Mythbound Trilogy Boxed Set

by Cory Barclay

  Then the carriage door opened and Steve found he was holding his breath.

  A white-robed man gingerly stepped from the carriage onto the grass. He took his place at the front of the procession, between the two groups at the top of the walkway. His robe was bright, clean, and fancy. He didn’t look like the pope, but Steve wondered who this priest was—and what he was doing at a wedding between Mythic families.

  Could the Lees or Reynoldses be Christian? he wondered, stupefied.

  “Is that the Overseer?” he asked quietly, turning his gaze to Geddon for clarification.

  Geddon shook his head.

  Before Steve could think anymore on what a strange sight it was to see a priest on Mythicus, murmurs broke out among the crowd.

  Tiberius Reynolds walked into view from the other side of the house. He appeared through the shadows like an apparition. Dressed handsomely, he wore a tuxedo that might have been common in any high-class wedding from Steve’s home plane. His dark hair was oiled and slicked back. He had a slight, impudent grin on his face, jutting his cleft chin in self-satisfaction.

  He stood in front of the priest, his hands clasped behind his back in deference.

  A moment later, the murmurs in the crowd grew louder, and everyone turned around. Steve could finally see the faces of the Councilors. They were faces he hoped to burn into his memory forever.

  Annabel was coming down the walkway.

  She looked gorgeous, in a simple white gown that was reminiscent of the white dresses she already wore on a daily basis. Except this one was made for a special occasion and was much more lavish. The wispy train dragged and fluttered as she meandered down the aisle, drawing the eyes of all the people on both sides of the walkway.

  She wore a veil and people were leaning over to try to see her face.

  Steve realized many of the people in this crowd had probably never laid eyes on the girl. It brought a moment of heated fury, that this was so obviously a political marriage rather than one of love.

  Even her body language was depressing as she put one foot in front of the other.

  When she came to stand beside Tiberius, she didn’t even glance at him. She stared straight ahead, at the priest, who pulled a book out from under his robe.

  He recited from the book and his voice carried through the air and into the trees where Steve sat, at his wits’ end.

  He realized after a few moments that the priest wasn’t reading from a Bible. Whatever denomination he was from, it wasn’t Christianity.

  It didn’t matter. Steve could hardly hear what the priest was saying—not for lack of trying—because he was so focused on Annabel and on making his move.

  His hands trembled.

  Then he felt calm, warm hands close around his to stop his shaking. Selestria was beside him, nodding at the proceedings.

  It seemed like she was the only one who gave a single shit about Steve’s predicament. Probably because she, too, had been in love once, and maybe in the past she’d faced something like this with Tetsuo.

  It became clear to Steve that the ominous black carriage behind the priest still had people in it. Every once in a while he saw a blip pass through a window—a body moving—and the mirror kept reflecting light in his face.

  He waited, listening to the priest ramble on about promises and agreements, jurisprudence and covenants.

  Then it happened—and it happened so fast—and Steve knew it was his time to act.

  The priest looked up from his book and said, in a loud, clear voice, “If there’s any reason this couple should not be wed, may they lay their claim now!”

  It wasn’t exactly “speak now or forever hold your peace,” but it was enough to get Steve moving from his hiding spot.

  He stood to his full height, breathed in deeply, and pulled his hands away from Selestria’s. He pushed out from the trees and walked to the edge of the circle.

  “I do!” he cried out as loud as possible.

  In unison, all the faces in the wedding party spun around to see who had spoken.

  The nearest blackguards gripped their spears and bent their knees, leveling their weapons toward him. The closest soldiers were less than five feet from him as he raised his hands in surrender.

  A loud gasp came from the front of the wedding party.

  “Steve!” Annabel cried. When she instinctively moved toward him, Tiberius’ hand lashed out and snatched her wrist. Tiberius had an ungodly scowl on his face and could barely mask his utter rage at seeing Steve come to ruin his wedding.

  “What is this nonsense?” Tiberius yelled. He made a motion with his eyes and the blackguards slowly started moving toward Steve.

