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

by K.N. Lee

  Diego shuffled away from the altar toward the desk on the other side of the room, and Rowan remained frozen in place with the spell he’d cast on her. Her heart pounded, and fear squeezed cold in her chest. She forced her eyes closed — somehow she’d managed that — and struggled to concentrate. If it was a dream, she could regain control of it. Lucid dreaming was what Sister Joe called it.

  And if it wasn’t a dream?

  She forced that thought from her mind.

  No. She was dreaming. It was the only explanation for her strange paralysis or moving to Diego’s will or that candle suddenly being lit. Which meant she could control the situation.

  She curled her hands into fists and glanced down to prove she’d actually done so. Yes. And she’d moved her head to see, too.

  Good.

  Adrenaline pumped through her, eating away at the paralysis and panic.

  “I’m just here to ask a few questions,” she said, the words becoming easier as she struggled.

  “And I’m just here to take a little part of your soul.” He pulled a long, curved blade from a drawer and sauntered back to her. “There’s no need to worry. It shouldn’t kill you.”

  He traced a line with the tip of the blade along her jaw. It took all her will not to move, to wait for the right moment. Instincts — she didn’t know how she knew — said she had the strength for one attack. And only one. His backhand had been obvious, telegraphed, and she’d had time to contemplate her counter-maneuver. Whatever he was about to do had to be the same. She was willing to bet on that — and it looked like her life was the currency.

  He drew the dagger back and she saw her chance. As he thrust the blade toward her, she shifted the fraction necessary to avoid it. She captured his hand and twisted it around, hard.

  It wasn’t her smoothest disarm, and she struggled to maintain control of her body, but it had done the job.

  Diego yelped and the blade clattered to the floor. “That’s not possible.”

  “Believe it.” She leaned in, forcing him to his knees. There were days when she was glad she’d taken a little time to study a few more defensive styles than just karate, and this was certainly one of them. “I’m just here for information.”

  Diego whimpered, but she didn’t ease up on the wrist lock.

  “Information.” Her muscles twitched against the effects of the magical dust.

  “About?”

  “Parallel worlds.”

  “Parallel worlds?”

  “Yes.” She twisted Diego’s wrist harder, making him squeak. “How can I move between worlds?”

  “How do you—?”

  She moved to tighten the wrist lock again, more certain about her strength, and his eyes widened.

  “You can’t move between worlds.”

  “I have information that says otherwise.”

  “Well, yeah, there’s a spell, but—”

  “I know that.” She allowed her frustration and anger to darken her voice.

  “But I don’t know anyone who can cast it.”

  “Meaning?” This was sounding a lot like a dead end.

  Diego inched back, but she didn’t let up on the lock and shifted to secure her hold.

  “The spell’s old. Ancient lore. There’s no human alive, or even a coven, who could draw enough energy for a casting.”

  “What about a demon?”

  Diego snorted and sneered at her. “Unless you know something I don’t, there hasn’t been a coven of demons since the Great Flood. Has the Dust addled your mind, sweetie?”

  She leaned into her hold, making him whimper and wiping the sneer from his face. “Some warlock you are.”

  He looked at her through a veil of stringy hair. “I almost had you.”

  The chill in her chest sank to a hard knot in her stomach. Nothing about this felt like a dream anymore, not even Diego’s magic.

  “Almost doesn’t cut it.” She picked the dagger off the floor and released his wrist. Keeping track of him from the corner of her eye, she strode to the door.

  Her muscles burned and she could still feel the effects of the powder dragging at her, but she’d be damned if she was going to let a creep like Diego see it. She rammed the dagger into the doorframe. It stuck and wobbled back and forth.

  “Don’t bother to see me out,” she said, and left, slamming the door behind her.

  She ran down the stairs and the panic from moments ago returned with a rush. Her heart pounded, her chest was tight, and all of her trembled with cold.

  Seth had warned her this world was dangerous. How many times in forty-eight hours could she dodge death?

  She hit the door at the bottom of the stairs at a dead run and barely remembered to turn the knob before slamming into it. Cold raindrops splashed her face but it didn’t touch the haze clinging to all her thoughts except one: trapped.

  She was trapped.

  Not caring that the rain soaked her hair and dripped down the back of her neck under her collar, she marched down the street. Her coat would soon become saturated since it wasn’t designed to repel rain, and the drip down her neck wouldn’t matter. There had to be something, some action or solution. So Diego couldn’t cast the spell, no human could. He didn’t seem all that reliable. Perhaps he was lying about that, too.

  Her toe snagged a ridge in the sidewalk, and she stumbled. She caught herself and glanced around. There was no one about. Thank goodness. Not that the odds were good that someone would be roaming the streets in a downpour at one in the morning. Not that she should be.

  She was such a fool. Such a trapped, helpless fool. And yet a part of her couldn’t believe that this was happening. How had it happened? How was any of this real? She stepped into the shelter of a recessed shop door and leaned into the shadows to avoid as much of the rain as possible. Just because she was sure she was losing her mind didn’t mean she had to lose all common sense as well. If she just stopped for a moment, maybe, just maybe…

  Nothing came to mind. Her brain still stuttered over this being real. Except now it also stuttered over this being just a dream.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Her bruised cheek ached from the movement. She relaxed her eyes and gently pressed her face to the cool brick beside her. The voice of belief in this fantastic reality grew stronger. This. Was. Real.

