The Dream Leaper

by Cory Barclay

  “In part,” the vampire said.

  Annabel sighed, steeling herself and preparing for the worst. “Well, what is it?”

  “We should have this conversation in the library, Annabel. Privately.”

  “Anything you say, Steve can hear. Especially if it’s about him. You know my feelings for him.”

  “No, daughter, anything I say can not be heard by your friend. He is not one of us.”

  And I don’t plan to become one, either. At least not a vampire . . .

  Annabel frowned. “Just be out with it, Father, I tire of this back and forth.”

  “Watch your tone, young lady.”

  Annabel dipped her head. “My apologies. I . . . the suspense is driving me mad.”

  Constantin finally glanced at Steve, with utter contempt. Steve was somewhat handsome, but he lived the life of a nomad, in the vampire’s eyes, roaming from place to place. He didn’t come from high birth. He was not suited to associate himself with Constantin’s priceless daughter.

  But Annabel was well past the legal age of making her own decisions. Over 200 years past, in fact. She was an independent woman. That fact alone collided with the idea of what Constantin thought she should be—obedient. Annabel’s independent spirit caused constant friction between her and her father.

  Constantin turned away from Steve, facing his daughter. “The Brethren have noted my continued support for their cause. The nobility sees promise in our family, Annabel.”

  “It’s about time,” Annabel said. “You’ve been slaving away for those people for long enough.”

  “Overseer Malachite has offered me something I cannot shy away from. It’s an opportunity I will not throw aside.”

  “A seat on the Council?” Annabel guessed. “That’s been your aim ever since you began associating with those basta—with those people.”

  Nodding, Constantin said, “Indeed.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful.”

  Steve wasn’t so sure. Constantin didn’t look too pleased or celebratory. Then again, he’d never seen the vampire look too happy about anything.

  Then he saw why.

  “It requires sacrifices, my daughter.”

  Steve’s heart sank. He knew something big was coming—something involving him.

  Annabel leered at her father, one eye bigger than the other. “What sort of sacrifices?”

  “Amethyst has returned.”

  Annabel inhaled sharply. Steve glanced at her. All the color from her mostly colorless face had drained. She was almost translucent as she tried to control herself.

  A simple breeze could have blown her over.

  “Amethyst?” Steve asked, speaking for the first time to give Annabel a chance to recover. She seemed incapable of speaking at the moment.

  “Silence.” Constantin’s voice was sharp.

  When Annabel spoke, her voice was hoarse. “It . . . it can’t be. He’s been gone for so long . . .”

  “And now he has returned.”

  “And?”

  Constantin tilted his head to the side. “And our arrangement still holds true. It must be upheld. With our agreement in place, our family will join the ranks of the upper echelon. Surely you see the benefit of such an arrangement, Annabel? Are you all right?”

  “I had nearly forgotten him, Father. Finally. Now you speak his name and past memories come flooding back. You tell me our prior arrangement still stands? And you expect me to accept that without dispute? No, Father, I am not all right. I am far from all right.”

  “Who is Amethyst?” Steve asked, a bit angrily. He was tired of being confused, and now that Annabel was agitated, it pissed him off.

  Constantin wasn’t having any of it. “This does not concern you, rapscallion! This is an important matter that is far beyond your calling.”

  Annabel put a hand on Steve’s arm. “It’s okay, my dear. My father’s right—you shouldn’t concern yourself with my family’s squabbles.”

  Steve clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth.

  “Listen to my daughter, boy. She is wise.”

  Steve snarled. “You play the part of chess master, moving the pieces around the board so they suit you, Constantin Lee, and you give your own daughter no say in the matter—”

  Constantin stepped forward, ready to strike Steve. The towering figure stared down at Steve like a cat stalking a mouse. It shut Steve up.

  “You speak out of line, Steven Remington. You have no power here. You have no say.”

  “And your daughter doesn’t, either?”

  “She understands our customs, boy, better than you ever could. Keep your lips sealed, before I rip them from your face.”

