thought in her head. Each day she was able to breathe a little easier and smile a little more. With the right attitude, she could ignore the hole Rand had left. For her, maybe life would go on.

With school finally out, the summer days heated up rapidly. Clarie now focused so much of her time on helping refinish furniture. Every hutch, chair, and chest they’d had backed up against the wall of the shop, and even the pieces spilling out into the garage, had been fixed, finished, and sold.

Clarie even found the energy to go to auctions with her dad to look for more furniture projects. One auction, the estate sale of an elderly librarian who had recently passed away, Clarie decided to find something worth refinishing that would allow her dad to see what she was capable of; she was ready to do more than just help.

Clarie could see that much of the furniture, which had been collected over the years, had fallen to disrepair. To most people, it was just old furniture and not good for much, except perhaps a college dorm or frat house. To her, however, it was a treasure trove of richness waiting to be rediscovered and restored to its proper place.

She studied several pieces she thought could work for her projects, mentally assessing the damage or wear. She tallied up a timetable for repair and refinishing, creating a mental inventory of materials she would need. With the ongoing list growing inside her head, Clarie caught sight of an old armoire sitting off to the side. She knew immediately it was the perfect piece for her project.

It was in terrible shape. The outside layer of paint was a faded seafoam green, but it was just the last of many colors. She dug a thumbnail under a flake of paint peeling from the door at the front and discovered the beautiful red/brown hickory wood that was hiding underneath. One of the handles was missing from the door, and the front of the bottom drawer had been knocked off and reattached crookedly.

Even so, the armoire looked stately, elegant. Clarie could see the majestic lines through the pauper’s disguise. Finished, it would be worth a fortune, by far the most ambitious project she’d ever brought back to life. Eyes gleaming, she knew she had to have it.

She impatiently waited for the smaller items to be sold. She counted over thirty small appliances and dozens of boxes of knickknacks. Lamps, dishes, linens… the list was endless. Always, she kept a possessive eye on the armoire.

Sam had driven a separate vehicle here and was busy checking out some power tools. Clarie kept looking out for him, thinking she’d show him the armoire. Unfortunately, she mostly caught glimpses of Bulldog Shue skulking about, always in shouting distance, and always with an eye on her.

When the auctioneer finally made his way to the larger furniture, Clarie forced Bulldog’s rough face out of her mind and absently patted the bid number inside her breast pocket. From the corner of her eye, she at last saw her father standing in the crowd, looking around for her. He gave her a thumb’s up, causing her to grin self-consciously. She waved him over. Then, taking a deep breath, she waited for her turn to bid.

Adrenalin surged through her. It was the first promising emotion that had broken through the empty cocoon she’d wrapped around herself. She paused for a moment, though she nearly missed the beginning of the bid for the armoire, as she felt the piercing stab of guilt. How could she forget Rand? How could she be in high spirits without him? Then, just as quickly, Clarie shoved the pain aside and frowned in concentration. Losing this armoire would not make him love her.

Sam squeezed her elbow as she nodded to the auctioneer. She smiled to herself, knowing how pleased he was that she was finally smiling again.

She knew her spending limit, and she also knew that the armoire did not show very well. Still, there were other interested bidders, one older gentleman in particular. He smiled often and nodded but bid only hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to drive the price up. In the end, she paid a little more than she intended for her treasure, but it was all hers. Clarie was thrilled she’d got the winning bid and couldn’t contain her enthusiasm for her new project.

The tailgate of her dad’s little red truck had to be lowered so she could hoist the armoire into the bed, with Sam’s help. She gave him a hug then watched him drive away, leaving her to settle with the auction clerk.

The early June sun was sweltering. Clarie paid for her armoire, then sipped at an iced tea as she sat at a table and perused the furniture that had not yet sold. Perhaps there would be another piece she could get to work on when the armoire was finished. She stopped for a moment and closed her pale blue eyes, letting the cool liquid slide down her parched throat. Her auburn hair, pulled back into a loose ponytail, brushed the top of her shoulders. Sweat beaded on her neck and forehead, plastering any loose hairs against her skin.

Excuse me?

The low-pitched male voice came from beside her. She sat up suddenly, afraid that Bulldog had seen her sitting alone and was taking advantage of it.

She looked around and blinked several times to get her bearings. Instead of Bulldog, a guy with intense, chocolate-colored eyes was looking directly at her. She recognized him from school, but she couldn’t bring his name to her mind. He was, she thought, a year older but new this year. He stood with the posture of someone used to attracting the opposite sex. Though he was not a popular jock, like Rand was, he was attractively self-confident. He had no end of girls longing for his attention. He was attractive in a way that made sexy look easy. He appeared laid back and secure in who he was.

Clarie didn’t reply, but watched the young man warily as he leaned against an old oak dropleaf table.

I watched you bid on the old armoire. I thought about bidding myself, but I could see you had your heart set on it. His voice was smooth and melodious. My dad and I have an antique store, and sometimes we go to auctions to see if we can find something for the shop. His eyes were bright. Smiling slightly and tilting his head a little to one side, Clarie noticed he needed a haircut. Several strands of untamed curls bounced playfully around his ears and down his neck. His arms looked powerful in a way that came from physical labor or perhaps being a gym rat. Wide shoulders, narrow waist: he was the kind of attractive that most girls were drawn to… very sexy, Clarie mused, for anyone in a mind to be distracted. She swallowed hard and forced her gaze to his face. What are you going to do with the armoire?

You aren’t going to get me to sell it to you, in case you were going to ask. Clarie didn’t want to sound tactless and blunt, but more than that, she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, in case snagging her find was what he had in mind.

