The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  The boy had filled every last inch of the canvas with paint, working day and night like a man possessed, barely eating. He looked gaunt, even more so than he had when the Collector had first met him. But there was a brightness in his eyes that the Collector had never seen before. And the boy’s shoulders were set back a little more, his back straighter. And the painting!

  It was glorious.

  It was all the Collector could do to stop himself from gaping at Simon’s creation. To maintain the illusion of calmness, of nonchalance. But as he gazed at the boy’s work, he found himself experiencing an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  Awe.

  It was, like Simon’s previous work, filled with strange humanoid creatures with skin that looked like it had been shattered and glued back together. But these creatures had black skin, not porcelain, and red-hot flames flickered in their eye-sockets. And there were literally thousands of them, an army of pitch-black warriors with clawed hands and feet. They sprinted across a barren, rocky landscape, some of them in the process of breaking apart in pieces – like the Doppelganger had – and others having done so completely. Millions of black fragments rose through the air, coalescing into a truly enormous creature, one that took up more than half of the gigantic canvas.

  A still-forming creature made of millions of tiny fragments of the black soldiers, a nightmarish beast resembling them. But it was far more muscular, and had a rather long neck and massive jaws with sharp teeth. It lunged forward on all fours…or rather, all eights. For it had three pairs of arms, its giant hands armed with razor-sharp claws…and flames burst from its eye-sockets and its gaping maw, an inner fire that gave it life.

  Dust and rocks flew from the violence of its passage, the very earth below it torn to shreds by its power.

  The Collector stared at it for a long moment, saying nothing. Taking it all in.

  And Simon stood at his side, his eyes wide and dark, gleaming in the light of the magical lanterns all around the room.

  The magnificent creature seemed to leap from the page, the paint practically jumping off the canvas. The sign of a masterwork, of a painting so powerful, so imbued with the Flow that it could barely be contained.

  A painting that screamed to be released. That demanded to be given life.

  Goosebumps rose on the Collector’s skin, and he was glad for his fine black suit, so that Simon would not witness them. He collected himself, then turned to Simon, allowing himself to smile.

  “Well done Simon,” he congratulated. “A most impressive work.”

  “Thank you sir,” Simon replied. The boy looked up to him, a rare smile on his pale lips. The Collector noted the boy’s arms…and the lack of fresh cuts on his forearms. Something within Simon had changed. Allowed to be himself, he was finally starting to heal.

  A process the Collector knew all-too-well.

  His own adolescence came back to him. The dark years after leaving his father. After he’d learned the horrible truth about himself. It’d taken him years to heal. To accept the truth about who and what he was. And in accepting it, he’d given himself permission to be happy. To be wholly himself, without apology. Without guilt.

  He returned his gaze to Simon’s painting, admiring the boy’s work.

  “What do you call it, Simon?” he inquired.

  “Legion,” Simon answered.

  “I want you to draw it out, Simon,” the Collector stated. “And then we’ll have dinner.”

  Simon blinked.

  “We?”

  “Yes Simon,” the Collector confirmed. “Just you and me. My chef will make you a meal the likes of which you’ve never experienced.”

  “Thank you sir,” Simon murmured, lowering his gaze. The Collector paused, resisting the sudden urge to put a hand on the boy’s frail shoulder. A paternalistic urge that both surprised and irked him.

  An urge he couldn’t afford to entertain.

  “I’d say you’ve earned it,” he stated, turning to gaze at the painting once more.

  Legion, he thought. A good name.

  And that, he knew as he marveled at the sheer act of creation before him, was an understatement. And while any other Painter would have considered a mere dinner with him to be a measly compensation for such an enormously valuable work of art, the Collector suspected that, for Simon, it would be more than enough.

  “Draw it out Simon,” he repeated, a smile curling his lips. “I have a very something very special in mind for it.”