  Shit.

  She had three options. None of which had any appeal. She could fully accept the reality of this world and go on as normal — or as normal as possible, all things considered when magic and demons and living gargoyles were involved — and maybe she’d run across Ben again. Maybe she could get her life back on track. Their deal for her to finish her education then return home, consult with world authorities via the internet and start a family never sounded better… or safer.

  Of course, there was no guarantee that the Ben here would be the Ben she loved. All she had to do was look at Shannon for proof of that.

  Option two was to go to Sister Joe, Jovkovic, and wrong-Shannon for help. But the more she thought about that, the more complicated it got. How could she prove she wasn’t who she said she was and not just crazy? Diego believed there wasn’t anyone who could travel between worlds, so if he didn’t think what had happened to her was possible what made her think someone else would?

  She pushed away from the wall and stepped back out into the rain. God, she hated that Seth was right.

  Which led her to option three: do what Seth wanted and find his brother, since she wasn’t in a position to force him into sending her back. He either had eleven demon friends helping him cast the spell that had brought her here or could control more magic than twelve humans combined — which seemed like a lot to her, even if she had no way of knowing how much magic a human or demon could wield.

  Given that she was one little human with no magic, she didn’t like her odds if she tried to force Seth to do… well… anything. With luck, he’d keep his word and send her home. Not that she could trust his word. But what bothered her more was whether she
could trust herself when she was around him.

  18

  Rowan walked home from Diego’s shop in the early hours of the morning and the rain. She was soaked within the first fifteen minutes, and every little shadow or noise or car driving by made her jump. By the time she got into her apartment, she was so tense her whole body ached and her teeth chattered.

  She stripped out of her wet clothes and left them in a heap on the floor by her bed. Still in wet underwear, she crawled under the covers, curled into a ball, and refused to cry. If she were home — in her real home — she would have put on her old oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt. But she wasn’t home, and she didn’t want to face the disappointment that her comfort clothes hadn’t made the transition. Or worse, they were something else that was neither comfortable nor comforting.

  Eventually, she warmed up, but she couldn’t find sleep and tossed and turned until the alarm went off.

  Without much thought, she went through her morning routine and had a quick shower, its only goal to erase the wild bed-head she’d given herself by going to bed with wet hair. The hot water revived her enough to notice the black and purple welt on her cheek. Wonderful. This was going to be a full makeup kind of day, even though she had no inclination to spend that kind of time on her appearance. But if anyone saw her they’d ask questions, and she wasn’t ready to share anything with anybody yet — if she could even figure out what anything was.

  Besides, deep down, she hoped that overnight things had returned to normal. Click your heels, wish of home, and bam.

  She finished applying makeup, satisfied that the bruise wasn’t obvious, styled her hair, and got dressed in a navy pantsuit. Then she grabbed her purse and headed to the office. If she tried hard, she could almost ignore the differences: the people with not-quite-human features, the stores catering to non-human clientele. They were few and far between, and if she looked at it from an academic perspective, it indicated that the entity population was small — or that she was in the non-entity part of town. Jovkovic had said the demon dynasties were a law unto themselves. Maybe they were a separate society as well.

  Shannon and Jovkovic waited by the security station of the Federal Building, Jovkovic chatting with the security guard while Shannon leaned against the guard’s desk.

  The bliss — what little there had been — of pretending she wasn’t in a strange parallel or dream world was over. There was no way she could work with this Shannon and not think that anything was different.

  She told herself she could handle differences, she just needed time to adjust, but really wasn’t sure.

  Shannon’s expression brightened when he noticed her coming through the revolving door, and she prayed her make-up would pass the test. With the level of intimacy he’d shown yesterday, she was certain he’d demand answers. In fact, whether her make-up did the job or not, it was probably best if she kept to his right and showed him her left profile as much as possible.

  Jovkovic cut off his conversation with the security guard and tugged on the ends of his brown tweed jacket, which didn’t need straightening.

  “We need to return to Manny’s. I’d like you there, Hill, but I’m not going to force you.”

  For a moment she couldn’t understand what the problem was. Then the incident in the alley came flooding back all too fast. It had only been two days, and already she’d moved on to worry about other things. Who’d have thought there’d be something more pressing than having gotten shot?

  “Ro?” Shannon asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Crap. Drawing attention to herself. She shrugged, hoping it looked casual. “What are we waiting for?”

  Shannon barked a quick laugh. “That’s my girl.”

  Jovkovic shook his bald head. “There must be some entity in you, somewhere, Hill.” He headed across the lobby to the back stairs and the parking garage.

  She hurried to catch up, feeling the hulking presence of Shannon close behind her.

  “I told him a little scare wouldn’t stop you,” Shannon said.

  She glanced over her left shoulder and adjusted so he could walk beside her on her good side.

