Wings of Ruin (Otherworld Book 3)

by Talis Jones

  At once the man regained his footing, spinning towards her with fists raised. Something in her eyes forced a hard swallow down his throat and his knees softened ready to counter an attack. “Who are you?”

  Cassandra smiled. “Your employer.”

  His brow furrowed. “You are not– Oh. ...Miss Halloran?”

  “Lower your fists, Myrddin. I am not here to hurt you.”

  Slowly, distrustfully, he obeyed. “How the hell did you find me? How did you leave Russia? How–”

  Cassandra slapped her hand over his mouth impatiently. “Let us just say it was not a journey I wish to repeat, yes?” He nodded beneath her hand and she removed it at once, resisting the urge to wipe his warmth from her fingers. “I became tired waiting for your letters and decided to join the hunt myself.”

  “Miss Halloran–”

  “Cassandra,” she corrected, “but never a Halloran.”

  He held out his hand. “Mikael Myrddin.” She shook it. “Please call me Mikael. It is nice to meet you at last.”

  “You and I shall make a good team, I think,” Cassandra grinned and he could not help but grin back.

  “Come,” he beckoned. “Let us return to my hotel. We can better discuss our search there.”

  Looping her arm around his they melted into the brisk flow of people until the warm light of a small but quaint hotel welcomed them inside. Purpose echoed in each step she took up the stairs and into his room, the lock turning like a crashing drum.

  Her gaze cataloged the cramped room from its worn pink sofa to the scarred floorboards to the weary bed in the corner. With a sigh she tossed her coat atop the bed and bent over the cracked basin to splash clean water on her face. When she straightened she caught Mikael's curious gaze quickly snapping away from her soft belly.

  “A complication gifted by Borya,” she explained dismissively.

  Worry clouded his eyes. “Will he, ah, be coming as well?”

  Dark humor twitched her lips. “If he does it will only be my blood he's after.” Her fingers tapped against a leather pouch cinched tightly around her waist. “Cease your letters, tell no one of my presence, and I will show you a kingdom. For now,” she removed a wad of cash and tossed it onto the small coffee table, “a downpayment for your silence and aid.”

  Mikael picked his jaw up off the floor. “Did you rob him blind? He surely will come after you,” he agreed.

  Cassandra scoffed. “Merely some hidden treasure I managed to take as mine as I ended our engagement. Don't worry about him. What have you found with regards to the compass?”

  Settling upon the sofa he took out a briefcase containing his notes, a marked up map, and the sketch she'd brought to her first visit to the shop. “I've traced it to this general area–”

  “This town?”

  “Ah, no. This country,” he clarified a touch apologetically. “But I am confident it is here...somewhere...”

  “Well a country is much smaller than the world, I suppose,” she allowed.

  “May I ask,” Mikael hesitated before looking her straight in the eyes. “What exactly is this compass? No object, no matter how sentimental, could possibly justify the lengths to which you are so determined to retrieve it.”

  Cassandra lay back against the sofa, stretching one arm out along it as she considered the man seated beside her. “You have not said whether or not you agree to my new terms of employment,” she said at last.

  “I am very loyal to my current employer. Once my loyalty is sealed, it is very difficult to sway. So tell me, why should I turn my back against a man who has always been kind and supplied a steady pay for a woman I've just met and stares at me with eyes like ice?”

  “Very well,” she frowned. “I am not from here. I am from a land beyond the sea and there I had risen up amongst the people to conquer a kingdom. It is mine to rule and yet my enemies thought to punish me for simply taking what was mine. They sent me here to this world and my only way back is with this compass. A compass enchanted to navigate the seas and part the magic veil into my world. There I had power and magic. Here I have nothing and I will not forgive it.” Leaning forwards without breaking her steely gaze she added, “Help me return and I will pay you handsomely.” At his hesitation she added discreetly, “Do you wish to know the name of this land?”

  Mikael nodded.

  “Oneiroi,” she whispered.