  Chapter 30

  The walk down the long, winding tunnel to Mom’s estate was a troubled one. Neither Gideon nor Grandpa said a thing as they walked, and neither did Bella. She stared at her feet, following numbly behind the two men as the led her deep into the bowels of Dragon’s Peak. By the time they reached the front gate of the estate, Bella’s mind was still reeling from the story Gideon had told her. Without a word, she walked through the lobby, up the stairs, and went into her bedroom, closing – and locking – her door.

  She curled up on her bed then, staring at the wall.

  Bella half-expected one of the men to come and knock on her door, but they didn’t.

  Your mother died because of me.

  She closed her eyes, burying her face in her pillow, and wept.

  * * *

  Bella didn’t come out of her bedroom for hours, escaping into the merciful embrace of sleep. She was awoken some time later by a strange scratching at her door. At first she was alarmed, until she saw a hint of a big, furry paw slide under the door. She got up, unlocking the door and cracking it open.

  It was Myko, of course.

  The great silver wolf nuzzled her with his wet nose, then hopped on the bed, laying down in a “C” shape. Bella couldn’t help but smile, and laid down in the bed, letting herself be the little spoon. He draped one soft, heavy paw over her side, burying his head her in curly hair.

  And just laid there with her.

  For some reason, this made Bella cry all over again, ugly sobs wracking her body. Around anyone else, she would have felt ashamed, but with Myko it was okay. With Myko, everything was okay.

  And when she was done – when no more tears would come – she stroked his great big paw, feeling his warmth all around her.

  “Is this what we used to do?” she asked. “When I was little?”

  Myko wuffed.

  Bella smiled, then swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you.”

  He gave her a little squeeze with his paw.

  “Is…Gideon a good guy?” she asked. Another squeeze. “You’re not just saying that ‘cause he made you, right?”

  Myko snorted, blowing her hair askew. She smiled, brushing curling strands of it away from her face.

  “So my step-brother is dead, his painting killed my mother, my mother was a fugitive making illegal paintings for the black market, both my parents are basically criminals, and my thousand-year-old-Grandpa knew it all along and never told me.”

  No response from Myko.

  “Anything else I should know, Myko?” she asked, turning around to look at him. He gave her a big old kiss, slobbering all over her cheek. She squealed, then laughed, kissing him on the nose.

  “I love you too Myko.”

  He got up then, shaking as if he’d just gotten out of a pond, then hopping off the bed and landing with a loud thump on the floor. He went to the door then, turning about and staring at her.

  Another wuff.

  Bella took a deep breath in, then slid off the bed.

  “Okay Myko.”

  He led her downstairs, and they went into the lobby, which was deserted. She paused, her eyes drawn to the golden statue holding the sword, standing on its pedestal. It looked a lot like her, but older. And more muscular, and fierce.

  “Is that her?” she asked.

  Myko nodded.

  She heard footsteps approaching, and Gideon and Grandpa came through the front entrance of the mansion, stopping
when they spotted her. They both stared at her, saying nothing.

  “Hey,” she muttered.

  “Hey,” they both said in unison.

  “What else are you hiding from me?” she demanded. Gideon shook his head.

  “No more secrets,” he answered. “Anything else you want to know, we’ll tell you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, her fists clenched at her sides.

  “I’m angry with you,” she confessed. “I’m pissed.” She turned to Grandpa. “At both of you.”

  Grandpa blinked in confusion.

  “You both knew the truth,” she accused. “You both kept this from me.” Grandpa opened his mouth to respond, but Bella cut him off. “I don’t care what your reasons were. I don’t care if they were good reasons. You kept things from me, and I’m allowed to be upset about it.”

  “You are,” Gideon agreed.

  Bella put her hands on her hips, glaring at both of them.

  “No more dark secrets,” she ordered. “No more lies.”

  Both men nodded, looking absolutely miserable. Bella sighed, stepping forward and hugging Grandpa.

