The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3)

by Heather Lyons

  It doesn’t matter if it is or not. Victor is gone. I let that thing take my brother.

  “We will find him.” Her eyes bore up into mine. “Do you hear me? We will find him. But we must first go back and ensure that the others are all right. Once we do, we will begin our search.”

  “Alice.” My voice is a whisper now. “He’s dreamed of that monster his entire life. He always feared it would come for him, but we always promised it wouldn’t. He told me he saw it at Sara’s, standing beneath one of the windows, watching the house. I . . . I didn’t believe him.” I shake my head. “He was right. The whole time, he was right.”

  She tugs my head down and kisses me gently. “We will find him. Together.”

  The A.D. and Mary are at the top of the stairs, his arms around her as tears trickle down her pale face. Sitting next to them, one leg more crooked than the others, is Grymsdyke. The moment my brother’s love sees me, and not him, she leaps out of the A.D.’s grasp and runs down the few steps.

  I don’t know what to say to her. How to even explain what just happened.

  Justifiable anger fills her eyes. Her fists pummel my chest. “Where is he? Where is my Victor?”

  My chest is hollow. All I can say is, “Gone.”

  She slaps my face, hard. “How could you let it take him? HOW COULD YOU?”

  I don’t stop her assault, not even when it nearly knocks me backward. Alice does, though. Alice grabs hold of her friend, wrapping her arms around her. “We tried, Mary. I vow to you, we did. It was impervious to our weapons—”

  “Liar!” Mary collapses against Alice, quietly sobbing.

  “I wish I were.” Alice’s eyes meet mine. “I believe in the impossible, Mary, but what was just experienced . . .” She shakes her head. “It is beyond the fantastical.”

  The peal of a music box sounds in the near distance, softly first, and then insistently. The A.D. crawls over to peek over the railing. When his mouth flattens and his eyes narrow, I absolutely know why.

  I make my way up the stairs, cold fury replacing the shell-shocked in my veins. At the top step, I reach down and gently pick up Grymsdyke. He doesn’t say a word; he just settles on my shoulder, his good legs digging into my tunic and skin.

  I make my way over to the railing, not bothering to hide. Alice and Mary come to stand beside me; the A.D. rises to his feet. There, sitting upon the thrones, is the Piper and a woman dressed in a multi-hued dress much like the garb depicted in the tapestry behind them.

  “The time has come,” the sonofabitch says, his damn lips curved in a faint grin, “to talk of many thing: of thieves—of assassins—and prince and princesses, of poisons—and desperate folk, and why they think coming here means anything at all.”

  None of the hundreds standing before him say anything, let alone move.

  “I want to welcome our guests. It took them far longer to arrive than I initially hoped for, but they are all here just the same. Although, I must admit, upon reflection, it’s rather fortuitous their arrival occurred during the convergence. I was worried I might have to send some of you to fetch them. We wouldn’t want them to miss out on the festivities, do we?” His eyes, and that of the woman’s next to him, drift upward to where we stand. The woman then places her right hand upon the closed book between them.

  In unison, every man, woman, and child turns to face us.

  I do not shout, nor raise my voice. I do not threaten. I merely say, “I’m going to kill you.”

  His smile widens. “Children, they think to stop our work. How do you feel we must respond?”

  The mass of armed soldiers in the room bursts to life in a flurry of motions and battle cries.

  Alice immediately pulls Mary back. “Jack, I need you and Mary to go and try to find a way to get that book. I don’t know why, but instinct insists it’s important to them.”

  I grab one of my guns, snapping out the empty clip. “Mary, did you bring any SleepMist?”

  Her tearstained eyes swivel back to me. “Yes.”

  I insert a new clip of bullets. “Get to work on figuring out how to neutralize these bastards so you can get the book.” To the A.D., I say, “Get Sara. She’s coming back with us, understand?”

  He nods.

  “I am staying with you two,” Grymsdyke announces.

  I won’t say no to him. That said, I tell the A.D. and Mary, “Once you do get the book and Sara, edit back to the Institute right away. Show it to the Librarian and Brom.”

