Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2)

by Nina Smith

  Coalfire’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Can’t be done.”

  “But you promised!” Nikifor’s voice rose. The curse thundered its way up to make him say something loud and stupid.

  Coalfire snickered. “I believe I said I’d lift the curse if you took the Silvers back to their village. Maybe. But you’ve brought them to mine, and I’m not in the mood.” He thumped his stick on the ground. “Don’t worry son. It’ll fade over the next ten or fifteen years anyway, and what’s that to a muse?”

  There was no point in spending even another second in this kind of company. Nikifor clamped his mouth shut over the words trying to force themselves out. He picked up Fitz in his arms, turned his back and walked away.

  Clockwork followed. “Where are you going?”

  The teeth clenching failed. “Anywhere I don’t have to look at black-souled Freakin Fairies!” Nikifor exploded.

  Clockwork’s face shut down.

  “I’m sorry.” Nikifor took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it, that was the curse. I’m taking Fitz home.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I’m going to find Flower.”

  Clockwork shook his head. “Anyone else would’ve given up on her by now.”

  “I will never give up on my friend.”

  “I need to take everyone else back to Dream. But you know where to find me if you need me, or if you need to relocate someone.”

  Nikifor halted his rapid stride and swung around to face Clockwork. “How? How will you return, when Fitz is dead?”

  Clockwork avoided looking at the shrouded body in Nikifor’s arms. “I can open a door anywhere. So can anyone who’s crossed the worlds. We just don’t advertise the fact, and neither should you. Just be careful where you open a door, in case you come out somewhere you shouldn’t.”

  “So where will you go through?”

  “Somewhere near the Ishtar village, to be safe. If you’ll just wait, we can travel together.”

  “I’ll make better time on my own. Goodbye, Clockwork Silver.” Nikifor walked away, his stride rapid, his back straight. He felt Clockwork’s eyes on his back until the forest swallowed them both.

  Nikifor’s rapid pace ate up the miles between Quicksilver and Green Dragon Forests, that darker, wilder place where Fitz’s tribe lived. He walked through the night and the next morning, never stopping, never slowing. The sun was high overhead when he strode unhesitating into Green Dragon forest.

  A mossy rabbit trail tracked and twisted through high tree ferns and rambling creepers with bulbous pale leaves. Tiny creatures scrambled away at his approach. A centipede the size of his hand lurked on a half-rotted tree stump and watched him pass.

  Nikifor made all the noise he could manage, from cracking twigs to saying bad words every time he stumbled under Fitz’s weight. He’d never been this far into Green Dragon territory before–at least not that he remembered–but he was sure they’d find him.

  The forest closed around him like a dark, cool cave. The trees thickened. Sunlight only pierced the canopy in thin, dusty spears of light. He’d been walking for an hour when they surrounded him.

  Tall, hooved, dressed in roughly stitched leather and leaves and armed with bows and axes, each and every forest person pointed something sharp in his direction.

  An elderly man with long, flowing white hair and spiral tattoos on his bare chest barred the way. “Explain your intrusion, Muse.”

  Nikifor gently laid his burden on the path between them. “This man was my friend and mentor and a hero of Shadow,” he said. “All he desired before he died at the hands of a false muse was to return home.”

  The weapons lowered a fraction. The old man approached the body and lifted aside the shroud. He looked down, his face grave, then replaced it. When he looked back at Nikifor a single tear trembled, but did not fall from his eye. “That my brother should return home in such a way,” he said. “We are grateful.” He motioned to two of his companions, who lifted Fitz and set off down the path. The rest followed them.

  That was it then. His task done. He was free to find Flower. The knowledge settled inside him, as empty and hollow as a drum. What he wouldn’t have given for Fitz’s counsel now.

  Nikifor turned back. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but a young man and woman were in the path. The woman had blonde curls flowing over her shoulders and the hard look of a warrior. The man looked like a much, much younger version of Fitz.

  “Who was that?” asked the man.

