The Darkest Night. Gena Showalter
be her salvation, as well.
Oddly enough, she hadn’t led the Institute to Budapest, as was usually the case with a new assignment. She hadn’t heard a word about Budapest, in fact, in any of the recent conversations she’d tapped into. But they had brought her here anyway, asking her to listen for any discussions about demons.
She knew better than to ask why. The answer, no matter the question, was always the same: classified.
When she had done as ordered, she’d learned that a few of the locals considered the men living atop this hill to be demons. Evil, wicked. Most, however, considered them angels. Angels who kept to themselves—all but one, that is, who reputedly liked bedding anything female and had been dubbed the Orgasm Instructor by a giggling trio who had spent a “single, glorious” night with him. Angels who, through their presence alone, kept the crime levels low. Angels who poured money into the community and made sure the homeless were fed.
Ashlyn herself doubted such do-gooders were possessed. Demons were invariably malicious, unconcerned with those around them. But whether the men were angels living on earth or simply ordinary people capable of doing extraordinary things, she prayed they could help her as no one else had been able to. She prayed they could teach her how to block the voices or even help strip her of her ability completely.
The thought was intoxicating, and her lips lifted in a slow smile. That smile quickly faded, however, as another blast of wind cut through her jacket and sweater and seeped into her skin. She’d been out here for more than an hour, and she was chilled to the bone. Stopping to rest (again) hadn’t been the smartest of plans.
Her gaze climbed the hill. Through a break in the clouds, a sudden ray of amber light poured down and illuminated the massive charcoal-colored castle. Mist curled from the bottom, beckoning her with ghostly fingers. The place looked exactly as the voice had said, she mused, shadowed and spiked along the top, a horror movie come to life.
That didn’t deter her. Quite the opposite. I’m almost there, she thought happily, once again trudging uphill. Her thighs already burned from dodging limbs and jumping over elevated roots, but she didn’t care. She kept moving.
Until, ten minutes later, she found herself stopping for the thousandth time, unable to walk another step as her shaky, tired thighs morphed into blocks of ice. “No,” she moaned. Not now. Rubbing her legs to warm them, she studied the distance again. Her eyes widened when she realized that the castle didn’t appear any closer. In fact, it might have been farther away.
Ashlyn shook her head in astonished despair. Damn it! What did she have to do to reach the place? Sprout wings and fly?
Even if I fail, I don’t regret coming here. The no provisions and no planning part, yeah, she regretted that, but she’d had to try. No matter how foolish, she’d simply had to try. She would have made the journey naked and barefoot if necessary. Anything for a chance at normalcy.
She loved that she helped safeguard the world with her—gag—gift, but the torment she endured was too much. Surely there was another way for her to help. With a little silence, she might be able to think of how. Deep-breathing exercises and meditation only did so much for her peace of mind.
She rubbed her legs more frantically, the ministrations finally melting some of the internal ice and spurring her back into motion. Ök itt. Tudom ök, she heard as she stepped past a hunched, gnarled tree. They’re here, her mind instantly translated, I know they are.
Then someone else said, Aren’t you a pretty thing?
“Yes, I am, thank you,” she said, hoping the sound of her own voice would overshadow the others. It didn’t. Deep breath in, deep breath out.
As she continued to slog forward, different conversations from different time periods drifted into her awareness, stacking one on top of the other in her mind. Most were spoken in Hungarian, some in English, and that made them all the more jumbled.
Yes. Yes! Touch me. There, yes, there.
Bárhol as én kardom? En nem tudom holvan.
One more taste of his lips, and I’ll forget him. I just need one more taste.
Ashlyn stumbled over twigs and rocks, the words blending together, growing louder. Louder still. Her heart drummed in her chest and she barely refrained from screaming in frustration. Deep breath in, deep breath—
If you knock on the door, you’ll be fucked like an animal and I guarantee you’ll love every minute of it.
She covered her ears, even though she knew that wouldn’t work, either. “Keep going. Find them.” More wind. More voices. “Keep going,” she repeated, the words chiming in harmony with her footsteps. She’d come all this way; she could make it a little farther. “Find them.”
When she’d told Dr. McIntosh, vice president of the Institute as well as her boss and mentor, what she’d learned about the men, he’d given her a brief nod and a brisk “Well done”—his highest form of praise.
Then she’d asked to be taken to the chateau atop this imposing hill.
“Not a chance,” he’d said, turning away from her. “They could be the demons some of the locals paint them.”
“Or they could very well be the angels most of the locals consider them.”
“You’re not going to risk it, Darrow.” That’s when he’d ordered her to pack her bags and readied a car for her departure to the airport, just as he always did when her part of the job—providing the ears—was done.
It was “standard agency procedure,” he always claimed, yet he never sent the rest of the workers home. Just her. McIntosh cared about her and wanted her safe, she knew that. After all, he’d seen to her care for more than fifteen years, taking her under his wing when she’d been a scared child whose parents hadn’t known how to ease their “gifted” daughter’s torment. He’d even read her fairy tales to teach her that the world was a place of magic and endless possibilities, a place where nobody—not even someone like her—had to feel odd.
While he did care, she also knew her ability was important to his career, that the Institute would not be half as effective without her and that as a result, she was something of a pawn in his eyes. That’s why she didn’t feel (too) guilty for sneaking here the moment his back was turned.
Fingers numb, Ashlyn once again smoothed her hair from her face. Maybe she should have taken the time to ask the locals for the best route, but the voices had been too loud, too incapacitating in the heart of the city. More than that, she’d been afraid an Institute employee would see her and take her in.
Might have been worth taking her chances, though, to avoid this debilitating cold.
There’s one way to learn the truth. Stab one in the heart and see if he dies, a voice said, snagging her attention.
Oh, that feels good. Please, more!
Distracted, Ashlyn tripped over a fallen limb. Down she tumbled, landing with a pained gasp. Sharp rocks abraded her palms and scratched at her jeans. For a long while, she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Too cold, she thought. Too loud.
As she lay there, her strength seemed to drain completely. Her temples throbbed, the voices still bombarding her. Closing her eyes, she pulled the lapels of her jacket tight and managed to crawl to and huddle against the base of a tree.
We shouldn’t be here. They see everything.
Are you hurt?
Look what I found! Isn’t it pretty?
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she shouted. Of course, the voices didn’t listen to her. They never did.
Dare you to run through the trees naked.
Éhes vagyok. Kaphatok