by Cory Barclay
Pua Kila was nodding, but she seemed apprehensive.
“What’s the problem?” Steve asked when she’d stayed quiet for too long.
Folding her arms over her chest, Pua Kila said, “Can you not dream-leap to your allies and beckon them?”
Steve said, “Yes, and I plan to.” He raised his pointer finger. “But they don’t know the way here.” He raised his middle finger. “They don’t have packhorses to carry the money we need.” He raised his ring finger. “And they don’t have protection.”
Pua Kila nodded again, this time a bit more firmly. “Very well,” she said, “I will do it, Koa Steve. ”
“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head slightly.
“But tell me,” she said, “why do you need so much gold?”
Steve poked his temple. “It’s part of the plan I’m brewing up here.”
Pua Kila smiled.
“When can we expect you at the Lee household?” Steve asked.
Pua Kila turned and peered through the woods. Her head bobbed from side to side. Then she came to a decision.
“From this distance . . . locating them, packing the items, traveling back . . . we’ll have to travel under cover to avoid any blackguards or scouts.” She continued bobbing her head, negotiating with herself. Then her faraway eyes cleared and she turned to Steve. “You can expect us to return by tomorrow evening, or the morning after at the latest.”
“Perfect,” Steve said. He knew he needed time to drum up his plan anyway. It would take quite a bit of convincing, but he was hopeful he’d be able to finagle it.
All it would take were three people who hated him—Constantin Lee, Geddon, and Selestria—to work with him.
“JESUS, STEVE-O, YOU gotta stop doing that!” Dale bellowed, almost falling off his chair.
“I swear you haven’t moved since I last saw you,” Steve said, shaking his head. He stood in Aiden’s library, again, as Dale flipped through a picture spellbook, again.
Dale shrugged. “You said you’d be here by now, but judging by your creepy, incognito approach, I’m guessing you’re not.”
Steve shook his head.
“So, you’re a ghost again?”
Steve shook his head again. Ignoring that question, he said, “Someone else is coming for you, though.”
Dale slammed the book shut and brought it up to his chest. His face was a picture of abject terror.
Steve pressed his palms out. “Don’t worry, man, they’re friends. You won’t be murdered.”
Dale let the book fall to his lap. He stood up and threw the book down on the chair. He walked out of the library and Steve followed him. They walked down a lavish hallway, over a red carpet, and came into the marble-tiled kitchen.
Shepherd and Scarlet were standing in the kitchen, their faces mere inches apart. Shepherd said something and Scarlet giggled. She leaned forward and stole a kiss from the rugged, former blackguard.
Shepherd had let his graying beard grow in the time since Steve had last seen him. He looked even more homeless than before, if that was possible. But his bushy hair wasn’t as unkempt as before, so it seemed he’d at least showered.
In fact, both his and Scarlet’s hair were wet.
Steve guessed the succubus and blackguard had enjoyed a recent bath together. My, how close they’ve become in such a short time, he thought.
“I know,” Dale said with a chuckle, intercepting Steve’s inner monologue.
At the sound of his voice, Scarlet and Shepherd spun around. The succubus pushed herself away from the blackguard. She looked legitimately surprised to see Dale.
“You’ve emerged from your lair,” Scarlet said, frowning. “Come for more mead?”
“I think I finished it off earlier today,” Dale said.
“Who were you talking to?” Shepherd asked, arching a single eyebrow. “I hope you’re not talking to yourself.”
“No, Shep, I’ll leave the solo dialoguing to you, my friend.”
Shepherd frowned.
Dale ignored the man’s offended expression and turned to Steve, who stood in the doorway. “Steve’s here,” Dale announced with a smile.
Shepherd and Scarlet both squinted and looked past Dale.
“Where?” Scarlet asked.
Steve said, “I’m in your Ethereus plane, Fats, not theirs. They can’t see me unless I allow them to—or unless they’re skilled in the ways of dream-leaping.”
Dale scoffed and air-quoted: “The ways of dream-leaping. Jesus, man, you sound like Bruce Lee or something. Have you become the water?”
