Okay, this chapter is seriously dark and depressing and violent. Sorry it took so long to get together, folks, but this is a big milestone, and I had to bump the rating up to M because of the violence and what happens to Amy and nearly happens to Darcy. I didn't have a choice because I want to play it safe, and I don't want to get booted off my account.
Thank you everyone who reviewed this last chapter, it meant so much, because I've almost hit 100 reviews, and it makes me so proud. You keep me going! Love you all, hope you enjoy it.
Ciao!
Darcy sits cross legged on the mattress and flips open the book; the pages are aged and yellowing, very thick. This isn't just a printed book, no, this is hand written, with violet-black ink. Strange diagrams are drawn every so often, and there are pictures of stones, plants, animals, and odd things that Darcy can't name right off the bat. The words are in cursive, and though she can read cursive, the actually language is one that's unfamiliar. It isn't English, Latin, Gaelic or even German. Darcy frowns and pulls the book closer, before absently turning a page.
"Ouch, dammit," she hisses, as the page slices into the meaty ball of her thumb; blood bloomed onto the page, and she absently sticks her thumb into mouth, sucking on the injury and tasting the coppery rust as it floods her tongue.
The blood on the page stayed where it was for a moment, before Darcy blinks; where it had just sat on the page in on spot, it now seemed to be sucked into the page, and spread like a virus, darkening the sheet to a deep crimson brown, and then continuing to the next, until the whole book seemed to be that color; Darcy's throat closes up, and she opens her mouth to scream in panic, but...
It's gone.
Darcy takes a shaky breath, and hesitantly touches the page, expecting anything to happen. But nothing does.
She looks at the pages, but at first, nothing is amiss; she can't see anything different on the page…until she looks at the words again, and realizes, with a cold feeling in her stomach that she can see the words differently, and worse, understand them.
With trembling fingers, Darcy turns to the front cover, and nearly shrieks as she witnesses the words reform themselves into a readable language.
The Most Noble of Atlantian Magicks and Rites
Oh my god… Darcy thinks brokenly, as she reads the title again and again. This is a book of magic. I'm a…descendant of Atlantis…this is happening…
It was without question that she opened to the first page, and nearly paled; this wasn't like a joke book of spells at a bookstore or a novelty shop; the language was archaic and complicated, and Darcy has to backtrack more than once before the first page is finished. The first spell, or that is what Darcy will call it, is sending basic visions and messages.
It's not complicated, though, once Darcy begins to read between the lines, and in theory, she thinks that she could actually do something similar to what the instructions describe to her; strong concentration, harnessing of power, and, apparently a drop of blood within a summoning circle. The circle itself is actually a very simple design that Darcy recognizes as an alchemists circle. She flip to the back of the text, and finds a very complicated one, it has intricate shape within shape, and strange runes and sigils within.
She's memorizing the technique again, just to be safe, when she hears the crash from downstairs.
(Line)
Amy hears the banging on the door and hurries downstairs, tying her bathrobe around her body and slipping on her glasses and house shoes as she scurries to get the door, although she doesn't want to answer it. This late, it can only be Neil, and he's probably drunk as a skunk.
She sighs and unlocks the deadbolt, but before she can touch the doorknob, it flies open, knocking her back so hard she stumbles.
Why? She'll think to herself later, why didn't I check through the peephole before I opened the door? Darcy will think something along the same lines, although it will be filled with curses anger at both her Aunt and Uncle.
Neil stands in the doorway, smiling terribly peacefully.
"Hello, Amy. Have a pleasant night? Tell me, why was the door locked?" Neil asks, sauntering inside. Amy clutches at the collar of her robe, the hair at the back of her neck standing up, as if touched by a cold wind. Neil's voice is different, the same, but his speech is different. It's more formal; and so much more threatening.
"N-Neil, it was locked against trouble, like it always is. I thought you had your keys." Amy says, struggling and failing to control the quaver in her voice.
"Well you thought wrong, didn't you?"