  His eyes widened in recognition as his breath shuttered and he processed her bold claims. Mikael had worked at the Eye of Oneiroi for many years and one did not hunt for the unique and unusual nor listen to hundreds of stories from the odd proprietor without beginning to wonder. Here before him sat a woman who confirmed the old man's secrets, stories he'd always poorly disguised as tales, and despite his warring belief he knew for certain this woman was not mad. He felt it in her stare, in his very bones, that she was not from his world, that she had been kissed by death and seen impossible things, and a yearning set in deep within his heart. At once he believed. At once he felt called.

  “I help you find this compass of yours and I want you to take me with you to this land of magic and promises. You will take me beyond the sea, you will reclaim your throne, and you will give me a position by your side.”

  Cassandra smiled. “You feel it, don't you? A stirring in your blood like a magnet drawing you in.” A small breath that might've been a chuckle puffed past her lips. “I am glad we have an agreement, Mikael.” Cassandra stood. “You may sleep on the couch tonight and do not mind if I rise early to empty my stomach in the toilet. Such is normal, I believe.”

  As she tugged down the sheets, stooping only long enough to shuck off her shoes before tucking herself into bed, he suddenly looked around. “Have you no things to fetch?”

  Her voice wafted towards him already sleepy, “I have no things. That is why I need you, Mikael.”

  “In the morning we will buy you whatever you need,” he promised. She gave a small grunt in reply and he turned out the lights. Mikael stretched his body along the sofa and though it was an ill fit it was not his discomfort for which he could not sleep, but the woman in his bed and the words she'd danced right into his head. They turned and turned and turned before finally allowing him the reprieve of sleep and even then he could swear when he woke that he'd dreamed of Oneiroi.

  Children raged and battlefields quenched their thirst as unrest spread in the sorceress' wake. A boy with wolf features cried softly in the moonlight. A girl with ancient eyes watched the boy from a window. A man with mischief in his eyes and the gait of a pirate watched them both from the forest through the eyes of a crow. The man turned and seemed to look straight at Mikael, despite being a bodiless presence, and whispered two words.

  When Mikael woke to dawn's gentle light he was covered in sweat, his blood churning with urgency, and all that remained of his dreams were two words. A name. Elijah Lieberman.

  Chapter 26

  Time passed yet were it not for her growing pregnancy Cassandra would not have noticed nor cared. Past the stage of morning sickness she rose early and together with Mikael she searched town after town for the compass. Pawn shops, curio shops, gambling halls, she searched them all. High society, thieves, strangers on the street, she asked them all. With Borya's cash they traveled town to town choosing humble accommodations in exchange for any costume or prop they may require to extract the information they needed. Short of going door to door and interrogating every citizen of Germany, they hunted like a rabid dog on the scent.

  They danced around the war holding Europe by its throat, using the distraction for their benefit when possible and hiding like rats in a hole when its light shone their way. Determination froze all other feeling from her heart. Mikael and her had formed a close partnership forced to rely on one another for survival as the new regime threatened everything, yet as time staggered forwards with no compass in sight a coldness overtook her.

  Lying on a cot massaging her belly, her feet propped up on their stacked pillows, she adamantly
refused to acknowledge the fruitless search. Anything less than assured victory would break her and so it would not be allowed.

  “I will not bring you flowers if you are going to treat them like that,” Mikael teased. Closing the door behind him he shook out his rain-dampened hair.

  Cassandra glanced down and released her death grip on the little purple flowers he'd brought her earlier in an attempt to lighten her dark mood. The calm before a storm, he'd described her. Purple stains smeared her palm from where her sweat and heated pressure had wrung a weak dye from the petals.

  “Sorry,” she clipped.

  Mikael snorted. “No you're not, but I have something that may indeed make you sorry for being such a grouch these past months.”

  Cassandra shoved herself up against the headboard, her eyes drilling holes into his. “What is it?” she breathed.

