“My sweet boy! I’ve missed you so much!”
“I’ve missed you too,” he said, his throat tight with both happiness and relief at finding her. He cast a look over her shoulder at Barnabas, still seated, who nodded his approval. “When you weren’t at home, I thought . . . well, I didn’t know what to think. And now, you’re here and . . . you’re a . . . a . . .”
“A barmaid. Yes, it’s true.” She sighed, but her smile didn’t falter as she kissed both of his cheeks. “With all these celebrations, it’s the easiest way to earn my coin.” Her eyes were kind, but it wasn’t until now that Maddox saw how tired they were, and he felt guilty for feeling any shame over his mother’s new occupation. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come home!”
Yes, it was possible that his heart might burst. “Me too,” he said, smiling so as not to shed a tear.
Then, Damaris’s joyful expression shadowed. “Where is Livius?” she asked in a low voice.
“Not here, thankfully,” replied Barnabas.
She turned her surprised gaze to Barnabas as he rose from his seat and drew back the hood of his cloak so she could fully see his face.
Damaris’s mouth fell open. She appeared to grapple for the right words. “You . . .” was all she managed.
Barnabas nodded. “Yes, it’s me. How’ve you been, sister?”
In one lightning-fast motion, she slapped him, hard, across his left cheek.
Barnabas winced, stroking his face gingerly. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Sixteen years! Sixteen years without a single word from you! I thought you were dead!” Then she grabbed him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much, you horrible thing!”
Barnabas grasped her shoulders and gave her a grin. “The feeling is mutual, Dam. Now we need to get out of here.”
“What? I can’t leave. Do you see how many people are in here? On a night like tonight I can earn enough to live on for at least a month! Go back to my cottage, stay as long as you like, and when this place closes up I’ll come home. Then we can catch up on all that has happened.”
A man with a shaved head in a red tunic climbed on top of a nearby table and raised his tankard high in the air. “To our radiant goddess Valoria!” he slurred. “May she reign for a thousand years! And a deadly curse upon the dark goddess of the South! We would rather spit than speak her name!”
A deafening cheer followed this toast, and patrons pounded on the tables to show their approval. Maddox watched all of this uneasily. What would they do if they knew the horrible truth about their beloved goddess?
“More wine for everyone!” the drunken man called out.
“I can’t talk long,” Damaris said, gesturing at the eager patrons rushing to the front with their goblets and mugs. “But I promise to return as soon as I can.”
Maddox grabbed her wrist as she turned away. “I know, Mother. I know everything.”
Her face blanched, and her gaze found his again. “As soon as I saw Barnabas . . .” she sighed. “If he found you, I knew it had to mean . . .” She swallowed hard. “You know everything?”
He nodded solemnly.
“So you know that Barnabas is . . . is . . .”
“My father,” he finished, still struggling to believe it was true. “And that you’re not really my mother, even though you . . . you are. I’ve been thinking about this for days on end. You will always be my mother. You kept me safe my whole life, with no one to help you, even though you’ve always known who I am. What I am. I love you for that—I’ll always love you for that.”
Damaris drew in a shaky breath, her eyes brimming with tears as she pulled him close and stroked the hair on the back of his head. “I wanted to tell you, Maddox, but it was never the right time. I wanted to assure you that your . . . abilities . . . came from a good place. Not from evil. Never evil.” Maddox didn’t want to let her go, but when he finally released her, she sniffed and rubbed her hand under her nose. “When Livius arrived, I thought that if he knew at least part of the truth, then perhaps he could help me protect you. I trusted him, foolishly. I was so stupid. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all the misery that man caused both of us.”
Maddox grasped her hands and squeezed them. “It’s all in the past. Really. That part of our lives is over. But I must urge you to come with us now.”
There was no time to tell her everything. That Livius was dead, killed from a poisonous bite from Valoria’s pet cobra. That Maddox and Barnabas had attempted to exile Valoria to another world but had only met with failure and the promise of a goddess’s wrath. That now the plan was to capture and interrogate Valoria’s scribe.
