Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

  The words sent chills coursing through her. “Okay, so we know what their plan is—what’s ours?” Kara crossed her arms, her FBI training whirling into full alert.

  “You have to go to where Ace loved and lost. Go to where someone he dearly loved died. That’s where they’ll take him. Then, when his heart is breaking, wide open with grief, that’s when he’ll be the most vulnerable. That’s when they’ll strike.”

  Kara’s forehead crinkled as she thought. We don’t know one another well. He never mentioned a great love dying. All he mentioned was taking lovers to Sunset Peak. “How do I know where to go? I know little about him.”

  “Use that bright mind of yours,” Fraya said, reaching out a finger to tap Kara’s temple.

  Death looked at her expectantly. His head bobbed up and down, making his skin jiggle. “Save him and bring him to me so I can keep the legacy alive. Death is as essential to life as breathing. We can’t exist without dying.”

  Kara looked at Death. She’d never thought about death as something essential. She’d always seen it as a tragically inevitable end to life. Like some horrible passageway awaiting all, snatching them from the satisfaction of their existence. Everyone was bestowed some small measure of time, until, when Death decided, that spark of life would be crushed, rendering their lives useless wastes of time. Maybe there’s more to it than I can comprehend now and I should simply trust Death.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, weighing her options. Her lungs filled with air and she breathed it out slowly.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” she said, opening her eyes to a hot, sultry late afternoon in Massachusetts. She had woken up on the top of Middlesex, alone, a pool of dried blood beneath her like a marker. She bolted to her feet.

  This time, she’d put things right.

  20

  Kara’s wings snapped open like a sail and she took off into the heavens like a shooting star. The sun danced along the clouds, teasing out the twilight in shades of orange, red, and pink. She couldn’t be sure what time it was or how much time had passed in her brief sojourn in the world between the worlds. Is tonight the night? Do I have a few scant hours to save Ace?

  Not knowing where to go to find a computer, she decided to break into her own apartment and search the Internet for any details about Ace Diamanté she could find. Hopefully, Jaidon wouldn’t be there.

  When she arrived downtown, the streets of Boston were packed with cars. Pigeons clung to the rooftops or flapped their way to the sidewalk in search of supper.

  Figuring it dark enough to not draw attention, she hoped no one would look up from their evening hustle, spotting a giant human-bird overhead. She soared over the brick buildings and tree-lined streets until she found Tremont Street. There, she found the alley she was looking for and landed.

  A homeless man stirred from his drunken slumber. Seeing her, he blanched, reaching furtively around his disheveled form. When his fingers curled around a paper covered bottle, he seemed to relax.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Nothing,” he stuttered, his eyes showing white. Tipping the bottle against his mouth, he coaxed a few drops out. He even jammed his tongue inside the opening.

  Kara shook her head and strode toward her former—current—whatever—place of residence. Guess I can’t simply assume occupancy.

  When she arrived at her apartment building—an old piano factory restored into trendy, overpriced dwellings—she keyed in the code to unlock the front door into the tiny lobby. She hurried across the foyer, passing the wall of mail boxes, thankful no residents were about. Then, she took the elevator to her floor. When the lift doors opened, she strode along the old wood, sandwiched between brick-lined walls toward her—or, her human self’s—dwelling.

  Apartment 501. There it is. She hadn’t put the dots together until this moment. My human body’s apartment is the same number as my room at Sisters of Mercy. It hardly seemed a coincidence. This space had always seemed like a transitional space for her. She’d moved here to get out of her parent’s home. She figured she’d stay until she moved in with Jaidon. She’d sublet the studio apartment when she’d trained at Quantico to become an FBI agent. But maybe apartment number 501 had been a launch place—a place to find my wings. She laughed. I found them all right.

  She stood before the door looking right and left down the hallway. “I have no key. How does one get in one’s apartment without a key? Why, use your flaming sword, of course, and hope the fire alarm is still broken.”

