by Cory Barclay
Steve smiled. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. He hoped she wasn’t saying it just to please him. But, honestly, it didn’t matter.
Being with Annabel made all his regrets about leaving Earth fade away. It did make him think of Dale, who crept into his mind, until Dale overwhelmed all other thoughts. He asked, “Will you help me find my friend, Bel?”
Annabel furrowed her brow. “How do you mean?”
“I’m still not any good at dream-leaping. I’d like to get better.”
Dream-leaping was the way people on Mythicus could communicate with people on Terrus. It was how Annabel’s parents had first communicated with him, urging him to bring back their daughter to her rightful home. It was something every Mythic could do—even humans temporarily on Mythicus. He’d learned the basics during his short stay on Mythicus, but he wanted to learn more.
“You’ve been thinking about Mister Fats, haven’t you?” Annabel asked.
Steve nodded.
“You aren’t worried you might not like what you see?”
Steve said, “Of course not. How could I? Nothing Dale does could surprise me.”
Annabel tilted her head to the side. “I’m not so sure of that, darling. But, yes, I will help you.”
Steve smiled. “Thank you.”
Annabel looked up at the starry sky. Her mood changed, from whimsical and giddy to serious and stern. Her face hardened.
“Come on,” she said. “We should return home before my parents throw a fit.”
“Right-o,” Steve said, sighing.
“Think that horse can carry the two of us?”
Steve shrugged. “I reckon there’s only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER THREE
CONSTANTIN AND MARIANA Lee were Annabel’s parents. Luckily for Steve, they were out of the house when he and Annabel arrived. It was lucky because they did not approve of his relationship with their daughter. They didn’t seem to be very approving of almost anything. Both were strict, uptight vampires, rigid in their militant roles as parents.
They also blamed Steve for tearing Annabel away from them, but gave him hardly any credit for bringing her back.
As Annabel and Steve entered the large mansion of the Lee family, Annabel stepped into the foyer and called out their names. She received no response.
Then she called another. “Charles?”
Charles was Annabel’s brother. He seemed to spend a lot of time away from the house—Steve had never even met the guy in the month he’d been coming there.
She called out one last name. “Lig?”
A moment later, a small face appeared from behind a wall. The face belonged to a wrinkly, gray-haired little man who walked with a bow-legged gait and came up to Steve’s belly button. Lig was the house brownie—a mischievous little creature that acted as part-time butler and full-time pain in the ass.
Steve liked the diminutive man, because he resonated with Lig’s full-time occupation.
Brownies usually only worked at night, doing small menial tasks around the house in exchange for food and other gifts. Steve tried to keep Lig happy, because even though Lig was a servant, he held more clout with Annabel’s parents than Steve did. Thus, he tried to stay on the creature’s good side.
Lig looked like a hunchbacked tiny old man, but he was actually quite young, as far as brownies go. Steve wondered if his was a Benjamin Button case, or if all household creatures like Lig happened to look like decrepit old babies from the get-go. He wore clothes that looked like they came from Gap Kids and his tiny feet were shoe-less.
Keeping with his plan to stay on Lig’s good side, Steve stepped forward once the little creature’s skittish face appeared from behind the wall. He reached into his jacket pocket and came out with a handful of vanilla wafers. They’d been sitting in a bowl when he’d first entered the art gallery earlier that day. Steve had tasted a few of the wafers and found them pretty disgusting because they were too sweet. He knew brownies loved sweets, so he’d stuck a handful in his pocket in preparation for later.
He put his hand out and took two soft steps down the hall. “Here, Lig, I got you something.”
“A gift?” the little creature asked in a high, hopeful voice.
Steve smiled and nodded. “Multiple gifts.”
“Ooh.” Lig crept forward cautiously. He had a big vacuum nose about half the size of his head. He sniffed Steve’s hand when he got close enough. Because he liked to play little benign pranks, he also assumed everyone else did, so he was always wary about people fooling him.
