by Cory Barclay
“I know, I know.” Dave waved Steve off. “I’ll tell her when everyone’s gone. I dunno how she’ll take it yet.”
Shannon’s voice from the kitchen: “Honey, breakfast is ready. Is Steve staying for bacon and eggs?”
Dale called over shoulder, “Yeah, baby—”
“No,” Steve yelled. “Thanks so much for the invite, though, Shannon. I’m heading out.”
Dale threw his head back, mock offended, his mouth agape.
Steve thought he heard Shannon mutter from the kitchen, “It wasn’t an invite,” but he couldn’t be sure. He said, “There you go. We’re all gone. Now is your chance.” He turned to leave, not sure where he was going to go.
“Hey,” Dale called out.
Steve turned around.
“Take that bum with you.” Dale motioned to the couch. “Unless he wants to start paying rent, he’s slept on my couch long enough.”
Steve chuckled. He saw the irony of Dale calling it “his” couch and asking for rent. He was pretty sure Dale was freeloading, and it definitely wasn’t his couch. “Right-o,” he said, eyeing Shepherd, who was currently scratching his nether regions in a sleepy stupor.
Steve screwed up his face and turned away. There was a stench of beer and some other sickly smell emanating from Shepherd. It made Steve self-conscious. He lifted his arm, sniffed his armpit, and recoiled.
“Shit,” he said to himself. “I’m ripe.”
He got a bright idea and walked back to the kitchen, popping his head around the wall. He was trying to give the impression he was on his way out.
Dale had his back turned, and somewhere on the other side of him was Shannon, lost in his large embrace.
“Sorry to bother,” he said, drawing a scowl from Dale as he separated from his girl. “Mind if I use the shower before I head out? I’ll be quick.”
Dale’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to tell Steve something, but it didn’t take. He made a few deliberate gestures with his eyebrows and eyes: glancing at Shannon, then glancing at the bedroom on the other side of the kitchen.
Steve got the meaning that time. Dale wanted to occupy the bedroom, and therefore the bathroom. He pretended like he didn’t understand. He tilted his head and put on a confused face.
Exasperated, Dale sighed. “Oh, fine, dammit. But hurry up.”
Steve snapped his fingers and gave Dale the ol’ finger gun salute and his most disarming smile. “Thanks, Fats.”
He marched through the kitchen, past the lovebirds, and disappeared into Shannon’s room. He made sure to keep his eyes on the ground, not on the bras scattered on the bed, as he made his way to the bathroom.
Inside, he peeled his clothes off and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked ragged: black bags under his red-rimmed eyes; pale, sallow skin; prominent crow’s feet starting to show . . .
Where is all this coming from? I don’t even drink anymore!
For whatever reason, it seemed like his body had physically taken a toll over the last few days.
A dark thought clouded his mind. Could it be the dream-leaping? Is that sapping my energy? I do always wake up with a massive headache after one of my escapades . . .
He ran a hand through his hair, picking out a couple grays, and turned on the shower. He stepped under the soothing hot water, sighed comfortably, and closed his eyes.
HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN thinking about dream-leaping before closing his eyes would lead him right there. The problem was that Ethereus and Mythicus were always on his mind these days. It was making his erratic leaping even worse.
Just when he thought he was starting to get control over his power, it threw him a curve ball.
He was in a forest, surrounded by trees and the constant humming of insects and other life.
He was disembodied again—staring out from someone else’s eyes. It startled him as much as it did the first time.
Where the hell . . .
“Ahh!” the body’s voice cried. As alarming as it was for Steve to be in someone else’s shoes, he could only imagine the terror a person must feel hearing a different voice in his head.
In this case, Steve found he inhabited someone else’s tiny shoes.
“Stop doing this, wafer-man!” Lig said out loud.
I don’t know how!
The person Lig followed spun around with a scowl on her face. Pua Kila was stalking through the woods, and Lig’s cry for help was apparently not appreciated.
“Quiet, little one,” Pua Kila rebuked. “We are close now.”
