The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  Then it started to move toward them again.

  Gideon swung his cane, striking the elevator again…and it exploded in a shower of wooden planks.

  “Go!” he shouted, bursting forward. He reached the top of the wall, leaping off of it…and fell out of sight. Bella followed, but skid to a stop at the edge of the wall, peering down.

  An infinite drop loomed before her, a vertical street with buildings sprouting from its side.

  Oh god…

  Bella glanced back, seeing the Painter and her cube-monster gaining on them rapidly.

  Bella closed her eyes…and jumped.

  The world shifted again, gravity pulling her sideways. She landed on her back on the street beyond, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

  And behind her, the Painter and her tentacled monster reached the top of the wall, charging right at her!

  Bella scrambled to her feet, spotting Gideon standing before her, propping up a large painting with his stump.

  “Get Myko!” he cried.

  Bella lunged for the painting, reaching in and feeling her hand close around Myko’s collar. She yanked backward.

  A streak of silver light burst out of the painting, shooting toward the Painter. Myko materialized right as he slammed into her, closing his jaws around her neck. She gave out a horrid, gurgling scream as she and Myko burst backward. They fell off the cliffside, taking the cube-monster with them.

  “Clausus,” Gideon incanted. Myko’s painting rolled itself up, and he shoved it into his thigh-holster. Then he grabbed Bella’s hand, pulling her forward down the street. “We’re almost there!”

  “But Myko…!” Bella countered.

  A streak of light shot past them overhead, and Myko materialized, landing on the street before them and matching pace with Bella.

  Dozens of soldiers rushed down the street toward them ahead, blocking the way out of Devil’s Pass. Gideon skid to a halt, turning to Bella.

  “The orb in your chest-painting, throw it up in the air!” he ordered, pointing to the orb he’d thrusted into her chest-painting. “Point your finger at it when it flies out, then aim your finger at those soldiers!”

  “Uh…”

  “Don’t think, do!”

  Still Bella hesitated. Gideon thrust his cane into her hands, then reached into her chest-painting himself, drawing out the orb and tossing it high into the air. He pointed at it, then lowered his hand to point at the oncoming group of soldiers.

  The stone exploded into countless smaller pieces, each of which flashed bright red, shooting right at the enemy. The pieces grew larger as they fell, as big as basketballs. Then they struck the soldiers.

  And exploded.

  Men flew from the impact, flames engulfing them instantly. A burst of searing hot wind slammed into Bella and Gideon, forcing her to turn away. Screams echoed through the night air, mixed with the sound of windows shattering and falling stones clattering on the streets.

  Bella turned forward.

  Where the soldiers had been, shallow craters marred the street. Burning bodies littered the ground, some still moving, most not. And beyond, the nearest buildings were engulfed in flames.

  “Come on,” Gideon urged, striding forward.

  Bella just stood there, staring at the carnage in horror.

  “Come on,” Gideon repeated, turning to face her. “Bella, we need to go. Now.”

  The last of the burning soldiers stopped moving, laying on the side of the street as he burned alive. Bella put a hand to her mouth, her vision blurring with moisture.

  “Oh god,” she whispered. Her legs wobbled, and she sank to her knees, staring at the bodies.

  “Bella!” Gideon snapped. She turned to stare at him, hardly registering what he’d said. Gideon grimaced, glancing at Myko. “Take her,” he ordered.

  Myko nudged Bella with his cold, wet nose, and she flinched at the touch, turning to face the wolf. Gideon rushed to help her to her feet, then boosted her onto Myko’s back. The wolf trotted forward, Gideon running at his side.

  “Close your eyes Bella,” Gideon urged, and she did so, feeling the heat of the flames as they passed through the devastation he’d wrought. A minute later, he had her open her eyes. They were past the burning buildings now. Ahead was a tall stone wall with a single portcullis guarded by several men.

  Who took one look at the devastation around them, and fled.

  “Almost there,” Gideon reassured. “No, don’t look back,” he advised. “Keep your eyes forward. Always. It’s the only way to stay sane.”