  “Tiberius, no, I beg of you!” Annabel shrieked.

  But Annabel’s husband-to-be was having none of it. He made a sliding motion with his hand and said, “Get rid of this pest!”

  Steve took a step back toward the trees, thinking he might have miscalculated and seriously fucked up his timing.

  Then Geddon, Barns, Selestria, and Aiden appeared from their individual hiding spots, emerging from the wall of trees.

  The blackguards spread out, confused. They backed toward the wedding congregation, their weapons pointed at the newcomers. Their eyes darted all around, to make sure more people weren’t coming out of the woodwork.

  “Not so fast, Tiberius Reynolds!” Geddon yelled, his arms going high in a flourish. “Before you act rashly, you will listen to Mister Remington!”

  Jareth and Dosira Reynolds jumped to their feet. But they did not stare at Steve and his comrades. Instead, they glared daggers across the way, at Constantin and Mariana Lee.

  “What is this charade, Constantin?” Jareth growled, clenching a fist.

  Constantin stood, his umbrella nearly falling from his hand. “I haven’t a clue, Jareth. I promise you.”

  “Bull—”

  Steve pointed a finger at Jareth Reynolds. “I come to speak an ugly truth—one that has been hidden from you all!”

  All the wedding watchers glanced at each other with befuddled expressions. If nothing else, Steve was doing a great job of drumming up chaos. A wave of mumbles swept through the crowd on both sides of the aisle.

  “It is a truth that directly affects you, most of all,” Steve said, his finger pointing again.

  Constantin furrowed his brow and glanced behind him, but saw only the carriage and the wall of the house. He pointed at himself and said, “Me?”

  “And your wife,” Steve added, “and my Annabel.”

  Tiberius roared, “She isn’t yours, you goddamn—”

  “Quiet, boy!” Constantin screamed. The sudden anger from the perpetually cool vampire was enough to shut the groom up. “Before we decide to kill this man or not for impeding on this sacred ceremony, I will hear him out.”

  Steve’s breathing quickened. His throat went dry, like a river clogged by a sandstorm. His finger moved from Constantin to Jareth Reynolds.

  “Annabel, my love, this man is responsible for sending away the man you once loved. He stole your Edgar away from you and sent him to Terrus. I want to clear up that it was not your parents who did that. I’ve done some investigating . . .” he trailed off as Jareth’s eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t try to deny it!” Steve spat.

  Jareth tilted his head in confusion. “I . . . don’t.”

  Steve was ready to continue his barrage, but when Jareth quickly confirmed Steve’s accusation, it caught him off-guard. “You don’t?”

  Jareth shrugged. “That was over a hundred and fifty years ago.” He seemed entirely uninterested.

  “Is that what you’ve come here to say, boy?” Constantin asked through gritted teeth.

  Steve’s mouth fell open and his eyes went off in a daze.

  “Steve?” Selestria whispered from behind him.

  “Steve?” Annabel cried out, waiting to hear from him. Her hands were clasped in front of her, as if she were praying.

  Steve sh
ook his head. “N-No, that is not all!”

  The members of the congregation groaned in unison. It was clear Steve had blundered and was losing them.

  Maybe I should have saved that for a private conversation with Bel, he thought.

  Before he could think any longer on it, he saw a blackguard twitch and angle toward him. He thrust his finger back at the crowd. This time, though, he pointed at Tiberius Reynolds. The man of the hour.

  “Annabel, the real reason I’ve come here is to say that this man . . . this monster . . .”

  He paused for dramatic effect, drawing a dark gaze from Tiberius and the rest of the Reynolds family—except for Emilene, who simply yawned.

  “Yes?” Annabel coaxed.

  Steve cleared his throat. “The reason your brother is not at your wedding today is because he is dead, Bel. I’m so sorry, but this man killed him.”

  The congregation gasped. A few hands flew to mouths.

  Annabel’s face sank and her arms fell to her sides. With her mouth slightly ajar in disbelief, she spoke in a small voice.

