The four orphans crawled over to it.
“Mimick,” it whispered.
Roe pleaded with Madam Patrice. “Please, we need to heal it.”
The woman shook her head in a sullen motion. “I need potions and powders for this sort of wound, and I have none here.”
“But Mimick can heal. We’ve seen it.”
“Then it will need to heal itself,” she said.
Mimick shook its head and touched each one of the children on the forehead. Its tongue changed from pink to black and rolled back up into its mouth. Then it closed its eyes and its head tilted back to rest against the cavern wall. Its tail, which always had that hypnotic motion, lay still, coiled upon the ground.
“No!” Sari cried.
They all reached over to touch the strange creature, petting its fur. The warmth was seeping from its body.
The cavern began to shake once more and a green aura slipped from the body of Mimick. It spread into the walls and floor.
Madam Patrice pulled the girls up. “I suggest we leave, posthaste.”
“What’s happening?” Maddock asked.
Magus Nimrel took him and Widget by the arm. “It seems that your friend is cleaning the cavern of the evil that lingers in it.”
“How?” asked Master Rickett.
“I do not know, but we must leave.” He handed a fresh piece of strall to each of them. A feeling of energy swept through them as they chewed.
Widget and Sari looked back at the statue of Sinistral, afraid it might come to life, but it did not move. Master Rickett ushered them into one of the tunnels as rocks fell from the ceiling.
They crawled and ran, Widget leading them once more through winding tunnels and old city ruins. They reached the final staircase and wound upwards, climbing to safety.
They spilled out onto the halls of Simian’s Lair and sprinted for the entrance.
The early morning sun shone through the windows. They had survived a full night in the depths of the caverns. Madam Patrice pointed her rod at the doors and they flew open. They spat out the foaming strall and ran out into the city streets.
Mimick’s magic was now inching up the walls and struggled to fight off the dark shadow that refused to release its centuries-old hold over the manor. The magics wrestled, subsiding at points, rising at others. And then, with one last momentous effort, the power that Mimick had summoned with its death forced the darkness into the ground. Then the green aura dissipated into the air and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
It was short lived.
The white-stoned beginnings of the new building shook and the same darkness that had once enveloped Simian’s Lair now engulfed this one from below. Layer by layer it blackened, rearranging itself, slab upon slab, into a blighted structure that resembled something from the Shadowlands. The ground around it darkened and sank into a bog. Crows alighted around the swampy grounds and three vultures sat atop the tallest tower. It beckoned them like a twisted, stone finger. A dark chuckle emanated from its depths.
“A great victory, but a heavy price,” muttered Magus Nimrel.
The others nodded and waited for something else to happen.
For hours they sat, expecting Sinistral, Marveleous Thingrom, or some other evil to come bursting forth, but the morning remained still, and each was left to their silent thoughts.
In the days that followed, there was much to do around Simian’s Lair. Now that the manor had been cleansed it had a renewed purpose: home to the many orphans throughout the land. The corrupted section was to remain uninhabited. It was to be overseen by a City Magistrate — a woman by the name of Malkim.
Magus Nimrel entered the building but once, to retrieve a few items, and to ensure that it did not pose an immediate threat. Then he never set eyes upon it again.
Two days later they held a service to remember their fallen friend. They owed Mimick much. Although they had barely know it, the creature’s sacrifice was something that each of the four children would never forget.
And as the ceremony ended, and they had spent the last of their tears, the foursome strode to the lamppost where they had first met Mimick. And as they stood around it, the wind seemed to carry upon it a familiar sound. And for a moment, the four friends thought they caught a silhouette bounding about with a tail that swayed behind it in a hypnotic motion, just off in the distance.
They all held their breaths, and then walked towards it, with hope.
About the Author
David H. Burton was born in Windsor, Ontario to parents that instilled in him the love of the written word at a very young age. Throughout his childhood, David read relentlessly, often into the wee hours of the morning.
Fantasy and Science Fiction novels have always been David’s greatest vice and he has indulged in the likes of Terry Brooks, Robert Jordan, Margaret Weis, Mark Anthony, J.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Robert J. Sawyer, Isaac Asimov, Melanie Rawn, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Sarah Prineas, and J.K. Rowling.
David graduated from the University of Toronto with a major in Biology and a minor in Classical Civilization. He also dabbled in Computer Science, to which he owes his current occupation in the Telecommunications world at one of the large banks in Canada.
When David isn’t writing he enjoys spending time with his partner and three boys: hiking, swimming, kayaking, biking, and reading. David has a great fondness for Portuguese cuisine, good wine, and all things left of center.
***
A personalized version of this ebook is also available for purchase that includes an autographed dedication page as well as substituting your name in for one of the minor characters. If you’d like to see your name in this ebook, visit David’s web site (davidhburton.com) for further information.
Excerpt from Scourge: A Grim Doyle Adventure
There were three things that were a little different about Grimwald Doyle.
To begin, Grimwald had two dads.
He was fine with that. Two dads were better than none.
