The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  Whereas Gideon usually allowed Bella no more than an hour or two of painting time each afternoon, the day before they were to reach Havenwood, he made it quite clear that she had as much time as she needed to complete her work. And that she was not to leave his studio in the Conclave until she did just that.

  Bella was more than happy to oblige.

  For painting was her favorite part of the day, the one time her mind was so completely occupied that – for a moment – she stopped thinking about Grandpa. She still cried some nights, with Myko’s soft fur absorbing her tears. But while it was still hard beginning each day with the realization that he was gone, she found herself able to feel again…thanks to Myko’s silent support.

  She still hadn’t gathered the courage to talk to Gideon about it, though.

  So it was that Bella found herself in Gideon’s studio, minutes turning into hours as she painted on her largest canvas yet. It had to be at least eight feet wide and four feet tall by her estimate, larger than anything she’d ever attempted. And as Grandpa had taught her, she filled it entirely.

  Within minutes of putting brush to canvas, she felt that wondrous giddy sensation of the Flow. And after painting so many iterations of the same theme – and days of obsessing over every last detail of how to tell the story – her brushstrokes came rapidly and confidently.

  After nearly four hours, she was done.

  Bella stood back from the canvas then, studying her work. A skull half-buried in the blood-soaked earth of a battlefield, wearing a soldier’s helmet. A big mass of green goo oozed from the skull’s eye socket, crawling over the ground. In the distance, men battled, corpses burning as fire rained down upon many of them. In the foreground, the ooze had enveloped several soldiers, trapping them within it. Other soldiers were trying to attack it, but tendrils of ooze wrapped around their weapons and their ankles, drawing them in. Those that had been captured had clearly lost their will to fight, while those still free fought in vain to destroy the goo.

  And their negative emotions – fear, anger, hatred – were sucked into the ooze, portrayed by faint black mist drawn out of their bodies.

  When she was done, Bella summoned Gideon, who entered the studio…and gasped.

  “No!” he shouted, whirling to face Bella. He glared at her, his expression furious.

  “What?” she asked, taking a step backward.

  “You must never paint humans,” he commanded, gesturing at the soldiers stuck in the ooze.

  “Why…”

  “Never,” he repeated. She stared at him mutely, and he took a deep breath in, collecting himself. “It is forbidden,” he explained, clearly trying to keep his voice calm…and barely succeeding.

  “I didn’t know,” she protested.

  “I know,” he replied. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I should have told you.”

  “Why can’t I paint people?”

  “It’s illegal,” he answered. “Highly illegal. The first rule of painting is that you can’t paint people.”

  “Why not?”

  “What would happen if you drew out one of them?” he inquired. Bella paused, glancing at the soldiers in the painting. The blood drained from her face. “That’s right,” he continued. “It is forbidden to create people, Bella. We’re not gods.”

  “Sorry,” she nearly whispered. She felt moisture welling up in her eyes, and blinked it away. Gideon sighed.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he countered. “I shouldn’t have reacted so…strongly. It’s easy to fix. Just make them into goblins, or some such.”

  Bella nodded, turning back to the canvas. She mixed some paints, then repainted the soldiers, making their faces dark green, and rather monstrous. She gave them horns, and thin tails, with cloven feet. Gideon watched as she worked, staying silent throughout. When she was done, she turned to glance at him. He was smiling.

  “You’re getting better,” he noted. “That took no time at all.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. “You’re still a jerk though.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Gideon admitted ruefully. He got closer, studying the painting, rubbing his chin while he did so. Then he turned to Bella. “It’s your best painting yet,” he declared. “But there’s one thing missing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whenever you create a creature, it’s best to give it some relationship with you,” Gideon explained. “It needs to be sympathetic to you, or else it won’t have any reason to help you or protect you.”

  “Oh,” she replied. She hadn’t thought about that.

  “The last thing you want is to draw out something you painted, then have it attack you,” he continued. “You need to give it a connection to you.”