"It isn't my business where you leave your keys, Nei-" Neil's backhand connects with Amy's face in such a sharp crack it's almost like a gunshot, and it's enough to make a little boy upstairs stir in unease.
"SHUT UP!"
Amy numbly touches her cheek; the roar of pain only starts then, and then the tears begin to well in her eyes, a cold anger welling up in her as years of neglect, and hate and disappointment in her husband and the father of her children finally reach a climax and she replies, with the calmest voice she can muster, "I want a divorce Neil. I think you should go."
When Neil laughs, Amy is certain that this is going to end violently, and she's afraid that it could even go fatally.
"Hear that, boys, she wants me to leave." His laughter is uncontrollable now. "The house that I bought, that I paid for!" Neil's fist is quick and embeds itself in Amy's stomach so fast that all Amy can do is gasp in pain and double over. That same fist smashes into her cheek (later she will find out that the bone was shattered) but for now all that Amy can register is nova like pain under her eye as a moan of pain escapes.
Amy blacks out a bit after that, and she doesn't really remember anything.
Jamie is the one who watches in horror and sees what she feels, and is forced to remember, for the rest of his life.
He watches from the shadows as the men that had been on the porch walk into his home calmly, smiling dazedly as his father kicks his mother in the ribs and stomps on her head, the blood staining the hardwood floor (the floor she works so hard to keep clean, he thinks, and bursts into sudden tears). Jamie watches with frightened eyes as the men laugh and jeer Neil on with, Make the bitch suffer; hit her harder, no fun when she isn't screaming; you call that a kick you pussy? Jamie doesn't know what that word is, but somehow he doesn't want to know. Jamie watches as his father kicks his mother onto her back, and she blinks up at him blindly. He watches her mouth tremble as she struggles to find words, and finally manages a weak, "Neil, please" before her sneering husband steps onto her face. Jamie feels bile rise in the back of his throat as the sick crunch of Amy's broken nose, and the thick shatter of the glasses' lens' reverberate more than he should. He's sick all over the hallway rug.
"Pretty thing." One of the men says in a thickly slurred voice.
"She was before she became a nagging harpy," Neil agrees, sounding strangely chipper.
"Mind if we, eh, have a go?" Another asks, and Neil smiles wickedly, the glint in his teeth visible from even the second floor.
When the men advance on his mother, and the first begins to unzip his fly, Jamie can watch no more, and run up the hall, his only thought being to get Darcy, even as he wanted nothing more than to wretch on the floor again.
(Line)
Darcy has just finished making the summoning circle with perfect accuracy (she isn't bragging, it just happens to be a fact, as she's spent more than 20 minutes copying the diagram from the book), when Jamie bursts into her room in a mess of tears and vomit.
"Jay what" She turns, but he's immediately latched himself onto her and starts sobbing into Darcy's chest unable to speak coherently.
She rocks slightly and wraps her arms around him, humming slightly as Jamie tries to make her understand.
"What's wrong, hon? Another nightmare?" She whispers gently, carding her fingers through his hair.
"No, no, worse!" He finally gasps; by now he is streaming tears, snot, spit and vomit, but Darcy doesn't pay it any mind.
"Jamie, Jamie honey, what's wrong?" If she paid any heed to the words, she'd have realized that she was sounding like a younger version of her mother. But Darcy just kept up the comforting gestures as Jamie started to calm.
"It's it's Dad!" He wailed, looking so frantic that Darcy paused. "He, he an' Mom, they, he! There's men down there and they're hurting her!" Darcy stares at him before remembering the drunks that had followed Neil home.
"Jamie, I need you to listen to me," already, Darcy is calm, understanding something may have just come close to breaking Jamie. "I need you to stay in here; I'm going to get Sophie, and bring her up. You're going to take the snow globe that Bunny gave me, for emergencies and go to Santoff Claussen. You need to tell them to get here, fast. I'm gonna try and see what I can do for your Mom. Can I count on you to do that for me?" She asks, looking him straight in the eye. Jamie sniffs.
