The Unfortunate Souls Collection

by Stacey Rourke

  I steeled myself for what was to come, offered her a tight smile, and walked to Sterling with my slow, measured steps clicking through the cavernous foyer. “I discovered the truth when I ventured into the mirror. Surrounded by knowledge of pain, famine, and … war,” a subtle glance in Persephone’s direction hinted at the cataclysmic conflict brewing between the gods, “I thought it to be your hand that was holding me back from spiraling into that abyss. But, I was wrong. It’s nothing as weak as flesh. It’s a connection in our spirits that prevents us from losing ourselves to these inflictions forced upon us. To sever that bond … one must die.”

  Head thrown back in a throaty guffaw, Persephone clapped with delight. “A voluntary sacrifice? And it’s not even my birthday!”

  The shard held tight in his hand, Sterling gaped down at it in horror. “No! I couldn’t possibly! There has to be another way!”

  Edging in closer, my voice dropped to a soothing whisper. “There isn’t, my friend, but it’s okay. With this, you’ll finally be able to get back to Alice. All you suffered through, everything you’ve endured, won’t be for naught.”

  “You’re a hero. What am I?” Sterling tried to drop his arm to his side.

  Catching his elbow, I kept the shard pointed out. I positioned myself at its tip, feeling the pressure in the tender tissue between my ribs and leaned into it. “You are a soul untarnishable by the ugliness of this world. One purer of heart than I could ever hope to be. For too long you’ve felt unworthy of home or family.” Arms wrapped around him, I pressed into that deadly embrace—accepting the blinding bite of pain for the temporary affliction it was. Against his ear, I murmured, “This … is my way of freeing you, my brother. Go, find your way back to the love you deserve.”

  Ribbons of crimson unfolded from my gut as I sagged against him. Shoulders shaking with sobs, he lowered me to the floor as gently as he could. “Alastor, what have you done? What about Vanessa?”

  Chin quaking with the chill of blood loss, I offered him a waning smile. “This … is the only way … we can both … go … home.” My eyes wanted to shut, the pull of the current washing me onward. “Keep … the shard … with you.”

  Unable and unwilling to fight that demanding tide, I gave in and let it toss and churn what was left of me into the confines of the mirror.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  England, 1865.

  Buggies puttered over cobblestone streets. The men driving extended a friendly wave or tip of the hat to those they passed. Women and girls in full skirts folded their hands in a demure fashion, and scurried off for afternoon tea.

  In the backyard of one regal estate, a young man with a distorted smile riffled through clothes hung on a line.

  “What is this place, and how is it going to help me ensure Hades’ eternal suffering?” Persephone sneered, recoiling at a tabby cat that rubbed against her ankle.

  “This is where we are going to find Alice and heal her.” Sterling paused in his task to pat his satchel where the key to her cure was safely stowed away.

  Shoulders rising to her ears with equal parts rage and disgust, the goddess’ face reddened. “I don’t care about any Alice!”

  Face falling slack of emotion, he blinked in her direction. “Oh, but you should. Legend states that she’s the only one who can defeat the Jabberwock.”

  “What, in Olympus’ name, is a Jabberwock?” she erupted, crossing the line into foot-stomping annoyance.

  “I don’t know. What’s a Jabberwock?” he lobbed back.

  Persephone’s mouth swung open, words momentarily locked on her tongue. “What? I don’t know. You said it!”

  “No, I didn’t,” he argued and returned to his task. “And, that was a most terrible riddle. Really, you’re capable of much better.”

  “I didn’t— Ugh!” Throwing her hands in the air, the Queen of the Underworld paced a circle around the meticulously clipped yard. “Can you at least tell me where we are?”

  Unclipping a few items from the line, Sterling tossed the wardrobe change at her. “We will discover that soon enough. If I could offer a suggestion, though? All the worlds I have traveled in, for some reason layers translate to wisdom. I don’t understand the logic, but the more I bundle the more respect and kindness I’m shown.”

  Pinching the corner of his change purse, Sterling peered down at the shard of glass tucked safely within and offered it a knowing wink.

  “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. I order you, now, to answer my call.”

  Turning away from my link to Sterling’s reality, I drifted on a surge of knowledge to face out of the looking glass. My essence—all that remained of me—resided within that endless void. As the oracle, it fell to me to protect the mirror from being wielded for unthinkable evil and destruction. Now, I controlled what information would be revealed, and to whom. Sacrificing myself had been a noble necessity. Yet, I couldn’t have fathomed the toll it would take. On Marooner’s Rock, Phin asked me to send him any lost boys. When one is lost, there is hope. Hope of finding family, a home, or even one’s self. Where I was stretched beyond the reaches of all hope or optimism. I was … gone.

  Gazing out at the catacomb caves of the Underworld, I met Hades’ intense glower with disinterested obedience. “You called, my liege?”

