Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  She will be the girl-child of Ivan.

  She will acquire the ankh-At or

  Mankind will wither under the weight of the Nothingness.

  She will obey Set and destroy mankind or

  She will defy Set and mankind will prevail.

  She will decide and either mankind or Set will be destroyed.

  I was shaking. “Obey Set? Defy him how? Make what decision? Destroy mankind?” I interrupted. “There must be other descendants of those two lines! This has to be about someone else! You don’t even know if it’s real!” I exclaimed, but Marcus just continued, shifting his hand so his fingers were again entwined with mine.

  The girl-child of Set, the girl-child of Ivan will be born.

  Neffe looked at her father sharply, opening her mouth to interject, but the glare Marcus shot her would have silenced even the toughest, bravest, dumbest person.

  The girl-child of Set, the girl child of Ivan must be protected.

  The girl-child’s death will be the death of the world.

  “No! This doesn’t make any sense!” I declared, looking into the eyes of each of the people seated around the table. “It’s wrong! If I die, I die . . . the world won’t die with me!” I cried, my voice breaking.

  Silently, a tear slid down Neffe’s perfect cheek.

  “Many have tried to open the chest containing the ankh-At, including Set, but none have succeeded, and since Set hid the chest away, none have been able to even find it . . . until now. The next verse seems to highlight your importance in accessing Nuin’s power once we enter the temple,” Marcus said coolly, ignoring my outburst.

  I, Nuin, make inaccessible my power, the ankh-At.

  The ankh-At must be accessed or the world will wither.

  No person except for the girl-child shall be able to access the ankh-At.

  “And finally,” Marcus said, “he leaves a message for you, Lex.”

  Girl-child, know yourself and you shall know the gods.

  Girl-child, trust yourself and you shall trust the gods.

  So it ends, from start to finish,

  as found in writing.

  In the hush that fell over the room, I stood and backed away from the table. Five sets of pitying eyes were trained on me as traitorous tears poured down my cheeks.

  Hollow, numb, and nauseated, I wanted to scream. “No . . . it’s wrong!” My voice was weak, trembling. “It’s a mistake! It’s not me! I have a life . . . I have things I want to do, to discover. I have people . . . I have . . . this can’t be about me. I’m just . . . I’m just Lex! I’m nobody special!”

  Finally feeling the door handle behind me, I twisted it, opened the door, and fled the room. In the empty hallway, the sounds of my panicked flight resonated off the walls like bats flapping in a cavern. I heard footsteps behind me. I had to get away. I made it through the heavy metal door to the stairwell and down one flight of stairs before a body crashed into me from behind, catching me up in an unyielding embrace. I wanted to struggle, to fight my captor off and run away, but he was too strong.

  “Calm down, Lex,” Marcus whispered near my ear. “No matter what you believe, this is real. You must be protected. Set could come after you at any moment. You cannot go wandering around on your own.” He paused, breathing heavily. “The future of humanity—of our people—depends on your safety.”

  No, no, no! I thought, but I had no choice but to comply. Marcus was too strong, and if he was right about Nuin’s prophecy, about me . . . “Okay,” I breathed under his constricting hold. With that single word, he released me.

  Gasping, I staggered forward and rested my forehead against the wall while I caught my breath. I could feel myself shutting down mentally, blocking out everything—thoughts, emotions—so I didn’t have to face what might be real.

  “You’re going home, and I’m coming with you,” Marcus stated.

  “Alexander?” I asked hollowly.

  “Alex is going to visit Ivan. The others need to know the prophecy has been enacted. Come on,” Marcus said, taking my elbow and pulling me away from the wall.

  In a numb fog, I let Marcus guide me outside, settle me into his car, and safely and swiftly deliver me to my apartment. Thora greeted our entrance with the utmost seriousness, meowing somberly and rubbing against our legs. I would have stayed standing in the middle of the apartment, focusing on the normalcy of my cat’s body twining around my ankles, if Marcus hadn’t led me to the couch and forced me to sit. He made food, though I had no idea what, and I ate it—it tasted like cardboard. Lobster would have tasted like cardboard.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, watching Marcus remove the empty plate from my lap and carry it to the sink. It was the first time I’d spoken since we left Denny Hall.

