Moonglow

Books by Michael Griffo

The Archangel Academy Trilogy

 

UNNATURAL
UNWELCOME
UNAFRAID

 

The Darkborn Legacy

 

MOONGLOW

Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

MOONGLOW

THE DARKBORN LEGACY

MICHAEL GRIFFO

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

I need to give a big thank-you to my agent, Evan Marshall; my editor, John Scognamiglio; and the entire Kensington team as we set sail on another exciting fictional journey.

 

And I must give a special shout-out to the entire Kensington design team for creating a book cover that is truly a work of art.

 

Thank you.

Part 1

The moon is dark and cold and light.
The moon commands our souls at night.

 

Alone, ignored, and ugly—she.
I am the moon,
the moon is me.

Prologue

 

I am about to become a very bad person.

The change begins slowly, but not unexpectedly. Not entirely. There have been warning signs; I just didn't understand them. Until now. Now I know an enemy has been stalking me, watching me, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When I scream I know that moment has finally arrived.

My screams tear through my body, gush out of my mouth, and infest the night air. They're the last sounds I hear before my world turns black. The last sounds I hear from when I was still good.

The first thing I notice when I wake up is that I don't feel any more pain. I no longer feel the burning. I no longer feel as if my limbs are being ripped out of their sockets, as if saws and teeth and knives are splitting my flesh open from the inside out. I no longer feel as if my body wants to kill me. That's the good news. The bad news is I have no idea what happened. The space between then and now is empty. One second I was happy; the next I was feeling worse than I ever thought humanly possible.

So I'm alive, but where am I? Forcing myself to remain calm, I take a deep breath, and the smell of grass and dirt and cold assaults me. I'm definitely outside, but exactly where, I don't know. I remember passing out when the pain got too intense, when I literally thought I was going to break into separate, unconnected pieces, but for how long? How long was I unconscious? And what happened to me while I gave in to the protection of sleep?

Now that I'm awake, I know that something is wrong. I can feel my body, and yet I can't; I'm both numb and tingling at the same time. Even still, I think I'm smiling because I'm thankful that I'm not dead. The thing is, I just can't believe that I'm alive.

I step on the sharp edge of a rock, and it feels like a knife blade has punctured the underside of my foot. The sting terrifies me because it reminds me of the original pain; if it starts again I don't think I can survive it a second time. How lucky can one person get?

I try to remember the prayer I used to say with my mother, but it's been too long since I've said those words, and anyway I'm distracted by the breathing. Loud, quick breaths, one after another after another, like panting. I don't know where the sound is coming from, but I don't like it. It sounds like a wild dog or worse, a coyote or a mountain lion, frightening. Whatever is making that noise sounds like it's right in front of me, staring at me, but I can't feel the breath on my face; I can only hear it. Before this change all I heard was laughter, Jess's and mine; now all I hear is breathing. But the worst part is that I can hardly see.

Someone's wrapped a plastic bag around my head—that's what it feels like, clear plastic, tight around my face—and whoever it is, is trying to suffocate me. I imagine what my face looks like pressed up against a plastic bag, my mouth and my eyes wide open, desperate to see and to breathe, and I shake my head because the image is too ugly; I want it out of my mind. I can't feel anything around my neck, and I don't feel anyone near me, so that calms me, but I cannot see right. Nothing is clear. Shadows and blurs, that's it, swirling around my head, making me dizzy, so I close my eyes again, but the blackness makes me even more unsteady. If I'm going to faint, I'm going to faint, regardless of whether my eyes are open or not, so I might as well keep them open and try to figure out where I am.

We were outside near the low hills, Jess and I, on our way to my house before this started, so maybe that's where I am now. But when I try to focus to remember more details, the breathing sounds faster, like whoever is doing it is hyperventilating. This anxious feeling, this sense of having no control grabs hold of me too, and I get dizzy again. I don't want to faint, but I don't know if you can prevent such a thing from happening. Focus and fight. I need to concentrate on specific things and not the swirls and the shadows that are making me unsteady. What do I know? What do I
know?
Think! Think of the simplest thing, the stupidest thing. My name. I know that my name is Dominy Robineau. My mother wanted to call me Dominique because she's French, but my father thought it was too fancy for a Midwestern girl, so they settled on Dominy.

