by Cory Barclay
THE
DREAM
LEAPER
Cory Barclay
MYTHBOUND
BOOK II
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2018 by Cory Barclay
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
www.CoryBarclay.com
First edition: October 2018
Cover Art by MiblArt
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Dream Leaper (Mythbound, #2)
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
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
About the Author
This book is dedicated to my mom—
My biggest fan ever!
Also by Cory Barclay
Of Witches and Werewolves Trilogy
Devil in the Countryside
In the Company of Wolves
The Beast Within
Of Witches and Werewolves Box Set Trilogy
Mythbound Trilogy
The Myth Seeker
CHAPTER ONE
STEVE HAD JUST FOUND out the painting in front of him had been stolen. And not stolen from an art gallery, but stolen from Earth’s entire plane of existence.
It was a beautiful, realist portrait of a woman with a sullen expression on her face. A twist of her mouth made it look like she’d sucked a bag of lemon slices. Her hood and garb gave away the time she lived in: sometime in the Middle Ages. In Steve’s estimation, all the characters in art pieces from the Middle Ages had that same, bummed expression on their faces. With plague, famine, and near-constant war always close at hand, Steve figured he’d be pissed off all the time, too.
What a time to be alive.
Steve did not envy the poor woman in the painting. Or rich woman. He couldn’t tell if she wore the tattered robes of a peasant, or the elegant veil of a noblewoman. He supposed the artist’s rendition wasn’t very “realist” after all.
A field of yellow flowers on a grayish river surrounded the pissed-off woman. As Steve rubbed his chin and pondered the portrait like a good art critic might, he felt a presence beside him.
Geddon said, “She’s quite stunning, isn’t she?”
Steve glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “She’s actually kind of ugly.”
Geddon chuckled.
“Well you’re a bit of a muff, aren’t ye?” the woman in the paining said.
Steve jumped back like he’d found a spider in his bed. His hands instinctively went to his mouth. “W-What the hell!”
Geddon’s chuckle grew louder.
“It talked!”
“I’m not an ‘it,’ ye lazy sod.” The woman’s mouth moved, slightly, and her voice grated, like she’d been stuck without water for quite some time. Perhaps since the Middle Ages.
Steve leaned closer to inspect the painting, his hands still at his mouth, scared the woman might leap out at him.
“Don’t worry, boy, I dun bite.” The woman’s solemn expression didn’t change, but her tone did. “Though I wouldn’t mind a bite out’a ye . . .”
Steve’s mouth fell open. He turned to Geddon, then back to the painting, pointing at it. “This painting is a horny old tramp, Geddy!”
Geddon finally got control of his laughter, his hand clutching his pained stomach.
“And she has an Irish accent,” Steve pointed out.
“Scottish, ye dobber,” she corrected.
“Is this some kind of trick? A ventriloquist act or something?” Steve moved to the sides to check out the frame of the painting. It was hanging from a plain white wall, with no apparent strings attached anywhere.
“No,” Geddon said, “she is as you see her.”
“Is she, like, stuck in there?”
“Why, do you want to help free her?”
Steve thought about it for a moment. “Not particularly.”
Geddon smiled. “Well, good, because you can’t. She’s not a real person, Steve—she’s a painting trapped in landscape. She’s never seen anything besides what’s in front of her. I bet you haven’t even seen the pretty flowers behind you, eh?”
“What flowers?” the woman asked.
Geddon’s eyes moved to the wall around the painting. “What’s your name, woman? I see no tag. Who made you?”
“A wee Jessie years aback,” she said. “Can’t rightly recall his name it been so long.”
“And how’d you get here?” Geddon asked.
“In a bag, ye numpty.”
Geddon rolled his eyes. “I mean from where, woman.”
“Art house in Australia, if I ‘member true.”
Geddon scratched the five o’clock shadow on his cheek. He narrowed his eyes. “From Terrus . . . Perth is in Australia, yes?”
Steve nodded.
“I do miss that sorry place,” said the woman in the painting, “folks coming every day t’see me. The people-watching here can’t compare.”
Geddon snapped his fingers and pointed at the painting. “If you’re from a gallery in Perth, I reckon you’re one of John Duncan Fergusson’s fine works.”
“Trying to make me blush calling me fine, boy? There ain’t enough paint on me cheeks for that.”
Steve stayed quiet, lost in a swirl of random thoughts. He’d been on Mythicus for almost a month and this was one of the trippiest things he’d seen yet. A talking painting. Can all the paintings on Mythicus talk? He turned from the woman on the wall and faced another painting—another landscape. This one portrayed two horses grazing in a field of golden-yellow grain.
Steve stepped up to the painting. “Hello?” he called out, leaning in. His voice echoed off the high ceiling of the art gallery.
Geddon turned and faced him. “What are you doing?”
Steve raised his brows. “Trying to see if it’ll talk to me. Do all the paintings on Mythicus talk?”
