Dark Soul (An Ascended Angels Chronicle ) Read online

  Dorian lay still in a darkened, glass-walled room. His chest rose and fell with the aid of a respirator which connected to a computerized screen. A deathly silence filled the room between the soft beeps of the machine. Regan had come to find comfort in those beeps.

  He brushed his lips against Dorian’s forehead. His skin felt cold and clammy, his face sunken and pasty. Regan pulled a chair closer to the bed and chuckled softly.

  ‘Remember when we were kids and we’d steal the cream cakes from the bakery? We’d stuff our faces until we were full as the cows and rush home before our mothers knew what we’d done … well, you look like that now – like you’re about to throw your guts up.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t know why they never let us eat sweets. When I have kids, I’m going to let them binge on cream cakes and candy. You will too, I know it. Just like I know you’re gonna pull through this.’

  He sat back and watched him. Dorian had been shot before and had always survived. They were survivors. It was the gangster life; the life they had inherited. Dorian’s father, Vincent, had prepared them well, leaving their earlier years to their mothers and the traditional ways of their sacred coven. When each boy turned 16, Vincent came to collect them. He brought them into the city to learn about Sydney’s organized crime, meticulously infiltrating their every waking moment with a market driven by drugs. Drug lords – locally and off-shore, Middle Eastern gangs, the Mafia and bikie gangs. All had a major interest in the vast amounts of cash readily available from clients. The boys were forced to study the importation of heroin from Asia and Africa, China’s ICE, MDMA manufacturing in Europe, and the South American Cartel; Australia’s main cocaine supplier. It was this constant flood of narcotics that sustained their sacred coven, and it was vital to their beliefs in procuring the incarnation of the serpent god they worshiped. Regan and Dorian were treated to an intense training regime, and each of them became skilled in Shaolin Kung Fu. It was during this time that Regan began to become aware of his unique mind-bending abilities.

  The Blackberry in his jacket pocket vibrated, jolting Regan back to the hospital room. It was Vincent. He squared his jaw. ‘Hello uncle,’ he said.

  ‘Regan, how is Dorian?’ Vincent rasped down the line.

  ‘I’m with him now. No change, he’s still in a coma,’ he said.

  He filled him in on all he had learned from his encounter with Sam.

  The line went silent. Regan grew tense as he waited for his uncle to respond. He knew how important the Serenity Seed was to Vincent and their coven. It was believed those who had possession of the seed could use its power to destroy the light in which it would harvest, thus giving their serpent god, Apepsis, his path to incarnate and populate the earth with his will.

  The line grew heavy with his uncle’s breath until he finally spoke. ‘Alexander Crais is wrong. I have had the vision; the seed is with a woman. Find the woman and we will possess the seed,’ he said.

  Regan suppressed a growl. Damned seed. ‘And what of Zane Crais?’ he asked.

  Vincent chuckled. ‘Do what the Dark Star does best. Get it done fast and move on; we have more important matters to tend to.’

  He shook his head. Does he think I’m a magician? Zane Crais will not be so easy to get to; especially when his father receives Sam’s head all wrapped up like a Christmas gift this evening.

  ‘Such as?’ Regan answered instead.

  ‘Regan, keep up with me here. The woman! Find the woman, question her. Make her talk the way only you can. When you discover where the Serenity Seed is, kill her!’

  ‘What’s her name?’ he sighed.

  ‘Arella Anderson,’ Vincent said, then the line went dead.

  Arella rolled her eyes when she read the text message from Jacques.

  ‘What’s new? You’re always late,’ she mumbled, typing in those exact words in her reply. She drained the rest of her latte and skimmed the cafe for the waiter. Another coffee was in order if she was going to get through the evening ahead.

  She stared toward the busy Kings Cross street, always on the lookout for Keira. She had forgotten what it was like to just look into a crowd without scanning for her. She was always searching for her friend. Hunting her down had become so ingrained, she had almost forgotten what life was like before Keira went missing.

  Jon sidled up next to her. ‘You looking for another hit, pretty lady?’ he smiled, picking up her empty mug.

