She’s not dead. Relief floods me.
“What does that mean?” Tailor demands. “Gabriel said Simon killed her!”
“Gabriel?” she says. “Gabriel can’t even speak. Found him in the orchard too, he helped me bring her in. There’s some kind of spell on him, but I can’t even get a good look at it because the blasted imp won’t let me anywhere near him.”
“Wait, what?” I demand, but just then he comes through the doorway from the kitchen. Camille’s guardian - well, the guy who looks like him - moves a little stiffly, looking at each object around him as if it’s foreign. He gives a slight bow of the head to us. There’s a new spiky acid-green tattoo-looking thing covering his entire throat. There’s also the imp perched on his shoulder, its long tail flicking as it squints its lamplike eyes at us all.
Tailor gives him a hard look. “Bea, we saw the real Gabriel at the cafe just before I called you. That’s whoever he switched bodies with.”
She gapes at the man. “Animus mutatus? Why on earth would he do that? That spell has horrendous side effects!”
The man is staring at Camille, forehead creased in confusion.
“Gohei,” Camille says hollowly. “You’re Gohei. He was Hemlock.”
Gohei inclines his head in a single long nod.
Camille sits down, hard.
Bea and Tailor exchange a look. Apparently something dire is afoot, but honestly, right now, I don’t care. I go over and sit in the chair next to the couch and take Jul’s hand, no longer intimidated by the idea. Her skin is cool, but Bea is right - she has a faint pulse that beats every five seconds or so.
“I found where you hid your whiiii-skey,” comes a voice from the kitchen in sing-song.
“I forgot to mention...” Bea groans.
Oh, great. Not her again.
“What is with all of these gloomy faces?” Meredith says, breezing in and flopping into a chair. “It’s like someone died.”
“I’d think you wouldn’t want to drink other people’s liquor after the day you’ve had,” Bea says, giving her a wide berth.
The imp on Gohei’s shoulder hisses, tail flicking angrily. He puts a hand up to hold it in place.
“Sweetheart, after the day I’ve had, I need all the liquor,” she sighs, drinking straight from the bottle.
“You burnt down a building,” Tailor says coldly. “You almost killed Camille.”
“And now I’m perfectly harmless,” she grins, displaying the spell marks on her upper arm like a hall pass.
“You still want to kill Camille,” Tailor snaps.
“She’s a time bomb, I’d be nutters if I didn’t,” she shrugs, taking another swig of the bottle. “Surely you’ve heard of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? Here’s your opportunity. I can either stay here, or go team up with your favorite boy Gabriel. There’s a man with a plan.”
“Why not go straight to him, then?” Tailor asks. “Why bother with us at all?”
“Because despite how I’ve behaved today, I want this world to be ordinary. I like ordinary,” she says fondly. “It has happy hour and chili cheese dogs and American padded rugby featuring muscular men in shiny spandex pants. I only misbehave to keep it that way. The Wolf will ruin you all,” she points around the room, “and I’m certain you’ll learn to see things my way. So!” she smiles, enjoying the antagonism. “Anyone got a spare room?”
“Like we need more complications,” Tailor grumbles.
“Hey, you’re the one who bound me to the munchkin,” she states, pointing to the rings around her arm. “You want to be free of me, just say the magic words,” she grins at me.
“Can you bring Jul back to life?” I snap at her.
She actually seems to consider this. She reaches into the back pocket of her pants and pulls out a tiny leatherbound notebook. She flips through the pages briefly. “Doesn’t seem like it, no,” she says, tucking the notebook away. “Not on my list of things I’m capable of.”
“Do you even know what’s wrong with her?” I demand.
She sets the bottle down and comes closer, observing her with curiosity. “There was...” Her brow creases in thought. “Maybe...augh!” she cries out, hand to her head. “No!” she shouts, suddenly furious. “I have no idea! Quit asking me questions! I don’t care what happens to your girlfriend!” She storms out of the front door. Gohei looks after her, expression blank. The imp calms.
“Gabriel said Simon ran her through with the Tailor’s Sword,” Tailor is saying behind me. “It was made for killing immortals. But I never really thought about how it worked. My father said something about it severing the connection with their souls, removing it...”
“Below,” Destin says, speaking up for the first time.
I turn - he’s looking at Gohei, who’s pointing down.
Tailor makes a move to approach the man, but the imp hisses at him, and Tailor stays where he is. “You know what the sword does?” he asks, intent.
Gohei gives a light shrug, as if to say, Of course.
“Then tell us!” I say, but he points to his neck and quirks an eyebrow.
“Oh for the love of...” Bea says, rummaging in a drawer and handing him a pad of paper and a pencil. He regards the writing utensil with curiosity, but proceeds to scribble out a response. He hands the pad back to her and she reads aloud, “Immortal bodies are indestructible. In order to combat us, the Tailors forged a weapon that would sever our souls, sending them Below.”
