Excerpt One: Midnight in the Alley of Good and Evil
“Light,” Roarke said, drawing his blade.
An insubstantial globe of blue-green light winked to life over Roarke’s right shoulder. Too late. Roarke swore at the scene before him.
Deryk crouched over the drunk, a bloody dagger in his right hand. His sheathed sword splayed awkwardly across his thigh. A fold of his unfastened doublet flopped over the hilt. Eyes narrowed against the light, he straightened. His left hand inched toward the glint of gold visible at his throat.
Roarke sliced Deryk’s right forearm. The dagger clattered against the cobbles. Blood spurted through the ruined sleeve of Deryk’s doublet and shirt, and splattered the clothes of his victim.
“Caught red-handed at last.”
The feeble glimmer of Roarke’s witchlight painted Deryk’s blond hair a pale, watery green and made his skin glow like fine marble. A slight frown creased Deryk’s brow and nagged at the corners of his mouth. He resembled an aristocratic merman moderately inconvenienced by a drowned sailor.
“Roarke, you ass, how dare you try to bind me with Chosen magic?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Deryk eased away from the corpse. “Dream on, brother. That piece of glass might have hid you from my scrying, but it won’t stop me. My steel will break that fragile conceit of yours into a thousand pieces.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you have to draw it first.”
Roarke was six feet tall. Deryk was two inches taller, and he carried twenty-weight more of muscle. But Deryk had spent his whole sorry life flush with Vanyr magic and the bloody rites of the Serpent’s Path. He had never been forced to earn a living by his sword-much less fight with a torn and bleeding sword arm.
Deryk feinted toward his sword with his right hand while his left reached for something hidden inside his doublet. Roarke stabbed the tip of his sword into the top of Deryk’s left hand. Twisting his wrist, he dragged the edge of the blade across Deryk’s right.
Deryk jerked his useless sword hand at Roarke’s head. He roared a string of guttural sounds bearing little resemblance to speech.
Roarke ducked. The cursed blood flew past his head and hissed against the wall behind him. For all the fury behind the spell, Roarke’s witchlight never wavered. Roarke bared his teeth. Even if it had landed, the curse would’ve barely raised a few blisters.
Skirting the drunk’s corpse, Roarke advanced on his brother. The point of his blade aimed for the white splash of linen covering Deryk’s black, black heart.
Deryk crossed his arms over his chest. He retreated, step for Roarke’s step, toward Poole Lane. “Leave now and maybe I won’t kill your friends,” Deryk snarled.
“With what?” Roarke asked.
“Your magic is as dead as mine.” Almost casually Roarke’s blade re-opened the half-healed gash on Deryk’s arm. The smell of fresh blood soaking the wool of his brother’s doublet was better than perfume. “I could take your life here and now.”
Roarke jabbed at Deryk’s face, hoping to create an opening for a death blow which would disable Deryk long enough for a proper binding. Deryk flinched but kept his arms locked over his chest. Sweat sheened his forehead. It glistened in the hollow of his throat where the head of the golden snake nestled against his skin.
“I could take your tongue,” Roarke taunted, his gaze fastened on Deryk’s eyes, not his unprotected neck. “That would cripple your magic. Or perhaps I should aim lower and cripple your pride.
“No. I think I want your”-Roarke lunged-“snake.”
Deryk was too slow to block and too proud to take a dive. But he didn’t have to. His golden snake reared like a living thing and caught the tip of Roarke’s blade on the flat scales of its muzzle.
Turquoise lightning exploded from the place where obsidian and gold connected. The magical bolt struck Roarke square in the chest, hoisting him in the air like hay on a pitchfork. He slammed into the wall opposite the tavern door. Roarke’s dead body made a wet, sucking sound as it slid into the muck.
Excerpt Two: The Wishstone Finds Pandora
Pandora’s head popped up from behind the chest. She scrambled to her feet clutching what appeared to be a radiant crystal egg the size of an orange.
At least that’s what Thea thought Pandora was holding. But Thea couldn’t be certain. There was something wrong with the lights. Thea guessed someone had tripped over a wire in the stampede. Most of the overhead lights had dimmed-except for the lights in the front of Michael Ryan’s booth, which sputtered intermittently over Reyah, Lydia and a couple of guys wearing headsets.
Some of the booth lights in the next aisle popped in flashes of red, and the air smelled faintly of burning rubber. The funky little lights nestled in the gauze canopy over Reyah’s booth took on a blue cast.
From her post at the entrance to the booth, Brigid inquired, “What have you got in your hand, Pandora?”
“It’s a Wishstone,” Pandora said. “It found me under the table.”