  “C-Charles?”

  Steve nodded solemnly. He glanced at the Reynolds family: Tiberius, Jareth, and Dosira looked completely baffled. His eyes drifted to the other side of the aisle. Constantin and Mariana locked eyes on the Reynoldses, their absolute fury beginning to boil over.

  Steve watched Annabel’s face break apart and his heart ached for her. But his voice was strong and steady.

  “Your brother, Charles, is a werewolf,” Steve said.

  Annabel choked back a sob and nodded.

  “He is the reason you sometimes go venturing into the woods—because you wish to see him?”

  Annabel nodded again, more vigorously.

  “And when was the last time you saw him?”

  Annabel thought for a moment. “More than two weeks ago. I figured he’d run off, like he usually does, to be with nature . . . where he’s most comfortable . . .”

  Steve shook his head. “He had found a lover, Bel. That’s why he’d run off. To be with her.”

  Constantin glared at him. “How do you know all this, boy?”

  “Because I met his lover and I was there,” Steve said with a sigh. “During the hunt with Tiberius and Jareth Reynolds—a hunt meant to kill whatever creature was stalking their livestock.”

  “And he was trying to kill our livestock!” Tiberius cried out in disbelief. He immediately regretted speaking out: he cowered as Constantin’s savage gaze fell on him.

  “Tiberius bagged a wolf, and later that night it . . . morphed . . . into a brown-bearded man.”

  “How do you know it was Charles?” Constantin asked.

  Steve shook his head. “I won’t betray my sources, sir, but I know. I would not have come all this way to spin a fanciful tale.”

  “Nonsense!” Tiberius cried again, his courage renewed. “That’s exactly what you would do!”

  “If you don’t believe me,” Steve said, raising a hand palm-up, “go check the Reynolds’ basement freezer. It’s located in their kitchen. That’s where the body is kept.”

  Tears streamed down Annabel’s face and Steve could bear it no longer. He took a step forward, but the blackguards’ spears stopped him. He raised his hands. “Bel, I am so sorry.”

  Constantin and Jareth had locked eyes from the opposite sides of the aisle. What had seemed like a cordial marriage—a union between families and a conjoining of alliances—was on the brink of falling apart.

  Jareth spoke first, saying, “Constantin, think before you act. I see the anger in your eyes—”

  “I won’t have my daughter marrying that . . . barbarian!” Constantin growled, pointing at Tiberius.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Jareth spat. His eyes started to glow red, like a smoldering volcano. “Think of all we’ve worked toward, all we’ve prepared for. Will you let one brash action undo all of it?”

  “That action killed my son, you Ifrit bastard!”

  Jareth gritted his teeth and his eyes brightened again. His fingers started to shine a brilliant yellow-orange.

  Dosira Reynolds leaped toward her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her head on his back. The light seemed to die from Jareth’s brightening fingers, like a match thrown into a puddle.

  All eyes were fixated on the goings-on at the front of the congregation.

  “While you’re all deciding what to do with that,” Geddon called out, taking advantage of the situation, “I would like to inform everyone here that you’re all surrounded.”

  The Councilors and nobles in the audience gasped. This time Geddon’s words were enough to make them rise from their seats in alarm. Eyes darted around the trees that circled the space.

  Various Nawao warriors showed themselves for a split second. They appeared from the trees like ghosts before disappearing back into the green. They moved slowly enough to draw eyes to their whereabouts, but quickly enough so no one could react before they were hidden again.

  A voice boomed from inside the carriage:

  “What is the meaning of this?!”

  And the chaotic situation seemed to stand on a precipice. Everyone froze in place, trapped in limbo.

  Steve and his comrades stared at the black carriage.

  “Overseer Malachite!” Geddon cried. “The Vagrant Kinship has come to parley!”

  More gasps flew at mention of the Vagrant Kinship. They were a well-known thorn in the Brethren’s ass. The Councilors huddled around—hoping for protection in numbers, no doubt. A few of them began to look for a means of escape.

