The Spirit Watcher

by Cory Barclay

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Annabel’s marriage to Tiberius was supposed to stop the animosity between our families,” Jareth explained to his wife. She rolled her eyes at him. She didn’t need an explanation of the circumstances surrounding their son’s union.

  Jareth paced the master bedroom of his estate, one hand knuckled under his chin as he thought aloud.

  “You pushed too hard, husband,” Dosira said, shaking her head.

  Jareth stopped in his tracks and looked like he’d been struck. “Pushed too hard? I gave those ungrateful bastards seats on the Council!” His eyes flared orange in rage.

  Dosira’s cold blue eyes met his red fury. “The Council seats were not yours to give, if you recall. Besides, that action benefited us as much as it did them, if not more. You would not have been able to usurp Overseer Malachite without the Lees’ help, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Jareth muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He waved her away, as if that would make her words less true. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, every bit the picture of calmness. Meanwhile, her husband stirred around like a firecracker ready to explode. Dosira had been in this predicament many times before. She’d married an Ifrit, by choice, and in the past she’d always been able to soothe his anger. It was partly what made them so compatible: she was the yen to his yang; the water to his fire.

  But this seemed different.

  Perhaps it was because Jareth was in control now, being the Brethren Overseer. With heightened responsibility came heightened anxiety. The issue with the Vagrant Kinship was the last obstacle before Jareth had total authority over Soreltris.

  But in Dosira’s heart she knew this wasn’t different because of anything concerning Jareth. It was her own mind and identity that gave her prudence. Her willingness to go along with Jareth’s schemes was waning. Her psyche had changed.

  She was learning to be human, she supposed, due to taking Richard Remington’s soul. It was a newfound well of empathy she wasn’t used to drinking from. It sprung from some spiritual place, deep inside her.

  Jareth’s plots seemed . . . trivial and petty. Getting rid of the Vagrants seemed like an insignificant, trifling matter.

  “What are you thinking?” Jareth asked suddenly, studying Dosira’s slack face. When Dosira glanced up at him, he narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re wearing a face I haven’t seen you wear before.”

  “Are you accusing me of something, husband?” she demanded, trying to bury the soft, benevolent voice inside her, before it shamed her. She hadn’t gotten to where she was because of her tenderness.

  “Should I be?” Jareth shot back.

  The voice inside Dosira got a bit louder. She said, “I simply think you’re wasting your time on inconsequential matters. With the Vagrant Kinship’s leader dead and the rest of them in disarray, you should focus your attention on . . . the bigger picture.”

  “Don’t tell me what I should focus on, woman,” Jareth snapped, beginning to pace the room again. “You forget yourself. I needn’t remind you that I am the Overseer. Not you.”

  Dosira squinted as she began to lose her calm demeanor. With Jareth’s fiery temper came the occasional outburst. But he was nearing an invisible line he didn’t want to cross. Jareth’s proclamation of his power was more than ego stroking: it was a painful reminder that men held the power.

  Not long ago, that wasn’t the case. Not long ago, the women had control over the Council and its constituents. But they’d handed that power over to their husbands and men, so the lords could go play at war and politics. Sometimes, that was all they seemed good for, men. And oftentimes, they even failed at those things! The matriarchy had nurtured and nursed Soreltris to peaceful times, over a span of decades. And now the men were threatening to destroy everything the women had built, in half the time.

  Dosira found herself shaking her head. She refused to be talked down to like a subordinate, even if she technically was one. She was still the most powerful woman in Soreltris. She still had wisdom to bestow, if only she could make Jareth hear it.

  Rather than succumb to her husband’s wishes, she doubled down. “Your principal concern should be the future of Soreltris, Jareth.”

  Jareth beelined for the bed, stopping when he was just inches from her. He moved so quickly he caused Dosira to flinch. His eyes burned with passion and anger. “I know that!” he hissed. “And to do that, I must eradicate any and all nuisances. That’s what the Kinship is, Dosira: pests. They must be exterminated.” He took a deep breath and continued to pace as he stared at the ground.