  Bella nodded, eyeing the half-buried skull. Suddenly she had an idea…the Flow directing her once again. She grabbed a tiny brush, mixing some paint quickly to make a golden color. Then she painted a small locket next to the skull, one that hinged open to reveal a tiny portrait. And she painted her own face there. After years of drawing herself standing next to her dragon at school, she had no trouble at all with it. Within a half hour, she was done.

  And through it all, Gideon stood watching her work. He gave a low whistle when she finished, shaking his head.

  “My my,” he stated. “You know, some students take years to figure out how to do that.”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “What you just did,” he explained. “How to create a relationship with their paintings.” He gestured at the painting then. “Is it done?”

  Bella paused, staring at the paint for a long moment. Then she nodded.

  “I think so.”

  “Then sign it,” Gideon ordered. “That will complete the painting.”

  “Doesn’t it need to dry first?”

  “The paint is magical,” he replied. “It will dry instantly once you sign your name.”

  She did as he requested, signing her name at the bottom right of the painting. The second she finished, she felt a slight breeze from behind.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Air going into the canvas,” Gideon answered. “All right, care to do the honors?”

  “Huh?”

  “Draw it out,” he clarified, gesturing at the green ooze. She blinked.

  “Now?”

  “Well of course,” he replied. “Once you sign a painting, it seals the magic in. Unsigned canvases are ‘dead’ canvases. Now it’s a ‘live’ canvas…one you can reach into. Go on.”

  Bella turned to stare at the ooze, chewing on a fingernail. She glanced back at Gideon, who was waiting patiently, then returned her gaze to her painting.

  She took a deep breath in, closed her eyes, and plunged her hand into the canvas!

  There was an immediate warm, pulsing sensation in her hand, and something else…a rubbery surface that dented under the pressure of her touch. She grabbed onto it, pulling it toward her.

  There was a wet plop, followed by surprised shouting.

  Bella opened her eyes, backpedaling away from the canvas. There, on the floor beside her feet, was a green, translucent blob half as tall as she was, and nearly as wide and long as the canvas it’d been painted on.

  And stuck within it were the goblins she’d painted.

  Bella gasped, rushing to Gideon’s side and staring wide-eyed at the beasts. They struggled mightily, trying to free themselves of the blob.

  “Gideon!” she cried.

  Gideon reached into his forearm-painting, retrieving his cane and banging it sharply against the floor. Then he strode up to the nearest goblin, striking it in the chest so hard that it flew backward…right into the painting. He gave the other goblins equal treatment, and within moments every one of the creatures was back in the painting, shocked expressions on their faces as they hung suspended in the air above the painted battlefield.

  “What’s the first law of Painting?” Gideon inquired, giving Bella a rueful smirk.

  “The Law of Unint
ended Consequences,” she recited.

  “Very good.”

  They both turned their attention to the blob then. Its surface was like firm gelatin, still wobbling with the vibrations from the goblins’ violent evictions.

  Then it oozed rapidly toward Bella, its frontmost section lifting up and striking her chest!

  Bella gasped, jerking backward, but the blob wrapped around her chest and back, encircling her completely. Bella struggled against it, but it was no use…she was trapped!

  “Gideon!” she cried.

  And then she felt the blob squeeze her gently, once, then again.

  It unwrapped itself from her then, settling before her.

  “I think it just hugged you,” Gideon offered. Bella hesitated, then smiled, relief coursing through her.

  “I think you’re right,” she agreed. She leaned in then, putting her arms around the front of the big blob and giving it a squeeze. Once again, it returned the gesture, then let her go. “Aww,” she murmured, beaming down at it. “That’s awfully sweet.”

  The surface of the blob jiggled a bit.

  “I think it’s happy,” Bella guessed. Gideon nodded.

  “It’s not an it at all,” he reminded her. “What’s his name?”

  Bella blinked, putting a hand to her mouth.

