The Spirit Watcher

by Cory Barclay

  A man had somehow slunk behind Selestria’s group and headed their way, snakes writhing from his skull as the turban fell away.

  “Sela!” Geddon cried, still pointing. Selestria reached out and took his hand, not realizing the warning cry for what it was.

  His eyes locked with Lord Topaz’s eyes. The gorgon.

  Starting with his face, his gawking, screaming mouth became frozen in time. His eyes and ears and face crackled and became stone. Within moments Geddon’s entire body was encased in gray rock, until his form was stuck in the warning pose, pointing outward.

  Geddon’s body had not completely morphed into his human avatar before the stony stare struck him. It made for a gruesome picture, stuck in mid-transformation.

  Selestria’s heart sank. She heard hissing close behind her.

  Gripping her shining, yellow staff, she spun around with her eyes closed, yelling like a crazed banshee. Her staff connected squarely into Lord Topaz’s neck, crushing bones and cartilage.

  The gorgon’s red eyes bulged as he flew to the ground. His snakes went silent.

  Selestria turned back to Geddon’s frozen, rocky body. She couldn’t find the will to cry. Blackguards had retreated. Other Vagrants were gawking at the grotesque statue. The gargoyle.

  He had saved her, yes, but he had also killed the man she truly loved. He had gotten a chance to lead the Vagrant Kinship, as he’d wanted. He’d even killed the commander of the opposing army.

  Not a bad way to go for a man who hardly deserved praise.

  Still, it hurt Selestria to know she’d never hear his voice again, his complaints, his grumbles, his bad jokes.

  Unless . . . she wondered if the death of a gorgon would reverse the effects of stone-turning.

  Selestria spun around, ready to strike at the fallen gorgon.

  But Lord Topaz was nowhere to be seen, his body imprint left in the ground.

  In the distance, bushes and plants shook as the gorgon no doubt made his injured escape.

  Selestria could have chased the wounded lord. She could have caught him, or easily had the Nawao track him down.

  But did Geddon really deserve to be saved from his hard fate?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Fueda led Steve and his group through the dark tunnel underneath the Reynolds estate. Steve had been through this tunnel before. He had escaped the ire of Jareth and Constantin after spying on their clandestine dinner meeting.

  That meeting was when he first learned of Jareth’s plan to overthrow Steve’s father, with the help of Constantin and Mariana, by marrying their respective children together. It had almost resulted in Steve’s death, but Fueda had helped him escape into this very tunnel. That was the last night Steve had served as the Reynolds’ “servant.”

  At the time, Steve had hated his predicament. In hindsight, he realized what a blessing it had been meeting the Reynoldses. He’d gotten to learn what they were like—especially the young man who would be marrying Annabel. It was when he’d first gotten a taste of how despicable Tiberius could be. Steve had actually gotten along with Jareth, back then. He would’ve never guessed the extent of Jareth’s treachery.

  More importantly, Steve had gotten to know Fueda, the spunky, conflicted house brownie belonging to the Reynoldses. She was Lig’s lover or wife—Steve was never clear on that—and through those web of connections Steve now found himself invading the premises.

  The scheme had first come to him when he learned the Vagrant Kinship would be battling Overseer Onyx. The battleground would be between the two houses. Steve had been in the singular position of having frequented both houses. He knew Lig and Fueda well, and hoped he could use their friendship to aid him.

  As they crept through the tunnel—Aiden, Dale, Scarlet, and Shepherd following—Fueda laid out the situation. “Master Reynolds was so quick to attack the Lees, the entire household emptied out. Master knows Constantin would be on the defensive. He didn’t leave a force behind to guard the estate.”

  Steve said, “You’re saying the house is empty?”

  “For the most part, yes. But you must time your excursion carefully, wafer-man. This is Master’s base of operation. He frequently returns here, to the map room, to lay out plans with his generals. If they hear you rummaging around . . .”

  Steve was glad Fueda trailed off. He didn’t need to hear what would become of him were he caught. He knew. It would not be pretty. The only answer was to not get caught.