  She chuckled, retrieving the fiery weapon. The oak began to smoke as she pressed the pointed tip of her blade into the solid wood door. She pressed harder. Flames licked the opening of the hole. The sword slid deeper into the wood. When the tip had pierced through, she slowly twisted it until she had a smoking, flaming hole the size of her fist. She withdrew the sword.

  “Now how does one get one’s hand through a burning hole?” Sliding her shirt sleeve up her arm, she shrugged, took a deep breath, and jammed her hand into the opening. The small flames singed her skin, drawing blisters. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered. Her fingers felt around for the deadbolt.

  There.

  She twisted until it gave a satisfying click. Next came the doorknob. It released with a soft pop of the push button lock. She shoved open the door and hustled into the kitchen. Grabbing a towel from the stove handle, she held both it and her tender, burned wrist under the faucet and then hurried back to the door. There, she squished the towel into the hole, smothering the flames. She leaned back against the warm door and took a breath.

  A pang of wistful longing struck her as she gazed at the five-hundred square foot brick and pipe-lined space. She’d placed one of those folding Chinese screens between the bed and the small sofa to delineate rooms. A tiny table sat near the kitchen counter, near the windows. Her laptop rested on top of the table.

  She’d spent much time sitting at her table, staring out the windows. When Jaidon came over, they’d eat Chinese or Thai take-out before climbing into bed. Her heart lurched again as she thought of Jaidon—and her body approaching death in the hospital.

  She stepped toward the table and leaned against the window frame, her hands pressing into the cool glass. Who did Ace love and lose? Can I even get there in time? What if it’s in Paris or something?

  The arched windows looked out over an old, spired church across the street. The architecture of the hallowed stone building had always intrigued her. A large black clock let her know the time was 6:25 in the evening. I’ve got about forty-five minutes until sunset. And then the moon begins its ascent.

  Settling on the stool, she wiggled her mouse. Once the screen lit up, she typed Ace’s name in the Google browser. Her search, however, revealed few details.

  He stared back at her as a high school lacrosse player, wielding his Crosse like a weapon. Even as a teenager, his gaze appeared ancient and deep, like he looked out from the ages.

  “Holy crows, you’re good looking,” she said to his handsome, soulful face. “Son of Death,” she added, with a chuckle.

  In another picture, his shorts-clad body was captured in the mouth of a giant wave, balanced on a surf board, powering toward shore. Yet another showed him dangling from a rock wall, his fingers clutching a sliver of a ridge invisible to the untrained eye. She flipped through picture after picture of early accomplishments, and then, nothing. A small listing of some arts awards held no photo. He had no Facebook page, no Twitter account, no Pinterest page.

  Her brain hurt from hitting so many dead ends about Ace. She glanced at the clock. 6:50.

  “Where did his last love die? It…it can’t be me, right? That was only fear talking. He said so himself—he used sex talk to distract—right?” She stood, stretched, and paced around the room. She pictured the little she knew about him. She recalled laying with him on top of a rise at Sexsmith. “He told me how much he liked me and then, I put my hands on him.” Her fingers grew warm thinking about touching him. She couldn’t imagine heal
ing just any guy and feeling the same sensation. “We slept and then—I died.” Her eyes lit up. “I died! It’s a long shot but maybe...”

  She bolted out the door, slamming it behind her. Instead of taking the elevator, she sprinted down the stairs and dashed through the lobby. Reaching the exit, she threw open the front doors. Once her feet landed on the sidewalk, she sprinted for the alley.

  The same drunk sprawled against the brick wall. He stunk of piss and drink.

  She raced toward him.

  “Don’t hurt me,” he blubbered.

  “Sorry, it can’t be helped. I don’t need witnesses.” She torqued back her arm and swung, clocking him in the jaw.

  He slumped, his eyes fluttering closed.

  She took a few running steps and launched into the heavens.

  The night sky had begun to turn inky dark. Her wings beat rapidly as she powered toward Sexsmith. Thank the stars it’s not too far. Her heart clawed its way into her throat as the moon began to rise. Go, go, go, go, go.

