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  Rise at Twilight

  Rituals of the Night Series

  Book Four

  Kayla Krantz

  Dedication

  Not all who wander are lost.

  ~J.R.R. Tolkien

  Acknowledgements

  For my readers, without whom, I would be nothing, and who have continued to inspire me since book one.

  Rituals of the Night Series

  Book One: Dead by Morning

  Book Two: Alive at Sunset

  Book Three: Survive at Midnight

  Book Four: Rise at Twilight

  Prologue

  AMANDA FELT AS if she was drifting, a being between this world and the next. One moment she had been staring up, into the cold blue eyes of her past lover, and the next, she was here in this place she couldn’t make heads or tails of. The memories came in flashes—a knife, the storm, being covered in her own blood…drowning in it. She reached up, touching her throat. The skin that had been seared open so deep her head had nearly fallen off was whole, the skin formed back together with a rough ugly seam in her skin.

  Amanda wasn’t convinced. She hadn’t made the whole thing up—not something like that anyway. Her fingers prodded at the skin until it was raw, and eventually, she gave up. She had to accept it was real, that whatever this place was, it wasn’t her home. Groaning, she let her eyes flutter open, to see what she could see around her, but it was a blanket of white nothingness like she was lying in a field after the first real snowfall of winter. She swallowed, the pain in her dry throat making it difficult.

  The pain forced her into a new spiral of questions.

  If she was dead, where was she?

  And why did she still feel pain?

  “Greetings,” a great Voice boomed from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

  “Wh—” Amanda struggled to open her eyes again, pupils flicking from side to side, desperate to see another person in the seeming void around her. “Who’s there?”

  “Greetings, dear child,” the Voice said again. “This must all be very overwhelming for you.”

  Amanda wrinkled her face. Overwhelming diluted it. If she was really dead, if this was the afterlife, it wasn’t just overwhelming, she was completely incapable of processing it. “Am I…did I…die?” Amanda asked the only question she could force out of her mouth.

  “Your physical form departed the mortal Realm, yes,” the Voice replied.

  “But my throat is—”

  “That is not this place.”

  “Wh…where is here?” Amanda asked, feeling more uneasy for each minute that passed in which the speaker didn’t reveal himself.

  “That hardly matters,” the Voice said.

  Now Amanda didn’t feel wonder and confusion so much as anger. She didn’t know who this person was, or where he was, but for it to so blatantly disregard her feelings in her moment of despair was more than she could handle. Amanda opened her mouth, but before she could enter a word of argument, the Voice continued. “What does matter is that I have a job for you.”

  “A job?” Amanda asked and willed her eyes to open. The odd request cut her anger down, and again, she was confused and scared, a little girl in a grown-up body. She didn’t even know where she was and now she was being given a job? Did that mean she could have a place to live, friends, a life in the afterlife? Her mind was blown.

  “Everyone here, those who are pure of heart who seek redemption can do so by helping me keep this place running.”

  “So…this is Heaven?” Amanda asked, feeling the ah-ha moment slip over her. “And you’re God?”

  “Not quite in the traditional sense,” the Voice mused as if no one had ever asked that question before. “But if it helps you to adjust, then yes, this place can be thought of in that manner.”

  “Okay so what’s this job you spoke of?”

  “A lot of work goes into this place. Everyone has their own role, their own place. Some people watch for signs of trouble, some help guide lost spirits, and others take care of troublemakers.”

  “We…watch over the living?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Amanda pursed her lips, not satisfied for the answer. “Which one will I be doing?”

  “You? You’ll have the most important job in the Realm.”

  Chapter One

  THE GOD WORKED with the most painful memories a person had, that was what Amanda had come to learn. After she had agreed to its terms, the white nothingness had faded away, replaced with surroundings she recognized though she couldn’t exactly say she was happy to see them. She was in a forest, one on the edge of her hometown.

  This was a place she had explored many times over as a kid, ducking and dodging through the undergrowth with her classmates in a game of tag or hide-and-seek. Gazing upon it now left her feeling cold. She walked through the grass, not feeling it beneath her feet even though they were bare.

  The sound of footsteps behind her caused her to turn, and she almost felt her heart tumble into her stomach. There was a man behind her—that she could tell by the size of the figure alone. He was cloaked in a black robe with red trim, the hood coming up to cover his face. Amanda stood her ground, staring at the figure, and wondered if she should run. Slowly, he began to approach, and as he did, she realized he had something bundled in the crook of his arm.

  It was a baby.

  Her heart thudded with a new kind of unease. She didn’t trust whoever this was with the baby and looked between the shadows across his face to the tiny creature in his arms. Even though she had never been one for motherly instincts, she wanted to take the infant away and protect it. Wordlessly, the figure approached. Amanda stiffened, blinked, and when her eyes opened to full capacity once again, she realized the figure was handing her the baby.