  “Annabel is in there, though?” Steve asked hopefully.

  Fueda nodded. “As is Tiberius. His father barred him from taking part in the battle, though I doubt Tiberius would have even if he’d been allowed.”

  Steve chuckled. That meant he had only one man to go through to rescue his girl, so long as no blackguards were patrolling the place. Still, he knew how unpredictable Tiberius could be.

  He was glad he had his friends. He was eternally grateful for Dale’s loyalty. Through time, he’d even come to trust Aiden as a stalwart friend. Scarlet was rock solid, too. She’d had plenty of opportunities to betray his trust, and she hadn’t. He assumed she wouldn’t in this late hour. Shepherd was the only outlier—the person Steve knew the least—but he seemed legit. He’d given them vital information, preempting Steve’s return to Mythicus. Steve didn’t see a motive for betrayal in the renegade blackguard.

  They came to the decrepit door leading to the basement kitchen. Steve’s heart began to hammer.

  Fueda looked up at him. “You remember the layout of the house, yes?”

  Steve nodded.

  “Then you’re on your own from here, wafer-man.”

  Steve put his hand on Fueda’s shoulder. “You’re a true friend, Fueda. Thank you.” He understood Fueda’s obligation to part ways. Lig had done the same thing after leading the party to the tunnel. They both had lives to live outside this war. When the dust settled, who knew where Fueda and Lig would stand? What if their masters were dead? They’d have to find a way back to normalcy. Getting caught leading rebel agents into the heart of the Brethren foundation wouldn’t bode well for their futures. They’d already stuck their necks out for Steve and his friends, and for that he was thankful.

  Fueda snorted and shrugged Steve’s hand off her shoulder. She’d never been a touchy-feely kind of brownie.

  Steve suppressed a smirk and opened the door.

  The kitchen was dark but immediately recognizable. To his right, he saw the large door that led to the walk-in freezer. The same freezer where Charles Lee’s body had been found, the inciting incident for this entire war. Doors at the end of the room led to deeper parts of the house.

  The main door led to the upstairs dining room. Steve had climbed those stairs many times.

  At the door, Steve stopped to listen. In the past, he’d been able to hear every creaking floorboard and footfall from above. Holding his fist up to make sure his friends stopped moving, he focused.

  After thirty seconds of complete silence, he continued on.

  He hesitated to open the door in front of him. Far to his right, one of the doors opened to a hallway that traversed the arteries of the house. Somewhere in there was his nook—the place he’d sat to listen to Constantin and Jareth’s conversation.

  He thought for a moment, wondering if that door would keep his group hidden. The alternative was blasting through the house as quickly as possible, up the stairs, through the dining room, and up the main stairs to the second level.

  There, he hoped to find Annabel.

  He weighed the options carefully.

  “What’s your malfunction, Steve-o? You’re making me antsy,” Dale whispered to him.

  Steve put a finger over his lips, quieting the big man.

  Finally, he sighed, having come to a decision.

  There was no one in the house, right? So what did hiding matter?

  He opened the door. He took the first steps slowly, pressing down as lightly as possible with his feet. He grimaced at the creaking boards, then hurrie
d up the stairs to try to minimize the sound.

  As he burst through the door at the top of the stairs, he put his hand on the hilt of his knife.

  He waited for his four companions to gain the stairs, then he ventured through the living room. His eyes darted around—at the paintings on the wall, the chandelier overhead, the tables and chairs. Nothing was too little a detail to remember. The paintings in particular were unnerving: it seemed as if the eyes on two of the portraits followed him as he walked. And they probably did.

  Out the corner of his eye, Steve thought he saw a small shape leap from shadow to shadow. Next, he thought he heard a purring sound.

  He didn’t have time to dally, so he kept moving.

  Before reaching the dining room, an idea came to him.

  He veered from the hallway, stepping toward one of the portraits on the far wall. The man in the painting had wild, unkempt gray hair and a lax, yellow face.

  Steve said, “How long have you lived here, sir?”

