The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  Dearest Bella, it began.

  She read the whole thing, then re-read it, a lump forming in her throat. Blinking back tears, she folded it, putting it back in her pocket. She sighed again, shifting her gaze from the fire…and saw Myko lying across from it, staring at her. She startled, staring back.

  The great wolf stirred, standing up and walking toward her. He circled around behind her, then laid down, curling his body to press against her back. He was warm and soft, and she could feel his gentle breath on the back of her neck.

  She nudged back a bit, pressing against him.

  Time passed, and still she couldn’t sleep.

  “Myko?” she whispered.

  There was no response; the wolf was clearly asleep.

  She took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly.

  “My Grandpa died yesterday,” she whispered. The statement sent a chill down her spine, the first time she’d ever said those words. The first time she’d admitted the awful truth out loud.

  She swallowed past a lump in her throat.

  “I can’t cry,” she confessed, so quietly even she barely heard it.

  Bella closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. A normal person would’ve cried. When someone you loved died, that’s what you did. But she clearly wasn’t normal. Or maybe the truth was even more terrible than she wanted to admit.

  Maybe she hadn’t loved Grandpa as much as she’d thought.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

  She felt Myko stir behind her, and then his great big paw draped over her, resting on her chest. It pulled her gently backward, pressing her spine firmly against him. She felt the slow, steady lub-dub of his heartbeat on her back.

  The dam burst.

  Tears welled up in Bella’s eyes, dripping down her cheeks. Awful sobs burst out from deep within her, wracking her body. She cried, remembering Grandpa lying beside her at night, telling her stories. Remembering feeling his heart beating as he hugged her close, her head resting on his frail chest. His great big smiles, his endless exuberance.

  She cried, unable to stop, terrified that Gideon might wake up and hear her. But he didn’t. She cried until there was nothing left. Until exhaustion took over.

  And then, when she was done, she closed her eyes, surrounded by the warmth and softness of the great silver wolf embracing her. Her mind began to wander, and at long last, she fell asleep.

  Chapter 11

  The day of Simon’s judgement was upon him.

  He’d woken up that morning in his cell, having slept fitfully on its unforgiving stone bed. After relieving himself in his commode, he’d sat cross-legged on the floor, watching as guards strolled by, clad in the gold and red uniforms of the Pentad. None of them paid him any mind. None of them cared. No one cared about anyone but themselves.

  His father had taught him that.

  Simon fiddled with the porcelain fragment absently, waiting. It was silent, as it often was. Like him, it rarely spoke. It rarely needed to.

  Another guard passed by, then another.

  Hours passed, and Simon grew antsy, standing up to pace back and forth in his cramped, narrow cell. He found himself staring down at his right forearm, at a small bulge in the front of it. A shard of glass from that fateful day. The day he relived over and over in his dreams. The only piece of glass he hadn’t been able to get out after his father’d finished with him. It was a part of him now…and would be until his death.

  And that, he realized, was only hours away now.

  More footsteps echoed through the hallway, but they were different. Sharper. They rang out slowly, leisurely, getting progressively louder. A guard strode into view, but the footsteps weren’t his.

  “Hey,” the guard called out, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword and staring off at something further down the hall. “Who’re you?”

  The footsteps drew closer, and then Simon heard a woman’s voice sing.

  Stop world

  Rest for a while,

  Time goes on

  But yours is slowing.

  You stop

  But Time goes on,

  An eternity in every

  Second.

  The guard froze, not so much as blinking. He just stood there as the woman continued to sing, her voice hauntingly beautiful. Simon blinked…or at least he tried to. His eyelids seemed frozen, moving so slowly that it was barely imperceptible. And try as he might, he couldn’t move a muscle. His body simply wouldn’t obey him.

  And then she stepped into view.

  The woman was tall and slender, wearing a tight silver dress that clung to her every curve, and silver high heels. Even her hair was silver, and perhaps six inches long, fashioned into several sharp spikes that shot straight upward. Her temples were shaved into complex curving patterns, her small ears sharply pointed. She had the most unusual silver eyes, and high, sharp cheekbones. And though she had the body of a young woman, something about the way she carried herself hinted at her being much older than she appeared.

  She strolled right up to the guard, who still hadn’t moved, stopping a foot away from him. Then she turned her head – still singing – her eyes lighting on Simon.

  A chill ran through him, goosebumps rising on his arms.

  Still she sang, locking eyes with Simon. She held his gaze, even as she reached for the guard’s sword, drawing it free from its scabbard.

  Then she slid the blade across the guard’s throat.

  No blood came from the wound, though it cut deep into his flesh. The guard just stood there, unmoving, even as the woman re-sheathed his sword, then took the keyring from his belt.

  She stopped singing.

  The guard slumped to the floor, blood spurting from his neck. Simon gasped, instantly regaining control of his body. He bolted to his feet, backpedaling to the rear wall of his cell.

  The woman turned to face Simon, using the guard’s key to unlock the door to Simon’s cell. She pushed it open, the barred door swinging open with a creak.

  “Hello Simon,” she greeted in a silky-smooth voice. “My name is Miss Savage. I’ve come to rescue you.”

