The Dragon's Eye: Sequel to Where the Stairs Don't Go (The Corridors of Infinity Book 2)

by Shae Hutto

  The Dragon’s Eye

  Book Two of The Corridors of Infinity

  A NOVEL

  BY

  SHAE HUTTO

  For my son, Andrew, who loves a good adventure.

  THE DRAGON’S EYE

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE: The Gang

  CHAPTER TWO: Going Nowhere

  CHAPTER THREE: The Unexpected

  CHAPTER FOUR: New Friends

  CHAPTER FIVE: Old Friends

  CHAPTER SIX: The Living Dead

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Old Enemies

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Here’s Blood in Your Eye.

  CHAPTER NINE: Let’s Go to Jail

  CHAPTER TEN: RUN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Flies in a Fire

  CHAPTER TWELVE: From Basement to Attic

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Dance the Night Away

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Our Friend, the Evil One-Eyed Dragon

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: An Unlikely Arrangement of Folks

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Take That!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Bye, for Now

  PROLOGUE

  “May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.”

  -George Carlin

  They were twins. Not identical twins, but there was a definite familial resemblance. Same dark, lank hair, same compact build. They shared a remarkably bland expression that seemed to proclaim, quietly, that these two were completely unimpressed by the world that surrounded them. This expression was displayed on oddly sensual features; plump cheeks and pouty lips. Dark, deeply set eyes smoldered with apathetic menace. Almost like evil that was too lazy or disinterested to act. On the male twin, this expression and features repelled people. Men would avoid eye contact while women would actually take a step back in his presence.

  On the female, the same attributes had an oddly different effect. Women became actively hostile towards her with little or no provocation. But men found themselves attracted to this woman who radiated a low-level menace, a darkly hinted promise of the forbidden.

  They didn’t talk very much, almost seeming to share a common understanding that transcended the spoken word. A common enough trait amongst twins. Now, without speaking, they walked over rough terrain, their feet disturbing black dust from a harshly baked volcanic plain. No sign of life adorned the rocky, desolate landscape. The unseen but oppressive sun burned nothing but dust and sandy rock. No animals, no plants, not even an insect made its home here where the rocks burned from the heat below and baked in the heat above. They weren’t following life on the land, though. Their eyes, eerily synchronized, darted to a speck in the sky that lazily circled, hunting.

  That speck, a venomous red and yellow reptilian sparkle, flirted with steely grey clouds shot with sulfurous yellow, darting in and out of the low cover, wheeling and looping. When it would punch into the bleak overcast and lose sight of the land, it would scream in frustration. Its cry of inarticulate rage resonated through the smoky air and sent an involuntary surge of fear and apprehension through anything that heard it. If this part of this world hadn’t been so devoid of life, that scream would have driven most life away. This accidental contact with the dark clouds happened often, as if the great wyrm in the sky was having difficulty scanning the land and keeping its immediate surroundings in sight simultaneously.

  As one, the twins shivered at this sound, but continued on, their faces still not impressed. Their black travelling gear blended with the volcanic terrain. Acrid smoke rose lazily from the tough leather boots they wore as the thick insulated soles were scorched by the intense heat of the baking rocks over which they marched, feet in step with one another of their own accord. Small beads of sweat misted the twins’ foreheads, but far less than one would expect in this heat. They stopped, intently watching the dragon up ahead. That dragon had stopped its progress, having spotted something on the ground that it found promising. Abruptly, it plunged with dizzying, terrifying speed toward the earth, its wings furled behind it. As it struck the ground, the expected crunch did not result. It was more like the dragon had struck a shimmering puddle of oil and was absorbed, a circle of ripples on the land the only visible sign of its passing. A lingering screech of triumph mingled with a resonating gong-like tone in the scorched air.

  The twins looked at each other briefly and a hint of similar smiles played over their passive visages. They started jogging over the uneven, broken ground, heading for the spot where their quarry had vanished into the solid rock. When they reached the spot, there was no difference that they could see, but they knew this was where the worlds rubbed against one another like a balloon bouquet confined in a net. With the right knowledge, this was a place where things, or people could pass from one world to the next. Unlike the great dragon they followed, these people did not possess an innate ability to translate from one world to the other. Fortunately for them, their employer had provided the means. Simultaneously, they leaned down and planted a palm on the blasted, barren ground. The male twin’s hand bore a tattoo of a golden crown and his sister’s a black heart. When they placed their hands on the burning hot stone, they finally spoke.

  “At the behest of The Queen,” said the male in a rich, vibrant baritone.

  “Permetior,” said the female in a breathy purr.

  The metallic ‘BONG’ sound burst from the point where their palms rested on the rock and they fell out of this inhospitable world and into another.

  CHAPTER ONE: The Gang

  “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”

  -Lao Tzu

  Nick stood in the shadows formed by two adjacent tent stalls and observed as people passed by, intent on their own business. Just a couple of stalls down, Claire was haggling with a bizarre bazaar merchant who was a purveyor of clothing and gear, both magical and otherwise. She was negotiating for an Elven cloak like the ones she had seen in the world where Alidraal lived. And where her Uncle Clark lived, too, now. Nick was watching because Claire had asked him to. What he was watching for was less clear, but Claire seemed to think watchfulness was necessary.