  Marcus washed the plates and set them on the drying rack, the perfect image of domesticity. I would have smiled if I’d remembered how.

  “I know,” he said. He was standing in front of me, looking down with the fierce expression of a man who had once been believed to be a god. “How could you understand? You are so incredibly young . . . so innocent . . . so naïve.” He sighed. “We’ve been working on circumventing Nuin’s prophecy for thousands of years, but in the end, everything falls into the hands of a relative child. I still think there may be a way to nullify it altogether . . . but you don’t need to worry about that right now. You need to rest.”

  On the very edge of my numb mind, faint traces of annoyance danced. True as they were, his words were also demeaning. He’d called me a child.

  Regardless, I let him pull me up by my hands and walk me into my bedroom like I was his puppet to manipulate. He guided me to the bed, helped me lay down, then tucked the covers around me. He turned to leave.

  “Wait,” I whispered, surprised by the speed with which my hand struck out to grab his wrist. “Stay with me, please,” I pleaded. The unquenchable longing coursing through my body permeated my voice.

  Marcus’s eyes widened, and he frowned. “Lex, I don’t think—”

  “Stay with me, Marcus. Just . . . just stay. Please,” I said. The unreality of the world threatened to wash me away—I needed something to tether me to what was real. I needed Marcus.

  Silently, he struggled for a few seconds before removing his shoes and belt and joining me between the sheets. With assured strength, he embraced me, wrapping an arm around my middle and pulling my body back against his. I was asleep within minutes.

  “Lex,” Marcus hissed, his arms tightening painfully around my ribs. “Wake up!”

  I did, instantly. “Marcus,” I whispered, “wha—”

  “Shhh . . .” he breathed almost inaudibly. In a smooth, silent motion he had me out of bed and cradled in his arms like a small child. Setting me down on the cold bathroom tile, he whispered, “Stay in here.” And then he was gone.

  What? I slunk back out into the bedroom and cracked open the door, peeking into the living room. What’s going on?

  Two black-clad men entered the apartment and were struck solidly in the neck by small, silver knives before they’d taken more than a few steps—knives that Marcus had thrown.

  Who walks around with knives hidden in their clothes? And where was he hiding them? And in the furthest reaches of my mind, I thought, I just watched him kill two people.

  Two more knives replaced the originals in Marcus’s hands as four more men rushed into my small living space. Like a comic book hero, Marcus leapt at the lead man, flawlessly flinging his left knife into the eye socket of the next intruder. He sliced the first man’s neck cleanly while the second was still falling to the floor. The third and fourth men, one tall and one short, lunged in unison, dodging Marcus’s blade as they danced gracefully around him. Marcus stood still as stone, simultaneously looking like he might never move again and like he might strike at any second. He was, I truly realized for the first time, a very dangerous man.

  The shorter intruder feinted a kick, but Marcus remained still. The taller intruder pretended to slow
ly circle behind Marcus, attempting to divide his attention. With a cobra-like strike, Marcus slashed his remaining knife across the taller intruder’s throat. The instant Marcus moved, the shorter intruder lunged, only to have Marcus wrap his arm around his neck and twist it until it snapped a fraction of a second later. Marcus fought with the grace of a dancer, making the whole minute-long fight beautifully macabre.

  “You are hiding yourself from me in the future At,” said a velvety, male voice. It had an aristocratic British accent. When the owner of the voice stepped into the glow of streetlamps streaming through the blinds, I nearly gasped. It was Set . . . my father. “You’ve been keeping secrets, cousin. I didn’t know you had the talent to cloak future echoes.”

  “I don’t,” Marcus admitted. He stood in a relaxed position, looking about as harmless as a tiger.