  Steve’s eyes went wide. He knew Constantin didn’t like him, but he’d never been directly threatened by the vampire, either. It unnerved him.

  “Father, leave him alone—”

  Constantin spun on his daughter. “Your feelings for this ragamuffin are absurd, Annabel. You know what must happen. If our arrangement with Amethyst is to be upheld, this one must be gone from our house.”

  Steve gasped. “But I love her!”

  “I care not!” Constantin roared. His hands flew from behind his back. Spindly fingers and jagged nails reached out toward Steve’s neck. Sweat dripped down Steve’s face as he gulped and took a step back, until his back was against a wall.

  “Husband, that is enough,” came a voice from down the hall. It froze Constantin, who gazed at the new arrival and put his arms at his sides.

  Mariana Lee stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips. She was a bit shorter than Constantin, but still tall, imposing, and darkly beautiful. She reminded Steve of Elvira or Morticia Addams.

  If anyone had a hold over Constantin Lee, it was his wife.

  Annabel turned to her mother. “Did you know this was happening, Mother?”

  “I did,” Mariana said, stepping forward into the room.

  “And you agree with what he says?”

  Mariana frowned. “It must be done, child.”

  “I can’t believe this!” Annabel cried.

  With a wave of her hand, Mariana said, “Be away, daughter, so I may speak with your father. And take Mister Remington with you. We will discuss this later.”

  Tears came to Annabel’s eyes. She took Steve’s hand and ran down the hall and up the stairs, pulling him along.

  When they came to her room, she slammed the door shut—just like an angsty teen might do.

  “What is going on, Bel?” Steve asked, pacing around the room.

  “I’m so sorry, my love. I think you must leave here, for your own safety. I fear for what my father might do to you.”

  Steve was aghast. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But why shouldn’t he? He had no right to impose upon Annabel’s family—he was a guest in their house, had been for a month, and nothing more. He suddenly felt very stupid. And used.

  “Who is Amethyst?” he asked.

  “He is a man . . .”

  “Is he the other man you spoke of, the only other person you said you’ve ever loved?” Steve felt like he was losing control, like he was breaking apart at the seams. He worried how Annabel might answer.

  Relief swept over him when she shook her head. “Absolutely not . . . but the person I loved, the man you speak of . . . there is a reason he isn’t of this world anymore. Or Terrus.”

  “You mean he’s dead?”

  Annabel didn’t answer directly. Instead, she said, “It’s all my parent’s fault, you see. He was someone I loved, but they didn’t approve of him, either. And now . . . he’s gone. I don’t know what my parents did, but don’t you see? They could do the same to you!”

  Steve took a seat on the edge of the bed. His head was spinning, his thoughts reeling.

  Where will I go?

  “What is this arrangement your father speaks of, about this man Amethyst? Will you tell me that?”

  Annabel sighed. She took a seat next to Steve on the bed and put her hands in
her lap. Her head was bowed. Finally, she spoke.

  “Many, many years ago, I was bequeathed to Lord Amethyst. I was . . . promised to him.”

  Steve took a moment to say, “You mean, promised in . . . marriage?”

  Annabel gave a curt nod.

  Steve’s stomach dropped. He suddenly understood where this was going. It made him sick. “And now he’s returned from wherever he’s been . . .”

  “I must resume the engagement, my love.”

  Steve scoffed.

  The first stage of grief: denial.

  “This is crazy talk! How can this man have so much power over your family? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s best if you don’t, Steve. Just know that it must be done.”

  “And what if you say no?”

  Annabel threw her head back in surprise. “I risk enraging my father, which would not be safe for anyone. Don’t you see? My father has dominion over me because he knows I love you! He will use that against me! Against us.”

  Steve put his hands to his temples, trying to think. But the thoughts wouldn’t come. He had nothing. What Annabel was saying was correct, as usual.

  Steve felt doubly shitty now—like a coward for not being able to do anything, and like a nuisance for putting Annabel in this position. If Annabel didn’t agree to her father’s wishes, Constantin could use Steve as collateral.

  The second stage of grief: anger.