  “You’re lucky I love you so much,” she grumbled. He chuckled, giving her a squeeze back.

  “Everything I did, I did for you, sweetheart,” he promised. She smiled, pulling back from him.

  “I know, Grandpa.”

  She turned to Gideon then, her smile fading.

  “And you,” she groused. “Come here.”

  He paused, then approached her cautiously. She opened her arms, stepping in and embracing him. He stiffened, then relaxed, embracing her back.

  “You suck,” she whispered in his ear.

  She gave him a squeeze, then disengaged from him.

  “I suppose I deserve that,” he admitted.

  “You both suck,” she stated. “But you also spent ten years trying to save me.” She sighed, turning to Grandpa. “You were the best grandpa I could’ve ever asked for,” she stated. Then she turned to Gideon. “And you risked your life for me, and saved my life.”

  Both men stood there, saying nothing.

  “No more secrets,” she insisted. “If we’re going to be a family, we need to be honest with each other from now on. Even if it hurts.” She paused. “Especially if it hurts.”

  Gideon nodded.

  “Alright Bella,” he agreed.

  “You have my word,” Grandpa declared.

  “We have to make this right,” Bella stated. “We can’t let the Collector get away with this.”

  “He can’t hurt us now,” Gideon countered. “We’re safe in Havenwood.”

  “But other people aren’t,” she retorted. “And if he did this to us, he’ll do it to others.”

  “Bella…” Gideon began.

  “You can stop him Gideon,” she insisted. “You’re powerful enough to do it.”

  “The Pentad will take care of it,” Gideon argued.

  “Perhaps,” Grandpa countered. “Perhaps not. But I for one won’t wait for the Pentad to find and defeat the Collector.”

  “Why not?” Gideon asked.

  “Because if you let other people clean up the mess you made, you’ll carry that guilt with you for the rest of your life,” Grandpa declared. “The only way for you to heal your heart is to set things right yourself…with my help, of course. Otherwise you’ll continue telling yourself the same old story.”

  “What story?” Gideon asked.

  “That you’re the villain and your son’s the victim,” Grandpa answered. “And that villains don’t deserve to be heroes.”

  Gideon grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “And how do you plan on helping?” he pressed. Grandpa gave a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling.

  “I,” he replied, “…am going to write a book.”

  * * *

  After a robust dinner – drawn out from a few paintings in Mom’s kitchen storeroom – everyone went straight for one of the living rooms on the first floor, and Grandpa plopped himself down on a U-shaped couch before a fireplace there, letting out a big sigh.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said wearily, “…but I could use a nap.”

  “I second that,” Gideon agreed.

  “Third,” Bella piped in.

  “Oh ho, not you,” Grandpa retorted. “You’ve still got your youth, young lady. You shouldn’t be napping…you should be painting.”

  Bella sighed, her shoulders slumping.

  “Grandpa…”

  “Go on,” Grandpa urged, waving her away. “Go paint while us old men nap.” He stretched his arms out then, closing his eyes. And in moments, he was fast asleep.

  “I’ve always envied your family’s ability to sleep,” Gideon mused.

  “Yeah,” she grumbled. “Grandpa said Mom was the same way.”

  “Oh, she was a glorious napper.”

  “Can I look around the mansion for a little bit?” she inquired.

  “Go ahead,” he replied. “Feel free to explore. I’ll find you after I get a few things from my Conclave for Thaddeus.”

  Bella nodded. Grandpa had requested a desk, pens, and paper for the book he intended on writing. A sequel to the one that’d created Havenwood. As it turned out, Grandpa had been spending all those years slaving over his notebooks in the apartment coming up with ideas for this newest book, among others. It turned out that, just as you couldn’t put a painting inside of a painting, you also couldn’t write a magical book within a magical book. Grandpa had to wait until he’d been freed before he could write the sequel.

  Gideon retrieved the black disc from his top hat, following her into the lobby of the mansion, then placing the disc on the wall and activating the portal. He stepped through, vanishing from sight.