  Removing something from his pocket he tossed it and Cassandra caught it with a deft hand. Her heart threatened to burst in violent victory as she turned the ill-treated compass over in her gently shaking fingers.

  “How?” she gasped.

  Mikael shucked off his coat and sat by her feet. “A young woman overheard me in a clock repair shop and when I showed her your drawing she'd clucked her tongue and informed me that she'd thrown it out after cleaning through her grandfather's things after passing. Said it was worthless both in look and function. Never pointed north as its anchor. I followed her home and she pointed to a few heaps of garbage. Nasty business digging into some of those bags, but worth it.” He hesitated, his grin dimming. “That is the compass, right? Tell me I didn't dig elbow deep into rotting veg just for a worthless trinket.”

  “Yes,” Cassandra sighed. “Yes. This is the compass.” She knew it the moment it touched her palm, could feel its otherness connect with her own.

  “I checked, the woman was right. It doesn't hold north.”

  “Of course it doesn't. It takes one from sea to quarry and from quarry to home. This battered piece has been desperately pointing towards Oneiroi for only Titus knows how long.” Clutching it close she closed her eyes and whispered, “Soon.”

  “So, how are you feeling?” Mikael asked kindly.

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Cumbersome.”

  He laughed. “Surely it is not long now.”

  “One can only hope,” she muttered. “And the name? Do you still not recall why it rings in your mind so clearly?”

  Mikael sighed. “No. I sometimes see a flash of a pirate with ancient eyes through my mind, but likely I just need a good night's rest. We've been searching for so long–”

  “A pirate?” Cassandra interrupted. “You haven't mentioned this before. Describe him.”

  He tried but apologized, “I'm sorry, it's like trying to hold onto smoke. The harder I try to see him, the more quickly he disappears.”

  Cassandra simply sat there shaking her head. “No, that is no dream. That is Titus. I am sure of it. The question is whether he is helping me or not...”

  “Perhaps we should find this person. If Titus is so eager for me to remember the name then it must mean something,” Mikael suggested.

  Loosing a long breath she looked him over. “You are exhausted. Rest. We can decide our next step in the morning.”

  “Here.” He held out a scrimpy sandwich which she devoured quickly. “Goodnight,” he chuckled.

  Licking the crumbs off her shirt she returned his goodnight and tried to settle into sleep. She envied Mikael that. No matter where or when, he could hunker down and collapse into a deep sleep while she often struggled to quiet her ever dissatisfied mind. Moonlight shone through the window and she examined the compass once more. Even dented and tarnished she could feel the slight tingle of otherness it held sparking her own pull beyond this world. Mikael had clearly tried to polish it, likely to identify it, but the job was rushed and didn't display its beauty.

  Shoving herself onto her swollen feet she stood by the window for a better look. Reaching over to the nightstand she flicked open a small knife Mikael had removed from his pocket and quietly scratched the initials C.B. onto the smooth back. Drowsiness at last began to hug her bones when a flicker in the midnight quiet jolted her. Searching the street below she spotted a cat with a fresh mouse clamped betwixt its jaws. Tossing aside the knife she lay back down and this time sleep embraced her.

  The cold prick of steel against her throat woke Cassandra with a start yet no sound left her lips. Looming over her, Liam held the knife in a steady hand. Long-brewing pain lit his eyes with freezing flames and she stared straight back with taunting calm. Mikael lay in his cot with a soft snore still deep asleep and unaware of the danger not three steps away.

  “Liam Böcklin,” she breathed. “Cripple, brother, mobster, and now murderer?”

  “Cassandra Böcklin. Cripple, sister, betrayer, and now thief.”

  “Funny, I don't remember being a cripple.”

  “Your heart,” he sneered.

  “Hmm,” she mused. “Perhaps you're right. But I have overcome it just as it seems you have. Finally.”

  Liam pressed down drawing a bead of blood from her neck. “Shut it.”

  “Are you here to kill me, Liam?” He remained silent, hatred still in his eyes. “What would father think?”

