Mythbound Trilogy Boxed Set

by Cory Barclay

  A light tapping scratched against the single window in the room, drawing both Steve and Annabel’s attention.

  At first it sounded like light rain, but then it happened again, and not with the consistency of rainfall.

  They shared a frightened look.

  Annabel hopped up from the bed and crept toward the window, Steve close by her side.

  In one fluid motion, she grabbed the dark curtains and swung them open.

  A gray-black cat with a white spot on its belly was perched on the other side of the window, clawing at the glass and meowing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Steve glanced at Annabel, then opened the window. Soft sunlight poured in, followed by the gray-black cat.

  It was Misty, the smallest member of the Vagrant Kinship.

  The cat jumped from the windowsill to the nightstand, almost knocking Annabel’s precious poem to the ground. She rubbed her soft head against Steve’s arm and purred.

  Steve stroked the kitty behind the ears, smiling. For whatever reason, this cat seemed to like him. She’d jumped on his lap at Geddon’s base near Old Town and now she was nestled against him, purring.

  “You know this cat?” Annabel asked, sitting back on the bed.

  Steve nodded, took a seat on a chair next to the nightstand, and brought the cat with him to rest on his lap. “This is Misty.”

  Annabel pointed at her. “Look what’s on her leg.”

  Steve lifted Misty and furrowed his brow. A tiny piece of paper was wrapped around her leg. He unraveled the paper and said, “It’s a note with an address on it.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Misty is Geddon’s cat. She was following his friend, Selestria . . .” he trailed off and sighed. “It’s a long story. It involves a mean, talking painting and a betrayal by one of our own.” He still couldn’t believe Barns had ratted them out. He held the piece of paper up and continued. “I’m guessing this is Geddon’s location. Or Selestria’s.”

  “What will you do?”

  Steve shrugged. “Go there, I guess. Of course, I’d ask you to come, but you’re too worried your parents will kill me if I took you . . .”

  “It’s a valid concern.”

  With a slow nod, Steve dropped Misty from his lap to let the cat roam around the room. He stood up. “I know it is. But I have, what, ten days before the wedding?”

  “What will you do in those ten days?”

  “Try to figure out a way to break it up, of course.”

  Annabel smiled wryly. “My parents might kill you for a different reason altogether, Steve.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  They stopped talking and looked at one another. Steve had a pleading look in his eyes, Annabel seemed sad. Then Annabel hopped up from the bed and meandered toward him. She flung his arms around him and they held each other.

  “I wish I could stay,” Steve whispered in her ear, caressing the back of her neck.

  “No, you don’t, my love,” Annabel whispered back. “You wouldn’t want to be here when my parents wake up.”

  There was no denying that. “True,” he said, then kissed her and held her tighter.

  Misty purred louder, either to cheer them on or to hurry Steve up.

  He knew if they’d sent a messenger kitty to find him, there must be some sort of emergency.

  Steve held Annabel out at arm’s-length, then looked down at Misty, curled up near the door.

  “Man,” he said, shaking his head, “the people of Mythicus are gonna be in for a wild ride the day they discover cell phones.”

  Annabel chuckled. It brightened up Steve’s somber mood. “You’d better get going,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed him again.

  Steve said, “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

  “I know you will, darling.”

  “And when I do, it’ll be to stop this marriage with Amethyst.”

  Annabel smiled. “Don’t get yourself killed out there, okay?”

  STEVE FOLLOWED MISTY downstairs, creeping along. He was afraid that a creak in the floorboards would wake Constantin and Mariana.

  Before leaving the house, Steve found Lig hiding in the library. He had on little spectacles and was huddled up in a corner, reading a tiny book. It was almost comical.

  “Lig,” Steve said, interrupting the brownie’s concentration.

  Lig closed the book. “You’ve found me, wafer-man.”

  “Despite your size, you aren’t hard to find, my friend.”

  “What do you need?”