  “Fitz Falls.” Nikifor regarded him steadily. “A hero.”

  The man’s eyes widened a little. “And who are you?”

  Nikifor looked for one more moment at that young, fresh face and couldn’t stand the thought of it being scarred by time and trauma, or of the eyes being as dead as Fitz’s. This boy could only be Fitz’s nephew Pan, but Nikifor could not stand to keep a promise that would end in the boy’s death. “I am the Invisible Army.” He walked through them.

  “Nice axe,” the girl said.

  Nikifor paused, unhooked the axe from his back and handed it to her. Then he turned his back on them and walked from the forest.

  A tinge of smoke on the air made him stop in his tracks near the edge of the trees. He’d curved around to head for the road that would take him back to the Arch, the place of his nightmares, each step heavier than the last; but when Shazza burst out of thin air in front of him he leaped for her. “You!”

  “Yeah me!” She vanished and reappeared out of his reach. “What’s up your nostril?”

  “Why aren’t you dead like the others?” He stayed where he was, poised to strike at her again.

  “Flower saved me.”

  They stared at each other. Nikifor noted the lines on her face, the downward set of her mouth, the fleeting glimpse of a scarred soul in her eyes. “Where is Flower? Is she safe?”

  Shazza slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry Nikifor. She’s gone.”

  “Dead?”

  A shrug. “I dunno. Gone, like the other muses. I couldn’t save her, but she saved me, like I told you. She gave me her key so the king couldn’t kill me.”

  Nikifor sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. The despair that had gripped his ribs and eaten away at his heart when Fitz died tightened its grip. “I tried so hard.”

  “I know.” Shazza edged closer. She patted him awkwardly on the head. “I saved Pinky.”

  He looked up at her. “Who’s Pinky?”

  “You know, Mudface. Calls herself Pinky since she got cursed. She kind of doesn’t remember anything though. You won’t even recognise her. But I promised Flower I’d get her back to you so you could take her somewhere safe.”

  “Where is she?”

  Shazza looked relieved. “Not far down the road. We’ll meet up with you soon.” She disappeared.

  Nikifor waited by the side of the road, sunk in his own misery, until Shazza and Pinky rounded the bend and headed toward him. He couldn’t find anything of Mudface in the creature tripping along beside Shazza. Her pink hair was long and flowing. Her skirt and top were shocking pink, her lips pearly pink. She was at least a foot too tall for a Bloomin Fairy, maybe more. Even her walk was different. Where Mudface had always been hunched over and clutching her book, this girl walked with a straight back and a little sway. There was no book to be seen.

  She greeted him with a bright, sunny smile and no sign of recognition. “Hello. You must be Nikifor.”

  Shazza thrust a rough cloth bag at him. “Here, this is hers, but she won’t take it.”

  Pinky made a face at the bag. “Can’t be mine. Silliest little book I ever saw.”

  Nikifor took the bag.

  “I’m going now, Pinky.”

  “Oh?” the word was bright and chirpy. “Where are you going?”

  “Away.” Shazza gave Nikifor a sidelong glance and clutched the key around her neck with one hand. “I’ve got things to do now I’m
free. Don’t look me up, either of you.” She vanished, leaving only smoke on the road.

  “Oh, she’s gone,” Pinky said. “What a pity, she was ever so nice.”

  Nikifor was at a loss what to do with the bubbly pink thing. He set off back down the road in the direction of Ishtar Village, wondering if he still had time to meet Clockwork. Pinky trotted at his side. Her chatter battered at his skull, which was already too full of racing thoughts.

  “Where are we going, Nikifor? Shazza said you’d take me someplace safe. I asked her why, everyone’s been so nice to me, but she said there was someone who wasn’t very nice and that’s why I don’t remember anything before I was in the cart with that nice lady and all those nice men in the silver masks. Isn’t memory loss a strange thing? All I know is my name and that I really love the colour pink.”

  “Wait.” Nikifor helped her to jump a particularly deep pothole in the road. “What nice lady in the cart?”