  They reached the open portcullis, passing through it. Beyond was a vast, wide-open rocky field…and ahead, a virtual city of tents stood a half-mile away, lit by countless torches. The tents were identical to the ones she’d seen at the edge of the fog in Blackthorne, but there were hundreds of them, if not thousands. Soldiers milled about outside the tents, some eating by campfires, others talking with each other.

  “We’ll have to go through,” Gideon warned. “There’s nothing but steep drops down the mountain on either side of this field.”

  Bella nodded mutely.

  “Myko, you’re up,” he stated. He shoved his cane into his forearm-painting, then vaulted up on Myko’s back behind Bella. The wolf held their weight with seeming ease, trotting forward across the field toward the tent city. As they approached, several soldiers turned their way. One of them pointed, and the others starting gesticulating wildly. More soldiers turned to look at them.

  A lot more.

  Bella felt Gideon’s arm wrap around her waist, holding her tightly.

  “Lean down and wrap your arms around Myko’s neck,” he instructed. “Hold on tight…and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

  Myko broke out into a full-on gallop, barreling toward the tents and the nearest soldiers. A few of them had bows, and drew their arrows, aiming right at Myko.

  “Wait for it,” Gideon ordered, gripping Bella’s waist tighter. She clung to Myko’s furry neck as the wolf ran faster, the ground a blur beneath them.

  The archers fired.

  Arrows whizzed through the air at them, and Myko dodged to the left, two of them barely missing him. But a third slammed into his right hindquarter, burying into his flesh.

  Myko yelped.

  “Wait for it!” Gideon repeated. More arrows whizzed by, and Myko dodged again, running with a limp now. They were only a hundred yards from the tents now, and closing in fast. Soldiers swarmed out of the tents, rushing toward them with swords drawn.

  “Gideon!” Bella warned.

  Gideon leaned over, pressing his body against Bella’s back…just as another volley of arrows flew at them. He grunted as one struck his right shoulder.

  And Myko yelped as another arrow struck the wolf in the chest.

  “Come on old boy!” Gideon cried. “Almost there!”

  Myko dodged another volley, the army of soldiers swarming at them less than a hundred feet away now. Myko’s breath rasped in his throat, blood-tinged froth spilling from the side of his mouth. Still he ran, barreling toward the enemy.

  “Now!” Gideon cried.

  Myko burst forward in a blaze of pure silver light, shooting forward and upward through the air. Bella clung desperately to his neck, feeling Gideon’s weight threaten to yank her backward off the wolf. They sailed over the soldiers’ heads, flying over the first of the tents.

  And then the light faded, and Myko began to plummet toward the earth.

  “Again!” Gideon shouted.

  Myko moon-dashed a second time, then a third, leaving a trail of moonlight behind him as he flew them right over the tent city. They passed it completely, and Myko moon-dashed forward and slightly downward, landing on the ground a dozen yards away from the last of the tents. He galloped over the rocky terrain, leaving the tents – and the soldiers – behind.

  “Woo!” Bella exclaimed, glancing back. “We did it!”

  “Dodge!” Gideon cried.

  Myko moon-dashed to the side, leav
ing a trail of silver behind him…just as a beam of blood-red light slammed into the ground where they’d been a split-second ago. The ground turned red-hot, the rock melting instantly.

  “What the…!” Bella exclaimed.

  “The Overseer saw us fly,” Gideon explained, glancing backward and upward. His jawline rippled. “It’s coming for us.”

  Bella followed his gaze, spotting a monstrous, many-eyed creature hovering in the sky above, like a huge, fleshy thundercloud. A few of the eyes were staring right at them…and as she watched, another beam of red light shot out of one of them. Myko moon-dashed out of the way, soaring a foot above the ground. He landed with a grunt, running at a full gallop.

  And above, one of the eyeballs pulled free from its black, fleshy socket, flying down toward them.

  “Uh…” Bella said, staring as the eye gained speed, zooming after them. “Gideon? One of the eyes…!”

  “…is following us, I know,” Gideon interjected. “We’re lucky we only triggered one.”