Geddon put his hands on his hips. “Not this one.”
Steve frowned. “Why not?”
Geddon looked at Steve like his brain was made of mashed potatoes. He nudged his chin at the painting. “Because they’re horses, Steve.”
Steve stood to his full height and mouthed, “Ah,” while mimicking Geddon’s hands-on-hip stance, trying to look less idiotic than he felt.
Behind him, the woman on the wall was laughing at him.
A goddamn painting is laughing at me, he thought, feeling like he’d reached a new low. An inanimate object with no soul, or heart, or mind . . .
“Come on,” Geddon said, grabbing Steve by the arm and leading him away.
“Let’s go somewhere else, so the horny old woman can’t embarrass you anymore.”
Steve felt like he was embarrassing himself. But that wasn’t anything new. Everything on Mythicus was different than Earth. Even though he’d been here a month, he felt more clueless than when he’d arrived. A talking painting was the tip of the iceberg.
The duo rounded a corner down the hall and almost bumped into Kaiko, the third member of their party. He was a short man, up to Steve’s nipples, with dark, sun-touched skin and shaggy black hair hiding his eyes. He was a Hawaiian Menehune, which, as Steve understood it, were mischievous little people in Hawaiian mythology.
He was also one of Geddon’s good friends and conspirators.
“Ah, there you are braddah,” Kaiko said, reaching up to put his hands on Geddon’s shoulders. “Almost got lost in this place!”
Geddon thrust his thumb behind him, at Steve. “Better than this poor bastard. He almost tried banging one of the paintings.”
Steve’s mouth fell open, his cheeks burned red. “W-What the hell man, you know I didn’t!”
But Kai was already bellowing, rolling his head back and laughing as loud as his small body would allow.
His rolling laughter reminded Steve of Dale.
Aw, Steve thought, nostalgia running through him. I miss Fats.
Geddon mistook the sad look in Steve’s eyes and said, “I’m teasing you, man. Come on, lighten up.” He slapped Steve on the back, as if that would flip his switch from sad to happy.
Steve gave Geddon a blank stare, not even hearing his words as he reminisced on his friend still on Earth. He wondered how Dale was getting along. Last they spoke, he’d been betrayed by the guy whose house he stayed at, shoved in a coffin while still breathing . . . and he still didn’t have a place to live.
A bad thought about Dale struck Steve: wandering the San Diego streets downtown, living under a bridge in a tent city with other homeless people. It made Steve cringe. He tried to bury the thought.
I’ll have to see if there’s some way to contact him . . . let him know I’m all right.
Geddon squeezed his shoulder and brought him back to the present.
“So,” Geddon said, facing Kaiko. “How goes it, Kai?”
The little Hawaiian shook his head. “Sorry, braddah, it ain’t here.”
“You’re sure?” Geddon asked.
“Sure as shit.”
Geddon frowned.
Steve looked from Geddon to Kaiko. Furrowing his brow, he said, “What isn’t here?”
They both ignored him. Kaiko leaned a bit closer to Geddon with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I did find this, though.” He flashed the inside of his jacket like he was a drug dealer showing his goods. Reaching inside the secret pocket, he pulled out a small object for a split second. Then it disappeared back into the pocket. “Pretty righteous, eh, Hana?”
Steve thought he saw an egg, no bigger than the size of a chicken’s, but crafted out of marble or some other precious rock.
Geddon tried to hide his surprise. He looked over Kaiko’s shoulder.
Alarm bells went off in Steve’s mind. His Spider Sense was tingling.
“What the hell’s that, Kai?” Geddon asked frantically, in a low voice. “Where’d you get it?”
Kaiko leaned his head back without turning, to indicate it came from behind him. “They won’t be missing it—there’s tons of these little eggs all over the place here.”
“This isn’t an Easter Egg hunt, Kai!” Geddon said in the same low volume, but with spittle flying from his lips. He was suddenly quite on edge, as was Steve. Kaiko looked completely calm.
Until a voice called out in a loud, booming tone. “One of the eggs is missing! We’ve been burgled!”
The art gallery was nearly empty of people. There were only about ten Mythics roaming the grounds, perusing the art, and they all froze when the voice broke the silence. The huddled group of three—all whom tensed when the voice called out—was quite suspicious, to say the least.
“You three!” the same man yelled, from the other end of the room.
None of them decided to face the speaker.
Geddon’s eyes bulged as he peeked over Steve’s shoulder. “Walk backward, Steve. Slowly.”
Steve began moving, as well as Kaiko, pretending he didn’t hear the voice, or it wasn’t directed at him. But he felt pretty damn stupid moonwalking toward a wall.
“Stop moving, dammit!” the voice cried. It was a high-pitched shriek, growing closer. “Lock down the grounds!”