  She returned his smile. ‘You know I am. Still waiting on Jacques.’ She motioned around the cafe. ‘Seen or heard anything new this week?’

  His smile grew sympathetic. ‘Sorry lovely. How long can you keep this up?’

  She shrugged, tucking her chin into the scarf loosely noosed around her neck. ‘As long as it takes,’ she said.

  He stroked her dark hair. ‘She’s one lucky girl to have a friend like you,’ he murmured before heading back to the kitchen.

  Arella gave a half laugh. She pulled out a notepad and began scanning over the inked scrawls that chronicled a six-month search for Keira. There were so many leads that had took her and Jacques down dead-end roads and bitter disappointments. She sighed as an image of Keira danced before her mind’s eye. Beautiful Keira had been happy and vibrant, and eager to fulfil a future they had carved out in their daydreams many times. That was before her best friend had met Charles; and before Charles had introduced her to a substance that had destroyed her life. It was before Keira had found what she had affectionately called Shabu.

  Arella inwardly cursed herself for missing the signs; she had no idea Keira was hooked on methamphetamine until it was too late. When her friend had started to spend a lot of time with her new boyfriend, Arella was busy taking over the responsibilities of the art gallery when her parents drifted abroad for her mother’s international art exhibitions. Amid the demands of running the gallery, checking in on her elderly aunt, her life with her boyfriend, Logan, and the workshops she hosted in the art studio behind the shopfront, she hadn’t seen Keira in months. One afternoon she decided to surprise Keira with a visit, only to be shocked to the core at the state of her friend.

  Keira wore nothing of her usual make-up. Arella couldn’t even spot a thin coating of mascara on her lashes; her absolute must-have accessory. Her skin was gaunt and discolored, her hair limp and tangled. The vibrant light was gone from her eyes. Arella followed her to the lounge room where Keira fell onto the sofa, curled into a ball and gazed numbly toward daytime TV soapies.

  Arella’s gut twisted like a tightly wrung sponge. Alarm spiraled through her as she perched on the lounge beside her and brushed the hair from her face.

  ‘What’s going on, honey?’ she had asked.

  Keira’s dark eyes drifted up toward her and hovered for a moment before falling away. Tears began to streak down her face.

  ‘He left me,’ she said flatly, closing her eyes and rubbing at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

  Arella noticed the constant movement of her fingers as they trembled gently against her face. ‘Oh, Keira, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you call me?’

  Keira clasped her hands together, clenching them until her knuckles grew white.

  ‘I .… I don’t know,’ she shrugged, then turned back to look at the TV.

  Arella reached over to take her in her arms and hold her close. Keira jerked away and flashed a wide grin at her.

  ‘It’s all good, Rella!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m good. I’ve had Shabu to keep me company; that’s why I didn’t call you. I know how busy you are with your folks gone and all.’

  Arella’s brows knitted. ‘Who is Shabu?’

  ‘A friend Charles introduced me,’ she said, scrambling for her iPhone on the floor beside the lounge and scanning the screen.

  ‘Oh, you have to leave now! I have a date with Shabu. I’ll call you later, okay.’ She jumped to her feet and indicated to Arella to do the same as she quickly ushered her out of the apartment.

  ‘But I haven’t seen you in months! Keira, please,
’ she pleaded.

  Keira gently pushed her through the door, smiling when Arella turned to face her. ‘You should have called first,’ she said as she closed the door in her face.

  ‘Button, there you are!’ Jacques squealed as he shimmied through the cafe toward her table, dissolving her reverie.

  He cupped her chin with his long fingers. Gray eyes muted as they narrowed over her, inspecting her face.

  ‘Tsk, tsk. You haven’t used that blood orange face peel I gave you last week,’ he chided.

  ‘Yes I did; on Tuesday night after the workshop,’ she said.

  His plucked brows rippled heavenward. ‘I don’t think so, young lady.’ He wagged a finger. ‘Your dark circles reveal all I need to know.’

  She began to protest but gave up when she realized he meant business. She shrugged, surrendering with a smile.