  “Oh,” she blurted out. “Right.” She frowned at the blob, wracking her brain. “Um…I don’t know. How about…Goo?”

  Gideon’s eyebrows rose.

  “Goo?” he repeated. Bella grimaced. It was a bit too literal, but it certainly fit.

  “Yes,” she decided. “I’ll call you Goo,” she told the blob. “That is, if it’s okay with you,” she added hastily.

  The blob jiggled again.

  “Goo it is,” Gideon murmured. “Well then,” he added, walking up to Goo and extending a hand. “I’m Gideon Myles, Bella’s…friend. A pleasure to meet you, Goo.”

  Goo extended a long, arm-width tendril, wrapping it around Gideon’s hand and wrist. They shook, and Goo sucked the…well, goo…back into himself. Gideon turned to Bella with a rather proud smile.

  “Well done Bella,” he congratulated. “You are now officially a Painter!”

  Bella smiled…and noticed small bumps rise up all over Goo’s body.

  “Aww,” she cooed. “He has goosebumps!”

  “He’s proud of you too, I suppose,” Gideon agreed. He placed his cane back in his forearm-painting, clearing his throat. “Well then,” he declared. “Let’s get Goo back in his painting. Havenwood awaits!”

  Chapter 21

  The Collector leaned his elbows on the top of his desk, staring at the books stacked upon it. He’d sat down to read them after leaving Simon and returning to his office ten minutes earlier, but found his mind stubbornly resisting the task. He forced himself to pick up the topmost book, focusing on it. The letters were slightly blurry to his right eye; he held the book further away, and the image sharpened.

  An irritating reminder of what that damn Necromancer had done to him.

  It was also a reminder of why it was of vital importance that he read these particular books. He’d taken great risks to acquire them, and at extraordinary expense.

  The Collector scanned the book titles: “On Necromancy.” “The Restorative Arts.” “Book of Healing.” “Codex of Curses.”

  He paused at the last one, his jawline rippling.

  His eyes went to his right hand, hidden within a black glove. It’d been quite a while since he’d removed it; he found himself suddenly – and morbidly – curious.

  Stop wasting time, he scolded himself.

  But after a moment’s hesitation, he pulled the glove off…and drew in a sharp breath.

  The skin of his right hand was deeply wrinkled, liver spots scattered across its surface. It was thin, like an old man’s, and slightly translucent, purple veins visible beneath. His wrist and forearm were less so, the wrinkles gradually fading the further up his arm he looked. The joints of his hand were stiff and painful, with hard, bony knobs on his knuckles.

  The Collector reached up with this hand, touching the right side of his face. Feeling the fine wrinkles there. Wrinkles that had appeared years ago, long before their time.

  A reminder that his time was running out.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” the Collector called out, hastily pulling on his glove. The door to his office opened, and Miss Savage stepped through. Tall and slender, with long legs and arms, and short, spikey silver hair, she was striking indeed. Her silver eyes and sharp, high cheekbones had not been painted; it was her natural appearance. Or had been, untold centuries ago. For Miss Savage was quite old. Ancient, in fact…nearly as old as the Pentad itself.

  A woman who’d risen from the humblest of beginnings to become something spectacular. A queen in beggar’s clothing…which was exactly as she preferred.

  “Collector,” she greeted, giving a slight curtsey. She wore a tight silver dress that matched her eyes exactly. A striking outfit a performer on stage might wear. Appropriate, given the nature of Miss Savage’s considerable talents.

  “How goes the evacuation?” he inquired. She stopped before his desk, gazing down at him.

  “Almost complete,” she answered. “Blackthorne has been gutted. Devil’s Pass is working with a skeleton crew.”

  “And the Pentad’s army?” he pressed.

  “Preparing to invade.”

  “Good,” the Collector murmured.

  “They’ve assembled an impressive force,” Miss Savage informed him. “Rumor has it they’ve tapped Craven.”