  He tried to notice as much as possible while remaining inconspicuous. Nick figured he was succeeding, probably not because of his skills at skullduggery, but more because nobody seemed to care two figs for who they were or what they were doing. Everyone seemed intent on their own aims; buying selling, trading or, in some cases, stealing. Nick and his sister were largely ignored. From his shadowy nook, he looked at each passerby with suspicion. Anyone could be an agent of the Queen.

  This particular Queen was a ruthless witch right out of a fairy tale. Literally. Her fairy tale world was just one of countless worlds accessible to Claire and Nick through an elevator in the library that would take them to a floor filled with doors that lead to other worlds and times. Some were recognizable, and some were not. Nick had once gone missing in the hallway and Claire had to spend some very harrowing days tracking him down. In the process, she got her friend, Roger, shot and crossed some very bad people. The Queen was probably the most dangerous. Well, the most dangerous one left alive. Claire, Roger, Nick and Weenie, their Dalmatian, built a reputation for being formidable and dangerous in their own right. Her Uncle Clark helped out after Roger collided with a ball of lead, and then he fell in love with an Elven princess. He stayed in the Elven world to be with her.

  After Roger waltzed out of the hospital and Claire took him and Weenie back to his island to rest and recuperate, it was several weeks before the Grant siblings were able to or
ganize a trip in the elevator. At first, their mother watched them like a hawk; a protective mother hawk. They weren’t even allowed in the library until the police, with much scratching of their heads, reported that there were no signs of any violent criminal gangs operating in the area. Even then, when they started riding the bus to the library again, they had to stay in sight of their mother the whole time. It was over a week before complacency started to creep in enough that she allowed them to sit where she couldn’t see them. A whole month passed before she granted them permission to leave the floor, after making them swear not to leave the building, and check in every hour.

  Nick and Claire started a campaign of annoyance, hoping to get their mother to be sick and tired of them bothering her. They pestered her for change for the snack machines. Any time they could think of a question about homework, they asked her. They took turns following her around, asking stupid questions and trying to get in the way. At first, she tolerated it pretty well. But, predictably, she started to become fed up with the constant clamor for her attention. Unpredictably, she saw right through their strategy.

  “Fine,” she had said in exasperation one afternoon. “Y’all win. You’re free. Get out of my sight. Don’t leave the building and be back here ready to go before 5:30. Scram, you ungrateful brats.” Incongruously, she smiled.

  After their reprieve, they were wary of immediately dashing off to where the stairs didn’t go. They did make one quick trip to see Roger and reassure him that he wasn’t abandoned. Happily, his recovery was almost complete, and he was getting a little restless. He claimed if it weren’t for Weenie, he would have gone nuts waiting on them to show up. They made plans to meet at the lighthouse the next Monday and start laying the groundwork for what they saw as their mission: The Queen’s family had to be rescued.

  Today was their first foray as a group and they chose the bazaar world to stock up on supplies and rumors. So far nobody had heard anything about the Queen or the Minotaur or the Eye of Connix. Likewise, none of the group had noticed anything suspicious, but Claire was insistent that they not let their guard down. Nick, especially, was trying to stay vigilant. He had lingering feelings of both guilt and inadequacy over getting duped, robbed and kidnapped and all the hubbub that he had caused.

  “This is Roger,” announced the comm pinned to Nick’s shirt. “I’m at Kerfuffle’s Falafels. You guys want any nosh? This sausenger looks grand, but I’m afraid of Gandhi’s return, meself. Any takers?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” said the comm in Claire’s voice.

  “Can I get a sandwich?” asked Nick. His tummy rumbled loudly enough that a lady walking past looked at him curiously. He shrank further into the shadows, seeming to blend into them a little more effortlessly than one would expect.

  “Brave lad,” responded Roger. “I’ll meet you guys at Bert’s in five. Out.”

  A sudden movement caught Nick’s eye and he stepped purposefully out of the shadows, a wicked little black dagger appearing magically in his hand as he moved toward the man who had attracted his attention.

  The man was dressed all in black leather and he was moving quickly down the alleyway between stalls, directly at Claire who had her back to him as she packed up her purchase. His face was set in a stony mask of concentration as he pulled something out of his pocket. He was only a step away from Claire when he froze in place and yelped with surprise and pain. Quickly he turned to see what had hurt him, as one hand went to his butt where the pain was originating. Nick had already stepped to the side and ducked behind a display of wildly colored blankets, ready to emerge from the other side and stab the man again. He was about to dart out, his target unawares, when he noticed what was in the man’s hand. He was holding a handkerchief. Not a knife or a gun. Not even something more exotic like a wand or a ray gun. Nothing threatening at all. Nick ducked back behind the blankets as the man turned back, his face showing his bewilderment at the phantom assailant.

  Claire finished folding and stowing her new cloak in her bag, on top of a new book, Intermediate Wand Magic, and turned, looking for Nick. Right behind her was a man in black leather who abruptly put a handkerchief to his face and sneezed.

  “Bless you,” she said automatically.