  Steve spoke in a low voice. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

  “It depends what the favor is.” The brownie sounded uncooperative, but his eyes glinted. He loved mischief—a trait common in all brownies.

  “I need you to find out all you can about Edgar Allan Poe—the circumstances of his death, when he died, anything strange. Can you do that for me?”

  “Well . . . I’m sure I’ve seen things lying around here about that topic. Why do you want to know about Annabel’s old lover? Jealousy?”

  Steve scoffed. “No, dammit, don’t worry about the ‘why.’ I’d do it myself but I don’t have the Internet.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “If I do this, you’d better have a tasty treat for me next time I see you.”

  “Of course,” Steve said. “You can count on me.”

  “Very well. I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Thank you.” Steve turned to leave the library.

  Before he made it to the end of the room, Lig called out, “Wafer-man,” and Steve glanced over his shoulder.

  “Have you told Lady Annabel about the woman you saw in the woods, or the werewolf your old master killed?”

  Steve shook his head. That seemed like an odd question.

  “You’d best keep it that way,” Lig added. He was silent as Steve nodded with a puzzled look on his face. Then he said, “She might get the wrong idea, you see—you and a nude woman alone in the woods . . .”

  “Right,” Steve said, then he turned and left.

  Misty led the way outside the house.

  It was a bright and beautiful morning, humid but manageable. They traveled west, down the road, toward the Reynolds’ house, keeping away from the woods.

  They passed the trail leading to the Reynolds’ estate on a straight path west, toward the ocean.

  The address on Misty’s note was a location near the Bayfog Cliffs. He was heading back to where much of this began, though he hadn’t felt like telling Annabel or Lig that.

  Lig had almost been killed at the Bayfog Gathering. Annabel had learned that Brethren soldiers had descended on the place. She would think he was foolish for returning there, and it was best not to worry her. She was probably right.

  Steve and Misty skirted around the bay, stopping only to let Misty sip some water. Then she padded along at a trot with Steve following. He noticed the cat had picked up the pace.

  After an hour of walking, they reached the base of the cliffs. They went south, toward the Point Loma peninsula, away from the old lighthouse at the top of the cliffs. They stopped at the New Point Loma Lighthouse. It was 80 feet above sea level, rather than 450 feet. Steve was thankful he didn’t have to scale that mountainside again.

  Steve walked past the lighthouse and stopped at the edge of the peninsula. He crossed his arms and stared west at the shimmering Pacific Ocean. Small patches of fog clouded the coast. Looking east from the peninsula, he saw the San Diego Bay and the point where the two bodies of water converged.

  “There you are,” a voice came from behind him. He spun around.

  Selestria was walking out of the lighthouse. The nymph had a walking staff in her hands. She looked just like she had when he’d last left her: beautiful, thin, with a face carved from alabaster. As she drew nearer, Steve noticed a sad expression on her face.

  “I sent Misty to retrieve you late last night—I expected you before now. I feare
d she’d gotten lost.”

  “Nope. Took some time to find me in the woods, I reckon.”

  Selestria nodded but said nothing.

  After a momentary pause, Steve said, “So . . . why did you send for me? Did you find the real painting?”

  “I am a real painting!” came a muffled shout from inside the lighthouse, behind the door.

  Selestria rolled her eyes. “No, unfortunately I’ve failed in my mission.”

  “I’m sure it’ll pop up soon.”

  “Perhaps. Geddon sent for me and he asked me to gather you. I assume he requires our assistance.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Northern Soreltris.”

  Steve didn’t really know where that was. “Are we in Southern Soreltris?”

  She said, “Central Soreltris, actually.”

  “Then Southern Soreltris must be Mexico,” he muttered to himself.

  Selestria overhead it and said, “Yes, that is correct. Southern Soreltris is part of Tijuana, on Terrus. Northern Soreltris is past Orange County.”

  Steve tilted his head. “How do you know the names of places from Terrus?”

  “Because I’ve been there before. What, did you think I’ve stayed on Mythicus my whole life?”