  As she approached the mountain, dots of unfamiliar light shone below. It should be dark and deserted.

  She descended. The wink of torch lights shone from the top of the same rise where she’d been stabbed. She squinted from her overhead vantage point, barely making out the dark figures below. Is Ace one of them?

  Not wanting to be seen, she landed down the hill. Quietly, she sneaked toward the voices. Barely breathing, she climbed the gently sloping granite rise. When she got to a good viewing place, her stomach clenched into a knot.

  Ace, stripped down to the waist, had been lashed to the same tree where she’d healed him. His booted feet hung a foot from the ground. Strange crimson symbols marked his face and his torso. They glowed, as if lit from within.

  Blood magic? Her face crinkled in disgust.

  Several men surrounded him. One of them looked like the giant she’d killed in the hospital. Another looked like the guy Ace had stabbed in the eye with the needle. The eye was missing, leaving only a scabbed over socket.

  She wiped her eyes with her fingers and squinted. Wrinkled up her nose and tried to make out their faces. As they came into focus, a dry heave escaped her throat, threatening to blow her cover; the same men she’d left dead now stalked the rise like zombies. The Drascatu—somehow, they had brought the men back from the dead—again.

  Ace writhed against his restraints, like a powerful panther caught in chains. “What did you do with her? Where is she? If you made her one of yours I’ll kill every one of you—again, and again, and again. Be warned, motherfuckers. Making me one of your own won’t be fun for either of us. You have my word.”

  The giant slugged him in the gut.

  Ace grunted, then spat in the giant’s face.

  Another man strode into view. “Let him be. He needs to be in good shape for the ritual.”

  Cee-El. The man who started this whole horror show.

  Kara wanted to lunge from her hiding place and slice off his head. Her training taught her to wait—watch—and wait some more before attacking.

  Cee-El stalked in front of Ace. He grinned. The torch light covered his face with shadows and light, giving him a macabre appearance. His fingers reached for his shirt and he tore it open, flung it on the ground, and laughed.

  “Look! We match!” He pivoted in a slow circle, his arms high. His body was covered with the same symbols as Ace’s.

  When he stood before Ace again, he spat in his face. “You’re Satan’s spawn, you know that, right?”

  Cee-El’s grinning lips turned down in a dark grimace. “And you are Death’s last living descendant. Guess we’re equals, right?”

  Ace’s eyebrows stitched together.

  Cee-El’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “What don’t I know?”

  “You’re being groomed to assume your responsibilities as an Immortal. Well, sort of an Immortal. You’ll still have a shelf life, but it will be a long time coming.”

  Another frown flickered across Ace’s face but he kept quiet.

  Cee-El’s expression faltered. “By Daddy Death? Ringing any bells?”

  Ace shook his head slightly.

  Cee-El let out a laugh. “Oh, this is rich. Your whole life, you’ve been groomed to take over Daddy Death’s role and you knew nothing. Why do you think these pieces of shit have been hunting you?” He waved a hand at the Drascatu. “They knew—we all knew—you are to assume this holiest of holy roles on planet Earth. But we can’t let that happen. We intend to take over the Earth, not let it go to the likes of you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ace tugged and writhed against his restraints. The knotted ropes and crisscrossed bindings dug into his muscles.

  “After tonight, no one’s going to be able to die. We’ll be able to pluck them as needed for our own uses.” His gaze lifted toward the moon. “But enough chit-chat. We’ve got a ritual to perform.” He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

  The zombie-men stood at attention.

  “Gentlemen, prepare to change the course of existence.” He threw back his head and howled like a wolf.

  Kara seized her sword and dashed toward him.

  “Kara!” Ace cried.

  For the briefest of seconds, their eyes locked.

  Her body surged with the fire of their connection.

  Cee-El whipped around. A flash of surprise flitted across his face, announced by wide, blinking eyes. It was replaced with a grin as big as the moon. He held out his hand to stop her like she was a mere child.

  Swinging hard, she sliced the sword straight through his wrist.