  “I refuse to leave Victor behind!” Mary vows harshly. “We’re not leaving you.”

  “Yes,” I tell her just as harshly. “You will. Because right now, this shit is bigger than us. You get that damn book back. Did you take any pictures of this place with the glasses?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “Good. If the Society chooses to send people back, you know where to edit into.”

  The sounds of a multitude of feet pound on nearby stairs. I search the veranda and find a set of doors in the far back. “Go. There’s a door back there.”

  Alice adds grimly, “We will take care of this.”

  “But . . . Victor!”

  I tell my brother’s girlfriend, “I will find him. Go.”

  The A.D. grabs both his and Mary’s bags, and together they sprint across the length of the room to the door. Thankfully, it opens on the first try, and with small waves of their hands, they disappear from view.

  I take a deep breath. Look at Alice. “I love you, my north star.”

  “Don’t say it like that.” Heat fills her eyes. “Our story is only in the beginning chapters. We still have many, many to go before the end. And we’re binaries, remember?”

  “I love you,” I say again.

  She grabs hold of my arms and crashes her lips against mine. “I love you, too. Do not dare to undo all the trouble I’ve gone through to ensure your safety, do you hear me Huckleberry Finn Van Brunt?”

  My laughter is nothing more than a whisper. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “We have true love. It will save us as it has before. It will always save us. I believe that, Finn. You must, too.”

  Grymsdyke transfers from my shoulder to hers, and I’m glad for it.

  We move to the middle of the room just before black-eyed men, women, and children bearing weapons swarm from staircases on either side of the veranda. The moment they see us, screaming so loud I fear my ears are bleeding commences.

  No prisoners. No mercy. These are not really children, not like they look. They’re older than I by centuries, trained to be murderers whether willingly or unwillingly. I can’t subdue them all, neither can Alice.

  We have to fight.

  I begin shooting; Alice starts hacking away with her sword. Some of our assailants are better than others, but there are a lot in the initial wave that we’re able to kick away. Grymsdyke leaps off Alice’s shoulder, attacking those who come too close. The ancient kids, as ferocious as they can be, can’t knock him off as easily as the monster did. And while my gun and Alice’s sword slow them down, his bite stops them altogether.

  The Pan kid reappears, flying above us, his skin sallow and eyes sunken. Alice chops away at him, and he laughs as if it’s the funniest thing ever.

  Despite the three of us cutting down as many as we can, more of the Piper’s soldiers pour into the room. Bodies are dropping like flies in our paths, but they’re relentless, like they don’t have a care in the world that they’re heading to their doom. Soon, the veranda is completely filled with children bearing deadly weapons.

  And then . . . the music box sounds again, and everyone stops. Just . . . stops. Weapons readied, facing us, they form a veritable wall.

  Alice and I freeze, too. We’re both bleeding, both breathing hard and wary as all hell. We press our backs up against each other, circling around to survey the mass of fallen bodies and the horde of still-standing persons all around us. Grymsdyke quickly scuttles off his latest victim, darting back over to where we are.
/>   “What is happening?” he asks. “Why have they ceased their attacks?”

  “I don’t know.” And I really don’t.

  I take a step forward, toward the ring of children in front of me, and their ranks close in unison. There isn’t enough space between any of them to slip through, no way to even get close to the railing to find a way down into the throne room. They’re all smiling now, like they know they’ve got us cornered. A ripple of laughter and excitement sounds through the vibrating crowd.

  Maybe we can—

  It’s then I hear it. Softly, but I hear it.

  No. No. Not now. No.

  Alice reaches back, her hand gripping my arm so tightly I am sure she will leave a bruise. The music swells, growing louder by the second. It’s a haunting melody, one whose roots dig deep beneath my skin, into my bones and the pink folds of my brain.

  I stumble; so does Alice. We fall to the ground, dazed.

  My head swims, my vision blurs. I grapple for Alice, for her face. “Look at me,” I insist. “Focus on me.”

