Page 5 of What Is Dark Within Me

“This little thing knows the witchling who trapped me,” the spirit—Garm—said. A drop of hot saliva hit the back of Aleja’s neck.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t find yourself in that sort of predicament if you didn’t sneak out whenever you saw an opportunity.”

“Please help me,” Aleja managed, hardly caring that this unfamiliar voice seemed on speaking terms with an Otherlander.

There was a sharp inhalation followed by silence.

“Get off hernow,” the voice snapped.

The word hit like a lightning strike, and the spirit backed off her torso. She could finally take a deep breath, nearly choking on the mouthful of blood she swallowed with it. Aleja rolled onto her back as the weight on her legs disappeared. She barely noticed the cracked shards of the compact digging into her.

“You,” said the man. There was some emotion in the voice, something she couldn’t interpret, but it hurt so much to breathe she couldn’t focus on anything else. Her head dropped to the side. What had once been the silhouette of a monster now resembled a Doberman with a silver collar around its neck. It watched her for a moment, a bright pink tongue lolling out of its mouth, before trotting back to the man who had intervened to save her.

“You are averybad dog,” the man said. This put a stop to the Doberman’s wagging. It slumped at the man’s feet with a whine.

She finally got a look at her savior; he was not dressed for an evening jog in the park with his dog. He wore a dark suit over a dark shirt and his warm complexion was paired with wavy, black hair. But it was his eyes she could not look away from.

In the dark, they shone like silver.

It was as if someone had jolted her heart with electricity to keep her alive. Aleja had seen his face before. She was certain of it. But even with the weight of the dog gone, the dizziness was worsening. She tried to speak, to tell them she needed an ambulance, but the words couldn’t make it past the blood in her mouth.

“You know her?” the dog asked quietly.

“We’ll speak of it later,” the man answered. “I need to get you home before you find another way to give me a headache. I hope you’re ready for six years in this body, because that’s your punishment for running off again.”

The dog whined again but didn’t argue.

“Wait,” Aleja tried. She managed a sound—a cough.

The man’s gaze met hers. Even as the rest of the world faded away, the silver in his eyes was bright enough to make her squint. It was all so familiar—the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones, the thick eyebrows, and the elegant fingers that curled beneath his chin as he watched her bleed out.

“Shall we go?” the dog said.

It was the last thing Aleja heard before she blinked and found she could not open her eyes again.

* * *

Aleja’s great-great-grandfather—Alfonso—wasconsidered the most skilled fencer in the sport’s history. It was his winnings that had paid for the sprawling Miami villa where Aleja grew up. His brother, Felix, was a chess grandmaster whose top ranking never once slipped. And Basilio, their youngest sibling, was such a virtuoso with Flamenco guitar that he was rumored to have sold his soul to the devil. Gossip he happily played into.

They were the ones to strike the deal with the Knowing One. One hundred and fifty years of fame, fortune, and power for the three men who’d lit black candles and summoned an Otherlander known for his wicked bargains. The price was simple; three of their descendants to settle the debt.

Aleja’s aunt had suffered what was likely the Knowing One’s most creative murder. She’d turned into a flock of crows at a family soccer game. Aleja’s great-uncle, Tito, had walked into the darkness of a long hall and never returned. And Catalina, Aleja’s grandmother, one day fell asleep in her favorite armchair and remained in the dreamworld ever since.

But Aleja’s grandmother still visited her occasionally.

“Abuela?” Aleja asked, as she found herself on an unfamiliar beach. Palm trees dotted the cliffs, and high on the mountain were ruins that shouldn’t have been in one of her dreams at all. The old family castle in Spain, perhaps. Catalina must have stayed there once.

Her grandmother crouched in the sand, making a fort. Pieces of gothic architecture narrowed and swelled in ways only dream-logic could allow.

“You should be careful when you search for what is missing. You will findsomething, even if it’s not what you were looking for.”

Aleja sighed, crossing her legs carefully so as not to disturb her grandmother’s creation. “Can you not do the cryptic stuff today? I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding to death in a park right now. Oh my god, the podcasters are going to have a field day with this. Maybe Violet and I will get a joint special.”

Her grandmother ignored her. “Look, here. I have something to show you.”

Catalina pointed at one of the elaborately carved windows of her sand sculpture, and Aleja resisted the urge to sigh again. Even in her death throes, she knew better than to insult one of the elder Ruiz women. She closed one eye as she peered in.

Beyond the detailed panes of glass was what looked like her room. As usual, her bed was unmade, and a stack of art history textbooks sat atop the desk she hadn’t used since dropping out of grad school. Even yesterday’s jeans were draped over the hamper.

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