  All around them more and more Nawao warriors appeared and then disappeared.

  The blackguards didn’t know where to point their spears or swords.

  “I have not come for bloodshed,” Geddon said in a loud, stern voice, “but rather to talk. I am trying to be the bigger person here. You see, if I wanted bloodshed, I would have ordered my warriors to shoot into your damnable wedding before Steve even had a chance to say anything.”

  Steve narrowed his eyes and glanced at Geddon.

  Geddon refused to meet his gaze. There was a strange look on his face that Steve had never seen before—a humorless, grim expression. He seemed to ignore everyone else around him.

  “So, come out here, Overseer, and speak with me. I’m sure we can come to an amicable agreement!”

  The carriage door creaked open. All the murmurs ceased. Only the sound of crickets and birds escaped the forest.

  A boot descended from the coach.

  The man standing before them was of medium height, with black hair and tanned skin. He wore a simple suit and tie—not something from this world—and a small wooden circlet on the crown of his head.

  He sighed as he stepped onto the grass, then he raised his face and his eyes glared—

  But not at Geddon.

  His eyes honed in on Steve.

  And Steve’s entire world shook. For a long moment, it was as if his mind had splintered in two.

  “Hello, Steven,” the man said.

  Steve’s mouth jaw dropped and he almost fainted.

  “It’s been a while, son.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Steve had to blink multiple times to make sure he was seeing correctly. He knew he was, but still couldn’t believe his eyes. He tried to say something, but only a croaking sound of disbelief escaped his mouth.

  His father stood in front of him. Richard Remington. The man he had helped bury. The man who had supposedly been killed in a car crash. Then Steve had learned from January that he had been killed by a Myth Hunter. Then Annabel had raised the dead and his grave was one of the only ones where a skeleton did not crawl from, because . . .

  That grave must have been empty. He was not dead at all.

  He was alive and well.

  He was prospering on Mythicus, as Overseer Malachite.

  Steve shook his head numbly, his lips dry. He craned his neck, the eerie silence broken by the muttering congregation.
>
  “How?” Steve asked at last, the only word he could muster.

  “It’s a long story, son, and we don’t have the time. Perhaps someday . . .” Richard trailed off as someone behind him climbed down the steps of the carriage. It was a woman with dark, scraggly hair. She was middle-aged but dressed like the Wicked Witch of the West, except with a fair face instead of a green one.

  Steve’s father put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re acquainted with Misty, yes?”

  The woman smiled. Steve could see her eyes were alien and yellow, slitted like a cat’s.

  “You bitch!” Geddon yelled.

  Misty’s smile remained on her face as she shrugged. “And you are a fool, Geddon. A trusting, hapless fool.”

  Geddon took a step forward but Steve put his arm out to stop him. The nearest blackguard poked his spear toward Geddon. He stood there gritting and baring his teeth like an angry dog.

  Everyone’s eyes moved from Overseer Malachite to Steve. Who could this man be, questioning their lord? Who could hold that much power in the eyes of the Overseer?

  “Steve, what’s going on?” Annabel asked for the entire congregation.

  “This is my father, Bel,” Steve said, nudging his chin. The audience gasped, voices rising in consternation.

  “The man you know as Overseer Malachite,” Steve continued, “is actually a human named Richard Remington. He supposedly died months ago, but unfortunately that never happened.”

  Richard leaned his head back like he’d been struck. “Son, you wound me. To wish your own father dead . . .” His face was similar to Steve’s, but with more lines and creases and crow’s feet around the edges of his eyes. Where Steve’s hair was dark brown, Richard’s was peppered with gray.

  “It’s not that I wish you dead,” Steve said. “But when you make the whole family mourn your death—as a hoax—well, I’d rather you stayed dead. It would be easier for everyone.”

  “I had to give the people a reason for my disappearance,” Richard said with a shrug.

  Steve narrowed his eyes.

  “Speaking of family,” Richard added, “how is your brother?”