She followed paw prints in the dirt and undergrowth, stopping every few feet to inspect them. She touched and prodded the prints, as if trying to figure out how recent they had been planted.
“Sorry, sorry,” Lig whispered. “An acquaintance of mine has decided to show up, unannounced.”
Pua Kila gave him a strange look. Even for a forest dweller—connected to the trees and nature and spirits—Lig’s words seemed to make little sense.
The Nawao warrior continued on, Lig in hot pursuit. They passed a clearing with a small pond, bounded over a mossy hill, and still followed the tracks.
Steve didn’t recognize where they were. He knew the forest surrounding the Lee and Reynolds houses was vast. They seemed deeply entrenched, as if Lig and Pua Kila had been traveling through the woods all night.
“We have been,” Lig said in a low, tired voice.
What are you looking for?
“Your wolf friend.”
Fuscia?
Lig nodded.
Pua Kila had decided to ignore her companion’s mutterings.
Why?
“Long story. The short story is because Master Constantin asked her to, in return for him watching over her people.”
The Nawao are staying with the Lees? I thought they were hunted down by the blackguards after the wedding.
“You’ve missed quite a lot in your absence, wafer-man. But you can’t pop in my head and expect answers whenever you feel like it. Shh.” He put a finger over his lips to enunciate the “shh,” and Pua Kila gave him another strange look.
One more question. How’s Annabel?
Steve could tell Lig wanted to lie and say “fine.” He could tell because he could practically read Lig’s thoughts as they were forming. It was a strange feeling, learning the thought process of a different person and understanding how their mind worked. In this case, it was a very different mind than Steve’s.
So, Lig didn’t lie. “I don’t know,” he said. “She is staying with the Reynoldses.”
Steve flashed with anger, sending a spike of red pain through Lig’s mind.
“Ow,” the brownie said.
Sorry.
They continued on in quiet for a time, until Steve could hear running water in the distance. Pua Kila held up a fist and stopped the procession. She gingerly parted a few tree branches and peered through. A smile formed on her face and without a word she nodded to Lig.
Lig ambled up beside her, went on his tiptoes, and gazed through the hole.
Steve could see a hill in the distance with a shallow cave carved out of it. A small waterfall spilled over the summit of the hill and the opening of the cave. A wolf was perched on a fallen tree trunk next to the waterfall, sipping water from the pond.
Without anymore hesitation, Pua Kila pushed past the trees and came into the clearing.
The wolf’s head jumped and turned to Pua Kila like a deer in the headlights.
Pua Kila raised her hands in surrender. “Sacred animal of the woods, I am not here to harm you. I am Nawao, a sacred animal of the woods as well.”
The wolf backpedaled as Pua Kila walked toward it. Then it went low on its haunches, sticking its head down aggressively.
At seeing the wolf’s stance, Pua Kila stopped walking. Her hands were still held in the sky.
“I have come on behalf of Annabel Lee, noble one.”
The wolf whimpered and relaxed. The mention of Annabel Lee was instantly recognized.
That’s her.
Lig opened his mouth to chastise Steve, but decided the moment was too important to ruin with words. He didn’t want to scare away the wolf. He crept out of the woods with his hands on his stomach, the epitome of non-aggression. The wolf’s yellow eyes flashed over to him.
“He is a friend, noble one, and a friend of Annabel’s,” Pua Kila assured the wolf. “Fuscia, we need your help. For Charles.”
At the mention of Charles, Fuscia whined. It was a low, soft howl, but Steve could feel the pain and sadness within it.
Pua Kila took another step forward. This time, Fuscia was not so flighty. The wolf hopped off the tree trunk, splashed through the pond, and came before Pua Kila. She nestled her head against the Nawao’s legs.
Pua Kila smiled and petted the wolf.
Were you followed? a voice asked in Lig’s head. It was a female voice, and when Lig looked at the wolf with a startled expression, Fuscia stared back at him.
No, Steve said, somehow using Lig’s body as a conduit to communicate with the wolf-woman.