  “All right,” she stated, looking around. She spotted Animus hovering nearby. “So…where should I go first?” she asked it.

  Animus was all-too eager to lead Bella on a tour through the mansion, flowing from room to room. While Castle Havenwood was bright and cheerful, filled with whimsy and bustling with activity, Mom’s house was dark and mysterious…and best of all, quiet. Bella felt quite at home there, in the rooms cast in pale lantern-light, the paintings on the walls ranging from the bizarre to the downright frightening. Animus showed her around each room, even floating up to various items of interest to draw Bella’s attention to them.

  The place was a mega-mansion, with more rooms than she could count. Bedrooms and dining rooms, kitchens and bathrooms. Cleverly, toilets had paintings at the bottom instead of water, and one’s business simply passed through into the canvas. No muss, no fuss, no smell…as she soon discovered. Just crappy paintings.

  There was even what appeared to be a large armory, with suits of armor and swords and such stored in paintings stacked against the walls. There were paintings everywhere, actually. Hanging on the walls, stacked on shelves, stuffed in closets. And they were all magnificent. Weird, dark, and often ugly…and wonderful.

  There were paintings of corpses and zombies and ghouls, ghosts and dark beings made of shadow that could only move within shadows. There were tentacled things and things with claws, oozes and goo, guts and rot. Everything that any respectable person would avoid, Mom had painted. Every one of humanity’s fears manifested on canvas for Bella to discover.

  When at last Gideon emerged from his Conclave and found her, Bella was studying one of the paintings in the armory, of a pale creature with the head and torso of a man and the body of a pale maggot. Like a twisted centaur.

  “What do you think?” he inquired, stopping at her side.

  “She was strange,” Bella replied. “Like me.”

  “That she was,” Gideon agreed.

  Bella put the painting back with the others stacked against the wall, then turned to face him.

  “Why did she live…here?” she asked.

  “You mean why didn’t she live with the others
outside?” Gideon inquired. Bella nodded. “That’s…complicated,” Gideon admitted. “You see, not everyone appreciated your mother’s work.”

  “Mine neither,” she admitted, thinking back to the skeletal dragon she’d drawn so many times at school.

  “Unfortunately the Pentad was one of them,” Gideon continued. “I started teaching your mother when she was thirteen, in a studio near the palace. She was talented, and she painted like…this,” Gideon explained, gesturing at the paintings. “She was licensed, of course…she was Thaddeus’s daughter, after all…but she kept wanting to paint paintings that the Pentad refused to allow.”

  “Like these,” Bella guessed.

  “Right. And your mother, well, to say she was stubborn is a gross understatement,” Gideon continued. “She refused to listen to the Pentad – and me – and painted what she wanted in secret. In a Conclave she’d created without anyone knowing.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, your mother and Thaddeus had a falling out,” Gideon continued. “She…well, let’s just say she made friends with people your grandfather didn’t approve of. They argued, and she left.”

  “She ran away from home?”

  “She did,” Gideon confirmed. “She ended up living in a city called the Twin Spires with these…friends for ten or so years. Painted for them, actually. Illegal paintings that she sold on the black market. It made her a lot of money, money she used to buy her estate. But eventually the Pentad discovered her paintings, and…well…”

  “Well what?” Bella pressed.

  “The Pentad got a warrant for her arrest. They interrogated Thaddeus to find out where she was, but Thaddeus didn’t know. They thought he was trying to obstruct their investigation, but he was too valuable to the Pentad to prosecute, so they forced him to stay in Blackthorne, in a sort of house-arrest. That’s how the Collector knew Thaddeus was there.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “Then the Pentad sent bounty hunters to find your mother and take her in for sentencing.”

  “Sentencing?”

  “For…hanging,” Gideon clarified with a grimace. Bella’s eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth.

  “They hang people? For painting things?”