It found her? Liz rubbed her forehead harder.
“I guess something worse could’ve found her,” Thea replied.
Name one.
“Lydia,” Thea said.
You have a point.
Thea looked at Liz. Something odd had happened, but Thea couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.
“How can you make everything right with something that doesn’t exist?” Free asked. “Besides, if I were going to make a wish, it wouldn’t be to fix what’s wrong now, it’d be to go to Domain. As Freya, Mistress of Leaf and Vine. I’d be beautiful, and Stefan would love me, and I’d be happy.”
Kait frowned. “Don’t you mean ‘Theron’?”
Pandora shook a dusty finger at Kait. “Don’t confuse her with details. I like Free’s wish.”
“As a matter of fact, so do I,” Sarah said. “If I were my fan fiction character, I’d get so lucky I’d be bow-legged.”
Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Thea massaged the back of her neck.
“You aren’t the only one,” Liz replied, chafing her arms as if she were cold.
“Only one what?” Brigid asked.
“Like Thea said, I’ve got a bad feeling about this wish stuff.”
Brigid took a step back from Liz and Thea. “Oh. Like Thea said. Uh huh, okay, whatever, Liz.” Brigid’s expression clearly indicated something wasn’t right.
“Don’t be a party pooper, Liz,” Anna chimed in. “I’d love to get my hands on the real Alfred.”
“And I could have cool armor and a kick-ass sword.” Kait put her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. “I’m in!”
“If we really could go, wouldn’t that be something?” Marisol said.
“Yeah, it would, wouldn’t it,” Brigid agreed.
“Good! Everybody’s got the same wish,” Pandora said. “Now all we have to do is figure out how we want to say it.”
“Not everybody,” Kait pointed out. “Liz and Thea haven’t said they want to go.”
For a minute, Thea could’ve sworn she heard Liz arguing with herself. A mischievous grin spread across Liz’s face. We’re going to regret this, you know.
And your point is?
“We’re in,” Thea and Liz said at the same time.
“You guys are spooky,” Kait complained. “Don’t you think you’re carrying the shared brain thing a little too far?”
“Shared brain, schmared brain. Are we ready to make the wish or what?” Keeping a tight hold on the crystal, Pandora shrugged off her backpack. She handed it to Kait. “Put this someplace safe.”
Pandora set the crystal in the middle of the table. “Brig, would you move the chest? We need enough room so everybody can put a finger on the Wishstone.”
“Any finger?” Liz asked as they gathered around the silk-draped table.
“Can we sing ‘Kumbaya’ while we’re at it?” Thea said, trying to ignore the prickles of electricity emanating from the crystal. She didn’t know why the crystal egg felt that way. It didn’t feel evil, just…well, sparkly. Maybe there was a storm brewing, and the static electricity was what affected the lights. Thea didn’t want to consider the other possible explanation her all too fertile imagination offered.
“Would you guys quit joking around? This is serious.” Pandora took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Let us begin,” Pandora intoned. “Hear us, oh Wishstone. We, the Daughters of Reyah, wish to go to Domain-the real Domain…”
Brigid sang, “Not the fake Domain, but the real Domain.”
“Hush,” Anna snapped.
“The real Domain,” Pandora repeated, “As the real Daughters of Reyah, with all the powers and abilities…”
“And beauty,” Free interrupted. “Don’t forget beauty.”
“Damn straight,” Anna said. Thea recalled Anna had won several beauty contests in college.
“And don’t forget the youth.” Sarah tapped her finger on the Wishstone for emphasis. “We want to be young too. Twenty-five, tops,”
“You got all that?” Anna asked.
Pandora opened her eyes and glared at Anna, Free and Sarah. “…as the real Daughters of Reyah, with all the powers and abilities and youth and beauty we wrote for our fan fiction characters and much, much more.” Pandora cocked her head at the group. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Wishstone, make it so.”
Excerpt Three: Enter Lydia From Above
“I want twenty-five thousand dollars or someone’s going to get hurt!” Lydia shrieked. Her vision cleared. She shuddered. Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong. A cold wind blustered around her. Every bone in her body ached. Instead of standing in the exhibit hall, dressing down moronic rent-a-cops and a ditsy old lady, she stood in what looked like a set for one of the Vanyr towers in Domain. Instead of being clad in a cola- and perfume-stained Thierry Mugler pant suit, she was wearing-
Lydia goggled at the sprayed-on black spandex gown with rubberized snakeskin inserts Immortal Productions’ costume designers considered the ultimate in gothic slut chic.
I’m in costume, she thought dazedly. When did I go through wardrobe?