  “Your father is a greedy, greedy man,” Steve spat.

  “I don’t deny it,” Annabel replied, shaking her head.

  “That he would do this to his own daughter, for a little power. I . . . I don’t understand it. It’s so . . . medieval.” It was the only word Steve could think of, but it felt appropriate.

  “You know they are from different times, my love.”

  The third stage of grief: bargaining.

  Steve faced Annabel and took both her hands in his. “Will I never be able to see you again? Please, tell me that isn’t the case, Bel, or I may go batshit crazy. I can’t be here on Mythicus without you.”

  “You must stay away for a while, darling. We will figure something out, I promise. It’s too early to say anything—I’ve only just learned all this myself!” The tears rolled down her cheeks as she became overwhelmed.

  Steve felt awful. Seeing Annabel cry was the last thing he ever wanted. She looked so small and helpless. It tore at his heart. He wiped away a streak of her tears with the back of his hand.

  The fourth stage of grief: depression.

  Leaning forward, he put his forehead against hers. “I’m so sorry you must do this.”

  “Please, don’t be sorry for me . . . I agreed to this, long ago.”

  “But then Amethyst disappeared! That should have cancelled the agreement.”

  “It doesn’t work that way. Not here, on Mythicus, and not with the Brethren of Soreltris.”

  Steve had a sudden, deep hatred for the Brethren. And he didn’t even know these people.

  Luckily, he knew where he would go, at least until he figured out something more permanent . . .

  He would not allow the fifth stage of grief to overwhelm him—not yet. Not until he knew more about these circumstances. He refused to give Annabel up so easily.

  He said, “I will go, my love, for your sake. But I do not accept this . . . and I will fight to my last breath to be with you again.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STEVE LEFT THE LEE household feeling useless and dejected. After packing up some clothes, he left with his head hung low. From the front door, Constantin monitored with his arms folded over his chest.

  Steve wasn’t even able to kiss Annabel goodbye, thanks to the watchful gaze of her father.

  He was lucky at least to have the black horse stabled around the back of the house. The horse was his only mode of transportation for leaving the cursed place.

  Life isn’t fair, he thought to himself as he awkwardly saddled the skittish animal. His self-pity was all encompassing. It even reflected in the gait of the horse, as it slowly walked down the road, away from the mansion.

  Before he reached the end of the property, he took one last look over his shoulder. Constantin was still in the doorway, gazing at him. Annabel hid behind the window of her second-story room, also watching him. She had her hands to her mouth, in a look of sorrow.

  “Come on, boy, I have an idea where to go,” he told the horse—his only friend at the moment.

  The horse snorted, and Steve felt like even the damned animal was mocking him.

  It was a chill night. A thick fog swept through the streets while Steve made his way into the countryside. The plains were purple from the moonlight.

  “Shit,” Steve said aloud, patting the horse’s mane as they trotted along. “I’m not gonna be able to pay for you now. Whoops.” His plan had been for the House of Lee to cover his expenditure with the stableman, near the Downtown bridge. That was out of the question now.

  The plains gave way to ghostly streets. Steve and his friend kept away from the bridge, hoping the stableman wouldn’t see him passing. He didn’t want to steal from the poor guy, but he needed something to carry him from point A to point B. At least for now. He’d live with the guilt.

  He made his way north, along what would be the I-5 Freeway if he were in San Diego. After an hour of riding, he came to an off-ramp he recognized. He recognized it because of the landscape, not because it had a sign telling him what exit he was taking.

  It was the area that, on Terrus, would be called Old Town.

  Steve knew Geddon and his gang stayed in the area. He took the horse off the freeway, down the main drag of Old Town, and finally started to see some signs of life. Clothes hung on a wire, stretching from one window, across the street, and into another window. Some people milled around outside an ancient tavern.

  Old Town was the first settlement in California, created in 1769. In a weird way, it made sense Mythics would live here. They seemed to be a medieval, old school group of folks. At one point, only a fort and a mission—the Mission San Diego de Alcalá—inhabited the place. It had come a long way since then, growing into one of the more quaint, hospitable neighborhoods in San Diego.

