The Dream Leaper

by Cory Barclay

  Steve had never seen it like that. He’d always thought Mythics were inherently stronger, smarter, and more powerful than humans. It was a point of contention he’d held against these people ever since he’d first met Annabel. It wasn’t fair they had these powers. But this was a new philosophy he was hearing.

  He asked, “Strengths like what?”

  “Well, for one,” Tetsuo said, holding up a finger, “we aren’t constantly hunted like they are.”

  I was, Steve thought. “Says the guy sitting in a jail cell.”

  Steve worried Tetsuo would take that the wrong way. Tetsuo went along with the gibe and smiled. “You have me there. I mean generally, not specifically myself. My situation is a bit different.”

  “True.”

  Tetsuo lowered his hand and flapped it up and down. He seemed to lose his train of thought. “Let us stop there, before we go any further. We can discuss the intricacies of Mythic and human relations during another time.”

  “Perhaps when we’re speaking to each other in person.”

  Tetsuo smiled. “I would like that. For now, you have important information to relay to your superiors, yes?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then if everything should go accordingly, I will see you soon, Steve Remington.”

  Steve nodded and watched as the man slowly sat back down in the corner and picked up his book.

  Steve closed his eyes and concentrated, then awoke in the dining room of Aiden O’Shaunessy’s house. He was back on Mythicus.

  “Well?” was the first word he heard, coming from Geddon, who was leaning forward earnestly.

  Steve was sweating and wiped his forehead with his forearm. He breathed in ragged gasps for a moment.

  “Let him collect himself,” Aiden said, putting a hand out toward Steve. “It’s never easy to return from a dream-leap. Ethereus takes a lot out of you.”

  Selestria said, “As much as I hate to admit it, Aiden is right.”

  Steve felt his heart slowing. The goosebumps on his arms faded, and his crystal clear eyesight returned. It took another minute for him to feel normal. He felt like he was coming down from an endorphin rush.

  “We have a lot of work to do,” Steve said. All six eyes gazing at him seemed eager and impatient. “But Francesca the Third will be happy, because we don’t have to ride a hundred-fifty miles north.”

  “Oh? Why not?” Geddon asked.

  “Because he’s coming here. Overseer Malachite is bringing Tetsuo to Annabel and Amethyst’s wedding.”

  “Why?” Aiden asked incredulously.

  “Presumably to keep an eye on him.”

  “Then we must be ready,” Geddon said.

  “And prepared,” Selestria added.

  “Yes, we must,” Steve said, then leaned forward and stood. “But I have some things I need to take care of before they get here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  STEVE TRAVELED SOUTH from Aiden’s house. He left in the afternoon, alone, and could hardly believe the battle against the Brethren blackguard had happened just last night. It seemed a lifetime ago. He was starting to notice Mythicus did strange things with his sense of time, especially when jumping in and out of Ethereus as much as he had been.

  After the midnight battle, they’d ridden south, through dawn, escaping to Aiden O’Shaunessy’s abode. Now he was leaving again as the sun reached its zenith. It was a hot, summer day. The sun cooked the asphalt, distorting the air into shimmering mirages floating above the ground.

  Steve felt like he was riding through a desert. Aiden had given him a waterskin, though it was more for Francesca the Third than for himself.

  The three Mythics had asked where he was going. Geddon had said, “We deserve to know where you’re going during these dire times. Why won’t you tell us?”

  To which Steve replied, “Don’t you trust me by now, Geddy? Have a little faith. I promise it’ll benefit all of us.”

  Geddon had wanted to retort, but Selestria had put a hand on his shoulder and calmed him.

  Steve had felt a warmness wash over him. He’d known at that moment at least one of these people trusted him, and she was the one who knew him the least.

  Aiden allowed Geddon and Selestria to stay at his mansion until Steve returned. Geddon had declined, saying he’d rather stay at their old base camp in Old Town. Selestria pointed out the stupidity in that: their base had been raided once before, by the Brethren, and surely it was being watched. They didn’t want to get caught before they had a chance to rescue their leader, did they?

