There was no deterring the dragon from his pose, and Myth drew him in his proud stance, lying down, then in mid-prance. “I think he enjoys being drawn.”
“He loves any sort of attention.”
The door they’d entered through closed with a bang.
“Someone else is coming to the vault. We’d better let Mush get back to work. There is another place I can show you, if you have time.”
Myth closed her book and slipped her hand into Norrix’s. “I have time.”
He led her through the vault in a winding series of turns and stopped outside a plain wooden door twenty feet high and curved at the top. He used his key to unlock it. “This is one entrance to the library.”
The door swung open without a sound. Nine levels of waist high railings overlooked a square center. A round table stood in the middle of the room. The only person Myth saw was a woman wearing a leopard print dress. Her straight black hair fell past her shoulders, and she looked up at them for a moment, but returned her attention to the table, where she used a stylus to inscribe something on the palm leaf stem in front of her.
Norrix leaned down to whisper in her ear. “That’s Seshat. We call her the Mistress of the House of Books. You can use the key I gave you to come here for reading and research anytime you want to. If you have any questions, let her know. She can help you find whatever you need.”
“But... If this is a library, where are all the books?”
“This library doesn’t contain only books. Behind each door is a wing dedicated to a separate collection. Xianyang Library. Nalanda. The library of Alexandria. The House of Wisdom. Everything that was in them before they were destroyed is here. There are also libraries from other worlds — Fae, Djinn, and Demon, for example. There are even several underwater rooms for those types of worlds. Come this way.” He tugged on her hand. “There’s a special place at the top.”
He led her through another hallway, up nine flights of stairs, and opened another door. It led into a dark room, but faint voices murmured and echoed. “This is The Hall of Whispers. Some cultures don’t write things down. Their stories come here.”
And he gave her a key to come here whenever she wanted? Even without him? How was it possible to walk when her insides felt all warm and gooey? She could easily fall in love with him. Maybe she already was. Already had.
Myth stumbled, the realization freezing her in her tracks. This couldn’t be happening. How could she let herself be happy when Fable was in danger? If she went on with this, feeling everything, hoping to feel love, how could she go back to what she had to be in Aztlan?
Norrix looked down at her, an expectant look on his face. Had he asked her something? Dinner.
“I... I can’t. I have to go.”
She fled.
CHAPTER TWENTY
IQIOHR
HUNDREDS OF SIX-FOOT statues constructed of bread baked with nutty amaranth flour, and wearing toothy grins made from pumpkin seeds, lined the street on both sides. The bakers had the insipid smile right, but they’d used beans for the eyes. Tezcatlipoca smirked as he passed the effigies on his way back to his palace from Serpent Mountain. If the people wanted an accurate representation of Tlaloc’s stupid goggle eyed expression, they should have used enormous squashes.
Humans dressed these figures in finery and prayed to them every December. For all the good it did the people. Tezcatlipoca made sure Tlaloc hadn’t been in a position to answer a prayer since the Fourth Sun, but letting the citizens of Aztlan have their ceremony did no harm.
Whether or not he was in control of the body he was forced to share, he always enjoyed watching all the Tlalocs ripped to shreds — chests torn open to remove the doughy hearts, bodies cut up and eaten. It could only be better if there was blood.
The upstart deserved to be destroyed thousands of times for taking the world from Tezcatlipoca. Twice.
TEZCATLIPOCA’S HATRED festered as he stood among the crowd on the flat top of the pyramid and watched Tlaloc become the Third Sun. That should be him! He was the most powerful. The first to create a world. He should not be relegated to a place in the crowd when the throne belonged was his.
Even with that betrayer Quetzalcoatl laid low with the loss of his rule, his creations turned into monkeys and scattered to the winds, power had not returned to the only one who should rightfully wield it.