  “Thanks,” replied the man as he continued on his way, wiping his nose with his hanky and rubbing his rear end with his other hand. Nick appeared from behind a display of garish rugs and carpets with a sheepish grin.

  “Did something happen just now?” asked Claire, looking at Nick quizzically.

  “I might have overreacted a bit,” replied Nick, shrugging. “Better safe than sorry, no harm, no foul and all that stuff.”

  “Right. Let’s get a move on. We don’t want to keep Roger and Weenie waiting. Who knows what trouble they’ll get into if we leave them to cool their heels too long.”

  Claire was worried for nothing. Roger and Weenie were sitting outside a little open-air café of uncertain ethnicity and dubious standards. They were doing nothing untoward and nobody seemed angry with them. There were no torches or pitchforks in evidence, which was a bit of a pleasant change for them. Weenie was contentedly gnawing on something that looked both disgusting and tough. Like maybe a warthog’s hind leg. Or the tail off of a giant rat. Claire tried not to look at it. Roger was sipping on a half empty pint glass of something black and frothy, his sunglasses glinting in the reddish sunlight. Weenie spotted them first and wagged his tail enthusiastically but didn’t get up. Likewise, Roger remained seated. He didn’t wave his tail, either, but he did gesture with his free hand for them to pull up a seat. They did so, Nick having to scrounge a chair from a nearby table. It was a tight fit around the little table, but they made do, being careful to leave Weenie as much room as everyone else. By common, although unspoken, agreement, Weenie was considered a full-fledged partner in the group.

  “Find anything?” asked Claire almost as soon as her fundament was settled in her seat.

  “Chill, Gingernut,” drawled Roger laconically. “Don’t go all 007 on me. Take the time to smell some roses, what?” He grinned at her, then tossed a wax paper bundle to Nick. She grinned back. Or maybe it was a baring of teeth. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

  “Time is an issue, Roger,” Claire responded. “We can’t chill too long or smell too many roses before we get something concrete accomplished.” She looked with distaste as Nick unwrapped his paper package to reveal what looked like a chipped beef sandwich.

  “The Queen doesn’t seem to have a presence outside her own world. And her family will keep. I can’t see what the rush is, Claire,” said Roger, watching with amusement as Nick tried to find a vulnerable place on his sandwich to take a bite.

  “I’m with Roger,” chimed in Nick, his sandwich still unbitten. “We should go do something fun. Like skydiving. Or find a space world… or something,” he trailed off uncertainly as he noticed the pasted-on look of Claire’s unconvincing semi-smile. He stopped hesitating and bit into the sandwich, causing a minor avalanche of messy ingredients onto the table.

  “The Queen won’t keep. I don’t see a... what did you call her? A cailleach? I don’t see a cailleach like that just letting me get away with blasting her with an ice wand and stealing her magic eye. And she said Nick had something she wanted. We need to get started as soon as possible,” Claire said, her grin slipping. “We’ve got summer vacation right around the corner and I’m not sure how we’ll get to the library on a regular basis.”

  Roger nearly choked on his drink. Nick looked startled at the realization, his chin glistening ridiculously with some sort of syrupy sauce. Weenie raised one ear but kept working the gross thing with his teeth.

  Nick, who normally looked forward to summer break with all of his ten-year-old’s heart, felt abnormally conflicted. Summer vacation looked mighty bleak without the prospect of exploring and adventuring in the doors through the elevator.

  “We’ll find a way. We can’t go all summer without going between worlds,” said Nick with more confi
dence than he felt, as he wiped sauce off his face and dabbed ineffectually at some on his shirt.

  “Bloody hell,” swore Roger. “You’ll not leave me on that wee island to rot for three months.”

  “You lived there for years, dude. What’s the problem with three months?” asked Claire innocently.

  Roger sat his empty pint glass down slowly and deliberately and raised his sunglasses with the other hand. He looked Claire straight in the eyes. “If it was you who spent four bloody years on that island, you wouldna’ want to spend three more months there, lass.” He grimaced. “I’d rather be shot again,” he added.

  “You could come home with us, Roger,” said Nick brightly.

  “And be homeless, do you mean? Or can I sleep under your bed? Maybe in a closet or under the stairs?” he asked sarcastically. Nick’s smile drooped.

  “There are plenty other worlds you could spend the time in,” Claire said optimistically.

  “With no way to get out on me own? I think you need to find a way to keep visiting the library.”

  “I guess when Mom and Dad are both working, we could ask to go to work with Mom, rather than stay at home. Come to think of it, she might not be a big fan of leaving us alone all day in light of certain recent events and disappearances,” offered Claire with a pointed glance in Nick’s direction.

  “We certainly can’t stay with Uncle Clark,” said Nick with a snicker.

  “We should probably go check on him, come to think of it,” mused Claire.

  “There’s time. He said his lease was paid through the end of the year,” said Nick.

  “You don’t even know what that means, do you?” asked Claire with a teasing smirk. Roger laughed out loud at Nick’s blank look. “Besides, despite the state of his lease, he might need bullets or something from home.”

  “So that’s where we’re going next, is it?” asked Roger.