  A moment later, Dosira said, “What if they were just . . . fumigated?”

  Jareth perked his head up. “What?”

  “I daresay every Vagrant Kinship member is not equally impassioned to the cause. In fact, I’d wager there are many who see the dethroning of Overseer Malachite as a good thing. They’re not all zealots.”

  “But the zealous ones infect the rest,” Jareth said, speaking slowly, as if he were talking to a child.

  “So you would kill them all?”

  Jareth shrugged. “It’s the only way to be sure another resistance doesn’t spring up. Insurrection must be dealt with swiftly and surely.”

  Dosira frowned. Her head swam with the implications of Jareth’s decree. Sniffing out and eradicating every Vagrant member could take years. It could be a lifelong pursuit that could be futile, in the end. “I don’t think it’s wise to dedicate so much of your time and resources to this cause, husband. But if that is your will . . . I will support it.”

  Jareth had been ready to pounce on her again, until the latter half of her sentence. Then he closed his mouth and nodded gravely. “Good,” he said.

  She still didn’t agree with his idea—even though she might have in the past—but she was tired of arguing. Once Jareth’s mind was made up, there was no changing it. She knew part of Jareth’s stratagem was predicated on Overseer Malachite’s failure to do anything about the Vagrants. Jareth wanted to be better than his predecessor. Even if it was only being better at death and destruction.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  When Jareth opened it, a servant stood before him. He bowed low, then stepped aside and said, “Lady Jade and Lord Sunstone, my liege.”

  “Where’s Lord Obsidian?” Jareth asked when the two Council members entered the room.

  Lord Sunstone’s eyes hovered over Jareth’s shoulders, at the Parallel Reflector behind him. The mirror was stashed behind the bed.

  The elf called Sunstone wore his long blond hair in a ponytail that reached the small of his back. He was slender, tall, and dressed in brown and green leather hide, typical garb of a forest dweller. A broach held his hair together, his namesake’s stone embedded in it, orange and bright. A beautiful wooden recurve bow was slung across his back.

  Lady Jade wore a red and gold kimono that swept the ground. Her jet-black hair fell straight to her shoulders and her bangs nearly covered her eyes. Her face was painted white like a geisha’s. The beautiful yōkai demon folded her hands in front of her in a submissive gesture. But Dosira knew the widow Jade was anything but meek, which was why she had been called here in the middle of the night.

  “Lord Obsidian is indisposed, Overseer,” Lord Sunstone said with a simple bow to his master. “His dwarven kinfolk informed me.” He turned to Dosira on the bed and gave her a deeper, more lavish bow of respect.

  Jareth growled to himself. “Dammit. I have tasks for all three of you.”

  The elf said, “Well, I am here, my lord. And ready to serve.”

  Lady Jade said nothing in response to that—neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was telling, in Dosira’s estimation. She’d have to keep a close eye on the yōkai.

  “Right,” Jareth said, crossing his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it and furrowed his brow. “Where is your wife?” he asked, clearly not the first question on his mind.

  Lord Sunstone sighe
d, his fine, unwrinkled face creasing for the first time. He hesitated. “She . . . deserted us, my lord. I hoped to send her to the Vagrants as a spy, but it appears she has in fact switched sides.”

  Jareth’s mouth fell open. “That bitch!”

  Sunstone’s golden eyes shot to Jareth and held, his face hardening. “She’s still my wife, Overseer Onyx,” he said in a low, warning voice.

  “Why has she abandoned us?” the Overseer asked.

  Lord Sunstone shrugged. “She does not agree with the war you propose, my lord. She believes it will be ill-suited for nature.”

  “It isn’t a war,” Jareth said, scoffing. “It’s a cleansing. A . . . fumigation.” He glanced over to his wife on the bed, who eyed him strangely. She couldn’t be sure if his word choice was used to mock her, agree with her, or as a way to lightly say “massacre.”

  Lord Sunstone shrugged. Eager to change the subject, he said, “And how may I be of assistance in this ‘fumigation’?”

