The Spirit Watcher

by Cory Barclay

  He knew he wouldn’t last long in this cellar. He’d been in the room for a couple hours and already felt he was losing his mind.

  He had been the most powerful person in Soreltris. He had risen fast, very fast, but fallen even faster.

  How could it have happened so fast? he wondered. He thought he’d had the ear of the Council. There had been no talks of dissension—Misty would have told him. No one even looked at him the wrong way. Perhaps those were signs . . . the quiet before the storm.

  But Misty hadn’t warned him. How had Jareth been able to amass the entire thirteen-member Council? How had he been able to do it without me knowing?

  It must have been at the most recent meeting, or else Jareth wouldn’t have had the votes possible to overthrow me.

  They had gathered in his house, under his roof, and betrayed him. They all deserved to die. No one had had the decency to warn him about the usurpation. Misty must have been there.

  Why did my spy fail to warn me?

  Richard felt his blood pressure rising. His anger was at risk of boiling over like water on a hot stove. He grunted as he paced, eager to make an escape plan.

  If no one helped me then, why would they help me now? No, I’m on my own.

  What did I do to deserve this? I was not a tyrant. I did not taunt my Council or play favorites. No one had a reason to hate me—much less seven of them!

  All I wanted was to figure out the secrets of the Parallel Reflector, so I could send envoys to Terrus. I’m sure the people of Earth would have been hesitant to welcome Mythics to the fold, but they would have come around. At least enough of them to make my assimilation project worthwhile.

  He felt a headache behind his eyes and stopped pacing, knowing he was driving himself mad. The thought of the Parallel Reflector sitting in his bedroom, unguarded, drove him up the wall.

  Then, in a moment of clarity, he realized something.

  How did this happen so fast? If what Jareth said was true, then it didn’t. This was not a spur of the moment. If that’s the case, then why now?

  His mind came back to the Parallel Reflector.

  Of course. It was obvious.

  Jareth coaxed me into interrogating Geddon and Selestria. He expected me to find the Vagrant leaders. And I did. But it was the interrogation before that that must have truly interested him.

  The question regarding my son: how had he escaped through the Parallel Reflector during the wedding?

  As I learned Steve had had his Conveyor on his person and had traveled via Ethereus to go through the Reflector, so did Jareth. Then Jareth could plan his betrayal.

  Richard also knew Jareth had wanted Geddon and Selestria dead. They were minor annoyances, but they could become so much more if freed. They could rebuild the Kinship. So, when Geddon gave up the location of the Kinship leaders, that’s why Jareth had so strongly suggested killing them. They had no use any longer.

  But they were useful to Richard, which was why he’d kept them alive.

  Geddon was Bound to Steve. Selestria was a Myth Hunter. Together, they could locate Richard’s son at any given moment, on either plane. That in itself was valuable to the former Overseer. Despite everything that had happened, he still loved his son.

  Maybe it’s not such a bad thing Geddon and Selestria escaped, Richard thought, biting his bottom lip. He tapped his chin and leaned against the wall. They still live . . . hopefully.

  If they rebuild the Kinship, they might be able to overthrow Jareth!

  He is a diabolical man. The Council will see. They’ll soon understand the mistake they’ve made, and say to themselves, “Hey, maybe Malachite wasn’t such a bad guy.” Jareth wants to force his way onto Terrus and its people. He has no qualms about slavery, treachery, and the things that still pain Terrusians today. He doesn’t understand the history of my world.

  And if Geddon and Selestria overthrow Jareth, then I could be back on the throne!

  And when I am, I will execute my entire Council before starting anew.

  He nodded, feeling pleased with himself. It was a long shot, but it could happen. Richard was convinced he could get his throne back. He wondered how many usurped leaders in history had made triumphant returns to their throne. The number was likely small.

  Then I will be a legend in the Brethren annals. The Once and Future King!

  He giggled at the thought.