  No, they didn’t, Geddon had acknowledged.

  So, the three were staying at Aiden’s until Steve returned.

  “When will that be?” Geddon had asked.

  “Before tomorrow morning. Give me one day.”

  Geddon had seemed a bit nervous at that, and Steve didn’t know why. Perhaps it was paternal instinct—that Geddon saw him as his son or offspring. He did bring Steve to Mythicus, after all.

  Selestria had said, “Don’t get caught.”

  “If I’m not back by tomorrow, go on without me.” It had seemed like the perfect movie-style quote to say, but it didn’t get the unifying response he’d hoped for.

  Then he’d left.

  He was traveling only about eight miles south, but he had to take frequent stops to water Francesca.

  As he passed Old Town, he watched as Mythics roamed the streets, going about their day. They were completely oblivious to the dangerous events happening all around them. In that, they were somewhat like Americans, Steve thought.

  Ignorance was bliss—and talking about politics was a surefire way to ruin a relationship. When in doubt, ignore politics completely. Unless it affects you directly, don’t worry about it. Live your life.

  These were all mottoes that many Americans lived by. And the Mythics were no different. They didn’t know a very important marriage was happening soon, one that could shape their lives.

  Steve had yet to see the iron fist the Brethren supposedly ruled with. He hadn’t seen slaves or governmental land grabs, or anything out of the ordinary. These people seemed, if not happy, then at least satisfied with their boring lives.

  But Steve knew these things were suppressed to the public. The powers that be never wanted their subjects to be privy to what was going on behind closed doors. Let them remain oblivious sheep.

  As Steve passed Old Town and continued south, toward Downtown, he cut east away from the buildings. He headed toward the green plains and the hillside where he’d first met Annabel following the botched art heist with Kaiko and Geddon.

  He knew Annabel wouldn’t be there, but it was a landmark that helped direct him to his next destination.

  When he reached the summit of the hill and the large, towering oak tree atop it, he stopped, dismounted, and allowed Francesca to rest under the shade. The horse grazed and ate some grass and Steve leaned against the tree, taking a long pull from his waterskin.

  He squinted into the sunny sky and began to think about Tetsuo. The man of the hour.

  One revelation that had shocked Steve was learning Tetsuo had been Aiden’s Myth Seeker. He’d brought the leprechaun to Earth/Terrus, for some reason.

  Steve put his waterskin down next to him and closed his eyes, reminiscing on the words Tetsuo had said to him:

  “Humans aren’t constantly hunted like Mythics are.”

  But on Terrus, Steve’s studio and house had burned down. A kind elderly lady had been brutally murdered. His best friend had been kidnapped and buried alive.

  A whole bunch of bad shit had happened that Steve related directly to being “hunted all the time.”

  It made Steve angry, thinking that Tetsuo could be so naïve.

  Then he thought about why he had been hunted.

  When he and Annabel had gone to the cemetery “where it all began,” to meet with Dale’s captor, he’d discovered it was Aiden. It was a terrible betrayal, one that shocked him.

  But Aiden had
said it wasn’t his idea: his superior would give him something for something in return.

  The “something” Aiden wanted: to return to Mythicus.

  The “something” his superior wanted: Steve and Annabel.

  And who was Aiden’s superior? The leprechaun’s Myth Seeker.

  Steve’s body jolted, knocking over the waterskin next to him. Confusion played on his face . . .

  It was Tetsuo.

  Tetsuo had admitted it to him—his relationship with Aiden—and Steve hadn’t thought anything of it.

  But now he was given more time to think and recall the events of the past few months, Steve came to the realization.

  Tetsuo, as Aiden’s Myth Seeker, had wanted Steve and Annabel brought to him, on Mythicus. And the way Aiden had said it, it didn’t sound like it was so they could go play mini golf. It had sounded extreme, dangerous, and ominous.

  But why? he wondered. A shiver crept up his spine. He was helping these people rescue Tetsuo, their commander-in-chief. But in the past, it sounded like Tetsuo wanted Steve for some grave, dark reason.