  The man in the painting blinked. “I was built here, boy.”

  Dale opened his mouth to shriek, but Aiden was quick to cover his mouth.

  “What,” Scarlet said in a sarcastic voice, “never seen a talking painting before?”

  Dale eyes were impossibly wide.

  “Are you loyal to the members of this household?” Steve asked the painting.

  “I’m a staple of this structure. I’m impartial to its current inhabitants. I know in a year or a hundred, the tenants will change.”

  Steve pursed his lips. “Fair enough. Do you know Annabel Lee?”

  “The new girl?” the painting asked.

  Steve nodded.

  “Of course. Everyone’s been making a fuss about her.”

  “Do you know her location in this house?”

  “Currently? No.”

  Steve scratched his cheek. “How about . . . in general? Where she sleeps at night.”

  “Her room is the same as the young man’s.”

  Steve turned to the stairs behind him. “Point me in the—er, tell me in which room she resides.”

  “Second level, third door on the right.”

  “Thank you,” Steve said. He didn’t want to reach out and touch the painting, so he awkwardly bowed.

  “I feel like I took acid in the room below, and it hit right when we walked through that damn door,” Dale said as the group wandered away from the painting.

  Steve slapped a hand on Dale’s shoulder. “Get used to it, man.”

  “I hope I don’t have to.”

  They climbed the tall, winding staircase and came to the second level.

  “I wonder how our friends are doing on the battlefield,” Aiden wondered aloud as they reached the top of the stairs.

  No one answered him. Steve turned to his right and looked down the dark hallway. Two lit torches flickered on the wall, giving off orbs of warm flame.

  Steve trudged down the hallway. He passed by the first two doors, then came to the third. He put his ear close to the door and could hear voices on the other side.

  His hands spasmed with sudden fear.

  So far, this had been way too easy.

  Steve stuck up two fingers in a universal peace sign, signifying there were two people in the room. He listened harder, but didn’t want to move any closer, lest the floorboards creak underneath him.

  After a moment, the timbre of the voices started to settle into his mind. He recognized them: Tiberius and Annabel.

  Steve closed his eyes, ready to dream-leap to Annabel.

  Before he could focus, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned to face Scarlet. The succubus shook her head solemnly at him.

  Steve exaggeratedly lifted his brows, to ask what the hell she wanted.

  Scarlet pointed at her own bosom.

  Steve shook his head. He thought he knew what she meant. But before he could debate the issue, Scarlet pushed him out of the way.

  She mouthed the words, “Trust me. Let me do it.” Her eyes had that confident, don’t-fuck-with-me look.

  Steve sighed, resigned to whatever bewildering plan Scarlet had concocted.

  She mouthed words silently and pointed to the floor. “When Annabel comes out, take her and run.”

  “What about you?” Steve mouthed.

  Scarlet smiled.

  Then, abruptly, she put her hand on the doorknob.

  Steve’s heart lurched in his chest. He and everyone else moved away from the door, so they wouldn’t be seen when it opened.

  Scarlet turned and pushed . . .

  “You’ll do what I say, woman, or else—” Tiberius’ voice was cut off mid-sentence.

  With every ounce of his being, Steve wanted to charge into the room and see what Tiberius was trying to do to Annabel. He only wanted to save her. But he put his trust in Scarlet and stood stone still.

  “Oh, hello, handsome.” Scarlet’s voice rang out, tinged with sugar and syrup. She sounded pleasantly surprised on what she’d walked in on. It sounded similar to when she’d lured the blackguards in the forest.

  Steve felt his mind twisting and shaping around her words, even from outside the room.

  He could only imagine how Tiberius must have felt, being the object of her desire.

  “W-What are you doing here?”

  Steve’s heart sank. It wasn’t Tiberius who spoke. It was Annabel.

  Shit, Steve thought. She recognizes Scarlet from Terrus! The jig is up!

  Scarlet said nothing. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

  “Get the hell out of here, bitch!” Tiberius shouted. As he spoke, his voice waned. His next words sounded even weaker. “Y-You . . . shouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh, but I should, Mister Reynolds.”