  ‘Just as I thought,’ he murmured as he kissed her on the cheek.

  He set his satchel bag down and sat opposite her.

  ‘So, what’s the plan tonight? Are we going to one of those disgustingly dirty strip clubs again? Because I’m not so sure I can take it.’ He fanned his face with the cafe menu card.

  She grinned. ‘You loved it; your flushed cheeks and the buzz in your eyes revealed all I needed to know – especially when the male strippers took the stage,’ she teased.

  Jacques shook his waxed jet head. ‘No! I only have eyes for Lenny, you know. He is my very own erotic dancer.’ He sighed dreamily as he propped his hand under his chin.

  She flashed her palms. ‘Alright, alright. Please don’t start with your soppy antics!’ she smiled.

  Her hands fell to the table and her eyes turned sombre. ‘I thought we’d start looking for her around The Rocks tonight.’

  He groaned and waved to Jon for his usual Friday night chai latte.

  ‘Rella, we have tried there so many times .… and everywhere else in Sydney.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Lenny’s starting to get real narky about our Friday-hunt-for-Keira-night searches. I think it might be time to let her go. I don’t think she wants to be found.’

  She tugged her hands away and glared at him. ‘She doesn’t know day from night! This is not what she wants for her life; I know this. Remember what that Candy woman said a few months back? She said Keira is being forced to sell herself! We have to help her, Jacques. I don’t care if Lenny is narky-barky!’

  ‘That Candy woman was a dazed-out hooker looking for a quick buck; she would have said anything to get her hands on that tenner in your hands. How do we even know it’s true? The police haven’t found her; why would we?’ He motioned in thanks to Jon as he placed his mug on the table.

  Arella caught Jon’s rolling eyes as he turned to leave them. She knew they all thought her crazy for not giving up on her friend. Guilt kept her trapped in an endless pursuit; she had invested too much to give up now.

  She scowled at Jacques. ‘Because the police are too busy to actively look for a drug-dependent woman. We have the time and the love to keep going. People are beginning to trust us a little more. Soon enough someone will let their guard down and we’ll find out who’s forcing her to turn tricks.’

  She looked away toward the window where the bright street lights stung her tears. She was weary. ‘All we need is a name. I know we’re getting closer to her. Just give me a little more time.’

  Jacques reached out and wrapped his long fingers through hers.

  ‘Okay Button,’ he said.

  Arella and Jacques rounded a corner and faced Sydney harbor.

  ‘So, I was in the bakery the other day; you know, the one on Pitt St that makes those delightfully sinister chocolate eclairs?’ Jacques said.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Arella nodded.

  She paused to fill her lungs with the salty air. The harbor at night was one of her most treasured places; the dark waters were thick and glossy against the dazzling shore lights.

  Jacques shivered, pulling his scarf tighter and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. ‘I’m waiting in line, looking at all the deliciousness in the cake display windows, right, and there is a little girl with her mother in front of me. She goes over to the shopfront windows, doodling about … I didn’t take much notice of her until she went to lean back on the glass doors of the window display.’

  He stopped to pull out his phone and frowned as he read a text message.

  She watched him curiously. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Lenny is upset because I left the tube of toothpaste in the shower; he hates that you know.’

  He glanced at her before his fingers flew across the phone screen to reply. He shook his head. ‘So temperamental. He’s just pissed I’m out with you on a Friday night – again.’

  She suppressed a wisecrack. ‘No, what happened with the girl in the bakery?’

  He tucked his phone away. ‘Huh? Oh, yeah … the glass doors had been left open and her little bottom landed squarely in a custard cream pie,’ he laughed.

  She giggled. ‘Oh, poor thing! What did the mother do?’

  ‘She whisked that girl out of the shop quicker than lightning! The shopkeepers knew nothing.’ His arms gestured wildly. ‘I don’t think they’ll be going back there for a while!’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Nothing could keep me away from those eclairs; not even a custard cream covered ass.’

  ‘Now that might be an interesting look for you,’ she teased.

