by Cory Barclay
“How long did the Nazis last after Hitler?” Geddon asked as he was pulled up to his knees again. “Or Alexander the Great’s empire after he died? The Mongols after Genghis Khan? A movement becomes a success because of their leaders. Kill the leaders, they lose direction . . . like I’m sure the Brethren would if you died.”
Malachite chuckled. He went another step closer to Geddon, causing the prisoner to flinch in fear, but this time the Overseer didn’t lay a hand on him. He crouched and looked Geddon square in the eye. “That’s a false equivalency, my friend. You will never be as powerful as those men, nor will the Vagrant Kinship. You lack the ambition.”
“But the Brethren of Soreltris will?” Geddon asked, clenching his jaw. “You give yourself too much credit, Malachite.”
The Overseer frowned. He reached out and grabbed Geddon’s hair, then shook his head back and forth. “Who knows where the Brethren will go? Once I get the Parallel Reflector working again, the sky is the limit. Actually, the sky is only the beginning. We will see other worlds.” His eyes glittered as he said the last sentence.
“You would seek to harm your own plane? Terrus?” Selestria asked. “What kind of monster are you?”
Malachite scowled. “I never said that, you ignorant bitch. But I will see the coexistence of my people with yours. Mythics and humans will breed together. I’ll create a race of people with powers unlike anything anyone has seen before.”
Steve felt like he was going to be sick, hearing his father speak this way. Somehow, in the time since coming to Mythicus, he’d gone completely insane. He was speaking like Magneto or something—wishing to create a “super race”—but that guy was a comic book villain. This was actually happening! Could Richard be serious? Where was all this coming from?
“It’s too bad you don’t have the power to fulfill your illusions of grandeur,” Geddon spat. “Because it doesn’t sound like a half bad dream.”
Malachite chuckled. It was not a nice chuckle.
Geddon smiled back at him, his bloody lips cracking. “Can you not see that the Council controls you? Do you really think they’ll let you keep the Reflector for yourself?”
Malachite’s evil smile disappeared. He growled and stood very still. Then he kicked Geddon again, in the stomach this time, and the big man doubled over. Malachite’s anger wasn’t sated. He savagely stomped the helpless Mythic, until finally Geddon cried out in pain.
“Stop it!” Selestria shouted, flinching as she watched Geddon get pummeled. “You’ll kill him!”
Through kicks and labored breathing, Malachite said, “Why should you care? He killed your husband. I’m surprised you don’t want to help me!”
Selestria said, “He’s still your only chance of finding the other leaders of the Kinship.”
Malachite stopped kicking Geddon, his foot stuck in midair.
Oops, Steve thought, that was a mistake. He hoped Selestria knew what she was doing.
Geddon rolled around on the ground, coughing and spitting out blood. Steve couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for Geddon, though he soon let the feeling wash away.
Why should I feel sorry for the guy who betrayed me? I trusted him. I called him a friend.
“Because I can save you,” Geddon said.
Steve froze, his mouth falling open.
“What did you say?” Malachite asked.
You’ve been able to see me the whole time?
Geddon didn’t reply. He pushed himself to his side with his head, then back to his knees. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, though, and Steve knew it was aimed at him, though he looked at Malachite.
“I said . . . I can save you from your enemies, from your Council,” Geddon said, clearly improvising.
Overseer Malachite laughed. He shook his head and glanced at Selestria, then narrowed his eyes on her. When his laugh ended, his dark smile remained. “You said Geddon is the only chance of finding the other leaders of the Kinship . . . but that isn’t quite true, is it, nymph?”
Selestria opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Malachite pointed at her, coming to some sort of revelation. “You’re a Myth Hunter! You can help me find them.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Selestria said.
Overseer Malachite started pacing, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. After a few moments, he stopped and faced Geddon. “Is that true, what she says?”
Geddon said, “She can find someone if she has their Conveyor—”
“Stop it, Geddon!” Selestria cried.
“—That tethers them to this realm. Without that, she is just as you and I.”
Malachite slowly nodded. “Very well. Geddon, you will help me find the leaders of the movement you cherish so much. You will have a day to decide to help me or not. If you refuse, I will kill Selestria.”
Before Geddon could say anything, Malachite continued. “You two cozied up to my son for quite some time. I want you to tell me what you know about him—how he could have gone through the Parallel Reflector. What made Steve so special?”
Steve took a step back, suddenly frightened for his own life. He knew he was being foolish—that Malachite couldn’t see him—but it made him uncomfortable to hear his dad say his name.
Geddon’s neck turned for a split second, as if he was trying to look behind him to see if Steve was still there. The message was clear: Don’t go anywhere.
Steve had his own ideas on the subject, but he wanted to hear Geddon’s opinion. He stayed in the room, despite Selestria’s death sentence hanging over him.
Geddon cleared his throat. “Your son has more power than you understand,” he began. “I’ve never seen a stronger dream-leaper.”
“Is that a fact?”
“That’s a fact.”
“That must be why he was able to penetrate my defenses and reach me on Ethereus, at the wedding, despite the barriers I have in place.”
“I assume so.”
Malachite mulled that over for a moment. “Interesting. What else?”