  “Mister Reynolds?” Tiberius said. Now his voice sounded bewildered. “That’s what my wife calls me.”

  There was laughter in Scarlet’s voice. “I can do things to you your little girl could only dream of doing . . .”

  Silence.

  Steve imagined the tension building in the room, between the lover’s triangle.

  “Is . . . is that a challenge?” Tiberius asked. There was daring in his voice. He was clearly in a trance.

  “It’s a bet, master,” Scarlet said.

  “Then get your ass over here,” Tiberius said.

  “My pleasure,” Scarlet said sweetly. “I like a man that takes control.”

  “Tiberius!” Annabel yelled.

  “Be silent, woman! Be gone!”

  To Steve’s dismay, it almost sounded like Annabel was starting to cry. Say it isn’t so, Steve thought. Please tell me she hasn’t grown attached to this bastard . . .

  Annabel complained. “B-But—”

  “I think you should do what your husband tells you, girl,” Scarlet said. Her voice had a warning tone in it. Then it changed, back to sweetness. “No one likes a disobedient wife.”

  Tiberius chuckled. “I like you, woman.” His voice grew quieter. “I like those tits even more . . .”

  The door was left ajar as Scarlet’s footsteps plodded through the room.

  A moment later, the door opened.

  Annabel stepped through, tears in her eyes. Then her eyes rose in shock at the people she saw surrounding the door.

  Steve jumped at her from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth. At the same time, Dale reached out and gently shut the door.

  Annabel mumbled into Steve’s hand, writhing in his grip and trying to wiggle free.

  “Shh, Bel, Bel! It’s me,” Steve whispered in her ear. “It’s Steve.”

  Her body became limp in his hands, deflating like a popped balloon. Steve gripped her by the waist so she wouldn’t fall, then he slowly removed his hand from her mouth.

  He spun her around to face him.

  Annabel’s face registered a moment of shock. Anger and pity and confusion played in her gray eyes.

  Steve reached a hand out and wiped the tears from undernea
th her eyes. He smiled.

  “Oh, Steve!” Annabel finally said. She jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  In a low voice, Steve said, “You remember Scarlet, right?”

  “Of course,” Annabel said. “How could I forget the succubus that stole a kiss from the man I love?”

  Steve’s head pitched back. “You saw that?” It had happened the first night they’d met Scarlet, at an afterhours party at her house. They’d been talking in the garden when Scarlet had kissed him. Or had he kissed Scarlet? He couldn’t remember the order of events—he’d been very entranced by her wiles.

  Annabel smiled. “Of course, my love.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Hey, guys . . .” Dale whispered, tapping Annabel on the shoulder.

  Then a louder voice startled them all. “Hey!” it cried, from down the hall near the top of the stairs.

  They all faced the sound.

  The first thing Steve saw was a blackguard’s cloak sweeping along the balcony railing. Then he saw Aiden’s hand move in a flash, reaching inside his green jacket.

  “What are you doing, Lady Annabel?” the blackguard asked.

  “Oh, Timble, it’s nothing—”

  Aiden’s hand shot out from his jacket and something whipped through the air with blinding speed.

  No more words came from Timble’s mouth. His hand grabbed at his throat as he choked and gurgled.

  Aiden launched another coin, this one shooting into the blackguard’s open mouth. It made a dull thud as it struck the back of his throat. Timble dropped dead.

  Before Annabel could scream or make a fuss, Steve put his hand over her mouth again. She snorted into his palm, shaking her head violently.

  “What the hell, Aiden,” Steve said.

  Aiden shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Ahhh!”

  The scream was surreal. Steve was immediately confused: it couldn’t be coming out of Annabel, because he still had a hand over her mouth.

  He turned, his eyes searching.

  Emilene Reynolds stood at the end of the hall, emerged from an opened door. She looked pretty as ever, a thin shift covering her body. Her arms were bare and her curly hair floated softly above her shoulders.