  Steve scratched his head. “Well, yeah, sorta.”

  STEVE AND SELESTRIA took their time getting to Northern Soreltris. Selestria had her own horse, Tilly, a young, brown mare full of energy. She rode with the Portrait of a Lady strapped to her back. Misty dug her paws into Francesca’s neck and acted like she was steering the ship, hissing directions. Steve smiled at the charming cat.

  They journeyed down the freeway, passing by other families, traders, and merchants. The I-5 Freeway was the main thoroughfare in Soreltris, Steve noticed. It was a bright day and the Mythics were out en masse, going about their lives and heading to where they needed to be.

  Eventually, Selestria took the team to a large hillside, on the outskirts of Orange County.

  At the top of the hill, Geddon waited for them on horseback.

  Looking out from the summit, Steve could see the distant horizon and the blue line of the ocean to the west. On the other side, looking down, Steve noticed rows of tombstones placed along the green. He realized they were at the same cemetery where he’d originally met Annabel.

  “Well met, kinsfolk,” Geddon said as Selestria and Steve approached. He wore a thick leather hide over his clothes, like he was preparing for battle. He had a five o’clock shadow and seemed tired.

  Steve started by saying, “Why have you brought us all the way out here, Geddy?”

  Geddon frowned. “That is the greeting I get?”

  Steve had the decency to look shamefaced. “Sorry . . . I’ve been stressed.”

  “What do you have to report?” Geddon asked.

  So, that’s it, then. I’m just another eye and ear for the Vagrant rebellion.

  Steve said, “Annabel is getting married in less than two weeks to a man named Tiberius Reynolds.” He watched Geddon’s face for recognition of the name, but saw nothing.

  Geddon said, “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

  “It is the real name of Lord Amethyst.”

  Geddon suppressed a groan. “How have you learned this?”

  “Because I was living with the bastard—without knowing who my masters were. After Bayfog I stayed low by living as a servant for a family near Annabel’s house. I later learned who they actually were.”

  “Yes, now that you mention it, I recognize the House of Reynolds as a powerful family in the Brethren nobility.”

  “Indeed,” said Steve. “The arbiters of that family have allied with the parents of Annabel.”

  “To what end?”

  “Annabel’s parents will become Brethren Council members. The Reynoldses will gain the Lees’ votes in said Council. They plan to overthrow Overseer Malachite.”

  Geddon’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “That’s unexpected. Are you sure?”

  “I overheard them during a secret dinner,” Steve said. “They almost found me and killed me. Misty came to me at the right time.”

  “Good work,” Geddon said. “Perhaps we can use their alliance for our own benefit. If the Brethren families are fracturing within, that doesn’t bode well for their leadership.”

  “But, if they hate the Kinship more, they may not see any use in hearing us out,” Selestria said.

  “She’s right,” Steve said. “‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ may not work here. We’re still chief among the Brethren’s adversaries. The best thing we could do is lay low, I think. Let them duke it out. Then we clean up the scraps.”

  Geddon was shaking his head. “That’s not for you to decide, Steve. And besides, if we wait too long, Tetsuo might be killed.”

  Steve looked at him square in the face. “How do you know he hasn’t been killed already?”

  With another frown, Geddon looked away. “Because I can feel his presence.”

  Steve didn’t know if he meant they were connected somehow—that Geddon could actually feel a connection with the rebellion’s captured leader—or if this was more of a spiritual mumbo jumbo feeling.

  “Speaking of Tetsuo,” Geddon said, turning to Selestria, “I’m hoping that’s the original Portrait of a Lady slung across your back.”

  “No,” Selestria said. “I’m afraid not. I’ve come up empty.”

  Geddon swore under his breath.

  “And you?” Steve asked, trying to take the focus away from Selestria’s failure. “Have you found Barns, or figured out why he betrayed us?”

  “I have not,” Geddon said. “It seems we’ve all failed in our respective tasks.”

  “Except for me, Geddy,” Steve said, eyeing the man.