  “My my,” the Collector replied, raising his eyebrows. “We’re moving up in the world, aren’t we.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Make sure to delay them,” he instructed. “Keep the Pentad’s eyes on Blackthorne while we…replace Lord Gustofson and Governor Cranston.” The two highest-ranking officials of the Twin Spires, they were in charge of a large portion of the western part of the Pentad’s forces. Two Actors were set to replace them…and to initiate policies that would significantly weaken the Pentad’s defenses over the coming months and years.

  “It will be done, Collector,” Miss Savage confirmed. She did something she rarely did then; she hesitated.

  “What is it?” he inquired.

  “News from Blackthorne,” she revealed. “Thaddeus was found by our bounty hunters. He’s dead.”

  The Collector’s expression didn’t change.

  “I see.”

  “The girl was with him,” she continued. She hesitated for a moment. “She escaped.”

  His jawline rippled.

  “Escaped where?” he demanded.

  “Past Devil’s Pass,” Miss Savage answered.

  The Collector swore, slamming his fist on his desk. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath in to collect himself. That girl was the daughter of Lucia Birch…and might be the only person alive who had any clue how her mother had cursed him. It was a long shot – a very long shot – but it was all he had.

  “I want her found,” he demanded. “Spare no expense.”

  “It’s gotten…complicated,” Miss Savage warned. “One of the Painters we hired to work in the great library appears to have been an undercover agent for the last ten years. For the Pentad.”

  “And?”

  “It was Gideon,” she revealed.

  The Collector felt a chill run down his spine, and forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

  “Ah,” he muttered.

  “It may prove difficult to stop him,” she pressed. “He’s extraordinarily dangerous.” He barely heard her, lowering his gaze to stare at the books on his desk.

  Gideon Myles!

  He took this in, accepting it. The truth was the truth. And no matter how terrible that truth was, it was still better than a lie.

  Lies destroyed people, killing them slowly, long after they were told. They were a cancer that ate away at both the liar an
d the recipient of the lie. The truth was a surgeon, cutting the cancer from its host. It hurt once, allowing for healing…but the scar forever remained.

  “Let Gideon go.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let him go,” he repeated.

  Miss Savage put her hands on her hips.

  “He has the girl,” she countered. “That girl might be the only way we’ll be able to cure you without having you go into a painting.”

  “I know,” he replied. Just as she knew that returning to a painting is something he would never do again.

  “Are you sure you’re thinking clearly about this?” she pressed.

  “Don’t question me,” he snapped, glaring at her. She didn’t react – didn’t so much as a blink – just continuing to stare at him. He grimaced, rubbing his face with his hands. “I apologize,” he muttered. “Your question was valid.”

  “I know what Gideon does to you,” Miss Savage replied. Her tone was gentle…a rarity for her. She put a hand on his. His left hand, the one he kept ungloved. Her touch was warm and soft.

  “Yes, well,” he grumbled. “Gideon will run away like he always does. He’ll just hole up in Havenwood like he did the last time…and the girl will go with him. We’ll know exactly where to find them when the time comes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite,” the Collector answered. “Is that all?” he inquired a bit too abruptly, slipping his hand out from beneath hers. She leaned forward, grabbing his hand again and holding it tightly.

  “No.”

  He hesitated, feeling a flash of irritation at her brazenness.

  “I’m not in the mood,” he muttered. She gave a little smirk, stepping around the desk to stand at his left side. She pulled his hand to the small of her back, then slid it a little lower, arching an eyebrow. As if daring him to stop her.

  He didn’t.

  “I can get you in any mood I want,” she purred.

  He found himself standing up, pulling her to him by her waist. A waist so tiny that his hands nearly wrapped all the way around it.

  “It’s not you,” he stated. A poor apology, but all she would get. She smiled at him, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him into her. Their lips crushed together, and she kissed him brutally, finishing by biting his lower lip – hard – and letting him go.