When he realized Steve wasn’t fooling, he thrust his grubby little hands out and cupped them together. Steve overturned his hand and let the wafers waterfall into Lig’s hands. The brownie’s smile grew larger and larger as the treats dropped in—gold coins pouring from the end of a rainbow. He pulled his hands close to his chest and scurried off like a raccoon stealing dog food.
Before he got too far down the hall, Annabel said, “Not so fast, Lig.”
The brownie froze in place, but didn’t turn.
Speaking to his back, Annabel continued. “Where have my parents gone?”
Lig looked over his shoulder. “To a Brethren household, my lady. Says they’ll be back before the night is through.”
“I’d hope so,” Annabel said, “or the dawn will burn them to crisps.”
“Would it be so bad?” Lig asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Would be so sad, I says, my lady.”
Annabel smirked. She waved her hand forward in the universal “be gone” motion and Lig scampered off down the hall.
“What’s a Brethren household?” Steve asked, as Annabel took his hand and led him down a different hall.
“Their weekly gathering place,” Annabel said. She said it like it was a place where vampires went to play Bingo. An undead old folk’s home.
But Steve imagined it was more like a full moon witch’s conclave in the middle of the woods.
“A gathering of . . . friends?” Steve ventured.
Annabel shrugged. “You could say that.”
They walked up a set of stairs, passed a few closed doors, and came to an open door at the end of the hall. They were on the east wing of the mansion, near Annabel’s room, which was always unlocked.
Constantin and Mariana Lee were nothing if not overprotective and ever-watchful.
Steve got the feeling Annabel didn’t want to talk about her parents’ weekly Bridge tournament at the retirement community. But he couldn’t stop his mind from going to dark places: virgin sacrifices over a bloody cauldron; vampiric orgies.
Annabel glanced over her shoulder and saw the lost look in Steve’s eyes. She sighed, knowing where his mind had gone. “My mother and father are important people, as you know.”
“I know they’re important. But people? That’s debatable.”
Annabel rolled her eyes. She opened the door, reached for a nearby wall switch, and light bathed the room. Steve had been surprised when he’d first learned Mythicus had electricity.
“They meet with nobles of higher status to get closer to them—to raise their own status, I believe.”
“And those people are part of a club?”
“If clubs have hierarchies, then, yes, that’s what they are.”
Annabel pulled Steve into the room. Steve had laughed when he was first shown the room, because it looked exactly how he thought an angsty Goth teenager might decorate her room. Four black walls framed a large, crystalline chandelier over her bed. Velvet red sheets covered the bed and dark purple curtains hung from the window.
“What kind of hierarchies are we talking here?” Steve asked. “Like who’s in charge of bringing the orange slices and Capri Sun to the next team practice?”
Annabel wasn’t amused. It was hard for her to treat the seriousness of her parents with anything other than seriousness. “No,” she said, “like who’s in charge of exportation, taxation, recruitment, reconnaissance . . . that sort of thing.”<
br />
“That sounds like a government, not a club.”
Annabel walked over to her bed, let go of Steve’s hand, and sat on the edge. “Remember I told you Mythicus is in a war? Well . . . the Brethren fight on one side of the war.”
Steve frowned. He didn’t know what to do with his hands since Annabel had released them, so he stuffed them in his jacket pockets. “Sounds dangerous, Bel.”
“They aren’t bad people, my love, they just have ideas not everyone agrees with.”
Steve’s frown remained plastered on his face. “Hitler also had ideas not everyone agreed with.”
Annabel looked struck. “The Brethren of Soreltris aren’t Nazis, Steve. How could you make such a leap?”
“I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Steve shook his head. He decided he wanted to change the subject. The last thing he wanted was to provoke Annabel’s ire.
“Speaking of leaping,” he said, turning his frown upside down, “can you help me reach Dale?”
Annabel paused for a moment, debating if she should continue schooling Steve about the differences between the Brethren and the Nazi parties. Ultimately, she decided against it. She hadn’t wanted to broach the subject to begin with. She patted the bed covers next to her and said, “Lie down.”