She didn’t expect him to chuckle. No, I wasn’t going to ask you that. I was only curious about what you planned to do with the armoire once you got it home. It’s a beautiful piece. He smiled slightly again and waited for her answer. The look in his eyes held her captive, making her feel, just for a moment, that there was no one else in the world. Wistful thoughts filled her head as she lost her breath in the chocolate-colored eyes. She had to remind herself to breathe. When she did, her heart pounded against her ribs until she was convinced he had to hear it. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip to keep a silly grin from spreading.

She ignored the way his hair danced in the breeze as if to catch her attention. He was silent and waited for her answer. Pulling her gaze away from his hair, she swallowed hard, suddenly having trouble remembering how to speak. She forced herself to concentrate on her words, Dad and I have a small business where we refinish and restore antique furniture and sell it. After I’m done with the armoire, it will be worth quite a bit of money. She bit the inside of her lip, wondering if she had volunteered too much information.

He looked thoughtful, though his eyes danced with amusement. I see. Most girls your age don’t want anything to do with refinishing furniture. How old were you when you learned the trade? Five? he teased.

Clarie laughed out loud. "I was born knowing the business, she replied waggishly. I wasn’t aware there was an age limit to being good at something. Her heart sang to this young man. How had she thought losing Rand would end life as she knew it? What about you? You get to take over the business soon?" She couldn’t stop smiling. She loved, finally, feeling as if she might be able to allow another love into her life. It was pleasant to have a flirty conversation with a guy that wasn’t Rand. Enjoy the moment, she reminded herself.

He looked around as if he was struggling to keep the grin off his face. I’m already the boss, just don’t ask my dad about it! I can’t believe I get to talk to the best-looking girl here. I thought maybe I could buy you a coke. He silently studied her face then winked and grinned shamelessly. Besides, our children would be gorgeous! It was an outrageous proposal that made her laugh, elevating her mood. She could feel his interest, and though it was thrilling, it terrified her.

Look, ah…––she still didn’t remember his name––I really can’t stay. My dad is expecting me home soon. I––

The young man raised an eyebrow in question. "I see. You have a jealous boyfriend who will appear at any moment to kick my butt? Do I look like that’s possible?" he asked confidently, patting the hard muscles across his stomach.

Clarie’s eyes suddenly darkened with anger and hurt. Unexpected visions of Rand pushed their way forward until she dropped her face. She waited several moments to see if the familiar pain in her heart would disarm her, but the moment passed and she didn’t feel the burn. Breathing heavily, she resurrected her composure.

I’m so sorry, he murmured, studying her anxiety. I didn’t realize there really was a boyfriend problem. I saw you with that older guy, I thought he was your father.

"He is my father, she whispered coarsely, rolling her eyes at the ridiculous statement. His name is Sam. I don’t have a boyfriend. Not any more."

Jeez! I recognize you now; you’re the girl that Rand Ayers dumped––sorry! I figured that man was your dad. I was just trying to make you laugh. I didn’t mean anything by it. He backed away from her several steps, yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Rand Ayers is an idiot, he offered.

At last, she shook her head to clear Rand’s face from her mind. Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. I’m not always like this. And anyway, I really do have to go.

He smiled curiously and turned to leave. She was so pretty. It was a shame someone would put that kind of sadness in her eyes intentionally. I’m really sorry, Clarie. Good luck with the armoire. I’m sure you’ll do an awesome job on it. He nodded and smiled, his deep chocolate eyes lingering on her face. He walked away, though when he was halfway across the lawn, he turned around and yelled, I’d never leave you, Clarie Perl!

Clarie watched him go, hiding a smile. It was interesting, she thought, that he had remembered her name while she couldn’t think of his. Of course, everyone knew Rand and she had been lucky to be his girlfriend, even if it didn’t last. Wow, that wasn’t so bad, she whispered to herself, grinning. I think I’m gonna live.

She took a deep breath and straightened her back. I can be strong, Clarie decided, firmly pushing Rand into her mental backseat.

CHAPTER TWO

A SHORT HOUR LATER, Clarie drove the beat-up little red truck home with her treasure. Once there, her dad helped her prop long planks of wood against the tailgate like a ramp to lower the armoire gently to her shop floor. She was very excited to get started on it. It could possibly be the most beautiful piece she had ever worked on.

After Sam left her to her work, Clarie set the armoire on a rubber mat beside a sink and drain hole. She slipped on her rubber elbow gloves and opened the chemical paste. Normally she would use a liquid spray-on because it was easier than other methods of removing paint and varnish, but she could see the multiple layers of old paint and suspected that the spray would not be powerful enough to get all the layers. Her hope was that the wood underneath was as lovely as the exposed wood she could see.

Hours later, a cool breeze puffed gently into the building. Clarie looked up, startled to see that it was after midnight. Most of the ugly paint and varnish had been stripped away; the rest would need to be scraped again and sanded.

Clarie cleaned her work area, then stood back and looked at her prize. She was dreadfully tired. So far, the armoire still had the promise she’d hoped for. She washed her hands then turned out the light and locked the shop door. Pausing for a moment, she could hear a distant, rhythmic tapping noise coming from inside the shop. Puzzled, she opened the door again and leaned her head inside. The shop was almost empty. All she could see was the armoire sitting alone in the middle of the floor. Tired down to her bones, she ignored the persistent tapping and locked the door once again. As she headed for the house to see if her father was still awake, she didn’t witness the little vibrations straining the armoire’s backside, as if something inside were desperate to get out.

CLARIE WAS STILL TIRED the next morning when Sam stuck his head inside her bedroom door and said, Get up, baby doll! Church in an hour!

She groaned loudly and opened an eye experimentally. The bright June sun was already hot, even though the bedside clock said it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. A shower and bowl of cereal later, Clarie sat in the church pew next to her dad.

As Pastor Dave began his sermon,