Myth's Legend: Norrix

by Ysobella Black

  Stryx rose and held out his hand for her. “I will accompany you. I cannot let a Gorgon wander around freely, after all. Norrix?”

  He’d felt like enough of a third wheel today. “You kids go ahead. I’ll knock on your door tomorrow for the pre-auction viewing.”

  When they departed, Huginn nudged his cup over to Stryx’s untouched beer and turned a beady stare on Norrix.

  “Whoa, my friend. I don’t know if you need more to drink. How much have you already had?”

  “One,” Huginn said.

  “Two. Three,” Muninn croaked.

  Huginn flapped a wing in Muninn’s face.

  “Rude,” she muttered.

  “Well, I suppose you’re enough of a lush that four won’t kill you. And, apparently, it is Lager Day, after all.” Norrix poured lager into the raven’s cup.

  A flash of blue drew Norrix’s attention to the front of the pub. Clio entered, escorting a woman in a long white dress. Her wide hazel eyes glanced around nervously. Long mahogany hair spilled down her back.

  Mahogany? When did he use words like that to describe reddish-brown, with a hint of dark purple undertone? When did he see so many shades of color, even at night?

  He glanced around the bar, but everyone else was in muted colors, as he expected the world to be. Did he know her? No way to know without running through all his memories, and he couldn’t do that here.

  Norrix caught himself staring at her again, and he wasn’t the only one. The urge to punch the other men in the face startled him. What was wrong with him?

  Maybe the lunacy was more catching than he supposed. Stryx found his Dragă, so had Idris, and probably Jael, too. Norrix had seen that befuddled look, so out of place on the stoic Assassin, on enough vampires’ faces to recognize it.

  Clio spoke with Gyges. Norrix waved to catch her attention, and she made her way through the crowd to his table.

  “Hello, Mr. N. Hogging the ravens, huh?”

  He gripped her hand tight. She wouldn’t tell him, but he had to know. “Who is she?”

  “Mr. N! You know I can’t tell you the name of another guest. This isn’t like you.”

  It wasn’t. But he couldn’t help it. His chest ached, and he rubbed his breastbone over his stubbornly non-beating heart. Was he so jealous of Stryx that he was imagining things? Was this loneliness, and he was so desperate he was trying to force a connection? Was she meant to be Dragă for someone else in the Ildum? The idea sent a surge of irrational aggravation through him.

  Clio touched his arm. “If you’d like to meet her, come over to our table and if she wants to give you her name, she can. I have to get back. I think this place is overwhelming her.”

  Whoever the mystery woman was, she wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed. But his heart didn’t beat, so she wasn’t his Dragă. And that was just as well. His mind was already too scrambled without the lunacy and chaos a Dragă would toss into his life.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MYTH

  HOURS LATER, MYTH HAD absorbed all the knowledge she could. Eyes burning, head throbbing, she closed the latest book and added it to the stack she’d finished. There was so much to learn. Internet. Planes. Television. Junk food. Vacuum cleaners. Rights. Equality. How could she ever remember it all?

  More importantly — would she be able to pretend she didn’t know any of this when she returned to Aztlan? Resentment toward Iqiohr and the life she’d been forced to lead festered inside her. If Iqiohr saw that before she escaped with Fable...

  She had to hope Eir was right. That Apan and Gajo couldn't contact Iqiohr, or anyone else. Eir, Clio and Zax didn’t seem worried, but no one had been on Myth’s side before. It was hard to trust, but she wanted to. Wanted to have a friend. The lure of stories, and her growling stomach, compelled her to look for Clio.

  With a wary eye on the lookout for Iqiohr’s men, Myth left her room and walked along the golden corridor, past anonymous doors, footsteps quiet on thick beige carpet, and ensured she kept to one side to leave the middle free for those around her.

  When she arrived in the ocean-themed lobby, now black rather than blue, Clio greeted her with a big smile. “I’m glad you decided to find me. Come on. I’m off work. Let’s go to the pub. Gyges is working tonight. That’s always fun to watch. I’ll try not to go off in lists the whole night. If I do, just smack me.”