  The reason Steve had been hunted on Earth, after finding out he had these magical powers, was because of Tetsuo.

  This newfound discovery didn’t sit well.

  In fact, Steve started to question everything about the recent events. He abruptly felt distrustful of Tetsuo and he couldn’t shake it.

  He thought to himself, Should we even be saving this guy?

  But then he shook the thought from his mind and mounted Francesca the Third.

  He had other, more pressing concerns.

  STEVE WATCHED ANNABEL’S windows for any movement or activity. It had taken him an hour to get from the hill to the Lee estate. He’d been hiding in the wooded undergrowth surrounding her house for another hour. He’d parked Francesca the Third nearby—but not too close—and had tethered her around a large tree trunk. He left her close to a patch of grass, to graze and keep her occupied. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone.

  The sun was beginning to wane, but he was patient.

  He had to make sure he wasn’t walking into a trap in the Lee household.

  He had no qualms that Constantin or Mariana Lee would see him as a threat if they saw him this close. They’d be on edge thanks to Annabel’s upcoming wedding.

  He stayed in his little nook, hidden by branches and leaves and foliage. His eyes danced around the outer walls of the house, looking for any possible motion.

  After a while, he began to think Annabel herself was not home. He figured she might be in the woods, either foraging or looking around for her brother, who never seemed to be around.

  Steve felt sad Annabel lived such a restrictive life because of her parents. He desperately wanted to free her from her lonely existence.

  But his intentions weren’t completely altruistic. He knew there was selfishness there, hiding below the surface. He wanted to help Annabel escape the grip of her parents, sure, but he also wanted her for himself.

  He wanted her to be his. Not Tiberius’. He didn’t want to control her, but he wanted them to be together.

  When he felt he’d taken all the precautions he could, he left his hiding place and emerged from the woods. He walked down the driveway and came to the front door of the house, then tried the handle.

  It gave way. He pushed the door open, walked inside like he lived there, and closed the door behind him.

  Despite it being sweltering outside, the airy foyer was cool. He imagined vampires were sticklers for keeping room temperatures as cool as possible, since they were dead and all and had no need for sunlight. The sunlight was their enemy. Cool, dank, darkness was their greatest friend.

  Steve moved around the house at a snail’s pace. He knew Constantin and Mariana were asleep, at least for a few more hours before nighttime. But he was still scared the rumblings of his feet would alert them somehow.

  Vampires have extraordinary senses, right?

  He passed the library, peeked inside, and saw no one. He headed for the long staircase leading to the second level and Annabel’s room.

  Before he reached the stairs, a voice called out: “You’re either full of bravery or full of foolishness to come here.”

  Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. His heart skipped a beat as he spun around.

  Lig the brownie stood before him with his tiny arms crossed over his tiny chest, a sullen expression on his face.

  “Jesus Christ, Lig, you almost made me shit myself,” Steve uttered through gasping breaths. He put his hand to his heart, the adrenaline making a mess of his body. “How did you sneak up on me like that?”

  Lig snorted. “I’ve been tending this house for quite some time, wafer-man. My goal here is to do my chores without being noticed.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Lig waited for a moment, then walked toward the library. He waved and Steve followed him.

  When they were in the library, surrounded by shelves of old, priceless books, Steve asked, “Did you find anything out for me?” He had a hopeful note in his voice.

  “Too much for my own good, I’m sure,” Lig said, shaking his head. “The things I’ve learned could get me killed.”

  The brownie took a seat on a miniature stool and motioned for Steve to take the Ottoman across from him. Steve was too giddy and excited and freaked out to sit. He gave Lig the courtesy of not pacing, at least.

  “So?” Steve asked when he could no longer bear the suspense. “What did you find out about Edgar Allan Poe’s death?”

  “Before that will make any sense,” Lig said, “I must explain why he was here, on Mythicus, in the first place. I found this out while searching through my master’s private quarters. Like I said, he will kill me if he finds out, I’m sure.”

  “Your service will not go unnoticed to the cause,” Steve said lamely, clenching his fists in nervous preparation.