It was not smart for you to come here, Fuscia replied in Lig’s mind.
“Why not?” Lig asked.
Pua Kila furrowed her brow and turned to the brownie. “Excuse me?”
Scratching the back of his neck, Lig said, “I don’t know how to explain this. She is talking to me—well, not me, but she’s talking to the other person in my head.”
Pua Kila said, “The one you’ve been muttering to this whole time?” She didn’t seem too surprised.
Lig nodded. “It’s Steve Remington.”
Pua Kila’s eyes lit up. “Koa Steve!”
I have secluded myself so the evil ones cannot find me. If people followed you, my hideaway is doomed, and so is the Watcher’s home, Fuscia said through Lig.
The Watcher? Steve asked, confused.
Lig looked past the wolf and his heart lurched. Through the thin waterfall, he could make out a shape on the other side—a humanoid standing at the mouth of the cave.
Jesus Christ! Steve cried out when he noticed the person in the waterfall.
“Who is that?” Lig asked, his eyes growing huge.
Pua Kila followed his eyes and stifled a gasp. She instinctively reached behind her, where she kept her quarterstaff on her back.
Fuscia growled at her and Pua Kila pulled her hand away, without making any sudden movements.
The Spirit Watcher, as I just said, Fuscia informed them.
“W-What . . . does it want?” Lig asked.
She wants nothing, brownie. She simply . . . watches.
Lig gulped.
Tell me of your woes, then be on your way, Fuscia said.
“Fuscia wants to know what we want,” Lig said to Pua Kila.
The Nawao woman nodded. “Constantin and Mariana Lee wish to know the whereabouts of their son. Lady Mariana holds out hope he’s alive, Lord Constantin is more skeptical, and Lig says he knows Charles is dead. So, you see, we have a predicament.”
The brownie is correct. Fuscia lowered her head and whimpered again. Lig reached out and ran a hand over her coarse fur, rubbing behind an ear.
“She says . . . I’m right,” Lig said. It was not lost on him how self-righteous that came out, or sounded.
Pua Kila narrowed her eyes. “How can I be sure she is actually speaking to you? What if this is all a ruse you’ve set—”
Fuscia snapped her head up and bared her sharp teeth, growling at the Nawao woman.
Pua Kila had the presence of mind to raise her hands and take a step back. “Very well. Never mind.”
Is there anything else? Fuscia asked.
“Is there anything else?” Lig asked.
“Yes,” Pua Kila began. “The Lees wish to know the whereabouts of their son—alive or dead.”
That . . . is simple, Fuscia said. The wolf nudged her nose back toward the cave, waterfall, and mysterious woman. The evil ones carried his body here, from their house. I followed them. They buried him in the cave. I have stood watch since that day, and shortly after, the Watcher came.
Lig relayed the message to Pua Kila.
Through the entire conversation, Steve hadn’t torn his eyes away from the waterfall. He stared at the Spirit Watcher, through the mesmerizing, rippling water, and wondered who she could be.
Why is she here? he asked.
I do not know, Fuscia said. She has only told me that important events are imminent. She says she must be here to witness them.
Steve pondered that, but said no more.
Pua Kila was not privy to the internal conversation they were having. She said, “Excuse me for being indelicate, but if the evil ones—the Reynoldses—were trying to dispose of Charles Lee’s body, why would they bury him? He could be discovered that way. Why would they not just burn him?”
Perhaps it is against their moral code, Fuscia said, as twisted as their compass might be.
Lig repeated what Fuscia was saying in his mind. He had a strange inkling that, were it not for Steve also occupying his mind, he would be deaf to Fuscia’s words.
Pua Kila nodded. “Very well. Thank you, noble one.” She hesitated with what she had to say next. After shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she sighed. “I’m afraid we must . . . exhume the body. Constantin and Mariana Lee demand to see their son. Then they will take action.”
Fuscia growled at the Nawao woman.
Please, Fuscia, Steve said. He didn’t even know what Constantin and Mariana were planning. He thought it might have something to do with helping Annabel, and that’s all he cared about.
