Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  She stumbled after the small man and wrong-Shannon. She had no idea what to say. This had to be a dream. Nothing else made sense.

  “I’m just—” Words just plain escaped her.

  They stepped onto the street, the sun behind a cloud and the air crisp with the coming fall.

  “Normally, before the elevator hit the first floor, you would’ve asked for an update and everything known about the latest victim and the family.” Shannon turned her to face him. He leaned close, pressing her against the SUV.

  A thrill raced through her, but she wasn’t about to admit it was attraction. It was the door handle digging into her rear and the chill of the cold metal seeping through her suit. That was what made her shiver. Nothing else.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” His brow creased and the lines on his forehead deepened. His skin seemed thicker than she remembered.

  Of course, if this were a dream, her subconscious could do all manner of things to known images.

  She studied his face, searching for clues that could reveal her state of mind. His features were still chiseled, with a high forehead and broad cheeks. His skin, gray under his tan, was definitely thicker, creating pronounced lines around his eyes and mouth, and on his forehead.

  “Ro?”

  Right. He’d asked her a question. It was just so strange that this Shannon was concerned for her. Maybe it was her subconscious revealing a desire to be recognized at work — by more than just Brown — and to feel included as a part of the team.

  Except she didn’t need a bad dream to tell her that.

  “I’m fine. Just pensive.”

  “Well, turn your thoughts to the case,” Jovkovic said. “And get in the car.”

  They piled in with Jovkovic taking the driver’s seat. Shannon took the front passenger spot, which meant Rowan was sitting in the back. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

  The next time she dreamed, she was going to make sure she was riding up front. Heck, maybe even drive. But since she was along for the ride, she might as well play the game.

  “So, bring me up to speed,” she said.

  Shannon twisted in his seat so he could see her. “The demon—”

  “Entity,” Jovkovic said putting the SUV in gear. “Let’s not insult the Abbaddon family from the get-go.”

  There were those words again. “What type of entity?”

  Jovkovic coughed and Shannon barked a harsh laugh.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Shannon asked.

  She glanced from Shannon to Jovkovic. The small man’s gaze flickered to hers through the rearview mirror, narrowed, then went back to the road. He was thinking something, that much was obvious, but she couldn’t tell what. He’d called her a profiler, which drew to mind the books on her shelf on entity profiling. Ah, shit. She was the expert on these entities or demons or whatever they were.

  “No joke. What’s in the official file?” She hoped it looked like she wanted to know what they knew about this entity. “Anything not commonly known?”

  Shannon shook his head, his hair brushing the roof of the car. “I hate it when you play teacher.” He grabbed a folder off the dash and flipped it open. “Akiva Abbaddon is a Shade. He rules the Abbaddon Dynasty. The wife, Isaura, is an Elemental. Air. They have three adult children, but only the middle one can pass for human. The oldest, Malachi, is heir to the throne and our latest victim. He takes after his father.”

  She pursed her lips and nodded, pretending that any of what Shannon said made sense and she was correlating the information with whatever else she was supposed to know. All the while, she ran through the possible meanings of the dream. Since she didn’t know what was going on, or what entities were, she had to be dealing with feelings of inferiority, her fear that she would never know enough, never have the answer no matter how hard she studied.

  They drove into an underground lot and parked in a visitor’s space near a bank of elevators. Jovkovic turned off the engine and undid his seat belt, but made no move to get out.

  “We play this like we always do.” He gave her a hard look in the rearview mirror.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  “You really are unwell.” Jovkovic got out of the car.

  Shannon barked another laugh, and she fought the urge to ask. She was supposed to know what was going on, and dreams were fickle things. It was going fine at the moment. She didn’t want it to suddenly turn ugly.

  They crammed into the elevator with her between Jovkovic, who scowled, and Shannon, who trembled with barely contained mirth. Shannon placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. There was nowhere for her to go, so she forced a smile and prayed she’d wake up soon.

  This over-affectionate Shannon, while still unnerving, was starting to feel creepy.

  When the doors opened, she blindly rushed out, determined to regain her personal space, and slammed into someone on the other side. She stumbled and he caught her elbow, drawing her to him.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Everyone keeps asking me—”

  She met his gaze. It was the man from her apartment elevator, with no difference in this dream world: shoulder-length curly ponytail, olive complexion, and dark chocolate eyes.

  “Maybe there’s a reason for that.” He was so close his hot breath brushed her cheek, sending shivers down her neck.

  Yeah, she was crazy. “I doubt that.” But her voice sounded weak, breathless.

  Jovkovic and Shannon pushed past them, and she swallowed another breathy reply. No point sounding like a complete idiot again.

  “Special Agents,” Elevator Man said. “My father is waiting in his office.”

  The man led them past a massive marble reception desk. The receptionist was away from her post — her chair, with only half a back, pushed to one side. Behind the desk, a wall of water seamlessly poured over glass etched with one word in block letters: Abbaddon. Beside it, on the same large scale as the receptionist desk, sat a pair of carved mahogany doors. Silver rings the size of her head hung from each one.