Steve furrowed his brow. He didn’t know what Dale meant by that, and he was taken aback that Dale would respond so ruthlessly. He realized Dale was probably angrier at him than he was letting on, for abandoning him at Aiden’s house.
“Ask him what the hell is taking him so long,” Shepherd said.
“Pua Kila will be there by the morning,” Steve said. “She’ll be with Nawao warriors to protect you, and horses to carry the gold. Do you have it all packed?”
“Of course,” Dale said. “It’s been packed since we got here. Why aren’t you coming with her?”
“I have other things I need to do, man. Plans that need to be set into motion. That sort of thing.”
“Is this about Annabel?”
Steve sighed. “Isn’t it always?”
“You’re hopeless, man.”
“Wouldn’t you do the same thing for Shannon?”
Dale reddened and looked away. “What does she look like, this Poo Poo Killer?”
“Like a little Hawaiian woman. But you’d better learn her name correctly. It’s Pua Kila. Say it with me: P-U-A—”
“Oh, fuck off,” Dale said in mock exasperation, flapping his hand at Steve. “Don’t you have things to do?”
Steve smiled and nodded. “I’ll see you soon, Fats.”
STEVE AWOKE AND IMMEDIATELY went for a skin of water that hung from the saddle of the nearest horse. The sky was turning pale and gray, indicative of daytime fast approaching. He was leaning against a rock in the clearing with the pond, the one he recognized.
Aiden was refilling a skin of water in the pond. When he heard Steve jerk away, he turned and said, “Well, are we ready to move? Dawn’s almost here, lad. The vampires will be sleeping soon.”
“Shit,” Steve said. He hadn’t thought about that. Oh well, he thought. I can still make moves with Geddon and Selestria until Constantin is awake. That is if I can speak with Geddon without trying to kill him . . .
“Not quite,” Steve said, shaking his head. His thoughts cleared and he took a deep breath, taking in the crisp, forest air.
He steeled himself, wrapped his arms around his chest, and said, “There’s one more thing I have to do. I won’t be long.”
Aiden sighed, lifted the skin of water from the pond, and said, “Dammit, man.” He turned to Steve, but Steve’s head was already resting against the rock and his eyes were closed.
Steve’s mind swirled through a dark web of tunnels, like a blood cell traveling through a main artery. He twisted and turned and seemed to be swimming in the cosmos, unaware of space or time or direction. As his mind narrowed and tried to grasp at bits of information on this strange highway, he saw the piece he was looking for—a light at the end of the tunnel. He willed his mind to go in that direction, and as the light drew nearer, it grew bigger . . .
Then he was on the other side of the light.
He stood in a small, dark room. He’d been here before, but it still came as a sudden shock to him. The room was filthy, cold, and damp. He hoped it was only Ethereus that was so cold, that the cell in Mythicus was room temperature. But when he looked down at a figure in the shadows, he could see a puff of breath coming from his mouth.
“Is that you, Steve?” the voice croaked from the shadows.
Steve recognized the voice. He frowned as his heart sank. “Yes, father, it’s me,” he said. His mother hadn’t been lying: Richard sounded like shit, like he w
as weak and not going to last much longer.
Rather than try standing up, the former Overseer scooted out of the shadows, but remained resting against the wall. When he came into the dim light, Steve yelped. He was appalled at what he saw.
Richard Remington was a shell of his former self—gaunt, his skin weathered and crackling. He had been a robust man a few days before. Now all that former muscle and sinew sagged from his bones like ribs on a hot grill. His eyes were yellow, the rims bloodshot, and his face was sallow and sickly. His thick salt-and-pepper hair seemed to be falling out in patches, covering the ground.
Steve almost couldn’t bear to see his father like that. He looked like a dead man that had been recently exhumed from a gravesite. Steve almost wished he’d stayed dead.
“What the hell happened to you, dad?” Steve asked, his voice soft and sad.