Damaris’s brows drew together. “What is this? Barnabas, what’s going on?”
Grim lines had settled into Barnabas’s expression. “Maddox isn’t the only one who knows the truth now, Dam.”
She stifled her gasp with the back of her hand. “Valoria.”
He nodded. “We need to get you somewhere safe. It’s no secret that Maddox has been with you all these years. Now that she knows who he is, it’s not beyond her to use your safety against him. She wants his magic for herself. For him to be at her disposal at all times.”
“She can’t have it,” Maddox gritted out.
Damaris was quiet for a long moment, until finally she nodded firmly. “Very well,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Without another word, the three of them made their way through the crowd toward the exit. Thanks to his good boots and knowledge that his mother was safe, Maddox now walked without any pain in either his feet or his heart.
“Not staying for another round?” The man in red who’d toasted to the goddess on top of the table now stood between them and the door.
“Afraid not, friend,” Barnabas said. “I guess that means more for the rest of you.”
“For the rest of them,” he said, gesturing at the drunken crowd with a jerk of his chin. “I stay away from inebriants myself. They cloud the mind. Don’t you agree, Barnabas?”
Barnabas drew the dagger from the sheath at his belt. “Who are you?”
“My name is Goran.”
“How do you know my name, Goran?”
Goran glanced at Maddox, whose heart had started racing in his chest. “And you’re Maddox, are you? I wasn’t expecting more than a mere boy, but look at you. Practically a man.”
“Let us pass,” Maddox growled as Damaris gripped his arm.
Goran glanced at the weapon in Barnabas’s hand. “Not a good idea to wave that about, Barnabas. Some innocent person in here could get hurt.”
“I’m not planning to hurt any of them,” Barnabas said. “Only the person who prevents us from leaving.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t like to hurt anyone. I, on the other hand, would kill everyone in here without blinking an eye.”
Barnabas narrowed his eyes. “What are you? An assassin?”
“I was. But I’ve recently been specially chosen to follow a worthier path.”
Barnabas cocked his head. “Let me guess. By Valoria?”
Goran smiled. “Her Radiance told me what happened. Did you really think this could end any other way? The boy comes with me tonight. If you try to stop me, I will kill you and everyone else in here.”
“That would be a mighty feat for even the most skilled assassin.”
“You thought this would be that easy?” Maddox snarled at the bald man. “That you’d just take me out of here and walk away and all is well?”
Goran raised a brow. “I’ve heard about your magic, boy. I know that as soon as we leave here, you will try to kill me. Therefore, I’ll be sure you’re not conscious for the journey.”
Maddox glanced around anxiously. No one else in the tavern seemed aware that there was a life-or-death negotiation going on in their midst. His stomach churned, but the amused expression on Barnabas’s face helped to keep him calm.
“Valoria has sent a single assassin after us,” Barnabas said, casually shifting his dagger back and forth betwee
n his hands. “Well, damn. It seems as if we’re defeated.”
“You speak mockingly,” said Goran. “You shouldn’t.”
“Oh yes, you’re right. I’m incredibly intimidated.” Barnabas inched close to Goran and stared him straight in his eyes. “Get out of our way, or I’ll send you back to your radiant goddess in pieces.”
“There’s no need for violent threats,” Damaris hissed, her hold on Maddox’s arm growing stronger. “There is a peaceful solution to be found here.”
Maddox almost smiled at that. His mother was always searching for peaceful solutions. How often had he found a large spider on his bed, only to watch his mother carefully scoop the creature up in a cooking pot to set it free while he’d been searching for something to kill it with.
“Every creature deserves a chance at life,” she’d tell him. “Even the ugly, eight-legged ones.”
But an assassin working for Valoria could surely do things much uglier than any spider could.
Maddox examined Goran closely. He had tattoos on his neck and muscular forearms, some sort of writing in black and gold. Maddox couldn’t read the language, although it seemed oddly familiar to him. He pulled his gaze away when he felt the assassin notice him looking.