  Simon stood there, pressed against the wall, staring at her mutely.

  “Come with me,” she requested…and immediately turned, walking back the way she’d come, her heels ringing loudly on the stone floor with each step. Simon watched her go, then shifted his gaze to the guard lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

  Listen to her or die.

  Simon glanced down at the porcelain fragment in his hand, then took a deep breath in…and obeyed. He stepped out of his cell, carefully avoiding the blood around the guard, and rushed to catch up with the silver-haired woman. The hallway was long and straight…and ahead, another guard could be seen lying on the ground in a pool of blood. And beyond that, another. And another.

  Miss Savage stopped suddenly, turning to face him.

  “Look at me, Simon,” She requested. He did so. She produced a purple crystalline key from a tiny pocket in the side of her dress, holding it out to him. “This is a very special key,” she explained.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why save me?”

  “Because we need you, Simon.”

  “Need me?” he pressed.

  “You’re a Painter, aren’t you?”

  He nodded. He was a Painter, like his mother had been. He’d painted in secret ever since…since his father had passed.

  That’s one way to put it, the voice in his head remarked.

  “I’ve seen your work,” Miss Savage revealed. “My…employer is interested in hiring you.”

  “Your employer?”

  “The Collector,” she clarified.

  Simon’s eyes widened, and Miss Savage smirked.

  “You’ve heard of him then,” she noted. Simon nodded. Everyone had heard of the Collector.

  “He’s a criminal,” he pointed out.

  “So are you.”

  Simon grimaced.


  “What does he want with me?” he pressed.

  “See for yourself.”

  She held the key before her then, twisting it as if she’d put it in an invisible keyhole. A door made of shimmering purple light appeared in front of her. She opened it, revealing a rectangular doorway leading to a magnificent hallway. One with a white and gray marble floor, a red and gold carpet running over the middle of it. Paintings hung from the walls, along with elegant lanterns at regular intervals.

  And at the end of this hallway was a huge, black stone door unlike any that Simon had ever seen. Twenty feet high and ten feet wide, it had a carving of a demon’s face upon it, its awful mouth open in a silent roar.

  “Step through and meet your destiny,” Miss Savage told him, gesturing at the magical doorway.

  Simon hesitated, staring at the opulent hallway beyond.

  “My destiny?” he asked.

  “Justice,” she explained. “The Pentad rejected you, Simon. They couldn’t control you, so they were going to destroy you. The Collector offers a way to fight back.”

  Still Simon hesitated.

  Why should you trust her?

  “Why should I trust you?” he asked.

  “Because they tried to destroy me too,” Miss Savage answered. Her eyes went to his arms, and the innumerable scars crisscrossing them. “We both have scars, Simon. The Pentad tried to destroy us, but they failed. We healed, and now we’re stronger. The Collector is our weapon, Simon. And one day, very soon, we’ll have our revenge.”

  She gestured at the doorway.

  “You have a choice,” she declared. “You can be the victim of your story…or the hero. What will you choose?”

  Simon hesitated for a moment longer, then clenched his fists, feeling the sharp edges of porcelain fragment bite into his right palm.

  You know what to do, it told him.

  He took a deep breath in, then strode forward into the magical doorway. And on the day of his judgement, he was set free.

  Chapter 12

  The next day, Bella, Gideon, and Myko broke camp, allowing Myko – or more specifically, Myko’s nose – to lead them through the foul, dank terrain of the Misty Marsh. Gideon’s lantern kept the fog at bay, lighting the way. Apparently it was powered by sunlight, absorbing and storing the sun’s rays much as Myko did with moonlight. The great wolf had, to Bella’s relief, offered to carry her on his back, and she’d gladly agreed. He carried her without any evident difficulty whatsoever, his powerful muscles rippling beneath her. She was grateful for his support, and the good night’s sleep she’d gotten the night before.

  “I always wanted a dog,” Bella mentioned to Gideon as they walked. “Grandpa said the apartment was too small for one.”

  “I know,” Gideon replied with a smile. “A husky or a wolf, right?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Thaddeus told me all about it,” Gideon admitted. “He couldn’t tell you of course, but it’s because of Myko.”

  Myko snorted loudly in agreement.

  “What do you mean?” Bella asked.

  “You and Myko were best friends when you were growing up,” he explained. “He slept with you since you were a baby, all the way up until you visited Blackthorne and didn’t come back.”

  Myko gave a lone whine, and Gideon ruffled the wolf’s head with his one hand. Bella grimaced.

  “Sorry Myko,” she apologized. “Guess I was too young to remember.”

  Myko wuffed.

  “He says it’s okay,” Gideon translated.

  Bella smiled, leaning down and giving the wolf a hug.

  “Thanks Myko,” she stated. “For everything.”

  The wolf didn’t respond, and Bella glanced at Gideon.

  “Does he…?”

  “Oh, he understands everything,” Gideon replied with a smile. “Just as well as you and I do. But like a good book or a good painting, he shows instead of telling.”

  “Grandpa used to say that all the time,” Bella mused. “Show a story, don’t tell it.”