  ‘Oh, Button,’ he panted. ‘Don’t get me started on custard cream covered butts. That incident gave me a delightfully primitive idea that drove Lenny ab-so-lute-ly wild last Saturday night.’ A smile played on his lips.

  They turned toward a set of stairs leading from the wharf-side walkway up to the city streets.

  She grinned up at him. ‘Primitive huh? See, and that is why he will continue to tolerate our Friday night ventures,’ she said, catching a movement in the shadows behind them. She looped her arm through his. ‘C’mon.’

  As they began to climb the steep stone stairs, Arella felt her pulse shift as she was overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding. She snuck a glance behind them and saw no-one. Still, she picked up her pace, forcing Jacques to keep up as she pulled on his arm.

  ‘Geez Rella, this isn’t a race against time!’ he complained, resisting her strides and pulling his arm free.

  They were now midway up the staircase. She stopped to look at him. ‘Too many chocolate eclairs?’

  Her eyes darted toward the bottom of the stairs. She gasped when she saw a large figure looming under the lamp post. Jacques stopped a few stairs down from her and looked up at her, a hand resting over his heart as if he were about to hyperventilate.

  ‘Don’t impeach those wickedly delectable eclairs, Rella. Respect the eclairs!’

  He frowned when he noticed the look on her face. ‘What?’

  ‘There’s someone down there,’ she whispered.

  ‘So? We’re in the city; there’s people everywhere.’

  He followed her gaze. The figure began to incline toward them.

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this guy. Hurry up!’

  She grabbed him and turned to rush up the stairs, stopping short when she spotted another large figure striding toward them from the top of the narrow stairway. Her heart skipped a beat and she swung her gaze back to the man coming up behind them.

  Jacques squealed loudly and grappled at her arm, trembling like a leaf in the wind. ‘Oh my god! What do they want? Maybe they’re going to roll us! Have you got any money on you?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Oh.’ He clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘Maybe they want me – I knew I shouldn’t have worn this sweater, its way too hot!’

  Arella scanned either side of the stairway. One side bordered a grainy sandstone wall, while the other was flanked in a tangle of trees and bushes. She yanked Jacques toward the railing overlooking the bushes. ‘Jump!’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘Either that or we can wait
and see how much these guys want you and your sweater,’ she said, giving him a firm shove.

  He lost balance and fell head first into the bushes, tumbling like a baby elephant and screeching like a wild monkey. She wasted no time to clamber over the railing to dive in after him, plunging into the dark bushes and toppling head over heels until coming to an abrupt halt on top of him.

  Jacques groaned. ‘Rella! Ouch!’ he whined, pulling tree sprigs from his hair and glaring at her.

  ‘Shhh! Stop moving,’ she hissed.

  She listened to the footsteps on the stairs and moved a few branches to gain a better view. The two men had stopped midway up the staircase and peered into the bushes after them.

  Jacques suddenly shrieked and hysterically jumped up behind her. ‘Spider! Spider!’

  She turned to scowl at him.

  ‘There they are!’ One man yelled, pointing at the bushes.

  ‘Shit,’ Arella grumbled.

  She grabbed Jacques’ arm and pushed through the winding bushes as fast as she could, heading up hill toward the street. She heard a loud thump as one of the men leaped into the bristly scrub behind them.

  Jacques squawked; his tall frame pushed her forward as if she were his own personal forest mulching machine.

  Arella focused on the streetlights up ahead and ignored the sharp branches as they snapped against her face and clawed into her hair. She launched herself through the last cluster of bushes and felt relief strike through her as the street came into view. She glanced back at Jacques, who was scrambling through the leaves like a wild-eyed rabbit.

  ‘Hurry!’ she yelled, hearing their pursuer cursing and rustling somewhere behind them.

  She started for the street. Her gaze found an old man resting on a park bench that fringed the bushes. ‘Hey! Help us!’ she hollered, running toward him.

  The old man’s body quivered as he slowly turned toward them. His eyes struggled to focus as he brought a brown paper-bag wrapped bottle to his lips and took a long swig. He squinted when she furiously waved at him, then slowly turned his chin toward another figure sprinting across the grass from the top of the stairs.