Dark gIFts

  A Dark Allegiance Book

  By

  Imani l Hawkins

  Copyright

  © Imani L. Hawkins, Dark Gifts: A Dark Allegiance Book

  Published by Pyramese Publishing Group

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission, contact:

  author@imanilhawkins.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Credits: Cover Art by Pyramese Cover Designs

  Stock Images by: Neostock, Bewitching Book Stock, and Starscoldnight on Deviant Art

  Acknowledgments

  It just wouldn’t be right if I didn’t acknowledge the people who’ve been there with me through this long journey.

  I would like to thank my husband and children for putting up with the long days and nights seated at the computer instead of spending time with them. Your sacrifices haven’t gone unnoticed, and I know you will make me pay for that! Haha

  To my mother who has always believed in me and pushed me to continue pursuing my dreams.

  Also, to my writing sister, who is always there for me to bounce ideas off of and motivate me to continue.

  i am naomi

  The cold was all-consuming. Not like one of those colds where the wind blew icy tendrils against your bare skin, causing your teeth to clatter and your limbs to shake. This cold was much worse. It bit into my skin, seeping into bone and thickening the blood that seemed to crawl through my veins, and I felt every agonizing moment of it. My mind was in a state of constant fog, deprived of the amount of oxygen necessary for me to think clearly but being given enough to keep me alive. My heartbeat was but a whisper in my chest, the thuds so slight I barely felt them. At times I found myself wondering if it were beating at all, hoping and praying it had ceased it unnecessary desire to keep me alive. I didn’t want to be alive. Not with the pain that was a constant since the moment they took me, or the realization I’d broken the mind of a young girl who’d yet to live a full life for my own purposes.

  I pried my head to the side, wishing I could feel the softness of the pillow as I laid my cheek against it. The gentle hums of machinery filled the large room, bouncing from the walls along with incessant beeps and pings that seemed to increase in intensity everytime I moved. And every single time that intensity increased, it acted like a beacon for the ones who’d held me captive in the facility. They’d shove through the wooden door, checking the monitors to ensure I still received the proper amount of sedatives to keep me compliant.

  A man stepped into my view, glancing down at me with deep brown eyes that carried malice and disgust. His gaze snaked down my body, appraising me, before meeting my eyes. His thin lips flattened into a straight line as he combed his fingers through strands of salt and pepper hair, shaking his head.

  “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” he asked in that sing song tone a parent would give a toddler.

  With a smirk, he scratched at the stubble on his chin, his eyes alight with humor and some other emotion I couldn’t quite get a handle on. Turning his back to me, he adjusted the settings on the machine that delivered the sedative to me, cranking it up as he’d always done when he visited. Shrugging out of his sweater, he pulled a stool next to me before plopping himself into it.

  Then, he waited. He waited for the drug to take effect, for my eyes to grow heavy as I battled to remain conscious, jerking my head about and straining against the restraints the held my limbs in place. I called on my magic but whatever drug they had pumping through my system kept it beneath my reach. Darkness formed in the corners of my vision, pushing toward the center until finally I was defeated. The last thing I felt before the darkness consumed me was his hand caressing my forehead, pushing my curls from my face.

  I never knew what happened during the times I was forced to sleep. All I knew was that I’d wake up cold, my muscles aching as if I’d run a marathon while carrying a hundred pounds of weight. In the beginning, I’d thought…Well, its best not to mention what I thought but I’d been wrong. The wrong parts of me ached for that to have been the case and from what I could tell, the doctor took his experiments seriously.

  I conjured up enough spit to swallow down the lump that formed in my throat, though it had been difficult. My mouth was dry, devoid of even an ounce of fluid from lack of water. I could feel my stomach contracting at the thought of water, food, sustenance that had been denied me since my capture. I’d known hunger. I’d known what it felt like to starve. The painful way your stomach claws at you as if trying to eat you from the inside is only to sustain it. The longing that brought you to the point of violence as your body fought desperately for survival.

  I’d felt it those first few nights on the streets after I’d been tossed out of The Circle, magic wielders who felt me nothing more than a burden and a traitor once the humans began turning their backs on us. I’d slept at a bus stop that night with nothing but thin jacket to shield me from the cold February rains in Channingsburg, Nevada with only fifty cents in my pocket. I thought myself lucky I’d eaten a full meal that night before being tossed into the street. How wrong I was. I woke up the next morning to the sound of traffic and a man poking at me, imploring me to remove myself from the only bench beneath the glass shelter erected by the city to shield the travelers from the elements.

  Cold and wet, I’d walked a few blocks down First Street, past a Thai restaurant that had me salivating at the smells that slipped through the cracks of the closed doors. My stomach clenched at the smell, demanding to be fed, but fifty cents wouldn’t have gotten me much, not with the prices being charged for a simple plate of food. I’d sauntered by, my boots slapping against the concrete sidewalk. A hundred years ago, fifty cents may have bought me a loaf of bread and some sandwich meat, but in 2048, it wouldn’t even give me a slice of bread.

  Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I felt the gentle edges of my bank chip and my heart flipped in my chest. I was struck immediately with relief before a feeling of stupidity settled over me. I’d spent the night beneath the glass shelter, freezing to death when I could have easily gotten a hotel room had I thought about it.

  Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I stalked across Main Street to a quaint little bistro I’d frequented over the last few months. They didn’t serve the best meals in the city but their sirloin with wild mushroom sauce called to me in a way no other cuisine had. Not to mention they had an ATM nestled between the kitchen and the bar.

  I pushed open the glass doors, stalking toward the hostess that stood behind a mahogany pedestal with a grin plastered to her face. Her dark eyes raked over me, assessing me as she’d done multiple times, before she led me to a booth, sitting me close to a window, and laying a menu on the table. Once I was seated, she turned on her heel and left me there to peruse the menu.

  I feigned interest in the menu while my gaze darted around the restaurant. Others eyeballed me with a scrutiny I couldn’t understand, their nose turned up as if the stench of rain and sweat had touched their noses. Slumping down in my seat, I realized I must have looked like a homeless bum to them. My braids were wet against my back and my clothes clung to my skin by a sheen of sweat, rain water, and whatever else lurked between cloth and skin. I imagined my makeup was flawed, smeared across my face while rivers of mascara flowed down my cheeks. But that mattered little to me as my stomach clinched within me, begging for sustenance I was willing to provide.

  I looked up, searching for the waitress to take my order. I found her in a dark corner of the restaurant, waving her arms about as she spoke to the manager, their eyes dancing back and forth between each other and me. I wasn’t sure why all the theatrics, but I was beginning to grow tired of the display. I raised my hand into the air, summoning them toward me and adding a touch of magic to make sure they complied. Sure enough, they stepped toward me, coming to stand in front of my table.

  “I’d like to place my order now,” I said, the words coming out a demand. “I would like…”

  “You need to leave,” the waitress said, sounding disgusted. “You can’t be here.”

  I scoffed at that. I’d spent plenty of money in the establishment. I’d even tipped her more than she deserved, even after she’d ignored me and made it her personal quest to belittle me. I, at least, deserved to have a meal.

  She flashed me a smile that read condescension, something she’d done every time I’d eaten there. Were it not for their low prices and sirloin dish, I never would have come back after the first time. I watched as she reached for my menu, snatching it from my hand. Had I been anywhere else, I would have spelled her.

  I tossed her an agitated glare, but she didn’t budge. The same smile was plastered to her face as she raised a hand and pointed toward the exit.

  Glancing around for the manager, I spotted her in the same place, her arms folded across an ample chest and her thin lips pressed into a straight line. Blonde curls fell into her face, hiding her eyes from me but I could sense I would get no satisfaction from her.

  “Do you mind if I use the ATM, at least?”

  The waitress stood to the side as I slid from the booth. She followed me closely as I made my way to the ATM and pushed my chip into the small slit on the side. A thin red strip of light scanned my face before the display came to life with a 3D rendered version of myself staring up at me. Why they thought using the customer’s own face would make us feel comfortable, I didn’t know. But it always disarmed me when the render spoke in mechanical version of my own voice.

  “Hello, Naomi. How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to make a withdrawal.”

  “Please press your hand to the screen.”

  I did as directed, placing my hand over the face long enough for it to scan my fingerprints. Once that was done, it was another moment’s wait while it accessed my bank records.

  The waitress peered over my shoulder. I could feel her breath on my neck as the screen came to life once again.

  “I’m sorry, Naomi. It appears your account has been overdrawn. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  The waitress snickered behind me, finally stepping back, as my heart dropped to the floor.

  “By how much?”

  “Four thousand dollars and zero cents,” the mechanical voice stated with no inflection in its tone.

  I didn’t have to guess why my account was suddenly in the arears. Most of the money I had left were from donations from the community of magic wielders who’d before appreciated the sacrifice I’d made two decades before. They’d even been the ones to set up the account for me. They’d been happy to make regular deposits into the account, enough money for me to live comfortably. That was before I’d been cast out. The irony of the balance wasn’t lost on me. Executive order 4K was a codeword they used to label anyone they considered a threat or a traitor.

  Tears sprang to my eyes as I considered what this meant for me. I’d known they’d been serious about no longer wanting to help me, but I never for a second thought they’d categorize me as 4K. Not after all I’d done for them over the last twenty years.

  “Looks like someone is having money troubles,” the waitress called, loud enough to turn a few heads in my direction.

  Laughter filled the room as humans and mysts alike found merriment in my predicament, merriment I was far from feeling as the ramifications hit me all at once. I was alone, utterly and completely. With no money for food and no one out there to offer me shelter, I was doomed to starve among the lost and homeless in the alleyways of Channingsburg, living beneath a shelter of taped together cardboard boxes and trash bags.