  Lig snorted again. “Don’t throw that horseshit at my feet, wafer-man. Just listen.”

  The brownie cleared his throat and began.

  “Constantin Lee and Jareth Reynolds were once good friends, I discovered. They fought in many wars together, long ago. Constantin is, of course, a vampire. He met Mariana, turned her into one of his kind, and disappeared from the mayhem of warfare and battle. They adopted a son and a daughter—”

  “Charles and Annabel.”

  Lig stared at him, tight-lipped and annoyed at the interruption. “And their lives went on. Er, well, not their lives, seeing as they’re not alive, but you get what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “Jareth Reynolds, however, did not disappear from the hectic lifestyle of battle and conflict. Not until he met Dosira. She is what is called an undine—a water sprite—and she helped cool his fiery, passionate spirit.”

  “I remember her eyes flashing blue one time, in anger,” Steve said. “But what do the Reynolds family have to do with Edgar?”

  “Don’t interrupt me again,” Lig said flatly. “Just shut up and listen.”

  Steve nodded, pantomiming zipping his mouth shut.

  “Undines resemble humans, but they lack a human soul. As such, Jareth wanted to help Dosira reach her fullest potential—he wanted to present her a soul. But the only way she could get one is by coupling her with a human. Jareth is not that.”

  He cleared his throat and rested one leg over the other, getting into a more comfortable position. Resting his hands on his lap, he resembled a psychiatrist questioning a patient. “So, Jareth met Edgar and tricked him, if you will. Edgar was vulnerable after the death of his beloved wife, Virginia. Jareth befriended Edgar and brought him to this magical place called Mythicus. It fueled Edgar’s imagination to no end. The entire time Edgar was here, Jareth tried to get the writer to fall for Dosira. His plan was to have Edgar copulate with Dosira, to give her a human soul and spirit, and then do away with the poet.

  “But that’s where things took a turn. Because our Edgar laid eyes on our Annabel.”

  Steve
sighed in amazement, his eyes widening. He was starting to understand where this convoluted story was going.

  “And, as I’m sure you know, Annabel and Edgar had a fiery, passionate affair with one another—”

  “Yes, yes,” Steve said, waving Lig onward past the gritty details he didn’t want to hear. “I know that part.”

  Lig smirked. “When Jareth found out what his old friend’s daughter had done, he flew into a rage, as he is predisposed to do. He had Edgar ousted from Mythicus and returned to Terrus. The poet lived out the rest of his short life in despair, always wanting to return here, but never being able to. I suppose it drove him to madness, as Mythicus does to so many. Once you’ve found a magical new world and then are cast away from it, that must have a devastating impact on your mental stability.”

  “I’m sure,” Steve muttered. He was thinking: It wasn’t Annabel’s parents that sent Edgar away, like she thought. She’s held that grudge against them for so long, but she doesn’t know that it was Jareth Reynolds! This is something I can use . . . though it doesn’t directly relate to her husband-to-be.

  To make sure, Steve said, “So, Tiberius Reynolds had nothing to do with Edgar’s disappearance?”

  Lig tilted his head to the side. “How could he? He wasn’t even born yet. Remember, this was over a hundred and fifty years ago, wafer-man.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “But you will see from this,” Lig added, reaching into his tunic, “that what I say must be true.” He presented a piece of paper, unfolded it, and handed it to Steve.

  It was a letter—or possibly a final confession of some kind.

  “I found that in my master’s quarters, hidden away with other documents he deems important.”

  It was dated October 25, 1849.

  Lig said, “Edgar died on October 7, eighteen days before that was written.”

  The letter explained that Edgar Allan Poe had been found roaming the streets in Baltimore, delirious, on October 3, 1849. The man who penned this letter, Joseph W. Walker, had found Edgar “in great distress and in need of immediate assistance.” Walker said Poe was wearing clothes that weren’t his. He was incoherent, and was said to have repeatedly called out the name “Reynolds” on the night before his death. Following the urgent calling out of “Reynolds,” Poe’s last words were: “Lord help my poor soul.”