  Clio led the way into another corridor, past shops selling trinkets, to huge double doors under a sign with two ravens on it. Although one looked dead. “Welcome to Ravens & Reprobates.”

  They entered the pub and Myth tried not to gape again. The bar was inside an immense tree trunk and packed with hundreds of people and creatures. A black dragon with a metal plate on his forehead lounged in the corner playing a board game with four men dressed in colored suits of armor. Red, green, black, and white. The Horsemen of the Apocalypse?

  A group of people crowded around another table. A man wearing a black hooded cloak had a tall scythe leaning against his chair. Another man with a gaunt appearance had a long unkempt beard and an oar propped next to him. The other three men had animal heads — one a grey ox, the second a red horse, and the third a black dog. The dog-headed man rolled dice against two women with black wings and avian facial features. The Grim Reaper? And Charon with his oar? The other three must be psychopomps too. And harpies?

  Clio stopped at their table. “Isn’t it red Jell-O day at the hospital? What are you doing here?”

  The harpies cackled, and the Grim Reaper sighed. “It’s Kanzi! That crazy ghost is making it hell for us psychopomps. She’s practically chased all of us out of the hospital now.”

  “One little ghost?”

  “I did say crazy, right? There’s no reasoning with the woman.”

  The others nodded in commiseration.

  A ball of red light bobbed to the table, deposited an enormous bowl of red cubes, then streaked away, leaving the cubes wiggling.

  Clio arched an eyebrow. “I’ll tell the kitchen to stock up in case we’re overrun.”

  The Grim Reaper put a spoonful of Jell-O in his mouth and mumbled, “’preciate it.”

  Resuming their trek, the path Clio took led past a small round table with five skeletons hunched together — a pirate wearing a brimmed hat with a feather, an eye patch, and a sheathed saber sat next to a cowboy with a wide-brimmed hat, gun belt, and tall boots. A baseball player wore a cap, cleats, and jersey, and a more formally dressed one had a top hat, shiny shoes, bow tie. A ballet dancer with tiara, ballet slippers and a tutu rounded out their party.

  “Ha!” The pirate slapped his cards on the table, finger bones clicking against the surface. “How’s that strike your funny bones?”

  The cowboy chomped on an unlit cigar. “That’s not actually a bone. You know that, right?”

  Pirate wasn’t bothered by Cowboy’s fact. “You just think that because you don't have a sense of humor.”

  Myth racked her brain, but no stories came to mind. “Who are they?”

  “Who?” Clio glanced around. “Oh. You mean the skeletons? They’re keys. In order to come to Ashana, a key is needed, so when Ashana connects to a new world, the skeletons take keys and scatter them. They don’t need to breathe, no skin to burn or feel cold. They’re good for a variety of landscapes, temperatures, and atmospheres. They start the whole sequence of adjusting so Ashana is ready for new guests and visitors.”

  Visitors. Myth stiffened. Gajo and Apan. She scanned the room. They weren’t here. Shoulder sagging in relief, she allowed her curiosity to distract her. “How many worlds are there?”

  “No way to know. Seems like there’s a new one every day sometimes. That’s half the fun of working here.”

  Three winged women sat at another table. Feathers blazing orange and gold, red hair wild around their heads, they laughed and drank from tall mugs as their sharp green eyes watched. Everyone gave them a wide berth when walking past, and while people stared, no one met the gazes of the trio.

&
nbsp; “The furies?”

  Clio nodded. “They work in legal.”

  A huge multi-level circular bar stood in the middle of it all, and in the center stood a lone man. A giant with fifty heads and a hundred arms. Gyges. Most of the crowd gathered around him. They shouted orders while the giant gave them fifty grins in return, but made no move to prepare a drink.

  “What’s he waiting for?”

  “It’s a game they play. Gyges gets bored with one order at a time, so at the start of every hour he takes orders for the entire bar at once. Would you like something to eat? How about to drink? There’s ambrosia, beer, cider, daiquiris, Evian, fruit juice —”

  Uncomfortable with the rough way Eir casually smacked Clio, Myth cautiously reached out to touch Clio’s hand instead.

