The Mythean Arcana Box Set

by Linsey Hall

  He was a soulless monster. Neither mortal nor Mythean. Mytheans were born to be immortals on earth, with varied powers. Only decapitation or grievous magic could kill their bodies and send their souls to an afterworld. But he was an aberration. A Mythean with no soul and no humanity. Without his soul to take him to an afterworld, he could not die. To many, it would be a blessing. To him, it was a curse.

  The university had invited him to join them shortly after his transition. They’d tracked Aurora’s destructive magic to his village and found him where he’d passed out in the midst of the fire. He’d been totally unharmed by the blaze, and they’d explained what he’d become.

  He’d accepted their invitation because he had nowhere else to go. His clan would realize he was immortal, and he couldn’t stay among them as a monster who’d killed his kin. There was no escape from his deeds and no way to return to his home.

  When he’d arrived at the university, barely able to comprehend everything he saw there, he’d learned that Aurora had been imprisoned for stealing too many souls. The university couldn’t make her return the souls, but they could imprison her for her crimes. They would have executed her if they could have, but she was too powerful and too dangerous. The imprisonment spell had allowed them to maintain their distance but contain the threat.

  He’d spent the last three hundred years so close to her and his soul, yet so far away. He’d have killed her to get it back if he could have, but with her locked away, it was impossible.

  If the witches couldn’t maintain the aetherwalls of their prison and she escaped, he could kill her to get his soul back. But it would be a dangerous hunt, one during which Aurora would be free to wreak whatever havoc she chose.

  He’d found a second home here when he’d had to leave his clan. More importantly, he’d found a purpose. Protecting Mytheans and mortals from the misery that had befallen him had become his life. He would uphold his agreement to put the university and the safety of other Mytheans before himself. Without his soul, his word was all he had.

  With that in mind, he checked his watch and saw that it was late enough that he could visit the witches. He left his office and strode down the quiet corridors of the Praesidium, then through the early morning stillness across the rolling hills to their main cottage. When he found no one there, he checked the greenhouse that sat at the edge of their little collection of buildings. They often worked there, as well.

  “Hello?” he said as he ducked inside the little glass door.

  “Back here!” a musical voice called.

  He walked through the vibrant green oasis, the scent of flowers and dark dirt permeating the warm air.

  Behind a group of fig trees he found Cora, the one he sought, and several younger witches. An orange tree behind Cora exploded when an errant spell hit it. Fragrant orange juice dripped down the glass wall.

  The witches preferred to have their workspaces and living quarters on the farthest edges of the campus for this very reason. Practicing witches couldn’t always be sure where their spells would land, and the young witches he’d seen in the pub last night were currently destroying the orange tree.

  “Hi, Warren,” Cora said, her American accent so similar to Esha’s that he had to shake his mind away from the soulceress. “Thanks for meeting me here. Sorry I wasn’t at the cottage. Why don’t we talk over there?”

  He followed her to a more secluded corner, where they took seats on wooden boxes.

  “You’re here about Aurora,” she said. The marmot riding on her shoulder stared at him, unblinking. He looked away from it to meet Cora’s eyes.

  “Aye. Can you keep her locked up?” He asked it even though, selfishly, he wanted Aurora to be released so he could hunt her. But keeping her locked away was the right thing to do for the university—she was far too dangerous to be released. She was better off in the witches’ aether prison, that dark nowhere that kept her away from humanity.

  “That’s impossible,” Cora said.

  “Seriously? There’s nothing you can do about it?”

  “We tried everything, but the barrier to our prison will break within the week. Aurora is too strong, and we just aren’t as powerful as we used to be.” Cora shoved her pink hair off her forehead and scowled. “She’s the only one in the prison, but we still don’t have enough power to keep her there.”

  “Why not? You’re the ones who locked her up in the first place.”

  “Sure, the Witch Council locked her up, but only a few of us were alive at the time. Calista, the one who created the spell that put the barrier on the prison, passed on to her afterworld a few hundred years ago. We’ve been struggling all these years to keep the boundary closed. Without her, and with the passing of several of our most powerful witches, it’s become too much. We have to recast the original spell, but without a Mythean like her, we can’t.”

  “Like her?”

  She nodded, reaching up to snag a lizard that ran across a draping petunia hanging above her head. The little creature scrambled across her knuckles before leaping onto her other shoulder and perching there. “Calista was a soulceress, the only kind powerful enough to lock up another of her species. With our help, of course.”

  “Witches hate soulceresses.” The rivalry between the two most magical beings was legendary. “Why would you work with one of them?”

  “Well, yeah. But she was different. She agreed to work with us in exchange for protection from the Burnings, which was great because she could do things we couldn’t. Haven’t had anyone as strong as she was in years.”

  Warren nodded. Calista had been wise to join the university to avoid the Burnings. The mortal witch hunts had incited a similar frenzy in Mytheans. If witches were the bogeymen to mortals, then soulceresses were their Mythean equivalent because of their ability to siphon off the power of others’ souls. They’d fallen prey to the frenzy and used it as an excuse to hunt those they feared. The university didn’t support the Burnings because it was contrary to the law and order that had become their model for staying under the mortals’ radar, but most Mytheans didn’t care. They hunted soulceresses anyway. Nearly every soulceress in Britain had been killed during what had become known as the Burnings.