A man stepped from the shadows. Lydia’s head snapped up. At first she thought it was Michael Ryan wearing his Deryk gear. That couldn’t be right. The guy was way too young. And there was something else. Something sharper. Something…dangerous? Lydia frowned. The gold torque around the look-alike’s neck slithered into life and hissed at her.
“EEEK!” Lydia squawked, taking a step back. “What the hell is going on here? Am I being Punk’d? I didn’t sign a release! I’m gonna kick my agent’s sorry ass!”
“Welcome, lady. I had not anticipated the pleasure of meeting you again in this life.” The look-alike bowed.
“Pleasure of meeting me again, my butt,” Lydia snarled. “Tell me who you are and what I’m doing here and in costume, for God’s sake, or I’ll tear you to shreds.”
The man studied Lydia. “You need some time to recuperate from your resurrection. I’ll release you from the hexagram when you come to your senses.” He strolled to the brazier and warmed his hands over the coals.
Lydia straightened her shoulders. What the hell was this dickhead talking about? Resurrection? “Yeah, right,” she said. “Watch me walk over there and fry your head on those coals.” Lydia took two steps forward-and plowed into an invisible wall.
After she peeled her face from the surface of the wall that wasn’t there, Lydia ran in circles, screeching threats as she tried to beat her way out of the invisible barrier. Finally, panting in exhaustion, her voice hoarse from shrieking, it dawned on Lydia’s peanut-sized brain she couldn’t get out. Lydia pointed one long finger at the smirking bastard.
“I’ll get you for this,” Lydia promised. She peered at the end of her finger. Wait a minute. She hadn’t had a manicure in at least two days. Could that lovely two-inch-long fingernail be real? A poison green lightning bolt erupted from her finger and ricocheted from the barrier. Lydia screamed as the bolt struck her. She fell to the ground and writhed in agony.
“Ah. I see you’re back to your old self.” The Michael Ryan look-alike smiled. “Promise me you won’t do anything…rash. Once you swear, I’ll set you free.” Lydia flipped the look-alike the bird. The blond man shrugged. “Your choice.” He returned to warming his hands.
What a prick. Lydia scrambled to her knees and, after beating out the smoldering hole in her gown, examined her fingers. She tugged at each long, lethally pointed, blood-red nail.
“They’re real! They’re really, really real,” she crowed. “And they do tricks too!”
Lydia rose to her feet and pointed her finger at the stone floor. Green bolts of energy spattered against the granite. Two small chickens and a frog appeared.
The look-alike cleared his throat. “My Lady Megeara, will you give me your parole?”
“What did you call me?” she croaked.
The look-alike repeated his question. “Once you do, Lady Megeara, I will release you from the hexagram.”
“Megeara,” Lydia whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. It finally dawned on her there were no cameras, no lights, no cables or crew standing around. There was only the night sky overhead. Flickering light from a small brazier illuminated a very dark and scary looking circular tower top. Her brain spun in circles of its own.
Megeara. He called me “Megeara”. Holy shit. There’s a real Domain? Lydia’s eyes widened. Then that guy would be the real Deryk. And he thinks I’m the real Megeara.
“Where am I?” Lydia demanded.
“In the standing tower of Tuumb Castle where I resurrected you, my lady,” Deryk said. “Give me your promise, Megeara. I’ve devised a foolproof plan to conquer Tambara. Together we shall not fail.”
If she wasn’t dreaming-and she’d find out soon enough-this was great. It almost made up for Immortal Productions allowing her contract to lapse. Megeara had a lot of cool tricks, and Lydia often felt the show’s writers hadn’t taken the character’s evilness as far as it could go. Lydia promised herself she’d show this world Lydia Jambon was a force to be reckoned with. She smiled at Deryk, conveniently forgetting her fleeting impression of danger.
“Vanyr Deryk,” Lydia purred, “of course I promise.”
She almost laughed at Deryk’s self-satisfied expression. He thinks he’s got the old Megeara back. I bet I can use that. After all, I know all about him, and he doesn’t know a thing about me.
Deryk raised an eyebrow. “So you remember…”
“I remember many things.” Lydia wondered what the old Megeara could possibly know that would cause Deryk to flinch. She made a mental note to hire an assistant to do some research. “Why don’t you release me?”
She smoothed the black spandex clinging to her thighs and licked her lips. “We have much to discuss.”
Deryk gestured and said something incomprehensible under his breath. “Come and share my fire, lady.”
Lydia stepped forward. She exhaled a relieved breath when no barrier blocked her way. She sashayed over to Deryk.
“Now then,” she cooed, laying her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you tell me all about your foolproof plan?”