  The usual feeling of dread that accompanied any touching in Aztlan didn’t occur. Was that one of the symbols that vanished when she’d arrived in Ashana?

  Clio grinned. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll try whatever you’re going to have.”

  “All right. Wait here. I’ll put in our order. If a crazy woman comes by asking if you want to hear the specials, just humor her.”

  What did that mean? But Clio was already walking away.

  Myth had a moment of panic as her friend pushed through the crowd, then forgot how to breathe as a white-haired, white-eyed man drew a woman along with him, her hand tucked in his. He sat at a nearby table and pulled the woman into his lap.

  Flushing, she smiled at Myth, white teeth flashing, mauve-colored eyes sparkling, unaware of the danger. Her mauve hair with shades of blue and purple hung to her thighs, longer than the bright green dress she wore. She ran her hands up the man’s chest, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his face close.

  Body rigid, Myth concentrated on breathing. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn’t bring herself to be so vulnerable in this strange place. Tearing her gaze away, she clasped her hands in her lap. What should she do? Everyone was supposed to be safe. Why was no one helping the woman? Did they not know about mages?

  “What’s wrong?” Clio returned, frowning at Myth. “You’re stiff as a board.”

  “He's going to... He can't mean to...” Myth finally closed her eyes, bracing herself for the screams. It was bad enough when Iqiohr's men drained the witches in front of her in the throne room. To have it done here, in front of so many more people, would be humiliating.

  “What?” Clio glanced at the pair. “You're not worried about her, are you?”

  “He works for a mage. He’ll drain her right here in front of everyone! I don’t want to be here for this.” Myth opened her eyes, averting them from the couple as she pushed her chair back.

  “Ha!” Clio snorted, kept her grip on Myth’s fingers, and leaned close. “Not likely. She’ll be the one doing the draining.”

  “What?”

  “That’s Vylaya. She’s a succubus,” Clio whispered. “They feed on energy they drain from men.”

  Whipping her head around, Myth caught the amused gaze of Vylaya, who curved her lips into a sultry smile and winked. “He’s my third tonight.” She licked her lips. “It’s like an all I can eat buffet around here lately.” The man stared up at the succubus, eyes glassy, oblivious to their surroundings. “Men like him have been after me for ages. They want to enslave me to use my ability to drain energy and magic for themselves. But when they try to use their magic on me,” — she walked her fingers up the man’s chest and touched his nose — “I just eat it all up. The more they try to hurt me, the more filling my meal.”

  “Sometimes karma's a lich.” Clio aimed two fingers like guns at Vylaya.

  She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Clio over the man’s head. “Don’t call me a lich, you dust bunny.”

  “Dust bunny!” Clio’s outraged glare didn’t match her smile.

  Vylaya nodded and scrunched her face. “History is full of dust. Ah-choo.”

  Myth clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. Her mother hadn’t told her any stories about a succubus. Some stories didn’t surface in her memories until they were prompted or she reached a certain age, but her mother had told stories about retribution and karma.

  Clio nudged her. “The show is about to start.”

  Gyges’ hundred hands joined together in fifty pairs, fingers intertwining and pushing out. Popping sounds filled the air as hundreds of knuckles cracked. The giant shook out his arms and crouched, hands at the ready, over bottles and chopped fruit arrayed all around him.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Two massive ravens with gold and silver runes on their chests chanted and hopped up and down on a table across the bar. Huginn and Muninn? Odin’s ravens? Now the sign made sense, at least as far as the ravens.

  Huginn staggered on one of his landings, and the man sitting with them set the bird on his feet. Bigger than Iqiohr had ever been, the man wore black with a green snake on his shirt, and thick, curly brown hair reached his collar. His tan skin had a reddish terra-cotta undertone. She leaned forward, trying to see his eyes, but her gaze caught on his lips, which curved in a smile.

  Was he... smiling... at her?

  An unfamiliar flutter in her chest sent her stomach into a flip. Myth shivered as her skin suddenly felt too hot. Something inside her awoke, and a tendril of lilac-colored magic reached for the stranger. What was happening to her?

  The room erupted with more calls for drinks and cheers as the giant blurred into motion, mixing drinks.