  “Your elves are the best trackers in Soreltris—”

  “In Mythicus, my lord,” he interjected, pride beaming from his face.

  “Yes . . . well. I would have you organize an outfit suited to tracking down the Vagrant stragglers.”

  “And would you have me snuff them out?” Lord Sunstone asked nonchalantly. This was the same man who had killed a fellow elf when he’d found out he was a rebel.

  Jareth shook his head. “Lord Obsidian is to be my army’s general. He will take care of battle preparations. I only want you to root them out and pinpoint their locations.”

  “Very well,” Sunstone said, slightly bowing. Then he paused. “However,” he began, “I believe you needn’t look far to find a flock of them.”

  Jareth raised his eyebrows.

  Sunstone smiled devilishly. “I am Bound to my wife,” he said. “Even if she doesn’t wish to be an agent on our behalf, I know where she’s gone: to Lord Bloodstone and Lady Tourmaline’s abode.”

  Jareth flared his nostrils at the mention of Constantin and Mariana Lee. “Don’t call them that, dammit. They are no longer part of this Council and aren’t deserving of their titles.”

  Lord Sunstone looked confused. “Is their daughter not still married to your son?”

  “Yes. But it’s no matter.” Jareth waved off the concerned look on the elf’s face. “While we have their daughter, those vampires wouldn’t dare attack my household. Regardless of their proximity to me.”

  “She is a hostage, then?” Lady Jade asked, speaking for the first time. She had a slight Japanese accent.

  Jareth shook his head profusely. “No, no,” he said, trying to backpedal. “I only mean they wouldn’t risk any harm coming to their beloved child.”

  Lady Jade frowned. “You seemed to imply something else,” she said, unwilling to let the point go.

  Dosira eyed Lady Jade. She remembered the slight woman never being one to back down. In the past, she’d been one of the most powerful members of the Council. As the only widow and the eleventh member, she’d muddled the balance of the court. Whenever a vote had been deadlocked, Lady Jade had always had the deciding call. She’d often make sure to withhold her casting until the end, so she could retain that power. A few astute members of the Council believed she’d had a hand in her husband’s death, but she was never publicly accused.

  Needless to say, she wasn’t easily reprimanded. She would stand her ground.

  It infuriated Jareth. He tried to keep his composure, but Dosira could see he was coming apart at the seams. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I meant no such thing, Lady Jade. Though it’s not my prerogative to explain myself to you.”

  “Quite right,” Lady Jade said easily. “You’ve explained Lord Sunstone’s mission, Overseer Onyx. What would you have me do?”

  Jareth was happy to change the subject. “You recall the recent letter I sent you, with names and addresses marked down.”

  “I do,” Jade said. “Though I was a bit confused by the names.”

  “Those are rendezvous points. They are Terrusian locales.”

  Lade Jade’s eyes flickered wide. Jareth got immense satisfaction at seeing her momentarily flustered.

  “Terrus, you say . . .” she muttered, trailing off. Dosira noticed Jade had glanced at the Parallel Reflector behind Jareth.

  Jareth suppressed his smirk. Before he could say anything, Dosira interjected from the bed.

  “Your task is perhaps most important of all, Lady Jade,” she said.

  The Overseer said, “My wife is correct. I would have you go to Terrus with an escort of blackguards, to meet with Brethren emissaries. You will meet these representatives at the rendezvous points in San Diego and Orange County—the bulk of Soreltris.”

  Lady Jade waited for Jareth to continue, but he drew his pause longer and longer. Finally, she said, “What will I discuss with these . . . emissaries?”

  Jareth showed his smile. “You will discover that when you get there. They have been informed of my plans.”

  “And you would keep me in the dark?”

  “Not to anger you, my lady, but to protect you.”

  Lady Jade snorted. It was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes at her Overseer. “You would send me away during this dire time, my lord? Do you not wish to have my counsel in these trying days?”