  His smirk disappeared as a knock came at the door. His head shot in that direction and he spat, “Who is it?”

  No voice responded.

  Sighing, Richard thought of his options. When he realized he had none, he strode to the door and rapped his knuckles on the wood.

  The door opened.

  Richard took a step back, puzzled at who stood before him.

  Dosira Reynolds rushed into the room, shutting the door behind her. She wore a silky blue dress that reached her ankles. She hadn’t changed since the debacle in the ballroom.

  “What are you doing here?” Richard demanded at once. He gave her a once over and noted how beautiful she looked. No, there was something else in her face. She was tense, on edge, the veins in her neck tightening. She looked . . . vulnerable.

  Richard’s hard gaze softened at the worried expression on Dosira’s face. She had dark, tumbling hair and the broad features of an Eastern European woman.

  Dosira refused to look him in the eye. It was only after he grunted that she looked up.

  “Well?” Richard asked.

  The words tumbled out of her as she snapped back to reality. “I feel terrible for what my husband has done,” she said. “It was not a worthy exit of an Overseer. If anything, it will bring hostility between the Council members. His actions have tarnished the reputation of the Overseer office and have sown the seeds of discord. The split decision has put the Council into two camps.”

  Richard gaped. For a moment, thoughts rolled around his head unbidden. He was unable to focus. He couldn’t believe Jareth’s own wife was speaking this way about him.

  Then he remembered something. The hardness returned to his face, before he gave himself away.

  “You were one of the seven who voted against me, Lady Opal,” he sneered.

  She nodded and averted her gaze once more. “I know. And I regret it. You must understand, to vote against my husband would be to invite death. You know how his temper . . . flares.”

  Richard scoffed. “I’ll pardon the pun,” he said, shaking his head at the memory of Nersi Magdalin burning to ashes. He took a step toward the wall and leaned against it, trying to straighten his mind out. How can I use this newfound knowledge to my favor? This is the scandal of all scandals!

  He noticed Dosira had taken a step toward him as he’d taken a step back. In fact, she’d seemed very close ever since she’d come into the room. Almost like her vulnerability needed a body nearby, or she’d fall apart completely.

  Richard pitied the fragile woman. How a delicate thing like her could have ever coupled with a fiery one like Jareth was beyond understanding.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Richard asked. Of course he agreed with everything Dosira had said. Jareth was a cold-hearted traitor. He had no doubt Jareth’s rise would fracture the Council—but what was her purpose in coming here?

  Dosira gave a small shrug. She joined her hands together at her stomach and fiddled her fingers like an adolescent girl.

  Richard narrowed his eyes on the woman. He felt his own temper “flaring,” in a way, and his mouth went dry. He took a step forward, but remained a fair distance from the woman.

  “I suppose I . . . wish to repay you in some way. You could have made things much more difficult for my husband, if you’d wanted. That was very brave and gallant of you.”

  Actually, no, I had no grand scheme up my sleeve and don’t know what else I could have done, he thought. He accepted her compliments, though, and went with it. When his own blackguards had refused to arrest Jareth, he’d known his time was up. If it had been in his power, he would
have struck down every smug face in that ballroom, then and there. But he was only a lowly human. The moment he lost his throne showed him the futility of trying to rule a foreign race in a foreign place. Especially as an outsider.

  Still, he would try again, if given the chance.

  Maybe I am braver and more gallant than I realize, he thought, feeling a bit of self-righteousness.

  Dosira reached out and gently brushed her hand against his. His eyes widened in alarm.

  “What are you doing, Lady Opal?” he asked foolishly. His face turned scarlet and he felt a warmth cycle through him like he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Not since he’d been with April, in fact. Overseeress Garnet had been the last woman he’d made love to.

  His courting skills were a bit rusty, to say the least.