Selestria refused to look at Geddon at this point. Clearly disgusted with him, she found a nice spot on the ground to fix her eyes.
Geddon continued. “It’s my understanding he also had his Conveyor on his person, at the wedding, which few people do. Since it is the one item tethering a person to Mythicus, people are usually keen to keep theirs hidden.”
“And the leprechaun that went with him?” Malachite asked.
Geddon shrugged. “He had his Conveyor on his person, too.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I was both of their Myth Makers. I know what their Conveyors were.”
“What were they?”
“A dollar bill, for each of them,” Geddon said.
Malachite chuckled. “Clever. Give them a piece of paper that’s useless on Mythicus, and make it the most important possession they own.”
Geddon ignored that. “Were the two of them connected, physically, in any way when they went through the mirror?”
Malachite nodded. “The leprechaun was holding onto my son’s arm.”
“Well, there you go,” Geddon said matter-of-factly. He twitched again, trying to turn around to face Steve, but he stopped midway. “They were in Ethereus when they went through the mirror. They both had their Conveyors on their person. Doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”
“Perhaps you’re onto something,” Malachite said in a low voice. He was deep in thought. Without facing Geddon, he said, “Maybe I need someone to help me get better at dream-leaping.”
Geddon was silent.
Malachite had calmed down and was almost talking to Geddon like they were equals. He finally broke that perceived spell and said, “Bring them back to their cell. Geddon, you have twenty-four hours to give up your cohorts, or your lover dies.”
“We are not lovers,” Selestria spat.
Malachite chuckled. “Tell that to him,” he said, then turned on his heels and left the room.
St
eve understood what had just happened. Geddon was a traitor, yes, twice, thrice over. But his message to Malachite regarding the Parallel Reflector—that was aimed at Steve as much as it was aimed at the Overseer.
Adrenaline filled Steve’s body. Geddon’s thoughts on the Parallel Reflector had matched his own. He was almost giddy from excitement.
The blackguards closed in on the prisoners and picked them up by their arms, standing them on their feet.
Steve closed his eyes and thought of home.
Geddon and Selestria turned around. Geddon had his mouth open, ready to say something to Steve in passing.
But Steve was already gone.
CHAPTER NINE
When Steve came to, he felt warmth on his face. He cracked open his eyes and immediately closed them again. A line of sunlight shot through a window, straight into his eyes. He rolled away from the wall he leaned against. His eyes ventured around the living room until they landed on a clock hanging on the wall. It was almost 8:00 a.m.
The couch Aiden slept on and Dale’s loveseat were both empty. Shepherd still occupied the smaller couch, sleeping.
Steve yawned and stretched. He felt his body creak and bones crunch. His mouth was dry, but on the floor next to him someone had left a glass of water. His head ached from the latest dream-leaping escapade, so he chugged the water as quickly as he could.
Helping himself to his feet, he stretched one more time by trying to touch his toes. Then he shuffled away from the living room. Rubbing one of his eyes with his palm, he came to the kitchen, where Dale and Shannon were making breakfast. It smelled of garlic and eggs and bacon. Steve smiled, missing the smell of a home cooked breakfast.
He stood in the walkway for a moment, unnoticed. Dale had no shirt on. It was a sight to see, his hairy body enough for children to mistake him for a Yeti. Shannon did have a shirt on. She flipped the bacon with a spatula, and Dale pinched her butt. She giggled and did a little squirmy dance.
“Morning,” Steve said, deciding to speak up before things took a more intimate turn.
Neither of them looked at him. Shannon’s joy seemed to leave her face. She continued staring at the bacon like it had all the answers to her problems. It was clear how Shannon felt about Dale’s friends staying over for a slumber party.
“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome, Fats,” Steve said, for Shannon’s sake.
“Bollocks!” Dale said in his best English accent, which wasn’t very passable.
“That’s kind of you, Steve,” Shannon said, ignoring her boyfriend. She turned to him and gave him a half-smile. “You know you’re welcome here anytime.” Her tone told Steve he was not in fact welcome there anytime, and he should be going ASAP.
“Thank you, Shannon. Can I steal Dale for a second?”
Shannon shrugged and went back to her bacon, flipping them again.
Dale followed Steve out of the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“Seen Aiden and Scarlet?”
“They were gone before I woke up. Must have run off into the night.”
“When did you wake up?”
Dale shrugged. “An hour ago?” The corners of his mouth twisted into a smile as he leaned forward. “Why, do you think they got away to do the hanky-panky?” He pantomimed sticking a finger back and forth through a hole he’d made with the other hand.
Steve groaned. “What are you, five?”
Dale said, “No, I’m a healthy six, seven on a randy day. Shannon tells her friends six, but that’s because she measures from the—”
Steve showed Dale his palm, begging him to stop. He was shaking his head with his eyes closed in consternation. It was much too early for Dale talk.
“Sorry,” Dale said, but Steve could tell by his face he wasn’t sorry.
“Why are you so chipper this morning?” Steve asked, feeling like a father scolding his much bigger son. “Two of our greatest—and shadiest—assets are missing. That doesn’t worry you?”