  Swallowing, she looked up at him through her lashes, the angle so strained she was sure the whites of her eyes flashed. He said nothing as he farther extended the baby, setting it into the crook of Amanda’s arm before he stepped away. She expected him to speak, to give her orders or even to wish her luck, but he did neither. He turned and walked away.

  Amanda opened her mouth, ready to call after him, when the baby in her arms cooed, and she looked down, right into his blue eyes. They were familiar in a way that both sickened and surprised her. When she looked up again, the figure was gone and a chill swept across Amanda’s skin.

  Was this the job the Voice had told her of? Of all the scenarios she had pictured in her mind, in none of them had she been responsible for the care of an infant.

  “Hi, baby,” she said to it.

  The baby blinked at her, and that shiver of unease worked its way through her again. Even though it was the first thought in her head, she refused to entertain the thought that the eyes were familiar, that they matched the person who had killed her, so she didn’t. As a way of distraction, she began to walk through the woods without a plan in her head.

  First, she had to get away from the familiarity and the faceless figure she was sure still watched her from a distance. The more she walked, the more she began to realize just how impossible of a mission that would really be. As quickly as she had begun to move, she stopped. Ahead of her were the ruins of an old, burned down home. While she had been dumbfounded at the sight of the figure, this image left her feeling as if her body might go into a full nervous breakdown.

  When she had been a child, this place had been her home—the only one she had known in her entire life. Then the fire happened, the one which killed her brother, Seth, and she never thought about it again. It was easier to take all those memories and lock them away in a little box in the back of her mind, one labeled Do Not Open, because to open them hurt worse than anything in her life.

  Amanda clutched the infant
tighter to her chest, on the verge of tears. She had agreed to take on this responsibility because the Voice had promised redemption, had promised her a gift…had promised her so much. This memory, this place, did not tick any of those categories.

  This was a punishment. On top of the bundle in her arms, she began to wonder if this was somehow Hell. Maybe Hell wasn’t a creation of fire, darkness, and agony, maybe Hell was simply being forced to open the Do Not Open box in her head. If she hadn’t been sure it would send the infant into a panic, she would’ve screamed loud and long just for the sake of saying she had done something.

  Doing nothing was just not like her.

  Then a figure stepped out of the shadows of the crumbling archway. Unlike the person earlier, this was a face she could see. He was older, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that she recognized instantly. She nearly dropped the infant and whispered a quick apology to him before looking back at her brother.

  “Seth…is it really you?” she asked, voice a breathy whisper. She expected it to all be just a mirage—one that would vanish in a minute or two—but he did not.

  “Welcome home,” he said and held out his arms.

  When Amanda went in to hug her brother, he felt as real as he ever had, and suddenly, Amanda was struck with a pulsing sense of gratitude for the God who had brought her here to this place of familiar nightmares.

  She hugged the infant tighter, making a vow in her head that she would do everything in her power to make sure she never let him down.

  Chapter Two

  Months Later

  THERE WERE MANY ways that people described Reese Moore: obsessive, a pushover, desperate to fit in. The saddest part about them was that they were all true. Reese struggled to find his place in the world, always had, and his struggle had been made worse by the fact that he was trapped between two worlds. He didn’t know which one he belonged in more and started to doubt he really was meant to be in either of them.

  The last time Chance, his idol, had come to him, had been months prior, and it was with a favor. Reese, desperate to get in his good graces, had granted the favor, and now, he hadn’t seen him since. To say he felt used was an understatement, and unfortunately, it also wasn’t anything new. It seemed as if everyone used him up and threw him away when they took him for everything they wanted.

  His mother who had used him as a boy to try and find a husband, his girlfriend Amanda who had used him to pass the time, and now his idol. They were all the same, and it angered Reese that time and time again, he’d fall for the same tricks. He just wanted someone to care about him, but the more he aged, the more he doubted that would ever happen.

  Withdrawing from the world around him had not been a conscious choice, it was just one of those things that had happened. Getting out of bed started to become difficult. When he had still been desperate to find Chance, he slept more and more. At first, he had skipped a few classes on accident and then when his grades plummeted beyond repair, he just stopped going altogether. He promised himself he would keep his job, but he had pulled the same move and lost that too.

  Now, day after day, he sat in his tiny apartment, staring at the same old walls, not sure what to do with himself. A normal person would get up and try to rebuild their life, he knew that, but he had no desire to try. So, he did the worst thing he could and thought about everything that was wrong with his life, and he did so until it caused him physical pain. Head throbbing with exertion, he thought about Chance, and the mysterious item he had crafted for the man.

  Frowning, Reese pictured the blonde in his mind. Why was it that Chance had put so much trust in Reese, but not enough for him to know what he was planning? Slowly, Reese ran a finger along the edge of the couch, thinking about his possible future. If Chance used that object, and bonded him to some stranger, would he even know it happened? Had Chance already used it and that was why Reese had felt so listless?

  He had no idea.