  When Dosira’s hand moved up his forearm, goosebumps formed all over his body. Without thinking, he took a step forward into Dosira’s space, resting his free hand on her back. He ran the hand up and down her bare spine—the blue dress was open-backed. Her skin was soft, inviting, tantalizing . . .

  Dosira tipped her head and kissed Richard.

  Richard’s hand moved to the back of her head. He gripped the root of her hair and held her head as he held the kiss, wanting the moment to last as long as possible.

  Then the heat coursing through his body could no longer be contained.

  When he parted his lips away from Dosira’s, he could hear her breath was heavy. His was, too. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Richard thought he saw her eyes flash a cold, light blue, before reverting back to their natural green.

  He had ignited the passion within her.

  He looked to the door, then back to her.

  He fumbled around like a teenager. He felt foolish, but also free and happy for the first time in a long time. He held Dosira and took her with him as he moved forward, until her back was against the cold wall. He undid the straps of her dress and his hands plunged into her dress. He felt her warm breasts as she let out a slight gasp and tensed.

  It all happened so fast.

  Dosira hiked up her dress. At the same time, Richard’s hands went to his belt and he pulled his pants down just far enough. It was too cold in the room to disrobe completely.

  Richard steadied himself. Without looking at Dosira, hearing only her breathless panting, he entered her and grunted.

  Still standing, he grabbed her ass and pulled her closer as he thrust with mad abandon. He tried to force out all the anger he’d been feeling.

  He sped, unable to slow himself, and listened as she quietly moaned in his ear, urging him on. He wrapped one hand around her neck and she tensed.

  Red-faced, he felt himself losing control in pure bliss and ecstasy. He gave one last triumphant thrust and cry and held it long and snorted through flared nostrils.

  He pulled himself out of her with a last sigh of satisfaction. He stumbled as he took two steps back and chuckled at his own clumsiness.

  Dosira’s dress fell back over her legs. She smoothed it and watched him.

  Feeling his heart racing in his chest, Richard put his back against the wall and tilted his head to rest. He pulled his pants up and slid down until he was sitting.

  After a silent moment, Richard smirked at her. “Same time tomo—” he cleared his throat, feeling his voice go out.

  “What was that, Richard?” Dosira asked, cocking her head to the side. She had a peculiar look on her face. It was much different than the innocent, soft expression she’d had when she’d barged into the room . . .

  “Tomorr . . .” Richard furrowed his brow. He was unable to get the word out. His heart was slowing, as it usually happened when the adrenaline wore off. But as his heart slowed, he felt it getting heavier and heavier. He put a hand to his neck and could hardly feel his heartbeat.

  In an instant, a feeling of despair washed over him. It wasn’t the usual postcoital lethargy. It was something deeper.

  “What?” Dosira asked when Richard stared up at her confusedly. His eyes had gone wild. He clawed at his throat, trying to make her understand that he couldn’t speak—could hardly breathe!

  “I’m afraid there won’t be another time, Richard,” Dosira said calmly.

  The sinking feeling in Richard’s chest got worse. He clutched at his heart. He pulled his knees to his chest and whimpered. He felt ten years older, in an instant.

  Dosira breathed in deeply and stretched her arms out wide, as if she were an asthmatic who’d just learned she no longer needed her inhaler. She said, “So, this is what a human soul feels like?” Bobbing her head back and forth, she came to a decision.

  “I like it!” she said happily. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Richard. Thank you for your help.” She waggled her fingers at him as she left. “Bye-bye now!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Steve and Aiden trailed behind Pua Kila and her Nawao warriors. They galloped down the freeway, their horses’ hooves turning heads as they passed.

  A few hours into their journey, they had stopped at a large stable on the side of the freeway. The structure was giant—a warehouse for steeds—and Aiden had conjured up a small pouch of gold from his pocket. The gold was enough to purchase eight horses for the group, almost enough for everyone to ride. A couple of the Nawao warriors doubled up. The stablemaster was ecstatic, realizing he’d become one of the richest stablemen in Soreltris.