"I'm scared," he whispers, but Darcy smiles wanly.
"It's okay to be scared, Jay Bird. But right now, I need you to be brave for Sophie and your Mom. I'll be right back, I promise." And with that, Darcy creeps downstairs as quickly and as quietly as she can.
She can hear the grunting and the laughs, and she also sees the vomit where Jamie was overcome with disgust; but she pushes on and blocks everything out, even her Aunt's broken pleas for reprieve and mercy. She focuses on the tiny tot at the end of the hall.
Darcy doesn't make a noise as she creeps into Sophie's room; she doesn't wake her, instead wrapping her in the fuzzy pink blanket and covering her eyes with it, to shield her. The noise was so loud now, downstairs, that she hurried to get Sophie upstairs, and in that, slipped her footing. A floorboard creaks under her.
One of the men downstairs stops watching and sees something dart away in a flash of color. He grunts, and thinks back to the bar, when Neil had been talking.
"Oi, didn't you say you had a neice living here?"
"How old is she?" Another asks, this one sounding more than curious.
"18 or something." The men smiled at one another, and for the first time, Neil had his doubts about this.
Then everything went black as a heavy marble knickknack came crashing down to the back of his head.
The men chuckle and finish up with Amy at the same time that Darcy puts Sophie in Jamie's arms.
"I'll bring back help," Jamie promises. Darcy nods, and picks up the snowglobe.
"Santoff Claussen!" The luminescent portal opens in a swirling vortex when it hits the ground, and Darcy pushes Jamie through.
Darcy feels the adrenaline pump through her veins as the situation is processed again. Without hesitating, she strides to the medium sized, maple box on the desk. It's almost dull, compared to the strange treasures that the kids had played with. She pulls the key from under a jade tiger and unlocks it, but instead of a lid, a small compartment opened cleanly. Reaching in, she cleanly plucks out a switchblade razor.
She hadn't touched it since she'd left Ireland, but she'd kept it sharp enough to slice just about anything back then. It goes without saying that it isn't dull.
So much for never again, right Daddy? Darcy thinks wryly, with a shrill giggle.
(Line)
It had been raining for a week steady, and the little brook at the bottom of the property had flooded. The thunder had boomed like a bass drum in the sky, and lightning flared with irregular intervals like white hot veins in the darkness of the clouds.
She'd been holed up in her room for that week, only coming out when her father had passed out on the couch or had stumbled into the bathroom, or outside, whichever came first. As for the present, he'd gone down to the pub HOURS ago, and secretly Darcy had prayed he'd drown in a ditch at the bottom of the road, since the cheap bastard wouldn't pay to get the car fixed.
It was warm in her room; she was wrapped tightly in a quilt, a steaming cup of tea beside her, a stack of books were there as well.
Darcy was as relaxed as she could be, and even though she was processing the words in front of her, she was also thinking a mile a minute; her father was getting worse, and she wouldn't be able to take this forever.
What had once been guilting had since turn to verbal bashing, and had finally gone physical; the bruises on her upper arms were proof enough of that. Before, she had thought that if she could just handle it until she was old enough to move out, but now that plan was going out the window. Very, very quickly.
"DARCY! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, LAZY BRAT!" Something crashed in the hallway, and Darcy sighed shutting the book gently and standing up.
She exited her room and immediately knew that something was worse tonight.
Those thoughts were confirmed when her father loomed over her, a hulking figure that staggered and smelled like alcohol, urine and tobacco.
"Where were you?" He hissed; Darcy marveled that, as foxed as he was, he was still able to talk clearly.
"My room Father." He sneered, his lip curling up in defiance.
"Yeah?"
"Yes, sir." No sooner had the last word passed her lips then her father had surged forward, pinning her easily to the wall, leaning forward so that they were nearly nose to nose. There was a kind of raw hate in his eyes that struck Darcy to her core.