  “Her name was Flower,” Pinky said. “She didn’t remember anything either. Shazza said that man who wasn’t very nice was nasty to her too. I wonder who he was? Is he going to come after me?”

  “What happened to Flower?”

  Pinky shrugged. “She had to stay in the cart, only I was allowed to go with Shazza. I didn’t see where they went. Oh hey is that the end of this long road? I see grass!” She squealed.

  Flower was alive. Or at least she had been. The darkness loosened its grip.

  Pinky skipped ahead. “Oh look, there are fairies in the forest! Hello!” She waved madly.

  Nikifor hurried to catch up with her, just as Clockwork jumped down onto the road. His band of Freakin Fairies, looking wearier than ever, looked on from the edge of the forest.

  “Who are you?” Pinky’s voice was bright and chirpy. “I like your hat. Gosh, there are so many people in the forest today, are we all running away?”

  Clockwork gave Nikifor a pained look. “What is that? We’re trying not to alert the Bloody Fairies here, and here goes your new friend with a voice like a foghorn.”

  Nikifor prodded her gently toward the fairy. “She’s Mudface.”

  “Who’s Mudface?” Pinky resisted the prodding.

  Comprehension dawned on Clockwork’s face. “The pink curse,” he said. “It took that well?”

  “Only after she escaped the king without her memory.” Nikifor firmly placed her at Clockwork’s side and gave him the bag. “She needs to be hidden in Dream. You know what he’ll do if she’s found.”

  “King? What king?” Pinky looked from Nikifor to Clockwork. “Where’s Dream? Are we asleep?”

  Clockwork edged away from her. “Alright, alright, Hippy can look after her. Now watch close, Muse, you’re going to need this sooner or later.”

  Nikifor breathed a sigh of relief. He watched Clockwork draw a doorway in the air with his right hand. The air inside it shimmered and changed. Behind that square of air lay a paddock with a rusty bus parked at the far end.

  Pinky’s mouth fell open. “How’d you do that?”

  “Go through, Pinky.” Clockwork jerked his head at the doorway.

  “Okay then. Bye Nikifor!” She waved cheerily and skipped through the door.

  Nikifor and Clockwork stood to one side while the dour, bedraggled Freakin Fairies trooped through after her.

  “I’m going to set them up as a bikie gang,” Clockwork confided in a low voice. “It’s perfect. They can still wear all the leather, and they’ll love motorbikes once they get the hang of them. Sure they’re a little shorter than the average human, but they’ll pass.” He looked at Nikifor closely. “Are you going to be okay out here?”

  Nikifor watched the procession. “I’ll be fine.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Look for Flower. I find her, I find all the muses.”

  “Fair enough, but just remember there are plenty of others who’ll need your help. Here.” Clockwork dug into his pocket, extracted a small, black object and put it in Nikifor’s hand.

  Nikifor studied it, unsure what to make of the gift. It appeared to be a box with numbered buttons on it. “What is it?”

  “It’s a phone.” Clockwork pushed a few buttons, and numbers came up on the screen. “Look, I’ve programmed my number only into it. If you need me, open a doorway into Dream and call that number. I’ll answer. I’ve fixed it up with a solar cell so you can charge the battery in sunlight. Just look after it, okay? And remember if you need to open a doorway, you’ve just got to draw it and think really, really hard about someone you know who’s in Dream. And don’t think about my daughter, because I’ll know.” He slapped Nikifor on the shoulder. “You did alright for your first time in the IA, mate. I’ll be seeing you.”

  And just like that, he stepped through the doorway to the other side. The air shimmered behind him and closed, leaving Nikifor alone on the muddy road.

  He dropped the phone into a pocket in his coat. The afternoon was quiet, cold and empty. The road was his to travel, alone, the last free muse in Shadow.

  He didn’t want to be the last muse. He said a bad word he’d heard Flower use once, turned and headed in the direction of the Arch. He wouldn’t go there. He’d go past. He’d walk and search. Somewhere beyond, somewhere in the shimmering purple distance of mountains and horizons, he would find the missing muses.