Richard chuckled, a raspy, weak sound. “My stupid decisions and shitty deeds have finally caught up to me, son. It seems I am not long for this world . . .”
Steve creased his brow. In a low voice, he said, “That’s what mothe—I mean. Never mind. I feel like I’ve heard that before.”
Richard looked up at his son, squinting against the dim light. Terrified wonder plagued his face. “Why have you come, son? Not that I’m angry you did.”
“I wanted to . . . say goodbye. I guess.”
Richard’s face sunk—if it was possible to sink more than it naturally already had. He said, “I guess you won’t be joining me when I retrieve my throne, then?”
Steve leaned against the wall across from his father and lowered himself until he was sitting. He shook his head and sighed. He’s riddled with delusions now . . . great—
“They’re not delusions!” Richard snapped. His eyes bulged wildly, like he was lost. Then his body deflated and he fell back into a heap against the wall. He coughed, spat on the ground next to him, and sighed.
Steve saw that the phlegm was dark and thick, as if his father had spit out part of his own being.
He desperately wanted to change the subject. He almost wanted to bring up his mother, but knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t even think about her, lest Richard read his thoughts. So, he said, “Who did this to you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, son.”
“Try me.”
Richard breathed raggedly. He caught his breath and nodded. “It was that cold bitch, Dosira. I’ve always had a weakness for powerful, beautiful women, haven’t I?”
Steve realized he’d found an in to talk about his mother, if only in passing. He said, “I guess mom was never good enough for you, huh?”
Richard bared yellow teeth and chuckled. “Your mother was the only woman who ever scared me. Did you know that?” He looked away and shook his head. “I suppose I should have been more cautious and attentive of the other women I surrounded myself with . . .”
“Are you talking about Dosira Reynolds?” Steve asked dumbly once his father trailed off. He couldn’t believe she could have had something to do with his father’s dreadful state.
Richard nodded. He paused, and the silence built. For a moment, Steve wasn’t sure if his father was still breathing. He couldn’t open his mouth, from fear, and when he finally found the courage, Richard’s lulling head popped up.
“She stole my soul, son. I don’t know how—” he broke into a cackle and leaned his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “Who am I fooling? Of course I know how. She fucked it out of me. I just didn’t know she could do that. I guess I should’ve expected something like that from these damn Mythics . . .”
Steve pursed his lips. “I’d heard of something like that. But I’d also heard it was only a folktale.” Shepherd had said something about undines—Dosira’s race—copulating with humans to steal their soul. And with that human soul, they could become immortal.
Something clicked in Steve’s mind. His eyebrows jumped as a look of shock overcame him.
“What is it?”
Steve didn’t want to torment his father with more pain, but he figured he had a right to know, especially in his dying days.
“Do you think that’s why they kept you on the throne for so long?” Steve asked, gently as possible. He knew the words would likely raise the ire of his father.
But, surprisingly, Richard simply sighed. He’d given up. He was defeated, and that was even more painful to see. Steve missed the raging, unruly temper he used to show. At least then he’d shown a spark of life.
“I suspect so,” Richard said. “It seems Jareth could have taken over anytime he wanted.” He ran a hand across his chin, which made a sound like wood going over sandpaper. “Then again, he didn’t have the votes to overthrow me until the Lees’ recent rise in the nobility . . .”
“Maybe this was happenstance, then,” Steve said.
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.”
Another pause followed, and Steve felt like he was out of things to say. He knew there was nothing he could do to comfort his father. With his soul gone, his body would wither away. He quite possibly even deserved it, but Steve still felt his heart breaking. It was his father, after all. Even with the baggage from years past, he knew he’d never be the same when he left this room.
So he stayed as long as possible. Even though it was painful to witness.
In fact, Richard seemed to be fading by the minute.
Maybe it was good, then, that Richard kept his dream alive: his hope of reclaiming his throne. Whatever it took to ease his passing . . .
Steve suddenly thought back to the first time he’d met Annabel, at the cemetery. She’d been playing guitar to “ease the passing” of a new tenant. Steve had been at his father’s funeral then, and had asked Annabel to “ease his passing” sometime, because he was a mean old man.