Good, I feel better. Still a bit dizzy, but still conscious. My father's motto has always been “be grateful for what you have,” and I finally understand what that saying means.

What else do I know? It's almost winter. Yes, that's right! But the air is more dry than cold, which is odd for Nebraska at this time of year, since it should be frigid and the ground should be invisible underneath the snow. However, the past few weeks have felt different, more like early fall, and I remember hearing people say that it was a relief and they wished it could last forever. That's a wasted wish because nothing lasts forever. Trust me.

One moment I was in control of my body, and now it's fighting against me. My head is spinning, my mind wants to shut down, and the only thing I can hear is the sound of that breathing! It's closer now, like someone's mouth is right up against my ear. My arms shoot up to feel if someone's next to me, but I only feel the swoosh of air. Vaguely, I see my arms moving in front of me, in slow motion so they look bigger, darker, but even though they're moving slowly, I can't get a clear look. Plus, I know I wasn't wearing a red jacket. I feel like I'm floating, wrapped tightly in a grass-scented plastic bag and floating, and it feels incredibly wrong. So wrong that my body rebels.

I fall, and the sound of my body crashing to the ground echoes in my ears, replacing the sound of the breathing for a few seconds. I taste dirt. Not that it matters, but I don't know if I'm lying facedown on the ground or if I'm kneeling, and I made dirt rise up in a little cloud and fill my mouth because I fell so hard. I give in to a strange impulse and start to claw at the earth, really dig in, and I can feel the coolness of the dirt underneath my nails. The sensation is calming, inviting, and I want to stretch out and roll in it, cover my entire body with cool dirt, but I hear a voice and freeze.

The voice isn't Jess's; it's coming from inside my head. Even more calming than the dirt, the voice belongs to my mother. Her slight French accent makes her words sound pretty, makes her sound as if she's singing.

The first time she said that to me was on my fifth birthday. Later, she wrote those words down in my card so I would never forget them. Yes! Now I remember! Today is November 29. Today is my birthday.

Slowly, instinctively, I lift my head to look up toward the sky and watch as the clouds separate to reveal a full moon. Magnificent. As welcoming as the unexpected return of a long-lost friend, as reassuring as a parent checking in on you as you pretend to sleep. Why have I never noticed how beautiful the moon can look until tonight? Round and radiant and perfect. But the moon is so much more than physical perfection. It has powers. Its glow is like a lifeline that connects my past to my present to my future. Every secret ever buried will be revealed when trapped within the light of the moon. All I need to do is accept the moon as my teacher, my guide, my master, and I can become powerful too.

A bright flash of light flickers on the ground like a lonely, restless flame, and I'm drawn to it. Scurrying closer to the light-dance, I almost laugh when I see what's creating such a commotion on the flat, dry land: my watch reflecting the glow of the moon. It's already begun. The moon is calling to me, offering a clue.

The powder-blue band is scuffed and smeared with dirt, the face is smudged and cracked, but I can see the numbers, and I can see that it's still working. The second hand ticks along, one second, two seconds, three, until it dawns on me that I can see clearly, no more shadows. Once again I know, somehow, that this change is the moon's doing.

I keep looking at my watch, waiting for it to do something special, and realize that it already has. The last thing I remember is standing next to Jess, her shoulder pressing into mine, her hair fragrant with the scent of cherry blossoms, and we were watching the second hand on my watch tick away until it reached 6:22 p.m. That's when I officially turned sixteen. Almost fifteen minutes ago. Why can't I remember what happened during that lost time?

I look up at the moon again because deep inside me, I know it's responsible. All the answers to my questions, even those I haven't yet asked, can be found in its glow, in its perfection. A large gray cloud with coarse edges slides across the face of the moon, changing its appearance. Radiance turns into something ominous. Could this be another clue? Or perhaps a warning that something even worse is about to happen? The revelation frightens me and, along with a renewed sense of fear come the shadows.

The world changes in front of my eyes, and sketchy black-and-white images return, but this time they're not alone. Accompanying them are noises, grunts and groans, sounds I can't recognize, but sounds that I can't ignore. Until I hear the screams.