  “So you need another soulceress to shore up the boundary to her prison,” Warren said.

  “Exactly.”

  Warren rose. “I’m going to see if I can take care of that for you.”

  “I know whom you’re thinking of. Trust me, we’ve thought of it too. But she’ll never help us.”

  “It’s her job.” He’d gone to the effort of getting her to work for the university, and damned if he wouldn’t make sure she did her job.

  Though it wasn’t surprising that Cora doubted Esha. Ten years ago, when word of a soulceress come to Scotland had reached the university, they’d sought her out and watched her. She’d been a free-market mercenary, killing only Mytheans, and while she hadn’t killed any pregnant mothers or schoolchildren, she wasn’t particularly picky about her contracts. He’d invited her to join the university because she was too dangerous not to have on their side. When everything in him had screamed to leave her be, to keep her away from the university because of what another of her kind had done to him, he’d found the will to remember his vows to do what was best for his job.

  “You really think she’ll agree to help us?” Cora’s words shook him out of his thoughts.

  “I’ll see to it that she agrees. She’ll come to you. Tonight.”

  “All right, if you say so.” Doubt and hope warred in her brown eyes.

  “I do.” Warren turned and left the sticky heat of the greenhouse, wishing there were any other soulceress he could ask for help.

  There was no reason she would want to help him, not after he’d been such an arse to her, but she was his only hope.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Esha leaned on the sill of her open window, nursing bad coffee and an even worse hangover. The bright noon sun burned cruelly into her retinas as she gazed
out at the university campus.

  She lived in a tower on the north side, which gave her an excellent view of the rolling green hills and the massive stone buildings of the university in the distance. The tower had once been a guard tower, but the space at the top had been modified into a flat long before she’d joined the university staff.

  Last night had been such a bust. She laughed bitterly. But it was both entertaining and horrifying that she, Esha, queen of the outcasts with no court, was mooning after one of the most respected members of the university. And that she would choose to pursue her infatuation in such a spastic way.

  But she was so done with that. After he’d left her, she’d gone back into the pub, picked a spot in the corner, and switched from beer to whiskey. Contrary to popular belief, the whiskey had actually cleared her head.

  Warren wanted her, but he was too much of a coward or an asshole to admit it. And she was an idiot who had tried twice to convince him to give her a chance. Twice.

  Embarrassing is what that was. She needed to get her act together.

  The Chairman meowed, deep and low, as if he could read her thoughts and agreed.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, glaring at him.

  He just watched her with knowing citrine eyes from where he lounged by the little fire.

  “Be nice or I’ll extinguish your fire,” she said.

  He gave her a look that said as if. But he was right. She was all talk. She’d never douse his beloved fire, and it was evidence of how screwed up Warren made her that she would even suggest it.

  Esha looked back out at the emerald green of the lawn and the sapphire blue of the sky. Everything was shot through with jewel tones today, as if the earth didn’t know that she was in a shitty mood. She tried to focus on the beauty in front of her, but was instead drawn into her memory, to the time when her vague interest in her distant colleague had bloomed into stupid infatuation.

  A few years ago, she’d just finished making a contracted kill in Edinburgh and had been walking back to her car through the quiet city streets. It had been a Sunday, hence the quiet lull, which had made it easy for her to spot a familiar figure ducking into the Veterans’ League.

  Curiosity had tugged at her. What was Warren doing at the Veterans’ League? It was for mortals, not Mytheans, and the two rarely mixed.

  Because it had been a drizzly gray morning and his head had been bowed, he hadn’t noticed her. But she’d never mistake him for anyone else. Determined to figure out what he was doing, she’d crept into the alley at the side of the building and peered through the rain-streaked window to see Warren in a makeshift workshop with a couple of other men.

  The others were younger, boys almost, and one was missing a leg while another wore some type of brace on his back. From the wars in the Middle East, she assumed, since it was one of the few places that British mortal soldiers were fighting. They’d been building beautiful wooden furniture in the workshop, and Warren looked to be helping the men with their projects.

  He was teaching them?

  Esha had returned every Sunday for a month and peered through the same window, never making contact with him. She’d eventually confirmed that Warren was some kind of mentor to injured soldiers suffering the effects of war, and the medium he used to help them was woodworking.

  But he had also benefited. His step was a little lighter, and the lines around his eyes a little less deep when he left.

  She’d forced herself to stop going after she figured out what he was doing. As much as she liked watching him, stalking him was just weird.

  Her phone buzzed and jerked her out of the past. Gratefully, she shook the memories away and turned from the window to find her phone.

  She scowled when she saw the name attached to the text message.

  Warren. Of course. And it was about work, so she couldn’t ignore it.

  She sighed, disgusted and annoyed with the way her day was going, then glared at her coffee and chugged it. It was lukewarm and kind of gross, but she needed the caffeine if she was going to face him with this hangover.