  “That’s the beauty of painting,” Gideon revealed, arching an eyebrow rather dramatically. “You have to show instead of telling.”

  “I still don’t get how to tell a story with a painting,” Bella admitted.

  “You will,” he promised.

  Myko froze suddenly, turning his head to look back the way they’d come. His ears perked up, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

  “Dogs?” Gideon asked. Myko nodded. “Get off,” Gideon ordered Bella. She dismounted, her boots sinking into the mud. Myko glowed bright silver, then shot into the fog at the edge of the magical lantern’s sphere of influence, leaving a beam of pure moonlight in his wake.

  There was barking, then squealing…then silence.

  Myko stepped back out of the fog a moment later, blood staining his jaws and chest. He shot forward a few yards with another beam of light, and when he stopped before them, his coat was spotless once again.

  “What were those?” Bella asked.

  “Trail-hounds,” Gideon answered. “They leave an invisible trail behind them when they’re tracking something. If they find what they’re looking for, the trail turns into a bright yellow light that hovers about the ground for a few hours.” He turned to Myko. “Did they activate their trail?”

  Myko nodded.

  “Damn,” Gideon cursed, turning about and walking forward quickly. “They’ll lead the Collector’s men right to us. Get back on Myko,” he ordered. We have to get out of here before it’s too late.”

  * * *

  Myko set a brutal pace through the marsh, with Gideon following alongside the tireless wolf. Hours passed, although it was impossible to tell what time it was with the thick fog above their heads. They didn’t even stop to eat, much to Bella’s disappointment. At length, she noticed a slight silver glow around Myko, the only hint that the moon was out, and that the great wolf was attracting and absorbing its faintest of light.

  Bella spotted a sudden upsloping of the terrain ahead, and Gideon held up a stump, stopping suddenly. Myko stopped dutifully beside his master.

  “Dismount,” Gideon ordered. Bella did so, standing at his side. “We’re at the edge of the Misty Marsh,” he warned. “The marsh is in a crater of a large, extinct volcano. There’s only one path out of the crater, and that’s through a town called Devil’s Pass.”

  “Is it safe?” Bella asked.

  “Quite the contrary,” Gideon replied. “Devil’s Pass was converted into a military base for the Collector’s army after the fall of Blackthorne. It’s managed to hold off the Pentad’s armies for the last ten years.”

  “So we need to get past an army?” Bella pressed. Gideon nodded grimly.

  “Unfortunately yes.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” she inquired.

  “We’re not,” he countered. “You’re going into my Conclave.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going into my Conclave,” he repeated. “I’ll carry you through Devil’s Pass and let you out on the other side.”

  He set his lantern on the ground, then took off his hat, turning it upside-down and holding it with his stump. He reached in with his only hand, pulling out his cane and tucking it in his armpit. Then he retrieved the black disc that served as the portal to his Conclave, holding it out to her. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m not going into your Conclave,” she retorted.

  “It’s the safest way,” Gideon insisted.

  “And if you don’t make it?” she pressed. “Then I’m stuck in your Conclave forever?”

  “I’ll make it.”

  “I’m not hiding away in some room wondering if you will,” she insisted. “Waiting for the Collector’s men to come through the portal and kill me. I’m staying out here,” she declared. “I can help.”

  Gideon arched an eyebrow at her.

  “Can you?”

  She just glared at him.

  Gideon held her gaze, then
dropped the black disc onto the ground by Bella’s feet.

  “Anulus,” he intoned…and the disc expanded right under her feet. She tried to take a step back, but it was too late. She fell right through the portal, landing on her belly on the wooden floor of the Conclave.

  “Son of a…” she blurted out, jumping to her feet and lunging at the portal on the wall. But it shrank before her eyes, vanishing from sight. She slammed her palms on the wall. “Gideon!” she shouted. “Open up!”

  But of course he couldn’t hear her…and wouldn’t have listened anyway.

  She sighed, walking over to the big bed and sitting down on the edge. There was nothing she could do now but stare at the wall, waiting for the portal to open again, and hope that Gideon was the one who walked through to get her.

  * * *

  Gideon watched as Bella fell through the portal, then quickly knelt down before it.

  “Anulus,” he incanted.

  The disc shrunk immediately, and he picked it up, shoving it in his hat. Then he placed his hat atop his head, glancing at Myko.

  “What?” he asked.

  Myko whined, and Gideon sighed, unrolling a painting and gesturing at Myko to jump into it.

  “Go on,” he prompted. “You’re too recognizable. Don’t want the whole damn army coming down on us.”

  He felt Myko’s hesitation through their magical bond, and the wolf’s concern. Myko loathed the idea of leaving him. Of not being able to protect his master.

  I’ll be all right old friend, he reassured silently. Still Myko hesitated. So will she, he added. I promise.

  Myko resisted for a moment longer, then walked up to Gideon, nudging his shoulder with a wet nose. Gideon chuckled, rubbing the wolf’s head affectionately, then planting a kiss between Myko’s ears. Myko snorted, giving Gideon a wet, slobbery kiss on the cheek.

  “I know,” Gideon murmured. “I love you too.”