These screams sound different than the ones I let loose into the air. These drip not only with the fear of the unknown, but also with the desperation and horror of knowing what lies ahead. They're unlike any sound I've ever heard before, and it's as if they're tainting the air with their fear. The screams are all around me, but I can't tell where they're coming from. Could be miles away, could be right next to me. It's like I'm in a sealed room, no doors or windows, but the sound is so loud that it can penetrate the walls. What makes it totally unbearable is that I can hear enough to know whoever is screaming is in serious trouble.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I hear the breathing again, wild panting, uncontrollable. Then I feel my stomach push out, contract, push out, contract, and I know that I'm the one making those sounds. I'm the one whose breathing is out of control. Fear grips every inch of my body and my mind; it has taken complete control of me, and I'm helpless. I can't even control my own breathing!

Another sound cuts right through the screams and the breathing, and it silences them both. The fear inside of me intensifies, because I've heard this sound before. It's a growl. And when you're outside near the hills, away from people and closer to the animals, hearing a growl is never a good thing.

Finally, my body starts to move. I feel the ground shift underneath me as I run toward the screams. My vision starts to come back, maybe because I'm reclaiming control of my body, so I push ahead. Even though the moon resembles the midday sun, spreading light from its rocky, barren surface, I still can't see very well, and when I hear another growl, I turn my head too quickly, causing my eyes to glaze over, and I trip on some rocks. The ground shakes, or maybe it's just my body; I can't tell. But this time I know that my face is pressed against the ground. I taste the dirt, I can smell it, it's all over me, and I can feel filth burrow deep inside of me.

The growl is deafening, and I've got to move on. But when I push into the ground to stand up, the earth feels even more invigorating, and I can't, I need to stay right here, holding on to dirt and rocks, feeling connected to the soil. Suddenly, the fear is gone. I'm not scared anymore; I'm confident, vengeful. I look up at the moon and hear my voice turn into a howl. The sound is odd, but I know that it's mine. I howl again, this time holding the sound longer and letting it grow, so it becomes louder, more powerful, more like my mother's.

All I want is for our voices to join together and become one, but we're interrupted. A louder scream erupts near me, and I recognize the voice. It belongs to Jess.

I've never heard her scream like this, and I've known her my entire life. She screams again. This time the sound pierces my ear; it's like she's right next to me, and her scream turned into a knife. Before I can touch my ear to feel if I'm bleeding, the growls start again, louder and more ferocious. Another surge of terror rips through me, grabbing my insides, and I feel my body shake violently; something's on me or in me, attacking me or Jess or both of us, I don't know, but I have to break free! This time when I fall I land on something softer, maybe some grass instead of the flat ground. I'm about to look down to find out what it is when an unfamiliar taste fills my mouth.

It's new, and it's bitter, and I like it. It tastes good, and when I swallow I don't even hear the growls anymore; it's like every sound has stopped, every part of my world has ceased to exist, and nothing has any importance except this new taste. It's heaven, and I have got to have more of it.

There's another scream, higher pitched, like Jess's voice is being strangled and made to disappear. I only want to concentrate on the taste in my mouth, but I have to find her; I have to figure out a way to help her. Despite the fact that I can taste and hear and even smell extremely well, better than ever before, my sight isn't good. I still feel like I'm inside a box or a sack. Like the plastic bag that I thought was around my head is now wrapped around my entire body. I can see outside, but it's all hazy and vague and warped. The world around me is filled with shadows, fast-moving shadows, and I wonder if it's the same for Jess. Or does she see everything clearly? Is the moon acting like a spotlight illuminating her whole world?

Oh my God. Maybe that's why she's screaming. Because she can see what's out there.

I'm holding something in my hand. I don't know what it is, but it's soft and hard at the same time. I think it might be a branch, thick and caked with dirt and mud that you find near the riverbanks. But I don't smell fresh water, and I don't hear the gentle flow of the current, so I know I'm not near the river. I must still be near the low hills, where I was when I passed out. Jess and I were running in the dried-up fields at the base of the hills, because I was going to be late and my father had told me to be home before the moon changes everything.