  “True, you learned things when you should have been hiding. I commend you for taking those risks.”

  “And not only that,” Steve added, “but I discovered something odd during a recent dream-leap.” He reached into his back pocket and produced the gold coin. “I’ve learned who this belongs to.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to pay the stableman for your horse with that?” Geddon asked.

  Steve shrugged. “I’ll get around to it some day, I’m sure.”

  Geddon frowned.

  “This gold coin—any many more besides it—belongs to a mischievous little man named Aiden O’Shaunessy.”

  He noticed Geddon and Selestria both tensed at the mention of the name.

  After looking at one and then the other, he said, “You both know the leprechaun.”

  They nodded.

  Selestria said, “Aiden used to be a member of the Kinship, before leaving for Terrus.”

  Steve crinkled his brow. That’s not what he’d been expecting to hear. While on Terrus, Aiden had wanted to kill Annabel and bring Steve to Mythicus. He’d killed January Amos, the Druid. He was a vindictive, evil man. He had been working for an ominous higher power, someone who wanted all Mythics eradicated from Terrus. This entire time, Steve thought he must have been working for the Brethren of Soreltris.

  “Did he betray the rebellion?” Steve asked, trying to hide the worrisome feeling growing in his belly.

  “Something like that,” Geddon said. “He left when we needed him most. And he back-stabbed you on Terrus, too, if you remember.”

  “How could I forget?” Steve muttered. “It was here that he did it.” He stretched his arms out, motioning to the graveyard below.

  After a moment of silence, Geddon said, “What is it about Aiden that intrigues you, Steve? What did the coin tell you?”

  “There’s a whole treasure chest full of these coins somewhere in Aiden’s dreamstate.”

  “You mean in Ethereus,” Selestria said.

  Steve nodded.

  “Imagine what the rebellion could accomplish with all that wealth . . .” Selestria murmured, trailing off.

  Steve continued. “While I was trapped in his mind, Aiden expressed hope that
we could work together. Then I woke up.”

  Geddon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why would Aiden want to help you—does he believe you’ll trust him after what he’s done?”

  Steve shrugged. “I wondered the same thing. I was worried he was going to kill me and trap my soul somehow, so I was thankful I woke up so abruptly. But now I’m curious about what he meant.”

  “As am I,” Geddon said. He glanced at Steve and saw a pensive look on his face. “Is there something else?”

  “He mentioned something about a mirror that Overseer Malachite owns. He offhandedly said that if he can get the ‘mirror’ working, maybe he can use that to his benefit.”

  Geddon glanced away from Steve’s intense stare.

  When it was clear neither Selestria nor Geddon were going to elaborate on this mysterious mirror, Steve grew impatient. “You both look like you’re hiding something important. I deserve to know, after helping the rebellion so much. So, tell me, what in God’s name is Malachite’s mirror?”

  Geddon sighed. “It’s called the Parallel Reflector.”

  Steve shook his head, as if saying, “Cool, but that doesn’t help me at all.”

  Geddon hesitated to continue. He said, “Truth be told, it’s the reason this war broke out in the first place. It’s an artifact of great power—a mirror that transports a person to the reflection they see within.”

  “I don’t understand,” Steve said, “Wouldn’t their reflection be . . . of themselves and the room they’re in?”

  “Not with this mirror. It’s enchanted. The reflection shows the place the watcher desires most. The only problem is it hasn’t worked in centuries. And no one knows how to operate it.”

  “We’re not even sure if Malachite has the proper mirror,” Selestria added. “It could be like our painting—a mock forgery.”

  The Portrait of a Lady gave a muffled growl through its tablecloth wrapping.

  “What does Overseer Malachite plan to do with the mirror, if he gets it working?” Steve asked.

  Geddon said, “Searing a person to Mythicus or Terrus drains the Myth Maker or Myth Seeker. One person can only Sear so many. With the Reflector operational, Malachite would be able to send as many Mythics into Terrus as he wants—or vice versa.”