  Hand curled around the edge of the frame, Hades chewed on the inside of his cheek. The screams of tortured souls wailed in the distance, echoing through the cavernous hollow. “Someone is protecting Amphrite from me. And you know who it is. Perhaps uncovering that knowledge is how you found yourself … entombed in glass.” His attention roamed over the sea of emptiness surrounding me. “Regardless, you swore allegiance to me. I, alone, can offer you freedom from your prison in the sweet release of death. But that is a tender morsel you earn only by helping me destroy those that dare stand against me. What say you, slave?”

  Glaring up at him from under my brow, I spat the words with murderous hatred, “How may I serve you … my master?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Within the glass, I saw a war.

  A clashing of gods scratched at the door.

  Left unchecked, they would’ve choked life from the world.

  Their cloak of annihilation violently unfurled.

  Mortals were used as their unwilling pawns,

  Oblivious to the darkness that would snuff out the dawn.

  Along the way, I became a pupil.

  Manipulating influence by targeting their scruples.

  Careful positioning is required for their inevitable battle,

  To save the realm from becoming scorched and charred chattel.

  Entombed in glass, I find myself cursed,

  To prevent the enraged gods from doing their worst.

  I count the seconds ’til this mirror shatters in a magnificent spray,

  Allowing me to hold Vanessa one glorious day.

  Knowing exactly when, and the stipulations of how,

  Grants me the wisdom to make this solemn vow;

  Lord and Lady of the Underworld, soon it will be your turn.

  When I’m free from this tomb … I’ll watch you both burn.

  Pursuing Madness

  Unfortunate Soul Chronicles Book 3

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Into the imagination we’ll stroll, guided by madness… we go
.”

  The moment those words left my lips, my pajama-clad Darlings scurried over. Plopping down on the floor in front of me, they crossed their little legs and peered my way with eager anticipation.

  “I love this story! A boy just like me has the rarest of all magicks!”

  “Shhh,” I quietly shushed my cherub-faced son. “Quiet now, we don’t want to wake your brother.”

  “The beginning is so sad, though,” my daughter pouted, a halo of golden curls framing her face. “He had a mommy and daddy that loved him more than anything, but they die! Who starts a story with dead parents?”

  “You would be surprised what a common theme that is.” Pushing off my toes, I guided my rocking chair back and forth. “That said, if you’ve heard this story before, or are bothered by how it begins, I can skip it, and you can go straight to bed.”

  Rising to her feet, her nightgown brushing her shins, my daughter grabbed my face between her chubby little hands. The look carved into her features was comically intense. “This is my favorite story. If you don’t tell it, I won’t sleep… ever again.”

  “Ever?” I questioned, my lips puckered between the heels of her palms.

  “Ever again,” she repeated, her brilliant emerald eyes locked with mine.

  Catching her hands, I dotted a kiss to each before letting them drop to her sides. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to tell it.” I paused long enough for her to settle back onto her seat before continuing. “Once upon a time there lived a boy with a rare talent indeed. It first appeared on the eve of his tenth birthday, when his mother read a wonderful book about pirate ships and buried treasure. That night, as he lay in bed, his heavy lids fluttered shut in the same instant reality rippled around him. His eyes popped open, and his jaw swung slack. Cawing seagulls. Crashing waves. Towering masts. Salty sea-air clinging to his skin. It was too real to be a dream, yet completely unexplainable. Another blink, and he was back home, safe in his bed. It was the first time he jumped, yet it was far from the last. Each night, a new story opened the door to a brand new realm he could explore without boundaries or limitations.”

  “You have to do the rhyme!” my son interjected, wiggling back and forth on the rug of the nursery floor. “It’s the best part.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of skipping it,” I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth.

  “A storybook realm; an ancient tomb,

  a ship helm, an endless room.

  In a blink he was there, wherever his imagination soared.

  Each adventure new, never allowing him to grow bored.”

  “Here comes the sad,” my daughter huffed. Elbows on her knees, she plopped her cheeks on her hands.

  I offered her the solace of a comforting smile before venturing on with our tale. “It was a magical time of fantastical journeys the boy hoped would never end. Like so many things in life, it changed with the seasons. His mother and father grew sick, with an ailment no medication could cure. Doctors with funny masks bustled in and out of the house, vowing to do all they could. Unfortunately, their efforts were in vain. The angels came and carried his parents to heaven, leaving the boy and his sister alone and afraid. Behind closed doors, he screamed and shouted and pounded his fists. Yet never where his sister could see. For her he would be brave. After all, all they had now was each other.”

  Scooting closer, my daughter wrapped her little arms around my leg and hugged it tight.

  Reaching down, I combed my fingers through her curls. “On the day their parents were buried, the boy—then thirteen years old—dressed himself in his best suit and tied his necktie as his father had taught him. Holding tight to his younger sister’s hand, he vowed to protect her from the sadness that now cloaked their lives. His first priority became keeping them together in the home they loved. Such a vexing matter for a child’s sweet mind. His options were limited. There were factories or coal mines, where so many young and impoverished pledged their lives for hard earned coins. But the hours required for either would allow him no time to tend to his sister. That was when he looked to his gift as a possibility instead of a quirk. He could go anywhere undetected, and blink back just the same. A talent he had used strictly for frivolous fun… up until that moment. Warrington Bank. Grosvenor Museum. Northwich Mansion. Capesthorne Hall. Under the shroud of night he would pop in, fill his pillowcase with all he could carry, then disappear before any guards caught a glimpse of him. All of Cheshire, London was on high alert of this talented new cat burglar. The town’s wealthiest residents feared they would be the next target of the culprit the press had taken to calling the Cheshire Cat.”