  Spell broken, Myth jerked back into her seat, breath rushing out of her. She lost sight of the smiling man as filled tankards, mugs, glasses and shots smacked onto countertops and patrons swarmed to collect their drinks.

  Within minutes, hundreds of people had been served and broke into applause. Four tiny winged creatures, glowing bright yellow and orange, smaller than the two mugs and plates they picked from the bar, brought them over, dropping them off on their table with a clatter, then rushing back to the bar to deliver more orders.

  The ravens swooped through the air around the giant, calling, “Good boy,” as they ignored a hundred swiping hands. Myth searched the tables, but the colorful curly-haired man was gone. She pressed a hand to her chest as a sharp pang of disappointment burst in her heart. At the same time, a tug pulled at her. The same sort of feeling that always led her to Fable, but weaker.

  Myth swiveled her head, confusion muddling her senses. Why could she find him? Why did she want to? She’d always made it a point to stay far away from men before. Because he was vibrant when everything about Iqiohr was washed out and corrupted? Because he’d smiled at her?

  But that couldn’t be it. A glance around showed her a riot of color everywhere, and she felt no pull toward anyone else. Men stared at her. She swallowed. Attracting attention to herself was a mistake. A gentle elbow in her ribs stopped Myth from panicking.

  Clio slid a mug and a plate across the table. She lifted her drink, sipped it, and sighed. “Ambrosia and bacon cheeseburgers. That’s another kind of ambrosia. Try them.”

  Myth took a cautious sip from her mug. Her eyes widened as the sweet liquid slid over her tongue, heated up in her stomach, and radiated out to the rest of her body. Setting the beverage aside, she mimicked Clio, picked up the bacon cheeseburger and took a big bite. New flavors filled her mouth as she chewed. Her food in Aztlan was all corn based except for rare occasions. The bacon crunched in her teeth while the cheese was creamy. Clio was right. This was the best.

  The crowd broke apart, smaller bunches moving to sit at tables around the room. A group of eight men claimed a table near Myth and Clio. They all ran their eyes over her as they stepped past, and she felt their gazes boring into the back of her neck. Myth fidgeted, spinning her mug in her hands. She should go back to her room.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The men are staring.”

  “Why wouldn’t they? You’re a beautiful woman. Own it.”

  “Own what?”

&
nbsp; “Eh, people used to make fun of my lists, but now it’s my thing. If someone doesn’t get a list from me, they're disappointed. When you own something about yourself, no one can take that part of you or make you feel ashamed. So you turn right around and stare back at those boys and see what they do.”

  Myth took a gulp of her drink and set it on the table. She wouldn’t dare do something like this in Aztlan, but here, with Clio and Vylaya nearby, and a belly full of ambrosia, she felt brave. She turned in her chair and stared at the men staring at her, holding each gaze until a few looked away. The others smiled and held up their glasses. One gave her a cheeky wink and blew her a kiss, but none of them did anything threatening. She turned back around.

  Clio held up her mug. “To owning it.”

  Myth picked up her mug and clanked with Clio’s. “To owning it.”

  WEDNESDAY,

  DECEMBER 11

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NORRIX

  NORRIX TOSSED AND TURNED all night, unable to get the woman from the bar out of his mind. He’d left during the show, kicking himself for not speaking with her. But what would be the point? He’d probably never see her again. She could be from anywhere. Books failed to distract him, and time stretched as he counted down the hours until he could meet Stryx and Ember.

  Finally, the night gave way to morning. He showered and dressed. Norrix regarded his frayed bootlaces as he knocked on Stryx’s door. Probably should have replaced them.

  Stryx opened the door and admitted him. “Ember is dressing. Are you ready?”

  Norrix took a deep breath and nodded. “Do it. Be very specific with your words.” Sometimes an unusual word helped him sort through thousands of years of memories.

  Stryx spoke in a low tone, infusing his voice with magic, a gift he’d inherited from his aunt who could sing cities away. “Witness, this marks the first time two vampires will walk in sunlight thanks to the magic of a strygoi dressed like a Gorgon to see what mages are selling at auction in Ashana.”