Dale shrugged. “I guess I’m just excited for an adventure. A quest. Besides, I’m sure they’ll come around.”
“Have you told Shannon?”
“That I’m packing seven? Oh, she knows—”
“Dale.”
“Right.” Dale had the decency to look a bit shamefaced as he averted his gaze from Steve’s piercing eyes. He made the slightest nudge with his head, a quick left to right.
Steve sighed. “When are you planning on telling her? We have to meet with Charlene at midnight tonight.”
“I know, I know.” Dave waved Steve off. “I’ll tell her when everyone’s gone. I dunno how she’ll take it yet.”
Shannon’s voice from the kitchen: “Honey, breakfast is ready. Is Steve staying for bacon and eggs?”
Dale called over shoulder, “Yeah, baby—”
“No,” Steve yelled. “Thanks so much for the invite, though, Shannon. I’m heading out.”
Dale threw his head back, mock offended, his mouth agape.
Steve thought he heard Shannon mutter from the kitchen, “It wasn’t an invite,” but he couldn’t be sure. He said, “There you go. We’re all gone. Now is your chance.” He turned to leave, not sure where he was going to go.
“Hey,” Dale called out.
Steve turned around.
“Take that bum with you.” Dale motioned to the couch. “Unless he wants to start paying rent, he’s slept on my couch long enough.”
Steve chuckled. He saw the irony of Dale calling it “his” couch and asking for rent. He was pretty sure Dale was freeloading, and it definitely wasn’t his couch. “Right-o,” he said, eyeing Shepherd, who was currently scratching his nether regions in a sleepy stupor.
Steve screwed up his face and turned away. There was a stench of beer and some other sickly smell emanating from Shepherd. It made Steve self-conscious. He lifted his arm, sniffed his armpit, and recoiled.
“Shit,” he said to himself. “I’m ripe.”
He got a bright idea and walked back to the kitchen, popping his head around the wall. He was trying to give the impression he was on his way out.
Dale had his back turned, and somewhere on the other side of him was Shannon, lost in his large embrace.
“Sorry to bother,” he said, drawing a scowl from Dale as he separated from his girl. “Mind if I use the shower before I head out? I’ll be quick.”
Dale’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to tell Steve something, but it didn’t take. He made a few deliberate gestures with his eyebrows and eyes: glancing at Shannon, then glancing at the bedroom on the other side of the kitchen.
Steve got the meaning that time. Dale wanted to occupy the bedroom, and therefore the bathroom. He pretended like he didn’t understand. He tilted his head and put on a confused face.
Exasperated, Dale sighed. “Oh, fine, dammit. But hurry up.”
Steve snapped his fingers and gave Dale the ol’ finger gun salute and his most disarming smile. “Thanks, Fats.”
He marched through the kitchen, past the lovebirds, and disappeared into Shannon’s room. He made sure to keep his eyes on the ground, not on the bras scattered on the bed, as he made his way to the bathroom.
Inside, he peeled his clothes off and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked ragged: black bags under his red-rimmed eyes; pale, sallow skin; prominent crow’s feet starting to show . . .
Where is all this coming from? I don’t even drink anymore!
For whatever reason, it seemed like his body had physically taken a toll over the last few days.
A dark thought clouded his mind. Could it be the dream-leaping? Is that sapping my energy? I do always wake up with a massive headache after one of my escapades . . .
He ran a hand through his hair, picking out a couple grays, and turned on the shower. He stepped under the soothing hot water, sighed comfortably, and closed his eyes.
HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN thinking about dream-leaping before closing his eyes would lead him right there. The problem was that Ethereus and Mythicus were
always on his mind these days. It was making his erratic leaping even worse.
Just when he thought he was starting to get control over his power, it threw him a curve ball.
He was in a forest, surrounded by trees and the constant humming of insects and other life.
He was disembodied again—staring out from someone else’s eyes. It startled him as much as it did the first time.
Where the hell . . .
“Ahh!” the body’s voice cried. As alarming as it was for Steve to be in someone else’s shoes, he could only imagine the terror a person must feel hearing a different voice in his head.
In this case, Steve found he inhabited someone else’s tiny shoes.
“Stop doing this, wafer-man!” Lig said out loud.
I don’t know how!
The person Lig followed spun around with a scowl on her face. Pua Kila was stalking through the woods, and Lig’s cry for help was apparently not appreciated.
“Quiet, little one,” Pua Kila rebuked. “We are close now.”
She followed paw prints in the dirt and undergrowth, stopping every few feet to inspect them. She touched and prodded the prints, as if trying to figure out how recent they had been planted.
“Sorry, sorry,” Lig whispered. “An acquaintance of mine has decided to show up, unannounced.”
Pua Kila gave him a strange look. Even for a forest dweller—connected to the trees and nature and spirits—Lig’s words seemed to make little sense.
The Nawao warrior continued on, Lig in hot pursuit. They passed a clearing with a small pond, bounded over a mossy hill, and still followed the tracks.
Steve didn’t recognize where they were. He knew the forest surrounding the Lee and Reynolds houses was vast. They seemed deeply entrenched, as if Lig and Pua Kila had been traveling through the woods all night.