"You killed her, you little brat! You killed my wife, your own mother! How could you you little-"
"I didn't kill her!" Darcy choked out; by now he'd gotten his meaty hands around her throat and was choking the life out of her. Faced by the imminent probability of her death (again), Darcy kicked up and hard, connecting with her father's genitals.
Connor Malone let out a shout of pain and lessened his grip for a single moment, and in that moment, Darcy had burst out from under his grip and instinctively run to her room. Connor let out a bellow of pain and rage and stumbled after her shouting threats. Darcy was used to those, and kept going, opening the door just enough to bolt in and she threw her weight against it, trying to block Connor entry. But a 5'10'' teenager is no match for a 6'4'' former offensive linebacker and dock worker. Even drunk, Connor was brutally and incredibly strong.
"OPEN THE DOOR!"
"GO 'WAY!" Darcy screamed desperately, trying to think of something to do even as she felt him begin pushing harder on the door. Her eyes flickered wildly, breaths coming in gasps, before her eyes landed on the thin switchblade that Michael had given her the day she left. He was the only one who knew about her father's steadying decline; he had hugged her and pressed it into her hands, with a whispered 'be safe, Darce.' She'd only ever opened it to sharpen, which she did when she was annoyed or upset, and the razor couldn't help.
No, she couldn't seriously be considering…
But then he slammed against the door so hard Darcy went sprawling to the floor, she tried to grasp onto the nightstand but only succeeded in sending the tea and books tumbling to the floor.
For a moment there was silence, and neither moved, and Darcy risked a glance up at Connor, who was looking at her with a strange light that frightened her to the core.
"You look just like your mother, Darcy," he whispered, and she was disgusted to see tears in his eyes. "Just like Aurora." He took a step closer, and she realized that this wasn't just a regular fight, or even a beating, no, this was going to be something worse.
Darcy backpedaled, saying things a mile a minute, as fast as she could come up with them. The switchblade was in the drawer of her desk, if she could just make it there…
"Dad, I'm not mom! I'm Darcy, I'm your daughter! Please Dad, just go lay down in the living room, we'll talk in the morning!" She begged, even though the words tasted like ashes. She knew that he wouldn't let this go, and that she was only buying herself time to arm herself.
Connor took a step closer, and Darcy kept scooting back; without realizing it, she was developing a plan, and backed herself into the wall, she tucked her feet under her and waited until he was nearly at her, and then she flew at him. Using her feet, Darcy propelled herself forward and then used the momentum to duck under her father's clumsy attempt to grab her and nearly crashed into the desk.
Connor roared in rage and swiveled around, he didn't pause in his movements and then rushed at her from behind; Darcy had just gotten her grip on the knife when he got an arm around her neck, crushing at her windpipe.
"Oh, 'Rora, I missed you," he whispered into her ear, Darcy flailed, struggling and fighting, before she pressed the button and the blade slipped cleanly out (slicing open her palm) and stabbed it into Connor's arm.
"YOU LITTLE BRAT!" He roared, releasing his grip, Darcy spun on her heel to face him, the blade held out in front of her in defense; her hands trembled and she felt like she was going to be sick.
"Come near me again, try it, and your guts are gonna be all over the floor," she panted, and for the first time, sobriety and fear seemed to dawn in Connor's eyes.
"You wouldn't, not to your own da'."
"You aren't my father; the moment you started blaming me for Mom's death, that's when I stopped considering you my father. You're a bitter, miserable old drunk who beats on his daughter. I hope you rot in hell. And if you ever touch me again, I'll send you there myself, old man." Darcy sounded older, proud, and dignified, an she meant every word that she said, even if she'd never fully processed it before.
Connor Malone looked at Darcy and sneered, and took another step, a low laugh building in his throat.
"You're weak, Darcy. You always have been. A coward. You don't have the guts to end my life." Darcy faltered for half a second, and in that second, Connor rushed at her again.