  “Oh, I very much value your counsel,” Jareth lied. That was exactly what he was trying to do: get rid of the disruptive widow. He wanted to put her somewhere where she couldn’t be a problem. But he tried to sugarcoat it, saying, “That is why I’m sending you, because I cherish your negotiating skills. There are many deals that need to be brokered on Terrus if we are to create a foothold there for our people. You should take it as a great honor.”

  Lady Jade stifled a groan. It was clear she was ready to say what was on her mind: how she thought Overseer Onyx was full of shit. But she held back, instead bowing her head. “I appreciate the privilege.”

  “Excellent.” Jareth nodded to the Council members. He said, “Lord Sunstone, you are to raise my scouting regiment. Lord Obsidian is to raise my army—tell him to see me as soon as possible. And Lady Jade, you are to be my eyes and ears on Terrus. Is that all clear, then?”

  Lady Jade and Lord Sunstone nodded and dipped their heads forward.

  “Very well, then you are both dismissed.”

  They shuffled out of the room without another word.

  When they were gone, Jareth turned to his wife, who still sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed. Dosira stared at him with an icy look. Jareth hadn’t a clue what she could be angry about. It unnerved him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “If it was your daughter and you think she’d been wronged, would you not go to any length to protect her?” she asked, standing from the bed.

  Taken aback, Jareth scratched his cheek. “Er, well, of course I would, my dear. Why do you say?”

  “Because that is precisely what the Lees believe is happening to their daughter. You seem unworried about them plotting against you, when they are our neighbors!”

  Jareth was on the defensive and it jarred his brain. He said, “What would you have me do, woman?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe take the threat of your enemies seriously. How can you trust that . . . that demon woman to protect your interests on Terrus? Did you see the way she spoke to you? And while I’m on the subject of speaking: when was the last time you’ve spoken to your own daughter? When was the last time you’ve even seen Emilene?” She stormed toward the door.

  Jareth had no idea where this sudden wrath was coming from. He felt barraged. He remembered his wife as being cold, detached, and shrill, like he liked her . . .

  So why the sudden sympathy and compassion?

  As he watched her march past him and open the door, he said, “W-Where are you going?”

  She spun on him. “While you play your little war games, I’m going to make sure our children are all right. That Tiberius isn’t d
oing anything foolish to our prized hostage, and that Emilene doesn’t feel neglected.” She thrust a finger in his direction. “I swear, you men will be the death of everything the Brethren has worked so hard to achieve.”

  Jareth watched his wife leave and slam the door behind her. He was left scratching his head. As he shook his head and took a much-needed seat on the bed, he muttered to himself: “She’s not a hostage . . .”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  People arrived at the Lee household throughout the day and into the night. Steve spent his time sitting on a chair with his eyes closed. Only the crackling sound of a hearth fire reached his ears. Geddon and Selestria stood beside him.

  Geddon would describe the Mythics Steve needed to reach. Selestria would use her Myth Hunting abilities to pinpoint their location. Steve would dream-leap to those areas—often finding himself in the wrong Mythic’s mind—and traverse the wild, cryptic tunnels of Ethereus. While he swam through a senseless nether, thoughts and memories assaulted him. They were not his thoughts or memories, but the minds of the people he sought.

  The minds of the Mythics stuck out like buoys on a wide ocean, bobbing and begging to be reached. They were formless, shapeless things—auditory wavelengths he could run toward or escape from.

  The Ethereus buoys dotted the surface of Mythicus. He could travel through the Ethereus plane nearly at lightspeed. He didn’t travel in the normal sense, from point A to point B, but rather through a web of ideas and impressions that rang out to him like a pulse.

  When he reached a voice, he would find himself grounded and transported into that person’s mind. His targets often didn’t know he had invaded their mind. He learned the thoughts of many creatures that day: elves, fauns, imps, goblins, and everything in between.

  His message to the people he overtook was simple: “The Vagrant Kinship rises again, to fight the Brethren tyrants. Your presence is requested to bolster our army, if you still believe in the dream of liberty. Travel to Constantin and Mariana Lee’s forest estate in Central Soreltris. You will know the way—I’ve imprinted directions in your mind.” From there, Steve would flee to move on to the next subject.