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

by K.N. Lee

  The same old office. The same old diplomas. The same calendar on the desk.

  "So I understand you took off for the restroom during one class and came back during another. Want to tell me what happened?"

  "The ring said it was time to go. I ran for the restroom because let's face it where else am I going to get the privacy to disappear in this place?"

  "I'm assuming there is no way to dissuade that thing from randomly stealing you throughout the day?"

  "When it's minor, it just itches, but when it's not." The ring never laughed unless it was something major and the sound was enough to set the teeth on edge. "I can't control what it does."

  "Well, I will say this, you are going to have to be more careful, Lina. If someone actually sees you using your powers, you're liable to get expelled in this current climate."

  "Thanks, Uncle. I'll try, I really will."

  She turned to go. She was already late, but seeing as she was coming out of the Principal's office, no one was going to say much. They'd probably assume she'd already gotten into trouble for showing up over an hour late for school.

  "Oh, Murphey?"

  "That's Mr. Murphey or Principal Murphey while we are in this building, young lady."

  "Principal Murphey, what do you know about the Ring Bearers?"

  "I know that there is one for each Immortal, though the rings are always held. It's an old story." He paused, looking her over appraisingly. "Why?"

  "I met a woman yesterday who went by the name of Mother Skya, the bearer of the Ring of Love, except now she's dead and she said that I have to stop those who might be trying to kill the ring bearers and do something awful to the world."

  Murphey shook his head.

  "I can't say much. It's an old story, one no one really tells anymore. No one believes in gods anymore, much less the idea that gods can bestow some of their powers onto humans. Get to class."

  "Yes,sir."

  The school day was quiet. One could almost say uneventful. Beyond being incredibly late, Melina managed not to get into anything with anyone. Even Dustin, who occasionally made a point of getting on her nerves, wasn't having much effect on her.

  Then he walked in.

  Some human beings are blessed with an excess of Charm. In the Jameson family, the trait was so strong the story was told they had once been kissed by the Goddess of Love herself and she was the reason why it was nearly impossible to resist a Jameson, boy or girl. If they saw a prize they wanted, they didn't have to work terribly hard to get it. Granted, that had also created an attitude of love them and leave them, so when they finally settled down and created a family, they were fierce about it.

  Such was the family Lester Jameson grew up in. His father, Keton Jameson, had been notorious. So notorious women who had never laid eyes on him knew that if a young man with dirty blond hair with a single strawberry streak and eyes the color of storming sky introduced himself to them, they were to immediately put their fingers in their ears and walk away. He was not allowed to get out more than his name.

  It slowed him down, but not much.

  Keton was in his thirties when he met his match, Charlotte Mill, a woman who had seen it all as far as men were concerned, dealt with it all, and lived to tell about it. He'd met her at a fundraiser for injured horses. She had been hiding at the edge of the room, nearly behind one of the plush curtains covering a balcony entrance. Her dark hair was put in a functional bun. Her entire outfit had been functional and despite the summer heat, it had long sleeves and a high collar. Keton gravitated toward her, bringing with him a drink which he offered to her.

  "You look like a lady in need of some company."

  The way she dropped her eyes made him carefully reach out and stroke her chin.

  "Ain't nothing to be afraid of here, pretty lady."

  Her history was in her eyes. Then they cleared as he smiled at her.

  "Here, have a drink, and maybe we can slip out here on the balcony and you can tell me about your love for horses. I'm sure that's what brought you here?"

  "Yes."

  The first word out of her mouth got him to smile wider. They spent the evening on the balcony talking. Two years later, she would say 'yes' again when he dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him outside of their favorite little French restaurant. Followed about six months later by her screaming about how much of a bastard he was as she brought their son, Lester, into the world.

  With two rather eccentric parents, Lester grew up knowing he was loved and that the world was a place he could and should enjoy being a part of. Charlotte had never become a social butterfly, but she had her small circle of friends who cooed and clucked over the darling baby who would become a handsome boy. Keton was the life of the party and sometimes a well-loved embarrassment to his darling wife. He would dance with every woman at a party while Charlotte watched, stealing kisses from her in between waltzes. Charlotte would enjoy watching him and being the one to take him home after he'd had a drink or two too many.

  Keton had been in the process of unpacking when his personal phone rang. He always had two phones on his person, one for work and one for home. The home phone rarely rang once he was in his house. Except when a distant relative was calling. He dropped the cardboard box he'd been folding and snatched the phone up.

  "What do you mean they aren't sure how she died because her apartment looks like shit?"

  Charlotte came in from the kitchen where she'd been putting away the plates and stood in the doorway as Keton continued his conversation in tones which rapidly reached for the upper register of his speaking voice. When he finally shut off the phone, he let out a low hiss like a tea kettle before turning to his wife and holding his arms out to her. She went into them without a word.

  "Great-Grand Aunt Skya is dead. I've gotta make travel plans."

  "I think I'll stay here with Lester, make sure he gets into school all right and all that." Charlotte never mentioned how uncomfortable it was being around some members of his family. They watched her in an openly predatory fashion.