Now, this pathetic excuse for a god, with his floppy heron-feather headdress, cornstalks, bulging eyes and tiny fangs, ruled as the Sun. A rain god. As Sun. Why could the others not see the ridiculousness of Tlaloc as a Sun? Tezcatlipoca scoffed. What would he do when he was threatened? Sprinkle drops of water on the heads of his enemies? Flap his limp heron feathers? Wave his pathetic cornstalk? He was no leader.
The humans he created were weak. They ate only seeds softened in water.
He’d demanded the sacrifice of a jaguar, one of Tezcatlipoca’s jaguars, though Tlaloc had not wielded the knife himself, nor had he required human hearts to be sacrificed. Weak. But the jaguar skull atop the throne would allow Tezcatlipoca to watch everything that happened atop the pyramid.
The mages in his magic clamored in his mind.
Tlaloc is helpless.
Remove him from the throne.
Kill the pretender.
Take his wife.
Tezcatlipoca looked to the smaller throne. Xochiquetzal, the Precious Feather, shone like a sun herself. Her long black hair, dark eyes, smooth skin and lush body, draped in bright red and orange folds of silky material, attracted all eyes. Perhaps there was merit in the idea. The goddess of sex and fertility as Esne held some appeal. Perhaps it could birth heirs and witches.
But not yet. There was too much attention on the newly wedded couple.
He bided his time. Changed bodies as mage magic devoured the one he occupied. The time to act came when Tlaloc announced Xochiquetzal was pregnant. Tezcatlipoca snuck into the palace and kidnapped her, dragging her away to make her his.
Tlaloc mounted a search through the land, growing more distraught as no sign of his wife or child was found.
Years passed, and Tlaloc fell into a depression, neglecting his duties as Sun. He wallowed in grief and withheld rain from the world. The land fell into drought. His people prayed for relief, but he ignored their pleas. More people prayed until he could ignore their voices no longer.
After three hundred and sixty-four years, he rose from his throne and sent fire down on the earth, burning it to ash.
Quetzalcoatl saved some humans by turning them into birds, but he couldn’t save the world.
A FITTING END TO THE reign of the rain god who never should have been Sun.
Tezcatlipoca entered his white marble throne room, strode past the guards, and took his seat on the Scorpion throne. The end of the fifty-two year cycle and the energy of the eclipse loomed. Combined with his mage magic, the Sixth Sun would be the last and and most powerful.
All was prepared for the ceremony atop Serpent Mountain. He regarded the blood on his hands and splashed on his white tunic. Sacrifices already being made. Others prepared. All he needed was the obsidian knife for the final rite, and he would rule forever.
“I require magic.” He waved a hand at one of the guards. “Bring me a witch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
NORRIX
WHEN MYTH RETURNED from the scrying pool, she wore a more relaxed expression. Who had she contacted? A boyfriend? The mage who kept her captive? Was she so indoctrinated that she actually missed him? If she was attached to someone wherever she came from, maybe she wouldn’t want to be with him. He put thoughts like that out of his mind as he showed her the libraries.
At first, her touch had been hesitant, but she was free with her physical affections at the end.
His body had reacted to his Dragă all day. He’d tried to control himself — turn his new possessiveness into anticipating her needs, react to her heartbeat and changing apple scent, touching her as often as he could. He’d been hard all afternoon, and thankful s
he didn’t seem aware of how badly he wanted to rip that golden cloak and white dress from her body and push her against the nearest wall.
Myth lived as a sex slave. How could he inflict his base desires on her? What was wrong with him that he wanted to?
All day he’d wanted to ask about where she lived. Find out more about her situation. But she seemed so happy to not think about it and he hadn’t wanted to push her. She said she trusted him. He thought there would be more time.
She’d made him feel important all afternoon. His cluttered mind wasn’t his defining or limiting feature. Around her, his memory worked perfectly.
But her scent changed, and she ran away from him again, anyway.
He’d always imagined heartbreak as a shattering, something traumatic and visceral, not a slowing from a steady beat to a flutter until it stopped.