  “You’re tougher than the average human.” He wrapped a thick arm around her shoulders and squeezed her against his side.

  She didn’t know how to respond, and thankfully he released her and strode ahead with his longer legs to the car.

  “Come on, Ro. Let’s get the crime scene over with so you can move on to more interesting things.” His tone implied interesting involved something sexual, and it didn’t make him happy.

  She forced herself to nod and keep moving toward them instead of staggering to a halt then fleeing in the other direction. She needed to get home. Really, really needed to get home.

  They took a company SUV, Rowan grateful she was alone in the back. Traffic was light and they arrived at Manny’s apartment building in no time. Which was a relief, because she didn’t know how much longer she could remain in the car with wrong-Shannon and his obvious, extroverted attraction to her.

  Jovkovic parked behind a crime scene van in front of the six-story, plain-block style apartment building. It had no ornamentation and screamed 1960’s tenement. The hedge she’d shoved through to get into the alley the last time she’d been there wasn’t there and the chain link fence had been pushed back. Two CSUs worked along the alley.

  She paused, staring at them working meticulous inch by meticulous inch. But it wasn’t the CSUs she was drawn to, it was the alley, the scene of her misjudgment where she’d been shot.

  Perhaps if she stood there again things would return to normal. Maybe all she needed was to face her own demons — or entities, as Jovkovic would say.

  A hand brushed her shoulder and she jumped.

  “It’s done and you’re still alive,” Shannon said, his voice hushed.

  “Maybe if I had a moment where it—” She bit the inside of her cheek. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with him. He stood on her right side and she turned away from him to hide her bruise.

  “I know you want to catch the guy, but CSU isn’t finished.”

  “Come on, you two,” Jovkovic said from the building’s crumbling steps.

  “Maybe he left something when he killed Manny,” Shannon said, too jovial for the situation.

  She nodded, adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, and headed to the steps.

  So Manny hadn’t shot her in this world. Someone else had. If there was another Manny and another Shannon, was there another her? What had happened in this alley to the Rowan from this world? The thought that Seth knew she wasn’t the right Rowan was followed with a jumble of questions that she pushed aside to examine later when she wasn’t around Shannon or Jovkovic.

  Sometimes ignorance really was bliss — too bad it didn’t apply to her current situation. For the moment, she needed to focus on the crime scene and how it connected to the disappearance of Seth’s brother.

  They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor in silence. The inside of the building looked as bad as the outside. The walls were a uniform beige, or at least had been at one point. Now they were splotchy brown and gray from dirt and dust and who-knew-what-else that had built up over the ages. And while there were scrapes and cracks, there weren’t any holes.

  If she looked closer, she could see evidence of holes that had been haphazardly patched and painted a shade or two off from the original color — the only sign of any kind of maintenance on the building. Certainly nothing had been done to the old, cheap laminate flooring. The tiles were cracked, scuffed, and in places, missing.

  Halfway down the hall, a local police officer leaned against the wall beside an open door, picking at his nails. Jovkovic flashed his badge and they entered. On instinct, Rowan stuffed her hands in her pockets and stopped just inside the threshold. She’d never been to an active crime scene — Brown had never allowed it before and after the incident with Manny, likely never would. The closest she’d gotten were the crime scene photo
s.

  She tried to look at the apartment as if it were a snapshot, pinned up on the board. The entrance opened into the living room, a small area filled with boxes. Save for an easy chair by the window, it appeared Manny had been in the process of moving in or moving out. She was grateful she wasn’t the one who was going to have to log everything in the boxes.

  Jovkovic and Shannon had headed left down a short hall and at the end, straight ahead, lay a bathroom. To the right, a bedroom. More boxes piled around the room made it difficult for both men to fit. From around Shannon’s hulking form, she could see a bloodstained bed, and save for the rumpled comforter on top, there was no sign of a struggle. Nothing broken or any blood splatter in her limited view.

  If this was where Manny had died, his assailant had caught him unaware.

  She remembered how Diego had immobilized her last night and amended her first assumption. Either Manny had been caught unaware, or magic had been involved.

  The idea grated against all logic, but given the world she was in, she had to consider the possibility, no matter how much she hated it.

  Nothing, even if it seemed ridiculous to her, could be ruled out.

  She turned away from the bedroom. She didn’t want to see the scene of the murder and besides, there wasn’t enough room for her with both men in there.

  A narrow, cluttered kitchen lay on the other side of the living room, and she wandered over there. Magnets covered the fridge, holding flyers — mostly take-out menus — and business cards. A table leaned in the corner beside it, propped up by a chair stacked with tattered telephone books. It was laden with dirty dishes, half-finished meals, newspapers, and flyers. More of the same covered the counter, while murky water — too murky to see what lay beneath the surface — filled the sink.

  “Do you think Manny was moving in or moving out?” Shannon asked from behind her.

  She glanced back into the living room, at the boxes and the lone easy chair. “The boxes are clear of junk. I’d say he was moving out.”

  Shannon pushed past her into the kitchen, pulled a handkerchief from his pant’s pocket, and wrapped it around two fingers.