  Elevator Man grasped a ring and swung the door open. She followed Jovkovic and Shannon in, feeling the rush of air behind her as the door closed. She glanced over her shoulder, but Elevator Man hadn’t followed.

  “Mr. Abbaddon,” Jovkovic said. “I’m Agent Jovkovic.”

  “I’ve been expecting you.” Abbaddon’s voice rumbled like thunder, vibrating in her chest. He stood in shadow at the back of the office before a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows — although she couldn’t determine how the man could be in shadow since lights were on everywhere. Perhaps the backlight from the windows created the effect, but it wasn’t that bright outside.

  Then she realized he wasn’t in shadow. He was shadow.

  Her heart stuttered.

  His flesh dimmed all light around him, absorbing it. Amber specks burned in his featureless face. But they, too, were diminished, minuscule against his massive nothingness.

  As he approached, he unfurled enormous membranous wings that had covered him from shoulder to shins. They stretched out, blocking the illumination from the windows, sucking it from the pot lights in the ceiling, and revealing thick, writhing tentacles.

  She drew back, not wanting him any closer. She could feel his vortex, devouring the light and pulling at the fabric of her being. There was no way she could stand against this entity, this demon, and hope to survive. He could absorb her very life and there was nothing she could do.

  This was not a bad dream. It was a nightmare.

  Her mind screamed to run, wake up, do something, but she clenched her teeth against the gut instinct and stood her ground.

  It was just a dream. Just a dream. Besides, if she was going to keep her job, she needed to toughen — and wizen — up. She might as well start in her subconscious.

  12

  The monster — demon… entity… whatever — pointed a thick tentacle at a couch. It made up one side of a conversation area to the right of the door, and both Sh
annon and Jovkovic glanced back at Rowan. Maybe they were checking to see if she was still alive and not dead from fright.

  But no, she was the expert in this situation. They were going to take their lead from her.

  Wonderful.

  Jovkovic gave a slight nod toward the couch, and she realized he wanted her to sit. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed it back. She’d have to step within arm’s reach of that thing.

  She bit back a hysterical laugh. Really, it was a dream. Just. A. Dream.

  But it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt very, very real.

  No, the fear pounding in her chest was as much a figment of her imagination as the thing in front of her.

  She contemplated working up a smile, but decided it would be too much, and instead focused on moving in a natural way even though her limbs felt like lead.

  The creature sat on a leather stool across from her while Jovkovic took up position beside her on the couch and Shannon towered behind them.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Abbaddon.” Jovkovic slid a thick notebook from the breast pocket of his jacket and flipped it open. “This is Agent Shannon and Dr. Hill.”

  “My son is missing.” The deep pitch and volume of his voice made her clenched teeth chatter.

  She forced her jaw to relax and crossed her legs, attempting to get comfortable. “When was the last time you saw Malachi?”

  Abbaddon sucked in a deep breath, his black mass expanding and contracting with the movement and his tentacles twitching. She sensed a weariness about him, but couldn’t determine why. Without contrast of any kind, it was difficult to distinguish features, save for a basic outline that was in constant flux from his writhing tentacles.

  She focused on finding details, turning him into an intellectual problem instead of a terrifying black form. If she didn’t, she’d run screaming from the room sooner rather than later.

  “My son was deeply involved in his own life,” Abbaddon said.

  “Which means he wasn’t in yours.” She clung to that detail in a desperate attempt to keep focused. “How long had that been going on?”

  “What Dr. Hill means to say,” Jovkovic said, “is—”

  “No, Dr. Hill is correct.” Abbaddon unfurled his membranous wings halfway and the light from the window behind him leaked through them as if they were cheap cotton curtains.

  “He wasn’t ready for the life of corporate responsibilities. My wife counseled a gentle hand and to let the boy enjoy a bit of freedom first.”

  “So you gave him freedom?” Rowan asked. It seemed a common tale of a playboy permitted to run wild, filled with a sense of his own importance. Usually, someone else went missing and the rich father tried to cover it up. How ironic that her subconscious would choose so basic a puzzle to pair with such unusual creatures.

  “My wife can be very… convincing.”

  Hunh. What could convince this creature of anything?

  She dragged her focus back to the puzzle. Trying to solve this invented mystery made her feel less intimidated. Even if this was her dream, it could still get scary — or rather, scarier. Follow the case, find whoever saw the missing demon last. The father might know, but he wasn’t really telling her anything. Which meant, at the moment, he was a dead end. Maybe he’d talk about other family or friends.

  “You have another child—”

  “Two,” Jovkovic said. “We will want to talk to them, as well.”

  “Of course,” Abbaddon said. “You’ve met my youngest, Seth, outside my office.”

  Elevator Man had said they were going to see his father, but she couldn’t believe the two were related. How did something so terrifying sire someone so normal? But that only meant there was more to Seth than met the eye, something hidden behind a normal façade.

  That left her uneasy. She couldn’t deny Seth was attractive. Was what he kept hidden as monstrous as his father, or something else?