  Her fingers dig into my arm, but I can barely feel them. “Love you,” I think she says. And then my name, more loudly and yet distantly all at once.

  The melody fills the room until it’s all I can hear. I tug Alice closer, unsure of where my gun is, where her sword might be. I can’t—I can’t even find Grymsdyke. All I see, blurry and beautiful before me, is Alice.

  Soon, I don’t even see that. I sink into the black river below me, unable to fight my way back to the surface.

  MY BODY CONVULSES, FINN’S name spilling from my mouth. I reach out and find . . . a soft, warm, bare body.

  I am not on the veranda, surrounded by the Piper’s minions. I am in a bed, and there is a man lying next to me. He curls closer, his arm wrapping around my waist—my bare waist. “Shh,” he mumbles. “Just a dream.”

  I jerk upright, yanking the sheet higher. Faint, golden sunlight spills in through dark curtains nearby, slanting rays upon the room I’m currently in. I know those curtains. I . . . I know this bed. I know the painting on the wall before me.

  I look down at the man next to me, now pushing himself up into a sitting position. I know him, too.

  I whisper, shaken to my very core, “Jace?”

  He curves a hand to cup my face, pressing his lips against my cheek. “Another nightmare?”

  What is happening right now? How . . . how can this be? Where is Finn? Grymsdyke?

  I’m out of the bed, across the room in an instant to throw the door open. Before me is a familiar hallway, filled with familiar paintings and doorways.

  Soft feet pad across the room, gentle hands wrap around my waist. “It’s okay. It was just another dream. You’re okay. You’re at home, my love.”

  A . . . dream? Yes, that’s it. A dream. The Piper—he’s . . . his flute. We were surrounded, and he was playing his music and—

  And Jace is tugging me back toward the bed. My bed. The bed I commissioned to be made just for us. “I know you keep refusing to do so, but, Alice, I think it’s time we talk to the Caterpillar about these nightmares. They only seem to be worsening. Tell me about this latest?”

  I pinch my arm hard. Jace immediately grabs my hand, pulling it back. “You’re awake. I promise you’re awake. There is no need to continue to maim yourself.”

  My skin, reddening and throbbing, stings. Up and down my bare arms are bruises. How is this possible? Just minutes before, I was in the Piper’s lair within Koppenberg Mountain, fighting, and now . . . now I am in my bedroom in the tulgey wood?

  Where is Finn?

  As the White King pushes me down onto the mattress, I grab the letter opener resting upon a stack of correspondence on the stand next to my bed. Jace attempts to snatch it from me, but he’s not quick enough. I slash it across my palm a split second before he knocks it away. I wince as blood wells in thick beads.

  I . . . I must be dreaming, and yet . . . I can feel pain. I’m bleeding. There is no bandage on my wrist, no fresh row of stitches.

  I have to get to Finn. I cannot let the Piper have him. I can’t.

  The White King of Wonderland has a handkerchief out and is wrapping it around my hand. “Alice, please! You must stop this. Dammit, I could have sworn I took that out of here last night.”

  Stop . . . what?

  He must see my quizzical look, because he flips my other palm up. There, now scabbed over, is a nearly identical line. And then, across my thigh, yet another line.

  “I’m worried about you.” He pulls me into his arms. “This cannot go on. Today, when our Grand Advisors arrive, I will speak to them whether you wish it or not. There must be a draught or something they can offer to help you sleep more serenely.”

  “The Caterpillar . . . is alive?”

  He pulls away just a bit so he can look down at me. His handsome, dear face is filled with so much concern. “Did you dream he was not?”

  I glance around the room. It seems so . . . real. It cannot be, though. The prophecy banished me from Wonderland. The White King and I are no more. This home now sits empty, a silent memory of our love, hopes, and dreams.

  I turn to face him, my hands cupping his face. His dark hair is askew from sleep, his pale eyes, so light they are nearly colorless, are just as I remember them. There’s a tiny scar cutting through his left eyebrow, one made when he was a child, practicing swordplay with his squire. There is another scar, much less noticeable, just beneath his chin, created from the clumsy hand of youth while shaving.