  Keton ran one hand through his hair, graying at the temples, unconsciously tugging on the strawberry patch at the base of his head.

  "You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  He kissed her on the forehead. Turning he muttered,

  "At least most of my clothes are still in suitcases," and disappeared down the hall toward their bedroom.

  Lester, who had been in the living room working on getting the television and its myriad component attachments up and running in time for his Mother's favorite television show, poked his head into the hallway.

  "Everything is not okay," he said.

  Charlotte looked at him with heavy eyes.

  "Mother Skya is dead." Her inflection said it meant more than she was really prepared to say. "Your father is going to her funeral. I'm going to stay here with you, see you through the first couple of days of school."

  "I really don't need a keeper at my age, Mom."

  "I know, I know, but it's a Mother thing." She gave him a hug. "Just go with it, okay?"

  Lester nodded.

  "I think I've got it about ready. Just gonna give the cable a test run to make sure the television is talking to the surround sound."

  "Thank you, sweetheart. You're a life saver."

  "Just doing my duty," he replied with a smile. When she kissed him on the forehead, he made his retreat out of the hall back to the living room. Charlotte looked in the direction her husband had gone and pricked up her ears a bit to hear him in the back of the house muttering to himself as he tried to figure out where his good cuff links had made off to in all the commotion.

  "Lower right drawer of my jewelry cabinet," she called down the hall.

  "Thank you, beloved," he called back.

  She went back into the kitchen to finish putting away the china.

  The house was quiet. Charlotte and Keton had gone to the airport to put him on a last minute flight out of town. He had been right i
n being thankful for everything still being in bags and boxes. He'd managed to get himself packed in under a half hour, a feat of magic by Charlotte's estimation since other than helping him find his cuff links, he did it all by himself leaving her time to watch her show before they hurried out.

  Lester had chosen not to go with them.

  He didn't really remember Mother Skya as she was called by friends and family alike. The woman had been not so much before his time as a different branch of a rather wide family tree. As if he existed as a twig on the far eastern side of the tree while she was a limb on the western side with its own smaller branches and twigs. They had been introduced, once, when he was a baby. There was a picture of the two of them together, him in a sky blue onesie, and her in a black dress shot through with silver. Her hair was gray, but she still had that grace and poise of a woman who has gotten on in her years and knows it, yet still refuses to acknowledge she is no longer a beauty queen. There was a majesty in that younger women didn't have. Apparently, according to his mother when they spoke during the commercial break, he had liked her.

  Not so strange that he didn't remember that. At the time, someone was still using a cloth to wipe his mouth for him. One rarely had many lasting memories of such a time as that.

  Sitting on the unrolled Persian in the living room, he consumed a slice of pizza leftover from dinner. The kitchen wasn't properly set up yet for actual cooking, but hopefully by the time he got home from school his mother would have it all ready.

  There was nothing on television he wanted to watch, so he indulged in his second most favorite pastime, daydreaming as he sat there on the rug. Which was probably why when the voice spoke, he nearly scrambled out of his clothes.

  Turning his head to where it had come from, right after rudely banging his shin on the coffee table, he yelped.

  A fairy, bright red and violet, hovered about three feet off the floor. If it wasn't for the pattern of light she threw across the couch, he would have assumed her nothing more than his imagination.

  "What?"

  "Hello, Lester."

  The fairy knew his name. Why that surprised him, he wasn't sure. She was a fairy. They supposedly knew all kinds of things.

  "Hi," he managed.

  "I have a present for you."

  "If I remember my reading, one doesn't necessarily always want fairy presents."

  "It isn't from me, silly," she giggled. It was a sound like a preteen girl would make while trying to tell her crush she really wanted to be his girl. "It's from Mother Skya."

  "Mother Skya? Mother Skya is dead." He repeated the information in the same flat tone he'd heard his mother use. The fairy seemed undisturbed by this because she hovered up the level of his nose. He could now see the fine curls around her head and a bow and quiver swung along her back. Her face was so tiny he couldn't quite make out the color of her eyes, but he was fairly certain they were purple, the deep purple of obsession.

  How he knew that, he didn't care to speculate.

  "Yes, she's dead, but she wanted you to have this. Put out your hand."

  Obedient as one only truly is in dreams, he put his hand out, palm up. The fairy floated down to the level of his palm then shot an arrow directly into it. The pain didn't travel up his arm as it should have, but rather down into his fingers concentrating at his right pinkie. Snatching his hand back, he cursed.

  "Why you…!"

  But as he rubbed his hand, he came into contact with a band on his right pinkie. It was slender and silver and though the surface seemed entirely smooth, he could just make out depressions it in the shape of intertwined hearts.

  "What's this?"

  "The ring of Love, Lester. Mother Skya wore it for years. Now she's giving it to you. Wear it well and mind you use the magic wisely."

  The tiny archer disappeared in a flash of bright red light leaving him alone standing on the Persian rug looking where she'd been.

  "What the hell just happened?" he said to the empty room. Thankfully none of the furniture replied.