  But he wasn’t the man she’d really seen. This man was a product of her dream, and she’d make damn sure she woke up before he made another, sexier or scarier appearance.

  She dragged her thoughts back from Seth and asked the first thing that came to mind. “Do you permit the other two with the same freedom?”

  Abbaddon’s amber stare met hers, tiny pinpoints in his face. “They don’t seem to want the same things.”

  “What things are those?” She uncrossed her legs and sat forward, trying to find any facial feature she could read in the mass of black. Even his eyes — while supposedly windows to the soul — were too alien to interpret.

  “Nothing that affects your case, human.”

  “Don’t you think the FBI should determine what will or will not affect the case?”

  “No.” That one word rumbled dark and low. It filled the office and made the glasses on the bar on the other side of the room ring.

  Jovkovic stood, dragging her up with him. “Please have your secretary forward the names of any known associates. It will assist us in conducting a thorough investigation.”

  A flurry of wings outside the windows drew everyone’s attention. A gargoyle landed on the ledge outside — there was no other word for the creature. As large as a man, with wings that stretched out to twice the length of its body, it looked like it was made of living stone: wings, claws, face, body. She would have thought that would show in its movements, making them stiff and awkward. But the creature moved as if made from flesh, with the strength and agility of a professional soldier.

  It opened one of the windows and slipped inside. Everything about it said dangerous, but that was what it was supposed to be, something scary enough to frighten away the other monsters.

  Abbaddon stood, his wings and tentacles shifting about him. “I’m sure you can see yourselves out.”

  “Of course.” Jovkovic dragged her out the door and waited for it to close behind them. “What was that about?” He stalked to the elevator and pushed the call button.

  She searched the reception area for Seth, but it was still empty. Even the receptionist remained absent.

  “Did you hear anything I said?” Jovkovic’s face was deadpan but she could sense a barely contained anger underneath.

  Without a word, they went back to the SUV and piled in, but Jovkovic didn’t put the key in the ignition. A dressing-down was coming. She’d only been on the receiving end a few times from Brown but she recognized the strained silence and the body language.

  “What is wrong with you?” He looked at her through the rearview mirror. “The only thing that interview accomplished was to insult an emperor of one of the Seven Great Houses. I didn’t think I’d have to remind you after the last time that they’re a law unto themselves. No matter how much you think they should bend to human regulations.”

  “I wouldn’t say we accomplished nothing,” she said.

  “I didn’t say nothing.” His gray eyes held her in place even when Abbaddon’s couldn’t. She felt trapped, frozen, like prey, and didn’t know how to escape. Agent Brown could sure use a few tips from this man. Maybe Jovkovic wasn’t human either.

  Shannon stayed silent. He was more like the man she knew in real life, letting the argument wash over him, neither agreeing or disagreeing with anything.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think the distraught father wasn’t very distraught.”

  “He’s a freak’n emperor and a shade! They don’t get distraught, Hill.” Jovkovic’s face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “They get even. What kind of a profiler are you?”

  The kind that didn’t know anything.

  But she didn’t say that out loud. She wished she had the courage, even in her dreams, but she didn’t.

  All she could do was pray she’d wake up soon. But the more she thought about being in a dream, the more she felt she wasn’t. Which, she supposed, was the very nature of dreams.

  Jovkovic started the SUV and drove to the Federal Building. There was nothing different about it. Her desk was where it had alwa
ys been, crammed in a corner, facing an empty wall, and everything on it placed in meticulous order: files, pens, notes.

  Shannon and Jovkovic headed straight to the kitchenette while she dropped her purse in the top right corner of her desk, pulled out her chair, and sat.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  Perhaps she should go through the motions of working. She opened the folder in front of her. A picture of the creature she’d just met stared back at her. No, the name above the photo claimed this was the missing son. She wondered how one took a picture of a walking black hole. But of course, this was a dream. She didn’t really need to know that or anything else. All she needed was to wake up.

  She flipped through a few pages of the file then closed it. This was ridiculous. Her world had not been transformed, and she didn’t have to solve this case. Just wake up, damn it.

  The catch was, she didn’t know how.

  Perhaps she should go to bed. In some myths, the hero would be transported back to the waking world after falling asleep again. Of course, before that, he would have had to defeat a villain in an epic battle of some kind.

  Well, when she didn’t know what to do, she talked to Joe. She grabbed her purse and left. Sister Joe would know what to do. She knew everything in real life. Rowan couldn’t see why any of it would be different in her dreams.

  13

  It was midafternoon when Rowan crossed Gossette Street and stepped onto St. Anne’s campus on her way to find Sister Josephine, but it felt much later in the day. Heavy clouds crowded the sky, creating an early twilight, and the wind chased leaves with sudden gusts, thick with cold and moisture. Few students braved the change in weather by leaving the maze of interconnecting passageways joining the school’s many buildings, making the nearly deserted grounds feel more like a Sunday and not the middle of the week.

  On a day like today, Sister Joe would be in the library, curled up in one of her uncomfortable chairs, reading something old and heavy and possibly in the original Latin.