  The ground sloped downward more sharply ahead, the rocky field narrowing considerably…and falling off to a steep drop on either side. It formed a winding – and treacherous – path down the mountain. Gideon let go of Bella, reaching for one of the paintings rolled up in his thigh-holster. “Apertus,” he murmured…and the painting promptly unrolled itself. It was a very large painting, taller than Gideon himself, and portrayed a room cluttered with various objects.

  He held the painting with his stump, then reached in, pulling out a large mirror.

  “Steady Myko,” he ordered, twisting around and holding the mirror so it faced the rapidly approaching eye. It was enormous, the eye. The size of a small house, with a blood-red iris.

  Its pupil flashed bright red, and a beam of deadly light shot right at them!

  Bella cried out, but the beam bounced off of the mirror, reflecting right back at the eye. It melted through its flesh, burning a deep hole there. Fluid gushed out of it, splattering the ground below.

  The front of the eye crumpled inward as it deflated.

  Myko followed the path as it wound ever downward, and the disembodied eyeball crash-landed behind them, rolling like a bowling ball after them.

  “It’s still coming!” Bella warned.

  And then Myko turned left with the path, and the eyeball went straight, rolling right over the edge of the mountain.

  Bella watched as it fell from sight, then glanced back the way they’d come. No more eyeballs were coming for them…and the soldiers were far behind. With the pace that Myko was setting, they would never catch up.

  “And that,” Gideon declared, “…was Devil’s Pass.”

  Chapter 14

  Simon shifted his weight on the long wooden bench he’d been sitting on for the last half-hour, his porcelain shard clutched in one fist. After his journey through the magical doorway with Miss Savage, she’d brought him past the demonic door in the hallway beyond, and into the large, opulent waiting room before the Collector’s office. A large desk sat on the far left of the waiting room, but other than the desk and the bench, there was no other furniture. It was Miss Savage’s desk, she’d told him; apparently she was the Collector’s secretary of sorts. Miss Savage had stepped into her boss’s office, closing the door behind her…and hadn’t come out since.

  They’re up to something, the shard warned him. Don’t trust them.

  Simon nodded. He’d gone with Miss Savage to escape certain death, not because he trusted her. And he certainly couldn’t trust a man like the Collector. A notorious terrorist, the man had done unspeakable things.

  At least according to the Pentad.

  They have our painting, the voice informed him. He felt a sudden burst of excitement…but it wasn’t his. I can feel it.

  Simon didn’t reply. His entire portfolio had been taken by the Pentad’s bounty hunters, the same men that’d tracked him down in the slums of the Twin Spires, after he’d been caught using painted weapons to protect himself from a few would-be muggers. How the Collector could’ve gotten ahold of any of his paintings was beyond him, but it had to be true.

  It is, the shard assured him.

  He felt the shard’s eagerness, a sudden impatience that made him want to get up and start pacing. He resisted the urge, staying right where he was.

  A moment later, the door to the Collector’s office opened, and Miss Savage stepped out…with his brown leather portfolio in her hands.

  “The Collector will see you now,” she announced.

  Simon stood from the bench, walking up to her. She offered him his portfolio, and he smiled, taking it. Then she stepped to the side, gesturing for him to continue through the doorway. He did so…and stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

  The Collector’s office was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

  It was a magnificent room, thirty feet squared, with a golden, domed ceiling rising some twenty feet high. The floor was made of a beautiful dark cherry, as were the built-in multi-leveled shelves on either side-wall. Upon these shelves were countless objects – sculptures, books, various small paintings, musical instruments, gemstones – and above the shelves, various weapons and full suits of armor hung on the walls. Between these were large stained-glass windows, the glass so thick that little light streamed through. At the far end of the office was a single, closed door…and in the very center of the room sat an oversized, ornate wooden desk.

  And seated behind the desk, in a gilded chair as ornate as any throne, was the Collector himself.