  High school. Lester had been to three different high schools in his career as a student, Sun City being the third and hopefully last. It was through no fault of his own, just his parents' careers that dragged him from place to place. His mother accompanied him in the front door and to the Principal's office. They stopped at the Secretary's desk. There was no sign saying she would be out, but there was no one sitting there either. They waited.

  A tall man in a suit entered behind them.

  "The secretary is on permanent vacation," he said merrily. "Maybe I can help you. I'm Principal Norman Murphey." He held out his hand to Charlotte Jameson. She gave him a half-smile as she shook it.

  "I'm Charlotte Jameson and this is my son, Lester, he's transferring in today."

  "As I suspected. I've the paperwork in my office and I know most of the students here on sight. Comes with the territory." He preceded them into his office where he sat down behind his desk and waved them to the matched seats in front of it. "I suppose I'll give you the standard admonition against getting into trouble under my watch, young man."

  "I'm never any trouble, sir."

  "Good. Then you'll get along just fine here. If you need to see me, feel free to walk in if the doors open or wait if it’s closed." Murphey got up again. "Let's not waste any more of anyone's time and get you on to your class. The school day has already started, so if you'll tell me where you're to be at this period? We're now in second."

  Lester pulled out the schedule he had in his backpack. It had been sent to him in the mail at his parents' request once his transfer had been approved. They always did like to be prepared.

  "Literature with Mrs. Rawn."

  "I'll walk you. I think you're free to go, Mrs. Jameson, unless there is something further I can do for you?"

  "No, I think Lester can manage from here." Her smile was a little -broader.

  "Good. Well, be back to pick him up at the end of the day. Until then, may you have a lovely day."

  The pair walked down the hall toward Mrs. Rawn's classroom as Mrs. Jameson moved toward the school doors.

  "Well, young man, I do hope you'll enjoy being here. Like I said, if you need anything, simply let me know. This is Mrs. Rawn's class. Go on in and introduce yourself."

  Lester let himself into the class. The thin woman at the front looked at him and then past him to Murphey who nodded over his shoulder. She nodded back and gestured for Lester to come in.

  "Your name, please?"

  "Lester Jameson. I just transferred here."

  "Okay, Lester." She scanned her classroom, checking the placement of empty seats. "Why don't you go have a seat over there with Melina Camp? Melina would you raise your hand please?"

  The girl who raised her hand was different, he knew it. She glowed with black light, her every feature defined by it. It clung to her curls and brightened at her eyes. A thread, gossamer thin and bright flashing red, ran from her and he looked down to him. Lester moved across the room to sit down, fascinated by the way the thread moved around him to keep the connection between them unbroken.

  Sitting down, he leaned over and whispered,

  "Hi."

  She responded.

  "Hi."

  Then no other words would come. Dumbfounded, he opened his literature book to the pages indicated on the blackboard behind Mrs. Rawn and tried not to feel the burning itch of the ring on his right pinkie finger.

  Melina Camp had been paying attention to Mrs. Rawn enough to be surprised when the door opened during the period. A guy walked in, blue bookbag thrown over his shoulder, looking to all the world as if he truly understood his place in it. Mrs. Rawn's attention went to something outside the door and Melina knew, without reaching, Murphey was out in the hall. She'd have probably been less surprised if the new guy didn't glow.

  He was surrounded by a halo of soft red light. It was too strong to be pink, but not so strong as to make her think of blood.

  Her name had been
called. She heard it and immediately responded by putting her hand up, even though the reason her name was being called escaped her completely. Then he was moving toward her. The new boy, Lester, sat down next to her in an empty seat and leaned over the distance between them.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Hi," she said back.

  Then he shook himself and pulled away, digging out his literature book and flipping through it. Melina put her attention back on her own book and tried not to think about the halo around him or the fact that she could feel the ring on her hand warming as if it would start to laugh any second.

  Just what she needed to have that thing start up in the middle of class. Didn't magic understand that your life couldn't possibly be dictated by it? No, of course not, it was magic. It didn't know anything, it simply was.

  The class passed with her stealing glances over at Lester whenever she could manage to do so without it being creepily obvious. He wasn't bad looking. Not football player built, but almost on the thin side. Hair well combed. A guy who wore slacks, not jeans.

  Once, her eyes caught Dustin's. His eyes were darker. They shared a moment, then it was over. Saved by the class bell. Melina packed up.

  "Hi." Lester had actually reached out and touched her. "Can I impose?"

  "Ah huh," she barely heard herself respond.

  "I don't know my way around, would you mind showing me how to get to my next class?"

  "Murphey didn't give you a map."

  "I guess he didn't think I would need one." The zip of his bag closing was enough punctuation and gave Melina a pause to consider something.

  "Stay away from the witch," Caroline Anderson whispered as she brushed past. She made eye contact with Lester and then Melina before flipping her hair and heading out into the press of students.

  "Witch?"

  "Don't ask. You're new. Better you really aren't seen with me." Melina swung her bag over her shoulder and headed out of class with Caroline's words crawling all over her and the absolute sense that something was going on she didn't completely understand. Lester was left standing, holding his book bag in one hand and watching her leave as the thread stretched but continued to hold.