  He looks exactly as he always has. I feel his skin beneath my own. I feel the heat of his body next to mine. His smell is so familiar, his voice even more so.

  My eyes well with tears. Confusion, so much confusion, muddles my thoughts. “How are you here?”

  He leans forward, his lips brushing mine. “This is our home.”

  Our home.

  “Are you real?”

  Another brush of his lips against mine, and I stiffen in disbelief. “Do I feel real?”

  He does. And that is the problem—he does.

  “How . . .” I swallow. “How did I get here?”

  “We arrived three days ago via horseback.”

  Three days. “This cannot be real.” I shake my head. “I was . . . I was in . . .” I cannot remember the designation. One of the Gram—no, Grimm’s Timelines. “The prophecy—”

  “What prophecy? Was this part of your latest dream?”

  I suck in a breath at the implication of what he is saying.

  He smoothes the hair around my face. “Talk to me, dearest. Tell me about this prophecy you dreamed of.”

  He feels so real. He sounds so real. I can feel him. Smell him.

  I lick my dry lips. “The one that banishes me from Wonderland.”

  Surprise fills those haunting eyes of his. He genuinely seems taken aback by what I’ve just said. But how can that be? This prophecy not only tore apart my life, but his, too.

  “Why ever would you be banished from Wonderland? You are the Queen of Diamonds.”

  “Because the Courts are unbalanced.” I search for any recognition in his eyes. “Because there is no King of Diamonds.”

  A small bit of understanding appears in his eyes. “I knew you were worried about the transition, but—”

  Transition?

  “All will be fine.” His smile is reassuring. “The Cheshire-Cat and the Caterpillar have assured us that the legal issues have all be rectified, remember?”

  I—I don’t—

  “Dearest, we saw the Oracle just two days ago, remember? She said Wonderland itself embraces our union. Until our deaths, the White and Diamond Courts will be unified.”

  I don’t know if I am even breathing right now. This must be a dream. A long, cherished dream I was forced to lie to rest that somehow the Piper has brought forth to trick me.

  “If you are still worried about the White Queen, please do not. She has agreed to the conditions and signed the necessary documents in preparation fo
r the ceremony the day after tomorrow. The Cheshire-Cat sent word last night that he had them in hand and would be bringing them today for us to co-sign. Although, isn’t it just like her to wait until such a late hour? I suppose it could have been worse; she could have made us wait whilst standing upon the altar.”

  I hold up my left hand. There, upon my ring finger, sits the most beautiful white diamond I have ever seen. I reach up and find a golden H dangling from my neck.

  “Is that what the dream was about last night? A prophecy saying you must leave Wonderland?”

  I am shaking in his arms, so very, very confused. This cannot be real. This must be a trick of the Piper’s, or of the thirteenth Wise Woman’s. “I fear I am dreaming right now.”

  “What can I do to prove to you that you are not?” A hand curves around the back of my head. His lips hover over mine, a bare hair’s width away. “You are not dreaming, Alice.” His mouth touches mine, once more shocking me into stillness. “You are here, with me, in our home, exactly where you belong.” Another kiss, more meaning full now. My heart hammers so very terribly hard in my chest, and while my body sinks easily into the passion his touch inspires, something else surfaces, too, something far more powerful.

  Guilt. Oh so much guilt.

  I . . . I love this man, yes. Desperately. This was my dearest dream for so long. Him, me, here. Our union, our joining of kingdoms. But I’m also in love with someone else, someone who I willingly gave my heart to. One who I feel inside my veins right now.

  My true love. My north star.

  When Jace’s tongue touches mine, though, my body ignites in such bittersweetly familiar passion and need. He tastes the same. Feels the same. I feel him. His hands, his wonderful hands that are now worshipping my body, do not feel like a dream. I would know—after my expulsion from Wonderland, I dreamed of this more times than I ought to admit. None of those felt real, though, and that was the problem. I dreamed of kisses, imagined our lovemaking, and all of it was hollow and intangible.