  For a second, with his mouth open and eyes wide, he watched his hand as it fell in what seemed like slow motion to the ground.

  The pungent stench of burnt flesh filled her nose.

  “Your head’s next, asshole.” Kara stood like a batter and readied her arms to swing. Her sword blazed with firelight, brighter than the rising moon.

  “Grab her!” Cee-El commanded, hugging his bleeding stump to his chest.

  “Behind you!” Ace yelled.

  The giant seized her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Leaning back, he lifted her off her feet.

  Her sword clattered to the stone ground. It burned like a camp fire, highlighting the stones with oranges and reds.

  Cee-El’s gaze landed on it.

  Kara swore he was getting a hard-on as he eyed it. “Don’t even consider it. It’s a part of me. It will rip the shit from your bloodstream if you even think about touching it.”

  He swallowed, like a dog told not to touch the steak on the ground. He turned his attention to two of his goons. “Bring out her lover.”

  Her head whipped right and left.

  Two of the zombie-men disappeared into the darkness. When they returned, they dragged Jaidon by his arms.

  His body hung completely limp, as if dead. Bruises covered his face and neck, disappearing down his collar.

  Kara’s heart shrank like a wadded tissue.

  Cee-El laughed. “Like what you see, Agent Falko? I’ve brought you your fiancé.”

  21

  As she stared at Jaidon’s lifeless form, lit by the rising moon, Kara let out a scream she didn’t know she possessed. It erupted from the depth of her soul, spilling out in an explosive howl. “You killed him! You bastard, you killed him!”

  Long moon-shadows of the trees stretched their sinewy shapes along the ground, reaching across Jaidon’s lifeless body.

  Her heart a twisted knot, Kara fought against the beefy arms restraining her. Kicking hard against his shins brought no satisfaction.

  The giant didn’t even flinch, keeping her dangling in the air like a toy.

  The two men dragging Jaidon released him.

  He collapsed onto his side, coming to rest near her feet.

  “No!” she cried. “I’m going to hunt you to the end of time, asshole.”

  Cee-El chuckled. “Except you’ll be dead. I could always turn you into on
e of those ugly winged things,” he said, waving his handless arm in a circle at the Drascatu flying overhead, circling the scene below. Then, he winced. “You’re going to pay for this, bitch.” His face, marked with the same strange tattoos as Ace, appeared pale and sweaty.

  “You first. You’ve taken something essential from me.” Her eyes met Ace’s. She gasped. The sentiment had arisen unbidden, same as the scream.

  Ace’s lips parted and his eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said. “Essential.”

  Their searing connection shimmered and stirred, bring warmth to every part of her body.

  Cee-El stepped toward him. “True love is over.”

  He backhanded Ace with his free hand.

  Ace’s head whipped to the side. Righting it, he spat blood from his mouth.

  The giant lowered Kara to her feet but did not let go of her.

  “How do you know my name?” she growled at Cee-El. “Why did you call me Agent Falko?”

  “I know everything about you, bad kitty. Where you live, where you work, what you do in your spare time. For years, I’ve had spies everywhere. I know you hate whole-wheat pasta, love lasagna, hate white wine, love red...” He ticked off her human self’s preferences on his fingertips. “You practice vanilla sex when time allows.” Head slightly lowered like a coy school-boy, he leered at her through his lashes. “I could cure you of that, by the way.” He gripped his groin. “And I know you trained to be some sort of immortal while your body festers in the hospital, on its way to a new home at the morgue. If I didn’t have to kill you, I’d find a way to use you.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’ve been training, too.” He cocked his head and looked toward the sky as if thoughtful. “My uncle taught me about Satanism. He opened my eyes to life—to death.” He uttered the word “death” with fawning reverence. “My whole life has been a study in dark arts, waiting for this moment when I could take over the world.”

  “Just like Pinky and the Brain, right? Except you have no brains and you’re missing a hand. Ha!” She worked a wad of spit around in her mouth and spat it at him.