Standing alone in the library, for once, he wished the confusion would take him.
NORRIX KNOCKED ON THE door to Ember and Stryx’s room.
Ember flung it open, wearing a black button down and jeans, waved him inside, and closed the door, peppering him with questions as she followed him to the arrangement of black leather furniture where Stryx sat. “Did you find her? She’s your Dragă, right? Where is she? What’s her name? What did you do?”
Norrix slumped into a seat. The ache where his heart should be beating still too fresh. “Yes. We spent the afternoon together.”
“So, why are you here? Wait. Is that...” Ember brushed at his shoulder and held up her fingers as she perched on the sofa near Stryx. “Are you wearing glitter? I didn’t think you guys were that kind of vampire.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Norrix kicked himself for not changing clothes. “What did you find out about the items for bid?”
Stryx put an electronic tablet on the table. No smoke or sparks emitted from the device. Yet. It must be new. “There were several options. We also visited a few healers. They had some ideas, so we’ll pick up some elixirs tomorrow before we fly home.”
“And we left a message with Clio at the front desk for the sellers of the knife and book. So we don’t have anything else to do at the moment other than ask you about your Dragă. Soră is extra excited about her for some reason.”
Norrix cleared his throat. “So, what happened in the hall after I left?”
Ember laughed. “No subtlety there. Okay, fine. Tell us about Zax and her sword. She didn’t seem quite all there, mentally.”
“Zax and Bastian started Ashana as a place of refuge for gods, goddesses and mythological creatures. As far as her metal state, they’ve lived the same twelve thousand years something like three hundred times. I Witnessed the start a few times. That sort of thing takes a toll on a person after a while. Plus, they have a presence on many worlds. If she doesn’t seem all here, it’s likely because she’s other places at the same time.”
The door rattled on its hinges as a thunderous knock resounded. Ember opened it again, and two pixies, one purple, the other blue, burst into the room, a large orange envelope carried between them. They halted in front of Norrix.
“Oh. We heard what you did.” Judgement radiated from the blue pixie in a lilting tone.
“Shame on you, kid.” The shockingly deep voice from such a small being came from the purple one, who shook his head.
Norrix tried to look abashed at the scolding rather than amused at the idea of anyone calling him a kid. “Yes, now I see. You’re better than me.”
Satisfied, they turned their backs on him to face Ember and Stryx and chanted.
“I’m One and she's Two,” the purple one said.
“Gotta message for you,” the blue one said in a lilting voice.
“We can sing.”
“Or give you a ring!”
They hovered with an air of expectancy, envelope clutched between them.
“What about just reading it?” Ember reached for the message.
The pixies darted higher to stay out of reach as they drew small swords and slashed at the envelope.
“Never been asked to do that before.”
“Let’s offer that option more!”
The orange envelope was longer than the pixies were tall. It took several minutes for them to wrestle the message out and drop the mangled envelope to the floor.
As far as Norrix knew, pixies couldn’t read. They remembered brief messages, especially if the words rhymed, but he’d never seen one read anything before.
When they finally managed to unfold the message, the paper was so long it kept folding over their heads as they tried to straighten it. Two stood on One’s shoulders, both flapping furiously as they tried to straighten the page.
“What does it say?” the purple one asked.
The blue pixie tugged one end of the paper. “It goes this way!”
“That’s not how it goes!” The deep-voiced pixie yanked the opposite direction.
“What do you know?”
They shoved one another and argued over which way to hold the message, then, inevitably, they tore the paper down the middle.
“Had one message for you,” the purple one chanted.
“Now you have two!” The blue one finished.
The pieces of the message floated to the tile as the pixies darted for the door, crashing into one another at the doorknob in their rush to escape through the keyhole.
Stryx had his arms crossed, a look Norrix didn’t like on his face. “ ‘Yes, now I see. You're better than me?’ ”
“I still don’t want to talk about that.”
Ember laughed as she knelt and picked up the papers. “They were adorable.”