  Steve headed up a hill—toward the Mission de Alcalá—that overlooked Old Town. For whatever reason, that was where Geddon holed up. It was almost like Geddon was trying to make a statement by calling the place his home.

  A Portuguese explorer, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, “discovered” the San Diego Bay in 1542. Working for the Spanish, he harbored in the bay and documented his observations of the coastal villages nearby, naming the port San Miguel. Sixty years later, another Spanish explorer, Sebastián Vizcaíno, made landfall ten miles from the mission site. He renamed the port San Diego de Alcalá, and the name stuck. In 1769, a full 167 years after Vizcaíno, the Spanish returned and built the mission. In doing so, they secured Spain’s claim to the Pacific Coast harbors found by Cabrillo and Vizcaíno.

  Annabel was likely born right around the time the mission was being built, Steve realized. What a trip. He also recognized the whole timeline playing through his head might have been vastly different here on Mythicus, back then. Who knows what happened, or if this place was even around then, he thought.

  Overgrown vines wildly snaked up and around the white adobe walls of the mission, from a nearby vineyard. Steve chuckled: on Terrus, wine was one of the only businesses the mission took part in. The Mythics must not have learned how to contain the vineyards.

  He dismounted near the front archway. A big, burly man stood with his arms crossed over his tree-trunk chest.

  Next to the big man was what looked to be a stray alley cat, gray and black, purring and nestling up against the man’s thick calf. It hissed at Steve when he approached.

  “Are you the messenger?” the man asked as Steve approached. He was all business, his head blond and short, his biceps rippling with veins.

  “Huh?” Steve said.

  The man cleared his thr
oat. “What’s your business here?”

  “I’m here to see Geddon, good sir.” Steve made a flamboyant bow to the guard.

  The man wasn’t tickled by Steve’s performance. He stared at Steve with cold eyes, unmoving. Finally, he turned around and said, “Wait here,” and disappeared under the archway. The cat leisurely scuttled away with him.

  A moment later, Geddon came waltzing through the archway and threw his hands in the air. “Ah, Steve Remington, back so soon! Have you already forgiven us our transgressions from earlier today?”

  Steve led his horse by the reins. “Didn’t really have a choice. I was booted from Annabel’s house.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing!”

  Geddon tilted his head, giving Steve a look that said he thought he was full of shit. Then he moved out of the way, put his arm forward, and directed Steve to walk with him past the big guardsman. “Never mind that. Please, this way. Barns, if you would be so kind as to shelter Steve’s horse.”

  The big man grumbled, took the reins from Steve, and led the black horse around the side of the building. His pet cat tried to jump on the horse’s back from the ground, but a jittery neigh sent the feline scampering away.

  Steve gestured toward the big man as they walked through the courtyard. “What’s with the secret service?”

  “Oh, Barns? He’s a big teddy bear.” Geddon thought about that, tapping his chin. “Well, not really. He’s more like a big grizzly bear that’ll rip your arms off if you try anything funny.”

  Steve arched his brows. “I’ll try not to make any jokes.”

  “Wise. Barns isn’t the humorous type.”

  They turned a corner and entered a low-hanging hallway. They were “indoors,” but the ground was still dirt, which didn’t make Steve feel completely indoors.

  “Are you in danger? Is that why you have a defender at the gates?” Steve asked.

  “Everyone’s always in danger on Mythicus, my friend. Surely you know that by now.”

  “How ominous,” Steve said.

  Geddon smiled, his wide face flattening, his chins doubling. “Just truthful.”

  After the hall they came to a wide, circular room, with a domed roof. The room had been well lived in: chairs were scattered around, a table was in the middle, boxes and chests were tucked against the walls. People stood around the table, including the little brown man with the curly hair, Kaiko, and a woman Steve had never seen before. She was pretty and tall, with slender legs and long, yellow hair that reached her waist. Her face was angular and cut like she was crafted from stone—a beautiful sculpture made to look human. She looked like an elf from Lord of the Rings.