Now, he really did want to ease his father’s passing. Because the moment was real.
Tears came to his eyes for the second time that day, and for the second time over lost family.
“Do something for me, son,” Richard croaked, huddling beneath his blanket for warmth.
Steve’s glassy eyes opened wide.
“Get that girl you’re so fond of,” Richard said, “and take her away from here. Fuck the Reynoldses, fuck the Lees, fuck the Vagrants, fuck the Brethren, and fuck the Parallel fucking Reflector. Fuck Mythicus. Take Annabel and get her out of here. Don’t make the same mistake I did, son. This place will consume you. It’s a whole new world here, and I was foolish to fall for its wiles, but it’ll eat you up and spit you out. Can you do that for me?”
The tears welling in Steve’s eyes fell freely, tracking down his cheeks. He nodded and sniffled, but there was a lump in his throat and he was unable to speak.
Somehow, some way—through familial bonds that ran deeper than blood, somehow part of his DNA—Richard had nailed it. The words he spoke were the gist of the Spirit Watcher’s “third option.” There was more to it, of course, but his words were enough to steer Steve in that direction, firmly and absolutely.
“Can you do that for me?” Richard repeated. No tears came to his eyes, but his voice was breaking now, like he was losing the will or ability to talk.
Steve nodded. “Yes, dad, I can do that. But what about the Parallel Reflector? Under Jareth’s control—”
“What did I just say about that fucking mirror? Jareth has moved it to his house—he’s moved the whole Brethren Overseer base from this castle to his place in the woods. He’s left me here to rot. He’s practically impenetrable there, so there’s no point in getting yourself killed trying to be a hero. I just told you, don’t make the same mistake I did!”
The word “mistake” stuck in Steve’s mind. As he nodded, he had a sudden urge to ask a question that had been bugging him. He wanted to know how Overseeress Garnet had died. It was a mystery to everyone, it seemed, but surely his dad—Garnet’s lover—had the inside scoop.
But, then again, maybe some things were better off being tak
en to the grave. He didn’t want to upset his father any more than he already had. Bringing up past lovers would only stress his current, terrible predicament, no doubt.
Instead, Steve honed in on another thing he noticed. “How do you know Jareth moved the mirror if you’ve been stuck in here all this time?”
Richard smiled crookedly. “I thought Misty had betrayed me, but I was wrong. She’s been my ears and eyes while I’ve been stuck here. I’ll tell you, that witchy cat-woman knows some delicious secrets, my boy. Maybe when I leave this place, you can take her with you.”
Steve scoffed. “The same Cat-Sith that spied on my people and was responsible for many of their deaths? You don’t know the grief that fucking feline has caused, dad.”
Richard chuckled. “Oh, I’m aware. Fine then. Leave her here. I’m sure she can fend for herself. Maybe she’ll protect these halls from ghostly invaders. Did you know she can only change from a cat into a woman nine times, and the last time she stays a cat forever?”
Steve nodded. “I’ve heard. What’s your point?”
“I believe she’s made the transformation eight times. There’d better be a good reason for her to do it a ninth . . .”
Silence followed Richard’s words, and he started breathing shallowly. It hurt Steve too much to watch. For all the evil his father had done, none of it had actually been directed at him, so he could almost look past it. What was his crime with Steve, anyway? He’d only wanted to rule the Brethren with his son by his side. The problem, of course, was that he’d had hostages and had tried to start a war to get what he wanted.
“I’m going to miss you, dad,” Steve blurted out. He could feel his hold on Ethereus waning, the tether beginning to snap.
Richard closed his eyes. “Don’t worry about . . . me . . . son. I’m sure you’ll . . . see . . . me soon.” At his slow speech, Steve knew it was time to go.
Standing, he looked down at his father one last time. He tried to get a lasting impression of the feeble man in front of him, if only so he could remember back to better times. Then again, he hadn’t really had “better” times with his father.