  After the purchase, Aiden mentioned his funds were depleted until they returned to his house.

  With the horses in tow, the three-day journey turned into just over three hours. They shifted between a trot and a gallop to make their way down the freeway. During one of the lulls, when the horses were allowed to rest and drink, Steve tried to reach out to his other friends.

  He took hold of Aiden’s gold coin and closed his eyes. His eyes flickered underneath his lids as he swept through his mind’s tunnels. When he opened his eyes, he was in Aiden’s house. The dream-leap was a success.

  Steve stood in a large room, surrounded by bookshelves. The walls were painted black and gold. He walked away from the shelves and came to an empty space. Dale sat at the end of the room, on a chair, actually reading a book.

  Steve studied his friend for a moment with a bemused expression. He’d never known Dale to be a reader.

  He said, “Fats,” in a low voice.

  Startled, his friend dropped the book and jumped in his seat, clearly not expecting a voice to come out of thin air. And why would he, when he’d heard no footsteps entering the room?

  Dale squinted and turned left, then right. He stared back at Steve and said, “Steve-o? Are you really here?”

  Steve shook his head. “No, I’m en route to the Spirit Watcher in Central Soreltris.”

  “The who in the what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “How . . . can I see you?” Dale asked.

  “I’m in your mind.”

  Dale looked alarmed. “I’m going crazy?”

  “No,” Steve said with a chuckle. “I’m in Ethereus. It’s a long story; one I’ll explain when I see you in person. I don’t have much time. How are things getting along there?”

  Dale shrugged. “I’m deathly bored. The fairy land isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, man.”

  “I think your opinion will change before too long.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Besides,” Steve added, “boring is better than barbaric. You should enjoy your leisure time while you have it.”

  “I guess,” Dale said. He didn’t sound convinced boredom was better than excitement. His ADHD must have been rampant, Steve figured.

  Steve paused. When he spoke, he nudged his chin toward the book on the ground. “What were you reading?”

  Dale shrugged. “It’s not in English.”

  “You’re . . . reading something you don’t understand?”

  “It has pictures.”

  “Ah.”

  “I think it’s a spellbook of some
kind. There are lots of pictures of women burning and drowning folks. There are some hardcore chicks in this place.”

  Steve chuckled again. “You’re telling me.” He hesitated, looking around the library, to the door. Then he asked, “Where’s Shepherd and Scarlet?”

  “I think they’re ‘enjoying their leisure time.’ ”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They started fuckin’, I believe.”

  Steve’s eyes bulged. Baffled, he said, “Scarlet is having sex with the former blackguard, Brethren defector?”

  Dale half-nodded. “Based on the sounds I’ve been hearing, they aren’t having sex. They’re fuckin’.”

  Steve scratched his scalp and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus. That’s . . . unexpected.”

  “I know,” Dale said. “But Scarlet is a succubus, right? I guess she can hardly help herself.”

  “I’m not quite sure it works that way.”

  “Either way,” Dale said, shrugging, “maybe she needs to put herself back in recovery. Last night, I offered to keep her company at a Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting when we get back home.”

  Steve felt his stomach sink. Dale’s words reminded him of something. But to prolong the inevitable, he said, “I have a feeling you have an ulterior motive for attending those meetings.”

  Dale acted shocked, putting a palm to his chest and lurching back in his seat. “Me? Steve-o, you wound me. I’m happily besotted.”

  Steve let out a snort of laughter. “Besotted? Jeez, Fats, sounds like you really have been reading.” Then his face got a bit more serious. “Do you think Shannon will be there when we return?”

  Dale seemed to melt back in his seat a little, a telltale sign that he was feeling uncomfortable. “I hope so.”

  A short pause followed. Dale stared at the ground in an introspective manner, and Steve stared at him.

  Dale lifted his head. “Hey, do you think they have Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings here?”

  “In Mythicus? I, uh, doubt it.”