Steve bumped against the wall. Geddon surged past him and pushed on the handle of a door. It swung open and an alarm went off. The ear-piercing alarm made Steve buckle forward, to cup his ears between his hands and knees.
“Come on! Run!” Geddon shouted from the other side of the door. He’d opened it just in time, before the alarm presumably locked it.
“Stop them!” the museum guard shouted to no one.
The trio broke away from the side of the building’s emergency exit, but not before Geddon slammed the door shut. They were on the second floor of the gallery, on a balcony that dropped off fifteen feet to the ground.
It looked a lot further down to the grass than it was, in Steve’s opinion.
But Geddon had his hand latched onto Steve’s elbow. “Just jump, man! Don’t think!”
Kaiko leaped from the balcony, effortlessly landing and rolling in one slick maneuver, then popping to his feet.
Steve hesitated and glanced behind him. He saw the angry red face of the museum guard on the other side of the door, fiddling with keys, trying to figure out which one would open it.
A thought occurred to Steve: What would Mythic jail be like?
Geddon clenched his arm even tighter.
“Three . . . two . . .” Geddon was saying.
Steve didn’t realize this was a countdown situation.
Before Geddon reached “one,” Steve heard a click and the handle of the door behind them turned. The guard had found the correct key.
Which was all the motivation Steve needed. He ran forward, alongside Geddon, and they both leaped from the balcony.
Geddon let go of Steve’s arm midair so he could brace for impact. He landed gracefully, on his feet, hitting the grass in a run.
Steve wasn’t so lucky. He was weightless for a moment, his arms flailing in the sky. Then he landed with a teeth-jarring thud. He rolled his ankle and toppled over. Geddon stood over him and helped him up.
The guard was at the top of the balcony, taking a running start.
Limping along as fast as he could, Steve let Geddon guide him through the grassy park. Kaiko was already on the other side of the park, slowing down.
When they’d run twenty yards through the park, Steve looked back. The guard was on the ground, chasing them, waylaying them with profanities and curses.
Steve clenched his jaw and kept hopping forward, leaping with his good leg without the gimpy one hitting the ground. They reached the end of the park, where Kaiko was waiting, and took stairs leading down.
Then they were in the quiet streets, which reminded Steve of San Diego but with less people and zero cars. Most of the buildings were high-rises and skyscrapers, like in San Diego, even though hardly anyone inhabited them.
The air was warm and thick, like something was grabbing Steve’s skin as he ran. It was almost as if he was constantly running through a patch of thin spider webs, tickling and prickling his face. It was an odd sensation, one that couldn’t be found anywhere on Earth.
But they weren’t on Earth.
They twisted around the streets, into an alley. Steve peeked over his shoulder and found the guard hot on their trail. Another guard had joined the first.
As he rounded the alley and looked forward, Steve realized they’d made a terrible error. “Why the fuck did we run down a dead-end!?” he screamed.
“Shit,” Geddon said, under his breath. He was panting. They all were.
The alley
was long, but it definitely dead-ended and there’d be no outrunning the guards . . .
“Kai, can you do it?” Geddon asked.
Kaiko stopped running. The two guards were coming around the corner in a full sprint. They were about thirty yards away, closing in fast.
Kaiko’s dark eyes scanned the alley.
Geddon and Steve both stopped running to watch their friend.
“We’re fucked, we’re dead, we’re idiots,” Steve whispered to himself, giving himself all the discouragement he could muster.
“Kai!” Geddon screamed, breaking the Hawaiian’s stupor.
Kaiko nodded and ran to a large dumpster tucked away in a nook. It was an industrial dumpster, like restaurants used. He put his hand on the lid and closed his eyes. A snarling, rumbling sound came from underneath the lid. Steve expected Oscar the trash Muppet to pop out.
A moment later, Kaiko lifted the lid.
The dumpster was halfway filled with black, brackish water. It must have rained and someone must have forgotten to shut it overnight. Steve was as confused as ever.
“Get in,” Kaiko said.
Steve stared at him incredulously.
Geddon didn’t need to be told twice. He dove headfirst into the dumpster, toppling over and landing in the water with a splash.
Then he was gone.
Not submerged or bobbing in the dirty water . . . just gone.
“Get in!” Kaiko insisted, louder.
Steve gulped and grappled the dirty frame of the dumpster. He took one more peek at the guards, who were less than ten yards away.
He felt a hand on his back as Kaiko pushed him.
He flopped and plunged into the filthy pond . . .
Then his senses played a trick on him. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't get swamped with bacteria and nastiness, but the water didn’t envelop him like it would if he’d jumped into a pool. The water didn’t move, and neither did he. He was stuck in a cryostastis chamber, unable to swim or sink. It was like being trapped in a tub of Jell-O, completely surrounding him but not drowning him. The water didn’t even bubble.
Then a hand plunged through the Jell-O from above—God reaching down to lift an angel to Heaven.