“Don’t let them hear you calling them that,” Norrix said. “They prefer to be ferocious.”
She turned imploring eyes to Stryx, who shook his head. “No way. We are not taking pixies home with us. It’s bad enough we already live with Alaric.”
With a huff, Ember reassembled the message. She read, “You are cordially invited to Vodka with Baba Yaga in her residence tonight to discuss your request. It’s signed by Deathless. They must be the ones who put the book in the auction.”
“To Vodka?” Stryx frowned. “Our ruse must be working if he thinks we can drink with him.”
Norrix shook his head. “He knows what I am. Vodka is what the Rus do instead of tea.”
Stryx raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t Deathless the enemy Clio told you was here?”
“Yes, but he won’t try to hurt me over Vodka. That’s not civilized.” Although, it could be argued that Deathless wasn’t civilized, either.
THE LOBBY HAD A DESERT theme this time, with fabric draped across the ceiling and walls emulating a tent. Golden sand covered the floor and rose to dunes in one corner. Hot breezes whirled through the air. The furnishings consisted of pillows and low tables. Ropes coiled on the floor and stretched into the air.
Camels, laden with heavy burdens of salt, jade, and tea, rested with their legs tucked under them. They kept one eye on a group of ten-foot cobras swaying to the sharp notes of pungi music. When the song stopped, one cobra shifted into a woman, who ran over to an iPod dock and started a new song. Disco music poured out of the speakers as she shifted back to snake form and the group danced again.
Ember laughed. “Stereotype busted. Nothing is what it seems here, is it?”
“They’re Nagas. They enjoy dancing to all kinds of music.”
Clio, wearing a black bedlah, gauzy pants and a fitted crop top festooned with bells and coins, sat cross-legged on a green and gold floating carpet studded with emeralds and diamonds above a hookah bar. She gave them a wave as she spoke with a group of people in long black thawbs, their traditional floor-length tunics, and head cloths.
Her image blurred.
A dark-skinned woman wearing a golden crown. The carpet grew, expanding to a square shape sixty miles on each side and carrying forty thousand men, then it shook and they were falling —
“Hey! She’s got a flying carpet!” Ember
’s excited voice jolted him from his memories. She leaned her head on Stryx’s shoulder. “Can we get one? Pleeeeease?”
Stryx came to a halt and tilted his head, eyeing Clio like he was thinking of the best way to snatch the carpet out from under her.
“Don’t even think about stealing Clio’s. It’s a temperamental beast. Like as not to dump you off and laugh at you.”
Ember’s Gorgon hood swiveled toward him. “They can laugh?”
“They make themselves clear. Come on. We don’t want to be late for Vodka. It’s bad form.” Norrix led the way across the cavernous space to an outdoor exit.
“Where are we going? Don’t we need to go to their room?”
He nodded. “We are. Baba Yaga travels with her own room, and it doesn’t like being cooped up. They’ll be outside in the forest.”
Evening moonlight dappled patchy snow on the pine needle and leaf-covered ground in the woods. The wooden, thatch-roofed cottage stood in the middle of a clearing. A black fence made of bones and topped with skulls surrounded the home. Smoke curled from a chimney and the front windows glowed with flickering light under half drawn shades. Green grass divided by a dirt trail led to where the front door should be. No front door.
Not good.
As they entered the meadow, the shades on the windows flew all the way up, giving the impression of eyes opening wide. Which they were. The house shook and lurched. Groaning and creaking, it rose into the air, landscaping and bone fence included, as two chicken legs straightened underneath it. The legs took two steps away, then spun around, showing them the back of the cottage.
That was worse than no front door. The cottage reflected the mood of its mistress, and in spite of the invitation, it didn’t seem like they were welcome.
“I... What the... That’s her —” Ember made air quotes. “Room?”
Norrix nodded. “That house loves Baba Yaga. It goes with her everywhere and protects her.”
Myth's Legend: Norrix Page 14