Steve smiled, arching his eyebrows twice in quick succession. Annabel rolled her eyes. “I like where this is going already,” Steve said, scooting onto the bed. He put his head on a pillow.
“You remember how to reach Ethereus?” Annabel asked.
“Isn’t my first rodeo, baby.”
“Shut up,” she said, catching Steve off-guard. “This is serious. Remember what I told you about the spirit plane?”
How could Steve forget? It was one of the more fascinating things he’d learned on Mythicus: how to leap into other people’s dreams, to converse with them. He’d never been able to successfully breach another person’s mind, but he’d gotten close. He felt like he was on the brink of a big breakthrough. What kind of possibilities awaited him when he was able to talk to his friends on Earth again?
“Of course I remember, my dear.”
Ignoring him, Annabel said, “If your body dies while you’re there, your soul will be stuck in Ethereus forever. It’s happened before to—”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember, Bel. How could I possibly die on your bed when you’re right next to me? Unless you have a nefarious plan you’re not telling me about . . .”
Ignoring his quip again, she continued. “You can also get trapped there if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, or how to leave. That’s why I want you to be serious.”
“But you’ll be here the whole time, right?”
“Of course I will.” Annabel sounded frustrated. She said, “Close your eyes,” and Steve obliged. She put her hands to his temples, pressed lightly, and continued. “Now concentrate and focus your sight.”
Red and yellow colors danced behind Steve’s eyelids. He focused his vision at the ceiling, not letting his eyes move beneath the lids. He tried to hone in on a single pattern behind his lids, like he’d been taught.
“Now remove all thoughts of the past or future. Draw your attention to the present, only, and the person you’d like to communicate with. Find that person in your mind.”
Steve was starting to feel sleepy, and it wasn’t because of any magic Annabel was doing. He was exhausted from such a long day. He’d escaped an art gallery, rolled his ankle, and traveled through a dumpster full of mythical Jell-o. He’d walked through San Diego-Mythicus and rode across a countryside he didn’t know existed. He’d had sex on a hilltop overlooking the city.
Right after he closed his eyes he began nodding off. He wanted to say something to warn Annabel, to tell her it wasn’t going to work because he was too tired.
Instead, he opened his eyes and shook his head to try to force the tiredness out. Moonlight poured in through the French window. He faced the broad back of his friend, who was at the other end of the room, near the window, leaning forward against the wall.
Dale’s shirt came off.
“What the hell, Fats!” Steve cried out. He wrenched his neck at the sight of Dale’s hairy back. How did that shirt come off, anyway? Dale’s arms were still in front of him, hidden.
Then Steve saw the hands of a much smaller person creep around Dale’s love handles. With a grimace, Steve stepped to the side to get a better view. Dale’s big body was blocking the other person, whose back was against the wall.
Dale was hunched over, kissing the mystery person.
“Oh shit, Fats, get some!” Steve cheered. Dale gave no response.
Steve smiled and tried to look away. He stared at the stucco wall next to Dale: it was a wall he recognized, somehow, but it wasn’t Dale’s house. And was this wrong? Or frowned upon? Stalking into his friend’s private space, spying on him making out with someone? He felt like a Peeping Tom. Things were about to get worse, too, because it looked like Dale’s belt was coming off.
Steve wondered if this was actually happening in real time—if what he was seeing was happening. Or was he in Dale’s mind, seeing what Dale wished he was seeing? Was this a dream Dale was having?
Steve felt lost in a memory loop—something out of Inception—and he didn’t know what was real. Whose mind controlled things here?
The confusing thought was enough to sever the connection he’d made. He said, “Dammit, Fats, I’m happy for you.”
Dale’s body tensed and his head swung around to stare at Steve.
Steve felt his own presence fading. Right when Dale stared at him with a dead look in his eyes, the stucco walls started closing in.
“What’s wrong, honey?” a voice asked from the other side of Dale.