Without thinking about it, Darcy took that switchblade and sliced up, high as she could reach; there was a spray of blood, and moment of disbelief, before Darcy realized what had happened; she'd instinctively cut her father's jugular.
Connor stood staring down at his daughter in shock, before his large body collapsed, the blood staining the entire front of his shirt and jeans, and soaking into the rug.
Darcy watched him twitch his last twitch and gasp his last breath; she waited until he was good and dead, before she calmly went into the kitchen and called the police.
(Line)
There had been no charges brought against her, because it was so obvious that it was a life or death situation. Although she'd really liked Ireland, Darcy couldn't stand the way people in the village would stare at her and whisper when she went to get groceries, so she left.
Darcy hasn't ever felt any sort of guilt against killing the old bastard; but she figured she had enough to make up for in the afterlife, and swore not to do anything like that again.
Darcy picks up her cell phone, and dials 911.
"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?"
"My name is Darcy Malone; I live with the Bennett's on 821 Devlin Street, off Iron Road; my Aunt's been attacked by my Uncle and several of his friends. They're downstairs now, and I know that my life is in danger. Send someone out quickly, please."
"Okay, Miss Malone, but how does your aunt look?"
"Pardon?"
"I mean, dear, did those little piss ants that I sent send enough of a message to you and Amy?" A cold feeling dawns on Darcy, as the pleasant operator's voice morphs into something more sinister and less feminine.
"Ombric?" She whispers, realizing exactly how much trouble she's in.
"Oh yes. I know that the Guardians have spoken with Pitch, and I also know that their little feint won't work. Congratulations, by the way, on realizing who I was so quickly."
"Wat do you want?"
"You, Darcy." A pause. "Your magic is what I'm after, and I'm willing to give you the chance to give it up."
"I'm not discussing this on the phone, and I'm sure you realize that this isn't the time-"
"My dear, I am the Lord of Time; I'm sure that I can spare you a few minutes' conversation for something so important." Darcy whirls around and sees the old man leaning heavily on his staff.
"How in the hell-"
"Magic of course. Magic that I could teach you. Think about it, Darcy; all the strange things that tend to happen around you, all the power that you have. I can help you harness it, and channel it. We could rule the world, you and I; the last two Atlantians." His unpleasant flint eyes sparkle greedily at the spot, and Darcy shivers.
"What if I say no?"
"Then I make your life hell. Time is a powerful thing that deserves respect, but I'll use everything in my arsenal to ruin you, to break you and to ensure that no one will ever want you. And that's not all. I'll ruin Jamie and Sophie too." Ombric threatens, pointing a crooked finger at Darcy. "I'll take everything that you love, an I'll destroy it all." Darcy's breath catches in her throat; he's half mad, and he isn't lying, no way. The old bastard will do anything to have her, and she knows it.
"Go fuck yourself." She hisses, making Ombric sigh dramatically.
"Oh, my dear, I was so hoping that it wouldn't come to this, but alas, some things cannot be avoided, I suppose." Darcy blinks, and then he's gone.
For a moment, she doesn't move, but then someone starts pounding on her door.
(Line)
Jamie tumbled out of the portal to the floor of Santoff Claussen, and breaks into a run, screaming for all the Guardians and ignoring Sophie cry of confusion as she wakes up.
"NORTH! NORTH! JACK! BUNNY, TOOTH, SANDY! ANYONE, PLEASE HELP!" Jamie screamed as loud as he could, he ran through the workshop, screaming at the top of his lungs at the yeti and the elves to get North, to get the Guardians, that Darcy is in trouble, and that his mother may be dead.
The yeti rush him to North, and interrupt the meeting between the Guardians and Pitch. Jamie glanced at Pitch and gasped, but he wasn't afraid.
"Jamie, what is wrong?" North asked, Jamie realized he still had vomit on him and then burst into tears.