Second, there were six children running around his house. Yes, six. But out of the five others, only one was Grimwald’s real sister.
Lastly, was the house. It was filled with oddities — clock-like gadgets, metal objects that spat out steam when least expected, and geared-up devices that crept across the floor all by themselves.
No, things in his house were not exactly… normal.
Grimwald, or Grim as he preferred to be called, had very few friends and no longer invited them over. It was complicated enough explaining that you had siblings that were unrelated to you. Never mind that you had two dads. But having to apologize for your Pop running around the house chasing after an artificial brass mouse that accidentally activated a suit of armor to spring to life and take a swing at the head of your best friend … well, that was something else entirely.
Nope. Not normal.
Not for any ten year old that he knew.
He approached that very suit of armor now as he descended the staircase. After the incident with his best friend, or rather, his former best friend, the cumbersome mace and sword were removed from the suit of armor, until Poppa could tweak it to recognize an intruder rather than just swinging at anything in its path. It stood facing the front door, and it even seemed to slump a little, as if it had been punished.
As he took the last step down, a loud thump caught his attention and Grim threw himself against the wall. The twins pounded down the staircase behind him.
Benny wielded a plastic sword. “Come back here, you fiendish lout!”
Barny said nothing in response, but the smile of mischief on his eight-year-old face was matched by that of his brother.
“Hi, Grim!” they both shouted as they whizzed towards the kitchen.
Grim peeled himself from the wall. “What’s wrong with you two!”
They both laughed and disappeared into the yard.
He hadn’t taken two more steps before something twittered at his feet. It was a brass mouse, the
same one that had cost him his best friend. It stopped to look up at him as if trying to apologize for its previous misdemeanor. Grim kicked at it and it scurried into the front room.
He followed it and found Sam calling the mouse over to him. Sam wasn’t his real brother either. He had different birth parents. Grim smiled at him and noticed who sat next to him with metal cogs and parts laid out on the floor before her.
Rudy.
She was ten months older than Grim. That meant she was the oldest, although they were born in the same year.
As far as Grim was concerned, they were the same age. Rudy didn’t see it that way. And she often reminded him of it.
She sat and studied the parts in front of her. It looked like she was attempting to make a mechanical mouse just like Poppa had made. Except bigger.
After the incident that had cost Grim his friend, Rudy was bent on making another one.
Copycat.
He offered her as nice a smile as he could muster. She offered one back he knew was as fake as his. Grim moved along, leaving Sam to play with his sister.
When he got to the kitchen, there was yet another room occupied. This time it was Ellen. In a black dress with frilly lace and delicate shoes that were far too princess-like for Grim’s liking, she sat at the table with one of her dolls. She was Grim’s real sister.
“Hi, Ellen.”
Ellen smiled a toothy grin. At the age of six, she still had all her baby teeth. She held up the doll. Its head had been ripped off; and not cleanly at that.
Grim rolled his eyes. Ellen was the other female sibling in the house, and the closest thing to a serial killer among the lot.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asked with hesitation. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
“Sissy doesn’t have any blood,” Ellen said. There was a pout on her little mouth, as if she were disappointed to find that her doll had been lifeless all along.
“Dolls don’t have blood. They’re not alive.”
Ellen’s lips twisted. “Duh, I know that!” She then walked out of the kitchen, leaving the head behind.
Grim sighed, picked it up and idled back up the stairs.
This was going to be a very long summer. No friends, nowhere to go, nothing to do. He was going to have himself a big box of boredom this year.
He walked past Rudy and Ellen’s room, with the mound of doll heads in the corner. He chucked Sissy’s head onto the growing pile and moved on.
He passed the twins’ door. It had a sign that read “No girls allowed.” Grim looked out their window. The two were still outside trying to lop each other’s heads off with sticks. Big ones.
In the room next door, Grim plopped onto his own bed and when he thought he was about to have a moment of peace, Sam came in. As usual, Sam’s hair was a mess and he was covered in dog hair. He was three years younger and looked almost identical to Rudy, except for the ridiculous pigtails. He also wore the same gigantic glasses as the rest of them. They obscured his freckled face, and he was constantly pushing them up because they would slide off his little nose. He was followed by Toby, their dog — although the Basset Hound seemed to be more Sam’s dog than anyone else’s. The thing followed him everywhere.
Grim heard the twins stream back inside. The door slammed behind them. He braced himself, waiting for what would follow.
“Grimwald!” shrieked a voice from downstairs.
There was one last complication to Grim Doyle’s life: Aunt Patrice. And that’s not ANT, like you’d pronounce the insect, but more like you are at the doctor’s office and he tells you to say AAAHHH while he jabs a popsicle stick down your throat. So that would be AAAHHHNT Patrice ― hold the gagging, please.
The woman was older than the hills and watched Grim like a hawk. She would often say things like: Don’t run up and down the stairs; You can go outside, but stay where I can see you; or worse: Why don’t you put on this handsome blue suit and top hat?