  “You lie,” Set hissed. “I couldn’t see this possibility . . . I couldn’t see my daughter. You hid her!” He came momentarily unhinged, exposing the maniacal, power-maddened man he truly was.

  The image of self-possession, Marcus replied, “I do not, and I did not. I’m disappointed in you, old friend. Six men? For me? And not one carrying a gun. I would have expected more from someone so . . . paranoid.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be here!”

  “And yet, here I am.”

  Set’s countenance changed abruptly, becoming mild and pleasant. “Where is my daughter? In the bedroom, perhaps? Were you in there with her, helping the prophecy—my prophecy—along? I wouldn’t have expected to find you wearing so—”

  “Enough!” Marcus barked. “It’s not your prophecy.”

  Set laughed joyously. “It’s as much mine as it is yours. Or hers. Remember that, Heru.” He stepped further into the apartment, looking around the living room with apt interest. “Does she know about you? I’m sure you’ll tell her everything you can to paint me the evil monster, if you haven’t already. But try not to omit your own morbid colors—red and black, blood and death—that’s what you are, cousin. It’s what you’ll always be.”

  “I am what I’ve always been,” Marcus said coldly. “And if you’d just accept what you are, we could be out of this mess. You can end this, cousin, just give up your god delusions.”

  “They are not delusions!” Set roared.

  I cringed—there was no way the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops after hearing that. I glanced at one of the bodies on the floor by Marcus, a puddle of blood slowly expanding around him, and swallowed a sudden rush of bile. I will not throw up! My breath started coming faster, and I choked on a sob. Calm down, damn it! But the bodies were still out there, as was Set. What will he do to me if he gets through Marcus?

  Set turned and marched toward the front door. “I know you, cousin. You’re still trying to find a way to sidestep the prophecy. It will happen. She will choose and, one way or another, she will obey. Now, I must depart before those pesky little law enforcers arrive, as I’m certain they will. I’m sure that once they leave, you can find some pleasant diversion to occupy your . . . minds . . . and to help my prophecy along. Goodnight, Heru.” He raised his voice and called toward the bedroom, “Goodnight, Daughter!”

  After Set had been gone for at least a minute, Marcus said, “You can come out, Lex. I know you watched . . . and listened.”

  He studied me closely as I emerged from the bedroom. I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for me to run screaming, to faint, or to throw up, but he seemed surprised by what he saw.

  “I’ve never seen a real dead person before,” I said numbly. I stopped as my feet reached the nearest one and gazed down at him. It was the short man with his grossly twisted neck.

  Marcus moved closer to me, but halted when I held up my hand. “No. I need a moment.”

  His hands—his lethal, sensual hands—rose in a momentary display of supplication before falling to his sides. Would I finally understand him, understand what he was, like he’d demanded on our date? Would I understand him, and toss him away in disgust?

  When I finally spoke, my voice sounded hollow, as though the inside of my body had been carved into a living cavern. “Who were they? Did they have families? Wives? Children? Did you just destroy dozens of people’s lives?” It was the wrong thing to say.

  Moving more quickly than a regular human, Marcus rushed me from behind and forced me to my knees with him. My bones banged onto the wood floor, and I knew I would bruise, at least for a few hours.

  “Wha—”

  “Turn his head. Look at the back of his neck, Lex,” Marcus ordered angrily.

  “No! I don’t want to touch him!” I tried to rise, but Marcus’s strength far surpassed mine and his hold on my arms was absolute.

  “Do it,” he growled.

  I started to shake, one of my tell-tale precursors to ugly, heaving sobs.

  “Before the police arrive, preferably,” Marcus urged, tightening his grip. “I doubt they’d take kindly to you messing with their crime scene.”