“My tattoos,” Goran said, holding out his arms. “The ink is so fresh it’s barely dried. They are gifts from the goddess herself. She told me that if she had her dagger, she could have made the marks deeper, more permanent than she was able to with her earth magic alone. Though these will work just fine.”
Among all the items she greedily sought, the one the goddess prized the most highly was a golden dagger. This dagger, she believed, had the power to turn mortals into slaves if it was used to carve special symbols into their flesh.
For a while now, Maddox had suspected that these symbols were words written in the language of the immortals—the same language and symbols that filled the magical book that had sent Becca Hatcher’s spirit to Mytica.
“How fancy,” Barnabas said drily. “But your little drawings change nothing. And you’re still standing in our way. I suggest you move.”
He raised his dagger to Goran’s throat, but the assassin didn’t even flinch.
“When you return to your goddess with your tail between your legs,” Barnabas said, “kindly tell her she can kiss my arse.”
Goran moved with supernatural speed, grabbing the dagger out of Barnabas’s grip. Barnabas looked down at his empty hand with shock. He didn’t have time to so much as look up before Goran picked Barnabas up and threw him across the room, as if it took no more effort than tossing a small rock into a river. Barnabas hit the wall hard and landed on a table, sending plates and goblets flying in all directions. Damaris shrieked and let go of Maddox’s arm. Everyone in the tavern fell silent and turned with surprise toward the violence.
Maddox didn’t wait another moment. He clenched his hands into fists and summoned his death magic. Enough to harm, but not to kill. It was like a shadow rising within him, filling his limbs with dark strength, and he focused this mere taste of his magic on his foe.
“Yes,” Goran grunted. “I feel it. Like a hand thrusting through my chest to grip my heart. It’s just as the goddess warned.”
From the corner of Maddox’s eye, he saw Barnabas push himself to his feet and draw closer.
Goran staggered forward one step. His next step was much smoother. And then he took another.
No one had ever been able to push back against Maddox’s magic like this before.
This was no normal man.
“Maddox, be careful,” Barnabas warned.
“Not so strong, really,” Goran said through clenched teeth. “Is that all you have in you, boy?”
The earth magic in Goran’s marks, Maddox thought. Could that be what was dulling the effect of the magic?
“No, not all,” Maddox bit the words out.
Maddox drew more magic to the surface. It was a cold sensation running through his veins, his limbs, but perspiration began to drip down his forehead at the effort. He hadn’t needed this much before, and he wondered how much of it he had. Would it be enough?
He clenched his teeth and fisted his hands, his muscles tensing down his arms enough that he began to shake from the effort of trying to stop this man from drawing closer to him.
“Enough of this,” Damaris said. “Maddox, stop!” She moved to stand in front of him. She held her hand up, palm out and facing Goran. “I won’t allow anyone to be hurt here tonight. Leave here now. Tell the goddess that if she wants Maddox, then she can come here and face us herself.”
“Step back from him,” Barnabas hissed at her.
She kept her attention fully fixed on the assassin. “No, Barnabas, let me handle this. You’ve done enough.”
Goran stopped, an arm’s reach away from Maddox and Damaris. A smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “You mean what you say, don’t you? You wish to find a peaceful solution to this.”
Damaris raised her chin. “I do.”
“I don’t have many weaknesses, especially not now,” he said, looking down at his fresh marks, “but one of them is for brave women who stand up for what they believe. Who protect what they love. I admire that more than I can say.”
Amazed, Maddox watched this exchange. Would his mother be able to stop this assassin, using only words as her weapons?
Damaris nodded firmly. “Good.”
Goran’s smile widened. “Luckily, I learned to ignore my weaknesses long ago.”
The silver blade caught the flickering lantern light as Goran slashed Barnabas’s dagger forward, cutting Damaris’s throat in a single, deep line.