  Or die trying.

  The End

  Would you like to know more about Shadow? Then visit The Shadow Project at http://ninasmithauthor.weebly.com/shadow.html to keep up with all the latest news, and to look out for book three in the Shadow series, Shiny Things.

  This is an independently published book, meaning it is produced solely from the author’s limited resources. Its success is dependent on you, the reader.

  Did you enjoy this, or any other Indie book? You can support Indie authors by mentioning their work on facebook and twitter, leaving a review on Amazon or Goodreads and telling your friends about it!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Nina Smith writes thrillers and fantasy novels by the light of the moon, obsesses over graphic art, performs theatrical dance, creates steampunk costumes, looks after a cat and thirty grouchy chickens and occasionally even manages to sleep.

  She is the author of thrillers Hailstone and Dead Silent, and dark comic fantasy series Shadow Books 1 and 2, Bloody Fairies and Keys and Curses. Book 3: Shiny Things, is on the way.

  Facebook: Nina Smith Author

  Twitter:@Kilili13

  Shadow Book 3: Shiny Things

  A sneak peek.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Krysta Ishtar’s fixed smile was one camera flash away from turning into lockjaw. The lights made her squint. She looked sidelong at her publisher, who was grinning fit to crack a facial muscle. “How much longer do I have to keep this up?”

  Jane Autumn was particularly good at speaking without moving her lips. “As long as you can. Your novel is the first thing to be published in five years that isn’t complete twaddle, dearie, so just keep smiling. Maybe you’ll even sell some copies.”

  Krysta smiled into the flash of a particularly obnoxious bright pink camera held by a woman dressed in a hot pink tailored skirt suit and matching stiletto heels. She groaned under her breath. “Pinky’s here.”

  “Of course Pinky’s here. A good review in Teen Scream will do you wonders. Teenage girls read too, you know.”

  “Yes, but five minutes with Pinky will leave me needing a frontal lobotomy.”

  Jane’s grin got just the slightest bit more pronounced. She was taller than Krysta, with white hair swept up in a neat coif and a pair of round glasses perched on the edge of her nose. “Speaking of frontal lobotomies, did I not ask you to change your hair colour last week? These publicity photos will be everywhere, you know.”

  “I did change it.” Krysta resisted the urge to pat down her hair in case it was sticking up.

  “I assumed you would dye it to your natural colour.”

  “You’d be surprised how close to my
natural colour this is.”

  “Dearie nobody’s natural colour is purple.” Jane took a deep breath, then drew her hand sharply across her neck and stopped smiling.

  The cameras stopped, just like that. Krysta relaxed her facial muscles and hid behind the copy of her book she was holding, so hot off the press the pages were still warm.

  “Thank you my dears, that will be quite enough. Ms Ishtar is going to sign books now and will be available for interviews by appointment.”

  The three photographers packed up their equipment so fast anyone would have thought they didn’t want to be there.

  “Come along then dear.” Jane ushered Krysta to the desk set up in a cosy corner of the bookshop. Behind it was a huge poster with a picture of a freckle-faced woman with long, dark hair. Across that was scrawled Krysta’s name and the title of the book: The Missing Muse.

  Krysta sat down. “What if nobody comes in?”

  “Don’t be silly dear, we do book signings for debut authors all the time, there’s always at least one person wanting a signature.”

  “Just one?”

  “I can’t help the way the market is. Like I said, your book is the first thing I’ve read in years that didn’t make me want to bleach my eyeballs. Maybe all the muses really are missing, who knows?”

  “Oh, ha ha.”

  Jane winked. “There, you’re all set up. I have to go. Is Drew going to come by and pick you up later?”

  “Yeah, as soon as he finishes work.”

  “Such a nice young man.”

  “My mum’s going to drop in and visit too.”

  “Right. I’ll see you later then.”

  Krysta grinned after Jane’s retreating form. Her publisher and her mother couldn’t stand each other.