  “He never got greedy, though.” A lock of sandy brown hair fell across my son’s forehead as he dipped his head in a resolute nod. “Or took more than they needed.”

  “But his sister missed him,” my daughter’s voice was muffled by her face being pressed against my calf. “She didn’t like being home alone without him.”

  I leaned forward and pulled the quilt from the back of my chair. Scooping my sweet girl off the floor, I wrapped her in it and settled her on my lap. “She didn’t understand that his jumps served a purpose. Not when he used that same method of travel to whisk her to fairy lands, princess balls, and pink sand beaches. In her mind, he was going on grand adventures without her, and that hatched tendrils of resentment in her heart. She envied her brother’s adventures. Wished herself capable of his magnificent talents. Knowing that could never be, she sat on the front stoop of their manor to wait for him. All the while daydreaming of the places she would transport herself to, were she capable of such a feat.”

  My daughter’s head rose from my shoulder to trill, “A grand tea party!”

  “Down a rabbit hole,” my boy yawned. Scooting closer, he leaned his back against one leg of my rocker.

  Shifting my bundled tot to one leg, I reached down with my free hand to brush away the hair tangled in my boy’s lashes. With the comfort of that tender touch, one blink grew heavier than the next. “Sister knew it was wrong to covet her brother’s gift. Even so, she couldn’t help but wish that on the eve of her tenth birthday she would be gifted same as he.”

  “She might have been, if she had just been patient,” my eldest born, and always insightful daughter declared matter-of-factly.

  “But envy doesn’t like to wait,” I expelled the statement as a sigh, knowing the painful truth of it all too well. “Corruption snaked its way in the very instant the opportunity arose. For sister’s longings did not go unnoticed. A man with black hair—that shimmered a brilliant blue under the glittering sunlight—was watching.”

  “Hades!” both of the children chorused, earning a second shush, out of fear they would wake their baby brother.

  “You’re right, but shhh,” I chuckled. “The Lord of the Underworld swooped in, serving his own agenda under the guidance of a magic mirror. Disguised as a peddler, he asked for four shillings in exchange for the impossible. Outwardly, the prize he held appeared to be nothing more than a simple wooden box. It had no decorative carvings. No elaborate paintings. Nothing more than a rather ordinary walnut box oiled to a sheen. According to Hades, it was the contents that would change her life forever. And while Hades was many things, a liar was not one of them. He gave her his word that wherever she wanted to go, whatever she longed to be, was attainable the instant she cracked open that enchanted box.”

  “In her dreams. That’s why you should never talk to strangers.” My Darling girl shook her head, lips pursed in a judgmental mask that reminded me of myself.

  “One of the many reasons.” I tickled her under the chin until her cheeks cracked into a wide grin. “Even so, sister couldn’t resist the four shillings required to secure her prize. Not when the Cheshire Cat had recently paid a visit to Buckingham Palace. With that one jump he earned ten years wages after bartering the bounty he pilfered.” Pausing for a beat, I tucked a rogue curl behind my daughter’s ear. “I like to think that sister believed what she was doing would bring he
r closer to her brother. That he would discover her talents matched his own, and be thrilled of the adventures they could go on together. Their bond stronger than ever.”

  “I wouldn’t do that for my sister,” my boy murmured, scratching his nose with the back of his wrist. “She hits me with her stuffed teddy when she doesn’t get her way.”

  “It’s true,” she seconded, in a carefree chirp. “I do.”

  “We’ll come back to that later,” I declared in the most sober tone I could manage whilst stifling a chuckle. “But, in our story sister willingly handed over those shillings. Her eyes gleamed with possibility as the box was placed on to her lap. It was in that instant that the boy blinked into their dining room from his latest endeavor. He caught sight of her on the stoop in the same instant she cracked open the lid of the box. Light exploded around her, swirling and dancing in an enchanting waltz. Until… the first strike. A zap of magic. Lashing tendrils of darkness. Her slight frame shuddered and convulsed as power no human was meant to harness flowed into her, shorting out even the most basic functions. Rigor set in instantaneously. The boy rushed to her side and gathered her in his arms, while Hades hobbled off… his job done.”

  My daughter lifted her heart-shaped face to peer my way, tears of fear welling in her eyes. “She, she didn’t die. Right, Mama?”

  “No, my Darling girl.” I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Sister didn’t die. But as much as she was physically there, her essence was trapped deep inside the furthest crevices of her mind with no means of escape. The boy used the money he had stockpiled to summon every doctor, shaman, and healer he could find. Not one could offer any treatment to wake her from the eternal sleep that claimed her. However, the boy was not shackled to just that world. With the riches he acquired safely invested, he hired the best in the business to care for sister while he ventured from realm to realm in search of a cure.”