“If it is any consolation,” Pua Kila added, “this discovery will help bring about the end of the evil ones. You will have your vengeance.”
No, you will exact revenge for me. It’s not the same, Fuscia replied.
The end result will be the same, Steve assured her.
A long, tense pause followed.
Fine, Fuscia said, but I will go with you. Anywhere my Charles goes, I go. Then I will see the faces of my enemy and exact my own vengeance.
“One condition,” Lig said to Pua Kila. “She goes with us.”
“Very well,” Pua Kila said.
They all headed toward the waterfall. Lig was a bit more hesitant than the wolf and the Nawao.
When they got close, the shape of the Spirit Watcher became more pronounced. The corners of Steve’s vision started to dull and then blacken.
Steve felt he was losing his connection to Lig.
H-How?
Before he lost everything, he said, Lig, I’ve come here for a reason. Before I . . . before I go, I have an urgent message for you to relay to Annabel next time you see her.
As the trio came to the side of the waterfall, Steve spoke in Lig’s mind. He told the brownie the importance of the message. At the waterfall, the Watcher turned to them. She wore a white dress, much like Annabel wore, but with a thick black veil covering her face completely.
Steve could see strands of blonde hair sticking out from under the veil.
The Watcher said nothing and hardly moved. Her masked face turned to Pua Kila. Even the fearless Nawao queen seemed unnerved for a moment. Then the Watcher glanced at Fuscia.
Finally, the Watcher turned her shapeless black veil on Lig.
Steve felt a strange sensation as he saw the sculpted outline of the face underneath the veil. The sensation overpowered him and he felt himself losing control.
The Watcher pointed a thin finger at Lig, her long nail almost touching his face.
The pointed finger seemed to spear right through Lig and tear into Steve’s soul.
He fought, but then cried out in Lig’s mind and his reality twisted.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER TEN
That morning, Overseer Malachite called an emergency meeting of the Brethren Council. Constantin Lee frowned as he read the letter in his study, then shooed the messenger away. He had been ready to go to bed before the messenger arrived. But
the letter was marked with the seal of the Overseer. So, he would have to stay up.
With all that was going on, Constantin feared an ambush. His daughter had been married to the Reynolds’ despicable son. Pua Kila and Lig had been sent to find his lost son. This was the first invitation the Council had sent for him and his wife since joining the ranks of the Brethren. He didn’t feel excited, as he thought he might have. Instead, he felt worried he’d made a terrible mistake in “allying” his family with the Reynoldses.
As these thoughts plagued his mind, he looked up at the stained-glass window on the far side of the room. The sun beamed pink and green and blue light onto the hardwood floor. He made sure his entire body was far from the sunny patch, lest he meet a fiery end.
He stood from his chair, folded the letter, and placed it in a pocket inside his tunic. He went to retrieve his best overcoat, hooded cloak, gloves, and umbrella. It would take at least three hours to ride the 75 miles to Malachite’s Northern Soreltris estate. He knew he and Mariana would need to get moving soon.
He felt naked leaving his house empty. Usually, at the very least, Lig was there to watch over things while he and Mariana were away or asleep. But there was nothing to be done.
He left the library and made his way up the stairs, glancing into Annabel’s empty bedroom as he walked by. Sadness and longing filled him as he peeked inside the room, left as though she would appear at any minute. The black curtains were drawn, her velvet purple bed sheet disheveled and unmade. But alas, she was with Tiberius Reynolds, as requested by the boy’s parents. In Constantin’s mind, she was a hostage, kept away from the Lees to get them to do the Reynolds’ bidding.
The marriage proposal had been years in the making. Now that it had happened, Constantin regretted it. He was cold, but he wasn’t heartless. Well, he was heartless, in a sense, but he felt sympathetic to his daughter’s dilemma.
He shut the door and exited, eager to rid the dismal thoughts from his mind. He came to his and Mariana’s bedroom and cracked open the door. Mariana was lying on their bed, sleeping on her back. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked like a dead body.