  And that’s where she found me, constantly on the brink of starvation in an alleyway nestled between two buildings. She’d meant to take me in, to take away my freedom, or better yet, my life. Not that I could entirely blame her. I’d killed her father, after all, at a time when she’d been young and already dealing with the loss of her mother. She’d carried that with her all these years, vengeance spurring her forward, taking over her life as she pursued me.

  As I lay on the bed, surrounded by white walls under heavy sedation, I regretted everything that brought me to that place, every step I’d taken to secure a brighter future for wielders and otherworldly creatures who’d tarried away in darkness for centuries. And most of all, I regretted feeling something for this girl who’d managed to see me into the hands of FOP.

  I am Naomi. An enchantress. A daughter of the moon and sun. And this is my story.

  One

  “Are you guys hearing this?” Colleen asked, thrusting a finger toward the holographic projection.

  In the center of the room stood a hologram of a dark-skinned woman with dark braids that swung down her hips as she darted across the stage to kill the senator. It was a scene she’d seen over and over throughout the years, a scene that has brought mixed reaction from the Myst community.

  As with every society, the Mysts had always operated under a set of rules themselves. The most important: Never speak of their abilities to humans. Though most hated the fact they’d been forced to hide their true nature, especially given how humans seemed to evolve their thinking over time and accept people of multiple races, gender, and sexuality, magic was something the higher ups were afraid humans would not accept.

  Seated on the couch in front of the projector, Colleen found herself shivering as a cold draft pushed into the room from beneath the front door. But that wasn’t the only thing that had her shaking, she realized as anxiety thrummed through her. The ceiling overhead creaked as the building settled around her. That was the thing about being shunned from the Myst community. There was no where to go except for long abandoned buildings just beyond the city’s border and she could hear every groan and creak as the foundation shifted beneath them. It kept her up nearly every night, though it did nothing to disturb the extracurricular activities taking place in the room across the hall from her.

  She glanced back at Sam and Jonathan, rolling her eyes. The two lovebirds were wrapped around each other so tight she doubted she could force a crowbar between them. Returning her attention to projection in front of her, she watched as a woman she knew all too well appeared before the camera, her expression grave yet determined. She stared into the camera, her forest green eyes full of emotion as she recalled the events from that day. With human eyes. Eyes that couldn’t see beyond the scope of humanity into the lives of people wo were far different than them. Eyes that belied her true intentions.

  Mary Shuman. Even to this day the name filled Colleen with fear and hatred so tangible she could feel it pressing down on her. Even were it not for the torment Colleen suffered at the woman’s hands, Mary had served as the perfect vehicle in which to spread hatred and violence toward Mysts. This time would be no different.

  “And this, people, is why we need to take a stand to protect ourselves from the dangers the Mysts pose. I’m not saying all Mysts are bad. However, they possess powers we have yet to understand.”

  Colleen grimaced as the woman spoke, her mind flitting back to the Salem Witch trials. It was propaganda such as this that created a hysteria that saw the humans killing their own kind. The sad truth, no Myst was executed. They’d learned to keep themselves separate from humans over thousands of years and, even if they’d managed to expose themselves, the lack of today’s technology would see them free from their captors grasp before anything could happen to them. That was another thing about humans. Fear what they can’t understand. Control what they fear the most. Destroy what they can’t control.

  Mary pointed a crooked finger toward someone in the audience and beaconed the person forward. A small child, perhaps eight or nine, with hair as dark as her chocolate eyes, walked towards the stage and stood beside Mary. She flinched when Mary placed a hand on her shoulder with a grip so tight Colleen could see the girl wince from the pain of it, but the little girl held her ground.

  “Would you like to tell these fine people who you are?” Mary asked in a sing-song voice one would give a three-year-old. Condescension weighted every word.

  The young girl shook her head and Colleen could see what could only be described as glitter being tossed about by those chestnut curls as they swayed. She was fae, just like Sam who sat behind her, shoving her tongue down Jonathan’s throat, only she had come into her powers much younger than Sam had, considering her lack of control over her magical features. Her eyes sparkled colors of blues and pinks, serving as a mood stone would to display the emotional state the girl was in. If Colleen was right, blues and pinks were often associated with determination and fear, and the thought angered her even more.

  Mary shoved at the girl, a bit too forcefully, but no one protested her actions. Instead, they seemed to cheer her on as she demanded the girl look into the camera and give her story.

  In a small timid voice, the girl introduced herself to the world. “My name is Jessica.”

  “And can you tell the audience why you are here, Jessica?”

  “I made a boy in my class sick.” Jessica stated, lowering her gaze. “But it wasn’t my fault. He made all the other kids hate me. They kicked me and pulled my hair. They chased me home from school every day. Billy said I’m an abomination and I needed to die. He picked up scissors and I don’t know what I did to him but he stopped. That’s all I wanted.”

 

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