Steve opened his eyes.
“Nothing.” Dale’s voice trailed off in Steve’s mind like the wisp of a dream two seconds away from drifting away forever. “Thought I heard someone call my name—someone I used to know.”
Steve looked up into the concerned face of Annabel. Sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Are you all right?”
Steve’s mouth was dry and he panted to get his breath. He nodded, unable to form words.
“What happened?” Annabel asked.
“I saw Dale . . . somewhere I recognized, but . . .”
‘Thought I heard someone call my name’ . . .
“But what?” Annabel pressed.
“He couldn’t see me, I’m pretty sure,” Steve said.
‘Someone I used to know’ . . .
“I think he heard me, but he barely recognized my voice.”
Annabel frowned, putting her hand behind Steve’s head, gently helping him sit up. Colors and a wild rush of nerves swept through his brain. He blinked rapidly, to calm himself.
“Remember, January warned us it could happen, my love,” Annabel said quietly. “That if we parted, before too long you would stop remembering who I was . . . that I even existed.”
“It’s part of the reason I let Geddon bring me to Mythicus,” Steve said, “so that wouldn’t happen. But . . . I never imagined it could happen in reverse . . . and to someone I’ve known all my life.” Steve shook his head, confused. “Shit!” He punched the bed sheets next to him. “I’ve got to go back. I’ve got to try to reach Dale. I mean, that house seemed so familiar . . . and if I could pinpoint myself that closely to Dale’s whereabouts, I’m sure I could get him to notice me.”
Annabel was shaking her head. “You can’t go back, darling. You’re spent. You’re too weak.”
“I have to try, Bel! I have to make Dale remember!”
Still shaking her head, Annabel said, “I can’t allow it. I’m sorry. I won’t risk losing you to Ethereus’ wiles. You’re not experienced enough. Why do you think my parents only reached out to you occasionally, and on different days? And they’re powerful!”
Steve gritted his teeth. He knew Annabel was right, but it pained him to hear he was too inept to continue. He’d felt so close to hi
m! And her . . . whoever her was.
“Don’t worry, my dear.” Annabel smiled fondly, realizing she’d talked Steve out of it. “We’ll try again soon, and I’m sure you’ll reach him next time.”
With a heavy sigh, Steve said, “You’re right.” He leaned forward and pecked Annabel on the lips.
As if the simple peck on the lips opened the gateway to the seventh layer of Hell itself, a loud voice boomed in the distance:
“Annabel Lee, you’d better be home! And that Terrusian vagrant best not be with you!”
CHAPTER FOUR
STEVE AND ANNABEL CREPT into the foyer of the house, where Constantin Lee awaited them. He was a straight-backed, tall, lanky man with fine features and a pale face. His dark tuxedo made him look like he’d either come from a job interview or a funeral. The black garb offset his paleness. He hid his hands behind his back.
“How was your meeting, Father?” Annabel asked shyly, her eyes focused on the floor, avoiding his gaze. Steve wished Annabel had more backbone when conversing with her father, but he knew couldn’t say that . . . Constantin was an imposing figure. In truth, he was feeling quite squeamish in the vampire’s presence, too. He had no room to judge.
Constantin appraised his daughter with a solemn look, as if gauging her worth. Steve had gotten that same look from his own father in the past, and it was maddening. The look said, I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.
“Productive,” Constantin said in a deep voice. He hadn’t even glanced at Steve and Steve was happy to keep it that way. He felt spineless, but it was hard feeling formidable in front of a man who’d lived through the Hundred Years’ War and the Black Plague.
“Where’s Mother?” Annabel asked.
“She made a hasty retreat to her rooms.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe she wishes to listen to what I must tell you.”
Uh oh, Steve thought. Am I about to be sacrificed—blood drained and roasted on a spit?
“Is it about Steve?” Annabel asked. The question made Constantin pinch his nose in dismay. He still hadn’t moved his eyes to Steve. Not once.