“Mama, no!” Maddox caught her as she dropped to the floor, her hands flying up in vain to try to block the flow of blood. She sought Maddox’s gaze, her eyes full of pain and regret. Barnabas was there too, next to his sister and clutching her hand.
Goran glared down at him. “Come with me now, boy, and no one else has to die here.”
Maddox tore his gaze away from his dying mother to send a wave of cold death toward this murderer. Goran’s eyes widened in pain as he dropped the bloody dagger and clutched at his throat. He staggered backward, his face convulsing and turning red.
“What—?” he gasped. “Your power . . . it’s so much . . . stronger. . . .”
He fell to his knees as Maddox twisted the magic like a black knife, and blood began to pour from the assassin’s nose.
The tavern had transformed from a den of wine-soaked revelry to a pit of chaos. The patrons had realized their lives were in peril, and they flooded toward the exit, blocking Maddox from the killer. By the time they cleared out, Goran was nowhere to be seen.
The assassin had escaped.
“Damn it,” Barnabas said, his voice pained and shaky. “Damn it all. And damn Valoria for this!”
Hot tears streaked down Maddox’s cheeks. Damaris weakly clutched his arm.
“I’m sorry,” Maddox choked out. “Mama, I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
He gazed down at Damaris for as long as he could. Apart from the pain in his mother’s tear-filled eyes, there was only love. Peace.
And then her gaze went blank, her expression still and lifeless.
Maddox pulled his mother’s limp body against him and sobbed against her shoulder. The sheer force of his anguish reached outward, and his magic shattered every window in the tavern.
Chapter 2
CRYSTAL
TORONTO—PRESENT DAY
Becca had started to twitch, her expression growing tense, her forehead furrowing, and little pained gasps escaped her lips.
Little sisters were a lot like kittens. It was pretty easy to tell when one was having a nightmare.
“No, please, no,” Becca whimpered. “No, don’t!”
Crys sat up and shook her. “Hey. Wakey, wakey!”
Becca drew in a quick breath. Her eyelashes fluttered. She blinked a few times, her expression slowly turning into one of recognition as she re
gistered Crys sitting on the side of her bed.
She frowned. “Were you watching me sleep again?”
“You make it sound so creepy.”
“It is creepy.”
“I’d rather think of it as watching over my kid sister so she isn’t yanked into a faraway fantasy world again. Like a guardian angel.”
Becca’s frown didn’t fade as she sat up, stretched, and glanced at the clock. “Is that really the time?”
“Yup.”
“It’s noon?”
“Well done. And here I thought that after a whole week away from school you’d forget everything you ever learned. Oh wait, that’s just what Mom thinks will happen.”
From the corner of her eye, Crys saw Charlie, their black-and-white kitten, saunter into the room and sit down at her feet. He looked up at her and mewed, which she translated to mean: “Please pick me up.”
Crys reached down and did as requested, placing Charlie on top of the white duvet cover.
As Becca absently scratched his back, Charlie got down on his haunches and raised his tail high in the air, purring happily. “I had a horrible dream,” she said.
“I could tell. What about?”
“I was there again. In Mytica.”
Mytica. The name of the fantasy land Becca claimed her spirit visited while, here in the real world, her body had been trapped in a coma. She kept telling Crys and their mother about it like it was real, like it all really happened. And Crys listened, allowing her to talk about it as much as she needed to.
She tried really hard to believe her sister, but seriously? Another world?
Crys would admit, albeit reluctantly, that she’d recently come to believe that magic books and evil sorcerers were real, but she still had her limits.
Anyway, playing along with this Mytica place was easy compared to what Becca had just gone through. The important thing was that Becca was safe. She believed her story was true, and the last thing Crys wanted to do was make fun of her for it. There were still plenty of things that were fair game for Crys to mock, but this was serious.
“Go on,” Crys said after a few moments of silence. “What about Mythica?”
“Myt-i-ca,” Becca corrected. “Not Myth-i-ca.”