  An hour later, after standing in the shower and staring at the wall for twenty minutes mulling over what an idiot she’d been, Esha tromped across the rolling campus to Warren’s office. The last of autumn’s leaves crunched beneath her boots.

  “Why do you think he wants to meet with us?” Esha asked the Chairman.

  Though the Chairman didn’t answer, she was pretty sure she saw him shrug his little cat shoulders. She took it as a sign to continue talking as they reached a cluster of stone buildings. She might as well. He was her sounding board when her only other friend, Ana, wasn’t around.

  “I wouldn’t even be doing this if it wasn’t for work.” But Warren’s parting jab about loyalty had stung. He was wrong. She stuck by her commitments, and she’d made one to the Praesidium when she’d joined.

  The Chairman meowed his support. She glanced down at his disheveled black form. Nah, that hadn’t been support. He just wanted tuna.

  “Later, dude,” she told him. “First we’ve got to see what Warren wants.”

  They arrived at the main cobblestone courtyard that sat in the middle of the biggest buildings on campus. She ran up the expansive stone steps, through the great wooden door to the building that housed the Praesidium, across the sunlit atrium and down a wide, wood-paneled hallway.

  The oak door of his office was closed, but she didn’t bother to knock. “You rang?” She asked as she strolled in, the Chairman trotting at her heels.

  “Doona like to knock?” He glared at her from behind his desk and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair.

  Unable to help herself, she admired the way his gray t-shirt stretched across his broad chest. His green eyes were tired, but the rest of him looked tense, muscles bunched and ready to pounce on any threat that walked through the door. Though she’d never actually seen him fight, he had a dangerous air that was unmistakable and hard not to like.

  Stop it, you moron.

  She jerked her gaze away from him and looked around the room. The book-filled office was dim, the kind of light that someone with a headache would prefer. Coffee cups littered the desk. “Not sleeping much?” she asked.

  “No, damn it.”

  Had he not slept because of last night? But he didn’t mention it and was playing this professionally, and her pride demanded that she do so too. “Fine. Why did you call me up here?”

  “I’ve got an assignment for you.”

  A warm little rush passed over her at the words. Self-preservation crushed it. “Oh?”

  When he’d asked her to be a consultant for the Mythean Guard a few weeks ago, she’d jumped at the chance to be part of a team. She wasn’t used to working with one, had initially been shocked by the offer and had almost turned it down. But with a little thought, it sounded damned appealing. This would be the first assignment he’d given her.

  “Aye, the Witch Council needs help with a particularly difficult spell.”

  “Those losers? Don’t they have enough power in their little club to pull it off?” Well, there went professionalism.

  “No, they doona have anyone as powerful as you.”

  “So true.” She smiled. “Normally I don’t mix with witches, though.”

  “It’s your job now.”

  “True.” And truth be told, she liked that she was part of the Praesidium. Part of a team. “When do I go?”

  “Tonight would be best. Sooner, the better.”

  She had no problem with that. No plans tonight anyway. “Okay. Anyone else from the Praesidium going to help?”

  “No, they said witches only, or I’d be there.”

  So she’d be alone. With the witches. But she didn’t need any help. Hell, partners from the Praesidium would only slow her down.

  “This is important, Esha. You canna screw this up.”

  She glared at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the Chairman arching his back, disheveled midnight fur sticki
ng out at all angles. “Screw this up? Tell me, Warren, when was the last time I screwed anything up?”

  He ignored the question, no doubt knowing he had no answer. “Let me know how it goes.”

  “Fine.” She stood and walked toward the door. The Chairman slunk after her. “Tell them that I’ll be there at nine.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A girl could only take so much, Esha thought as she stomped toward the Witch Council’s section of campus later that night.

  The Chairman stalked along beside her, the cold autumn wind ruffling his fur and making her tug up the zipper of her short leather jacket. She loved this time of year, when the leaves blew off the trees and swirled through the crisp air. It wasn’t enough to save her mood today, though.

  Her friend Andrasta appeared straight out of thin air, and Esha jumped.

  “Damn it, Ana, a little warning next time.” But she grinned at her friend, who had just broken through the aether from Otherworld, the land of the Celtic gods. The aether was an ephemeral substance that connected everything and allowed certain individuals to use it as a medium for immediate travel. Esha used it to aetherwalk, which Ana could do as well

  “Gimme a break. You know I can only sneak out of Otherworld when the other gods are occupied. And it’s not like I can call you to let you know I’m coming.” Ana smiled at her before she began to twirl in the moonlight, hopping around like a demented fairy. Her accent suited her persona—the odd mixed Celtic of Otherworld’s gods combined with the modern movies she cherished. “Earth totally rocks.”

  The moonlight highlighted the petite frame and shining blond hair of the Celtic goddess of victory. Esha had always thought that Andrasta, with her leather breastplate and the bow strapped over her shoulder, fit right in with the haunted-house setting of the university at night better than she ever did. Esha’s customary uniform of jeans, boots, and a leather jacket were meant to blend in with the world outside of the campus, since she spent so much time there.