  My throat clenched involuntarily as I reached toward the man’s unnaturally bent neck. I had to adjust his head to a more normal position in order to see the tattoo. In thick, black ink, the back of the man’s neck was marked with the pointy-eared, forked-tailed Set-animal. I pulled away like I’d been burned. Mike . . . he’d had the same tattoo . . . in the same place. With a chilly wash of realization, I knew with absolute certainty that Set, my father, had been the man urging Mike to drug me . . . to rape me. But, why?

  “These men were from Set’s cult,” Marcus explained, releasing me so I could stand. I didn’t.

  Marcus had just fought six men devoted to my psychopathic father, and defeated them easily. I had no idea what methods Set would use to ensure my obedience, but considering my stubbornness, I doubted the process would be pleasant. I did not doubt, however, that Set could find some way to force me to obey. I had no romantic delusions about my ability to withstand physical torture.

  I leaned back against Marcus, finally noticing how entangled we were. My knees were between his, my socked feet between his ankles. He wrapped his arms around my middle, holding me tightly against him. Unexpectedly, a sob bubbled up from my chest, closely followed by another, and another. I don’t want this life. I don’t want dead bodies in my home, or a psychotic father. I don’t want to decide the fate of humanity. Tears streamed down my face as tremors racked my body. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I want things to go back to the way they were. I don’t want this . . . I don’t want this . . . I don’t want this!

  “I know, Lex . . . I know,” Marcus said, and I realized I’d been repeating my final thought aloud. He still held me, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. “We have to go. We can’t stay here . . . the police will be here soon.”

  I nodded, still sniffling and shaking, and Marcus helped me up to my feet. “Thora,” I managed to mumble.

  Miraculously, Marcus understood. Within minutes, we had my cat tucked into her plastic carrier, I’d thrown a few essential items into my messenger bag with my computer, and we were hustling down the stairwell. In the distance, sirens wailed. We were out the back door and disappearing down the street just as they pulled up to my building.

  Am I a criminal now? Will they think I killed those men? Should I go to the police station? It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong, but Marcus . . . I couldn’t tell the police that Marcus had killed six people to protect me from my insane, inhuman—as in, of a different species—father. Should I call someone? But there was no one I could call, not really. Is this my life now?

  As we sped away, I watched the red and blue police lights fade into the distance in the side mirror. All I could think was, only the guilty run.

  19

  There & Gone

  Life, I was quickly learning, is very similar to war. The latter, it has been said, is filled with years and years of relentless boredom, routine, and monotony, interspersed with brief moments of sheer terror. In the case of life, the boredom is broken up by spikes of exc
itement morphing from joy to despair, hatred to love, and from passion to disgust. I had been in the boredom phase for the first twenty-four years of my life. I wasn’t anymore.

  Unfortunately, life and war decided to converge and throw everything they had at me all at once. I had more excitement than I knew what to do with. My father was a psychotic, evil megalomaniac, an ancient prophecy placed the fate of humans and Nejerets in my hands, and I was falling for an ancient and volatile god-inspiring man. The life I’d worked so hard for was disintegrating all around me. I didn’t think things could get any worse.

  “So . . . am I right in assuming this is the place you mentioned at dinner the other night? Your line’s, um, compound?” I asked. My voice felt appropriately unused—neither Marcus nor I had broken the thick silence since leaving my apartment, and we’d been in the car together for over two hours.

  “Yes.” Unlike mine, his voice was perfect—smooth as silk and deep as the ocean.

  I watched classically constructed stone and brick buildings pass by my window. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought we’d entered a nearly abandoned, Ivy League college campus. “And we’re here because . . . ?”

  “You’ll be staying here until we leave for the excavation.”

  “You want me to stay here for . . . for four months?” I spluttered. “I don’t have a car . . . the university’s two hours and a ferry ride away . . . how will I get there? How will I help with the excavation prep? And Jesus, Marcus . . . don’t we need to talk to the police about what happened in my apartment?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  I made a rough sound, part snort, part laugh. “What about my life?”

  Marcus stopped the car in the roundabout driveway of an enormous, chateau-like building constructed from pale gray stone. “This is your life now,” he told me.