Aunt Patrice was tall and spindly, and she smelled of mothballs. Her hair was tied back in a bun so tight Grim was sure the pressure must have been the cause for her frequent migraines. She also squinted a lot and Grim thought his Aunt might save her eyes the strain if she actually wore the glasses that hung around her long and slender, turkey-wattled neck.
“Grimwald, young gentlemen don’t slam doors!”
Grimwald. He hated his name. And she was the only one who called him that. Even Rudy refrained from calling him by his full name, but then again, her full name was Rudolpha, so there was little room for mockery.
The others had strange names as well. Ellenova, Barnsworth, Bensworth, and Samsonite.
Grim rolled his eyes at his Aunt. He thought about calling out to say that it wasn’t him. He was upstairs and it was the back door that had slammed, but he knew what that would get him. She’d think he was being smart. And the result would be three days of washing clothes. By hand.
“Yes, Aunt Patrice!” he yelled.
“And a proper young gentleman doesn’t yell down the stairs!”
Grim groaned, wondering if he would ever please the crotchety old woman. She he’d been Poppa’s nanny once upon an ancient time.
Was she this obnoxious then, or did she get worse with age?
Toby barked at Sam, jarring Grim from his thoughts. Sam was busy with the cogs and gears in front of him and the dog just kept emptying his lungs in loud, echoing woofs. Grim sighed and walked out of the room.
Just some peace. A little quiet.
He looked at the trap door on the ceiling at the end of the hall. It led to the attic. A rope hung down.
Odd.
Usually it wasn’t in reach. But there it was, almost swaying back and forth, beckoning him.
Grim considered his options.
The dog was still barking, the twins were still dueling, Ellen was calling out for Rudy — something about a missing head, Aunt Patrice was snoring downstairs now — she could fall asleep at the drop of a coin, three of the house clocks were whistling that it was now eleven o’clock, four more were chiming, and Sam was now pounding on something with a little hammer.
It took almost no thought at all.
Grim marched forward and yanked on the rope.
The door popped open and the stairs glided down without a sound. He practically ran up and then pulled a lever that drew the steps back up again.
The door sealed. It didn’t shut out the sounds completely, but muffled them enough that he closed his eyes and relished the moment.
Quiet.
Sunlight penetrated through a small round window at the far end, warming his face. Grim removed his glasses.
More like goggles.
They were beastly things, akin to cutting the bottom of a pop bottle and gluing them to rubber bands. He could practically swim in them.
And they were dirty.
He wiped them on his shirt as he scanned the space around him. It was pretty much empty, with the exception of a large chest in one corner, over which sat the window. It was the perfect spot to perch and Grim did just that, leaning back against the wall. There was a lamp in one corner, but no plug to power it. A couple of small boxes sat in another corner, covered in dust.
Grim paused to wonder if he might get in trouble for being up here. Technically, their parents had never forbidden them to enter the attic. The few times Grim had gone up with his dads he had been instructed to make sure his glasses were on so the dust wouldn’t get in his eyes. Grim could see why, the place was coated with it.
Which made the footprints in front of him all the more obvious. They led only to the chest upon which he sat. They seemed to be fresh, high-heeled prints too.
Aunt Patrice.
Next to the door was the proof she’d been there. Her umbrella rested against the wall. She carried it everywhere.
“Never come unprepared, child,” Aunt Patrice would say. “You cannot get caught in the rain if you carry an umbrella.”
The woman was certifiably insane.
Grim crept off the chest and pulled it open. It made no sound and he sucked in his breath. It was filled with trinkets, ornaments and simple jewelry, among which were some stones covered in a metal encasing that looked like dead fingers clutching them.
He blinked his eyes. They itched from the dust. He put his glasses back on and everything in the chest suddenly disappeared.
“What the –”
He took his glasses off and then everything was there once more. He went back and forth, with and without his goggles, and the items disappeared and reappeared. He wondered why he had never noticed the items in the chest before, but realized that the few times he’d seen it open he’d been wearing his glasses.
It was a funny thing about the lot of them. They all wore them. Most people thought the children looked “interesting” in their goggles.
He hated that word. Interesting.
Grim paused, listening for the sounds downstairs. The madness in the house continued. The twins barged through the house yelling at each other, Toby was still barking at Sam, and Ellen was yanking on the cords of her dolls to make them cry. It was like a symphony of wailing babies.
It was all overpowered by Aunt Patrice.
“Grimwald!” she called with her mouse-like shriek. “Come down. Pringles’s kitty litter needs changing and I can’t bend down very well. My migraine is acting up.”
Grim grumbled about how his Aunt used that excuse far too often and always seemed to select him for kitty duty.
See if she ever asks Rudy to do it.
Grim slipped from the attic and marched downstairs to change the litter. He held his breath as he scooped it out. Aunt Patrice had a bad habit of feeding Pringles milk. The end result was not only extremely gooey, but far from fragrant.
Rudy came inside, saw what he was doing, and smiled. Mockingly.
Grim stuck his tongue out at her and then his fingers slipped into what he was picking up.
Ugh.
Rudy’s smile got bigger. Then she left to go upstairs.
Grim marched up after her.
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