“Below?” I repeat.
Again, he points down.
“What, like hell?” I exclaim. I look at Jul’s impassive face. She can’t seriously be in hell.
“It’s been called a lot of things,” Bea said, looking at her as well. “That’s probably the least accurate. Probably.”
Camille stands, expression stony. “Alright,” she says. “So how do we get her back?”
Epilogue
Rhys
What was the point?
I sat in my room, staring at the mirror. When I’d come to, in the orchard, there had been Jul’s body lying beside me and the mirror to the Tower, surface marred with spidery cracks. I’d never been able to move it before - or I would have ages ago - but now that it was broken whatever had held it in place was gone. I’d carried it away with me and brought it home. No one would get into my mirror ever again. I traced one of the silver roses with my finger.
But what was the point?
I was going to bring her the journal. I’d thought that handing over the stupid thing would suffice to mend fences between us. That’s why I’d gone back to the Tower, to retrieve it. I pulled it out of the interior of my jacket now, looking at the inscription embossed inside the cover. Kyra. Her mother’s journal, she’d said. It had brought her to me, and I’d...
Well.
It took the greatest focus to manipulate glass - I often centered my thoughts on an endless expanse of calm ocean. Me, alone, with nothing but tranquility on every horizon. But the ocean was dark now, and the sky overcast.
It seemed ridiculous that I should be this distraught. She was one girl. I barely knew her.
I barely knew anyone, and it had never bothered me before.
And yet, I couldn’t stop feeling this immense sense of loss. And guilt. The ocean in my mind began to churn. If only I hadn’t been so...if I hadn’t locked her out in the first place...
I paced around my room. My bed looked too much like the one that had burned in the Tower. The bookshelves around me that rose from floor to ceiling felt oppressive, looming. Full of research I had yet to do. This was what I had wanted. A clear path to the throne, that was all that mattered. Anything else was a distraction.
I shoved a stack of books, and they crashed to the floor. Gods help me, I wanted Jul to distract me. I was alone, with nothing on the horizon. No way to tell north from south. I’d had bearings, before. But what was the point?
Turning to the mirror behind me, I reached out to trace the cracks with my fingers. I’d lo
st Jul. I’d lost the Tower.
Because of that man... Lightning crackled over the ocean. My teeth ground together, thinking of Simon Graham. Maybe I couldn’t have Jul back, but I could avenge her. If I could find a way to make my powers work here, outside the mirror, I could destroy him. I’d lost the library in the Tower, but perhaps something in this journal -
I heard a soft hiss, like papers rustling. I looked around - there couldn’t be wind in my room.
“...ss”
On edge, I spun, searching for the source. “Who’s there?” I demanded.
“...yss...”
I strained to listen, perfectly still.
“Rhys?” the quiet voice said. “Rhys, is that you?”
I stared wide-eyed at the broken mirror. The cracks obscured it, but the face was unmistakable. Her perfect, delicate face - her plush lips and her wide dark eyes, eyes I could lose myself forever in.
“Rhys, help me,” Jul begged, her voice sounding hazy and far away. “You have to get me out of here!”
There was a lighthouse, a beacon in the distance. I could swim for it.
“I will,” I told her. “I will, I swear.”
To be continued...
the denizens of Havenwood will return in
The Dragon - Archetype Book 2
Special Thanks
to my parents - for cheering me on every step of the way
to my brothers, Bill, David, and John - for family games, LAN parties, and random events of great importance
to Ashley, Ben, and Sam - for not strangling me for talking about my stupid book all the time
to The Guys - for speaking my language
to my guildies at Runesong - for putting up with your purplething’s extended leave of absence
and some extra thanks to a few people whose creations never cease to inspire me:
Joss Whedon, Felicia Day, Wil Wheaton, Kim Harrison, J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman, Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer.
Please never stop making things.
and of course, to you, for reading this. Thanks for vacationing in my world.
Aine Crabtree
is the creator / earth mother goddess of an alternate universe, where the good are sacrificed upon the Altar of Cliffhangers and the wicked flourish to prolong the dramatic tension. She has spent most of her life waiting to be recruited by the X-Men. Superpowers include uncanny recognition of voices, perfect recall of every Venture Bros. episode, and the ability to eat all of the sushi.
Aine lives in Huntsville, Alabama with Spike, the world’s cutest kitten.
This is her first novel, and boy, did she take her sweet time.
Follow along with the voices in her head:
ainecrabtree.com
archetypeseries.com
@ainecrabtree
The Thief and the Archetype series are copyright © 2013 by Aine Crabtree.
Published by MJ Lane Publishing, LLC
Cover created by John Crabtree at designbycrabtree.com
The Thief is a work of fiction and Havenwood is not a real place. Any similarities in this book to persons or locations fictional or living is unintentional, so please don’t throw things at the author.
Table of Contents
The Thief
Midpoint
The Thief Page 29