  Like an answer to his question, a jolt of energy and pain overcame him. First it speared him through the heart, and for the slightest of moments, he thought he was having a heart attack—the result of too many drug-filled college parties—but then the sensation spread through his abdomen, tingling all way out to his extremities, and he found it difficult to breathe.

  He leaned forward, nearly falling off the couch, but somehow managed to catch himself before gravity could pull him down. Through the fit, he honed his mind, fighting to keep himself conscious and knew what was happening. Chance had used his weapon, and blood magic was never an easy thing for anyone to pull off…even if that person did happen to be an Ex-Keeper.

  When the sensation began to fade, he stood on shaky legs and talked himself through the process of walking down the hall and going to his room.

  Why am I like this? he wondered as he lay in bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, prepared to sleep once again with the desperate hope of finding something akin to an answer in the other world.

  His question lingered at the front of his mind as, once again, he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  BLACKNESS.

  That’s all there was in Luna’s mind and around her body. It was as if she were floating among it, like it was part of her, and she couldn’t tell where exactly she ended, and the darkness began. She was cleared of pain, as if she had never felt any in her life which was ironic considering her life had been nothing but. Her mind was easy—the first time it had been in a long while. She couldn’t move, but she had no desire to do so—not even to open her eyes.

  She wanted to drift along in this state of semi-consciousness forever.

  If she had her way, that was exactly what she would do. Except the thing about life is that people almost never get their way. Their wishes are left forgotten, trampled by the will of fate, destiny, and all the forces greater than mankind’s understanding.

  Are you lonesome tonight?

  Music filled her ears, and suddenly, consciousness slammed back into her like she had been struck with a baseball bat—the easy drifting turned to gravity, the nothingness of her skin regaining feeling. She tried to clench her hands into fists and felt the softness of the material she was lying on beneath her fingertips before she groaned at the dryness of her mouth and throat. She didn’t know how long it had been since she had last had something to drink…she didn’t know anything in that moment except how much her body hurt.

  Do you miss me tonight?

  Her eyelids fluttered, but she couldn’t open them. They took enormous effort to move, energy that she didn’t have, and in the midst of her struggle, the memories hit her—she was dead. Chance had killed her. Luna’s green eyes stretched wide at the memory of his switchblade slicing through her throat like it was paper, sending her own blood down her throat to drown her. Light flooded her vision, and she groaned at the pain in her skull, immediately regretting her decision.

  If she was dead, why did she feel pain?

  She twitched her slight button-nose, desperate to see anything, and blinked several times, trying to clear the white haze before her eyes. When her sight focused, her gaze studied the wooden boards embedded in the ceiling above her, the delicate hint of a spiderweb shining in one of them.

  Her eyes narrowed against the pounding headache in her temples as she considered her situation. If she was dead, Hell looked drastically different than she had expected.

  Are you sorry we drifted apart?

  Luna blinked again, letting her eyes trace the boards to the wall, and then she stiffened as she realized it was all familiar. She tensed as another wave of memories hit her; it was a cabin she had been in a long time ago—when she had been alive. She reached up at the thought, touching her fingers to the skin on her stomach, the place where she had been originally stabbed, just to see how bad the damage was. There was no wound, so her fingers moved to her throat, fully expecting to feel the slash that had killed her.

  The fatal laceration was also healed.

  Her fingers becam
e almost frantic as she prodded at the skin, wondering if she somehow managed to bypass her gaping wound, but there wasn’t one to feel.

  “How is this possible?” she tried to say but the words lodged in her throat, coming through as a pattern of gasps and awkward breaths for air.

  “You’re awake,” a voice called across the room.

  Luna flinched at the sound. Until that moment, she had assumed she was alone, and now that she was faced with the idea that she was not, she wondered just how many others were here…and why they were here. She scrunched her face, trying to place a face to the voice, and propped herself up on her elbows. The man on the other side of the cabin was beautiful on just about anyone’s radar with his hardened jawline, shaggy blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. He was beautiful enough to pass for an angel, but the irony of his looks was the demon that lived inside him, an ugly twisted being made for the sole purpose of tearing others apart.

  Literally.

  Many times, Luna had imagined that Chance was the devil himself—the beautiful fallen angel come to wreak havoc on mankind. Even if he wasn’t, he always would be to her. After everything he had done to her, it was hard to see him any other way.

  Chance stood on the other side of the room, shirtless as he wiped himself down with a rag. His muscles rippled beneath his porcelain skin, especially prominent under the scars that lined his arms. The more her eyes ran over him, the more scars she noticed. They were everywhere—crisscrossed along his back, shoulders, and stomach like something had cut him to pieces.

  Then she remembered the way he had died—he had jumped off a building. Luna was quiet as she watched him run the rag down his arm and ignored the fact it was splattered with blood. It seemed near impossible to catch him in a moment where he wasn’t close by blood in one way or another.