"DARCY'S IN TROUBLE! MY DAD CAME HOME AN' AN' HE HURT MY MOM, AN' I GOT DARCY BUT SHE WOULDN'T COME WITH ME AN' SOPHIE, SHE JUST SENT US AHEAD TO GET YOU, YOU GOTTA HELP HER, MY MOM MIGHT BE DEAD!" Without wasting have a second the Gaurdians sprang into action, Tooth and Sandy flew off, Bunny and Jack disappeared down one of the many rabbit holes, and even Pitch phased out, into the darkness, flying through the many shadow paths as fast as he could.
Only one though existed in Pitch's mind, Please hold on.
(Line)
Darcy doesn't know exactly what it is that Jamie might tell the Guardians, so, trapped in her room as she is, she cuts open her finger and presses the blood to the diagram that she had drawn minutes before.
She sends the images to North, Bunny, Jack and Pitch; images and snippets of what she'd heard. She doesn't want to tell them about Ombric in this manner, so she withholds the information until they're face to face.
"OPEN UP!"
"COME ON BEAUTIFUL, WE WON'T HURT YOU!" There was a general guffaw, and then she heard the lock click.
For a moment, she's confused, but then she remembers; Ombric.
Darcy holds the blade in her hand and watches as the men file in, smiling crookedly at her and running their eyes up and down her frame; Darcy is disgusted, but keeps the mask in place.
"Wow, aren't you a little bombshell?"
"What were you doing hiding up here?"
"Care to have some fun?" Their eyes glint evilly and Darcy sneers, clicking open the blade.
"No."
"Too bad, babe, cuz we're horny, and I'm willing to bet you've never fucked a man before." And the man sauntered forward; Darcy was smaller than him by only an inch or two, and drove the knife deep into the would-be attacker's eye. The man screamed, struck out, landing solid hit too Darcy, and another rushed at her, driving his fist into her ribs; Darcy let out a strangled sort of gasp and then they were upon her all at once.
Darcy had never known such pain or humiliation in her life, and screamed; she refused to beg as they beat her, or as they tore at her clothes. Please, she thought, don't let this happen. How could the MiM just let her suffer like this? Hadn't he said he wanted to help her along?
But then, a skeptical part of her mind, whispers, didn't he also say that he had rules to follow? Darcy screamed in rage as one of the men ripped he shirt to shreds, exposing her black bra.
"Hot damn, she's fine," one of them grunted, undoing his pants; someone held her arms down, and two others grabbed her legs to hold her still.
And then Pitch arrived.
Darcy looked at him desperately, at the only thing that could save her.
She didn't beg, she didn't plead. Not out loud. But her eyes spoke volumes, and Pitch understood her, just as if she'd been screaming at him. With a snap of his fingers, the shadows had dragged the bastards off her, kicking and screaming as they were devoured by the darkness of their worst nightmares.
Pitch can only watch as Darcy sits up and begins to cry silently.
The part of him that recognized Darcy as his mate wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but he couldn't do that; she'd never expect it, and it would only frighten her farther.
"Are you alright?"
"No, no I'm not. They, they nearly…" She couldn't finish the words, and Pitch couldn't blame her. He coughed and looked away, before absently plucking an emerald long sleeve from the top of a box and handing it to her, awkwardly.
Darcy takes it and whispers, 'thank you', for lack of what to say, and pulled it on.
"You did a spell." Pitch says, finally as Darcy pulls her pants up.
"Hm?"
"You, sent a message to us, when we were coming, about what was going on. Is it that book that MiM gave you?"
"Yeah. Yeah it was."
They don't need to say anything else, because there is nothing left to say. It's enough.
When everyone else arrives, Darcy doesn't tell them everything, just asks them to help her with Amy.
Neither her or Pitch mention the men's attempt.
Okay, things might get a little ooc from here out; I'm doing my best to keep it similar, but I'm seriously tweaking with the story, and I need a little slack, folks. Review if you want more, and sorry if the violence wasn't what I was alluding to, but, you know, that kind of stuff is really hard for me to write.