  “He'd cry for us both.”

  “He would,” Cassandra agreed. “But we waste time. You don't want Mr. Myrddin to wake up just yet, do you?”

  “I'll kill him if I have to,” he threatened.

  “Of course. He is no one.” She paused. “Would you kill your own sister?” she inquired still in that gentle calm.

  “You are not my sister!” he hissed.

  Cassandra's eyes grew heavy and she allowed fear to bleed into them. In a hushed voice that shook ever so slightly she asked, “Would you kill an unborn child? Innocent to the feud we've wrought upon one another?”

  At this Liam hesitated. Her fear unsettled him and her words clawed at his conscience. His mouth opened but whatever words he was about to utter none would know for Cassandra had slid a knife from a sheath on her thigh and in that hesitation she plunged its blade straight into his back. A shocked gurgling sound tore up his throat and blood soon poured after. She shoved his heavy body off of her where it hit the floor with a thud at last waking Mikael.

  As Mikael blustered out a dozen different questions she gazed down at the body of her brother in silence and a lightness sighed within her as this final tether sliced loose finally ridding herself of any ghosts trying to claw their way into her present. No matter that he might have backed down, no matter that with time she might have even regained his loyalty and brought him along as another soldier to Oneiroi to reclaim her throne, no matter that he was kind-hearted and strong and brave when it took all her effort to turn her gaze outward instead of the selfish comforts of thinking inward alone. No matter that their father loved him dearly and her blow would have broken his heart. No matter. No...it does not matter. Not anymore.

  “Cassandra,” Mikael called likely not for the first time.

  Wiping her mind clean she fixed her gaze upon the frantic man and stood tall on her own two feet. “Deal with the body, Mikael. We have the compass, we will leave town tonight. Send a note to Borya–”

  In unison their gazes dropped to the floor now damp beneath her feet.

  “Figo,” she whispered wide-eyed.

  Cassandra did not recall the trip to the doctor. Mikael had taken the precaution as the baby's arrival loomed nearer to locate the closest hospital and fortunately this one they could reach quickly on foot. Just as the journey blurred past her awareness so did the delivery. Pain, screaming, Mikael's frantic assurances, clinical instructions from the doctor...it all became a haze and all she yearned to do was sleep. And with a cry that wasn't hers she did just that.

  “Cassandra,” a voice called softly. “Cassandra, wake up.”

  Prying open her eyes she found Mikael seated in a chair by her bed holding a fussy baby. “Do you want to hol
d him?” he asked with a smile.

  She took in the small bundle with a detached glance. “No.”

  Just then a nurse stopped by with a motherly demeanor and a chart clutched in her hands. “Glad to see you awake, dear. Have you chosen a name for your son?”

  Cassandra cringed at the word. Felt physically sick. With a sharp nod she reached out for the clipboard and wrote down the name she'd chosen.

  Mikael peered over and frowned. “Hans Dietrich?” he puzzled.

  The look she gave him shut him up. Handing the papers back to the nurse she added, “I am ready to leave.”

  “Of course,” the nurse nodded. “The doctor will just stop by for another check to make sure everything is okay.”

  “No need.”

  “Oh...but ma'am according to hospital policy–”

  Cassandra fixed her icy stare upon the poor woman. “No need,” she repeated firmly.

  The nurse bobbed her head before turning to Mikael. “Are you the father? If you could sign–”

  “He is not the father. The father is dead,” Cassandra interrupted. “Take the child to an orphanage.”

  Both the nurse and Mikael stared at her in shock but she ignored them. Getting to her feet she shuffled towards the small cubby that held her folded clothes and began to dress.

  “Cassandra...” Mikael drifted off unable to find the words.

  “Are you coming?” she asked him, straightening from slipping on her boots. Without waiting for a response she walked between the beds and made her way out the hospital only glancing over her shoulder once. Mikael kissed the baby gently upon its brow before handing it over to the nurse, reluctance in his every muscle.