  He was tall and slender, dressed in an exquisite, yet simple black suit. The jacket had five ebony buttons, and rose up like a turtleneck on his neck, but with a narrow rectangular notch cut out over his Adam’s apple. The only color was provided by a blood-red folded handkerchief jutting out of a single pocket at the left breast. The suit’s material shimmered slightly, as did the Collector’s slicked-back hair. Curiously, the hair at his right temple was streaked with gray, the left pure black. And while the left side of his face was smooth, the right was lined with fine wrinkles. He had a broad, strong chin and fierce, perfectly symmetric eyebrows above his piercing green eyes…eyes that locked on Simon as he entered the room.

  Simon froze, his breath catching in his throat. For the man was stunningly handsome, and possessed of an aura of power than was almost palpable.

  “Come,” the Collector greeted, gesturing at a chair in front of his desk with one black-gloved hand. His voice was buttery smooth, sending a chill down Simon’s spine. “Sit.”

  Simon obeyed, walking up to the chair and sitting on it. He set his portfolio on his lap, folding his hands atop it.

  “Thank you, Miss Savage,” the Collector said. Miss Savage gave him a little smile, her gaze lingering on him. Then she curtsied, leaving the office and closing the door behind her.

  He kept his eyes on Simon the entire time.

  “You must be Simon,” the Collector stated.

  “Yes sir,” Simon replied. His voice cracked, much to his horror. He was sixteen, but still mired in the awfulness of puberty. He felt his cheeks grow hot, and lowered his gaze.

  “Miss Savage told me all about you,” the Collector informed him. “You should be thankful she took an interest in you,” he added. “I hear that today was supposed to end very differently for you.”

  “Yes sir,” Simon confirmed. “Thank you for saving me, sir.”

  “Miss Savage told me yours was a life worth saving.”

  Simon lowered his gaze again, swallowing past a sudden lump in his throat.

  “You’re not used to hearing that,” the Collector noted. Simon nodded mutely. The man leaned back in his chair, eyeing Simon for a long moment. “Do you believe you’re worth saving?” he inquired.

  Simon shrugged.

  “Hmm,” the Collector murmured. His gaze dropped to Simon’s lap. “I’d like to see what you have in there, Simon.”

  “Uh…” Simon stammered, looking down at his own lap. He saw his portfolio ther
e, and felt his cheeks flush again. “Yes sir,” he added, bolting up from his chair and offering the portfolio. The Collector leaned forward to take it, then set it on his desk, unzipping it and opening it like a book. A stack of paintings was revealed…the very paintings for which Simon had been arrested. His life’s work, painted in secret, in the dark alleys of the slums of the Twin Spires. Each painting had a wide cloth border framing the edges, to allow for easy handling, so one’s thumbs wouldn’t plunge through the canvas into the painting.

  The Collector stared at the first painting for a long moment.

  Simon picked under his fingernails, then wiped clammy hands on his pants. He was suddenly acutely aware of his shabby red prison uniform, of the stains and holes in the fabric. And the fact that he almost certainly smelled like the commode back in his prison cell.

  The Collector flipped to the next painting, studying it silently.

  Simon squirmed, watching the man’s face. His expression remained utterly, maddeningly neutral, betraying nothing of what he was thinking. After a long, dreadful silence – and viewing a few more paintings – the Collector lifted his gaze to Simon.

  “These are…dark.”

  Simon’s cheeks flushed again.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “They’re stupid, I know. I don’t know why I painted them.”

  “Did you paint them for me, Simon?” the Collector inquired. Simon blinked.

  “Uh, no. No sir.”

  “Who did you paint them for?” he pressed.

  “For…me, sir.”

  The Collector flipped to the next painting, then the next.

  “Do they please you?” he pressed. Simon hesitated.

  “Yes sir.”

  The Collector lifted his gaze to Simon’s.

  “Then you have no reason to be ashamed,” he counseled. “Never be ashamed of your story, Simon. These paintings are your truth.”

  Simon swallowed, then nodded.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The Collector got to the last painting…and froze. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly. He stared at it for a long, long moment. So long that the silence became uncomfortable, and Simon longed to fill it. He dared not speak, however. Not without permission. Simon didn’t know much about the Collector, but what he did know made him exceedingly careful to stay on the man’s good side.