Simon refused to harm Elynal, no matter the cost to himself. As they approached the town, Simon cautiously asked her for more speed. The mare responded by stretching out into a tired but willing canter when most horses would have been ready to collapse.

  Yienry’s saddle was too big for Simon. Though they were close to the same height, Yienry had always been stouter than he was, and the old lord needed more length between the pommel and cantle. In Simon’s near-skeletal state, he slid back and forth with each rocking stride. Since he was satisfied that she had at least a little energy to spare, Simon patted Elynal’s sweat-damp neck and slowed her back to a trot. The friction had left his legs raw and his seatbones bruised, but he paid little attention to the pain. He was so very close to being safe aboard the ship!

  The road approached the town from a ridge to the east. All of Bright Harbor seemed quiet and ordinary in the pre-dawn light, with the full moon sliding below the horizon. Fishing vessels and trading ships stood at anchor in the bay. The Dawnsilver, recognizable by her distinctive three-masted design even at this distance, was moored to a dock, and men lifted crates of cargo aboard with a large crane. Likely, this was the ship’s first appearance of the spring. The storm-tossed winter seas were too dangerous for slow, wide trading vessels.

  Simon had often visited this town before during happier times. Though small, Bright Harbor was an important spice trading hub, and Lord Yienry came here on frequent business. In the evening, after a day’s dealmaking, Yienry would sneak to the many little pubs lined the waterfront and insist Simon accompany him while the staff pretended not to recognize them. He had many warm memories of time spent playing card games, drinking beer, and listening to music.

  Those cozy evenings felt like a lifetime ago. Likely, he’d never again have the opportunity to silently turn over a winning hand at primero, wait for his opponents to notice, then watch Yienry dramatically fling his cards down and rake his hands through his hair in frustration. Yienry refused to gamble more than a few copper bits against Simon, but he still acted like he’d been cheated out of his entire fortune every time he lost.

  Simon turned his attention back to the ship and mulled over his strategy to approach it. He could brood about losing his comfortable, established life as Yienry’s right-hand man, liaison, and envoy — and his fifth son in all but name — another time.

  The tide was coming in. The Dawnsilver would soon depart for its two-week round trip to Riestaval’s capital. He would have to hide out and wait for its return if he missed its departure, and he was so very tired, both mentally and physically. He didn’t know if he could survive much longer in the wilderness, especially if a Hunter picked up his trail again.

  They were loading pigs and sheep with a brow, so he could ride right up the narrow chute and onto the deck without dismounting. Elynal was brave and sure-footed enough to do it at a run if he asked, when other horses might need a rider to dismount and coax them into the steep, narrow chute. He dithered briefly: Should he gallop full tilt through the town or casually walk the streets as if nothing was amiss? Which was less likely to result in the notice? Simon's conviction had been common knowledge, and even those who'd missed the gossip would sense the sigil on his back if they had even a whisper of Sight.

  Elynal still had energy in reserve, and her shoes had cleats for traction on still-icy mountain trails. Simon was small and light. A few moments at a hard run on the city’s cobbles was unlikely to hurt her. He made his decision. A mad dash it was! He leaned forward in the saddle, grabbed two fistfuls of the mare’s mane, and yelled, “Go!”

  She exploded into a gallop, answering his urgent cues with willing effort.

  ~~*~~

  Casey navigated rush hour in the small town of Payson (which meant just a few extra trucks, SUVs, and the occasional ATV), continued up the road a few miles, passed the county dump, guided the box truck up over a hill, and then made a left turn into the Junk Shop’s parking lot, just before the turnoff to Sanctuary Road. The shop, situated in an enormous old farmhouse-turned-store, was a well-known landmark on an otherwise largely deserted stretch of highway. The shop’s only neighbors for miles shared a parking lot across the highway: a tiny no-tell motel and a gas station.

  He and Avery had spent the last four years transforming the house into a rambling retail space filled with antiques, collectibles, second-hand luxuries, and refurbished goods. They did great business during the summer tourist season, when they also hosted arts and crafts shows and live bands in the parking lot every weekend. However, things were quiet now. He was unsurprised to see only a handful of customers’ cars in the lot. At this time of year, most of their business was online.

  Casey backed the box truck down a ramp to the basement loading dock with skilled ease. Then, yawning, he unlatched the truck’s roll-up rear door and released it to roll up with a loud rattle. The trip between Phoenix and Sanctuary seemed longer every time he made it.

  "Oh, don't start! You’re ! I’ve got a twenty-minute drive yet!" Avery said, in reaction to Casey’s expression as he approached the box truck with leggy strides. He had beaten Casey in the drive ‘up the hill’ from Phoenix to Sanctuary in the faster pickup. The box truck was so slow that Avery kept threatening to put a bumper sticker on it, ‘Don’t honk, get out and push!’

  "You can crash on my couch if you want." Casey tugged the box truck’s roll-up door open. “You left the kibble-bot programmed to feed your cats tonight, right?”

  Avery owned an old house a few miles away, at the end of the dirt track known as Sanctuary Road. A century and several decades ago, a wealthy cattleman had built it for his wife. As far as Casey could tell, it had been falling into disrepair ever since.

  After several relatives and his shrink convinced his mother to release money from his trust to buy it, his brother had been fixing it up for the last three years. In the wake of a rather disastrous first and only year at college, Avery needed the stability, distraction, and creative outlet that the endless remodeling projects represented.

  Casey’s apartment had a lot less character but far more convenience. After the Junk Shop had been robbed in its first year, they had created a tiny apartment in the attic. It let Casey keep an eye on the building. Plus, he had a ten-second walk to work, and he figured, as a single man with the occasional boyfriend who never lasted long enough to move in, he didn’t more space, though sometimes he contemplated adding a second bedroom for guests. Avery, who suffered from nightmares, anxiety, and loneliness, regularly crashed on his couch, and the man’s moose-like build meant his feet dangled over the end.

  "Nah, I’m good. You snore.” Avery’s grin assured Casey that Avery was fine from a mental health standpoint, at least on this day. He never smeiled like that, bright and joyful, when he was stressed.

  "I do not!"

  "Do too!" Avery hitched himself up onto the loading dock, then lifted the box truck’s roll-up door. "Let's get the chest locked up. I'll feel better when it's in the cage."

  It took both of them to carry it through the basement doors. Inside, the space smelled of Avery's favorite apple pie candles, furniture polish, laundry detergent, and age. They passed a half-disassembled pinball machine, a table covered in boxes of toy trains and tracks, a small mountain of laundry next to several industrial washing machines, and then some overstuffed racks of theater costumes. Avery costumes and regularly bought truckloads from various Hollywood and Broadway contacts. Casey just appreciated the money they made.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  At the far end of the basement, they’d built a walk-in storage cage for their most valuable inventory. The cage was big enough for both of them to stand inside, with plenty of room to spare. The hope was that a hypothetical burglar wouldn’t have the tools needed to break into it, and would settle for stealing less valuable but easier-to-grab items.

  After depositing the chest on the floor next to his regrettably dusty drum set, which didn’t fit in his tiny apartment, Casey ducked back out and returned with a large bucket of antique keys. One might fit the chest.

  "Think we'll get lucky?" Avery asked.

  "With a key or with the contents of the chest? I felt something sliding around inside when we picked it up."

  "With either," Avery said as Casey picked through the bucket.

  Casey selected an ancient-looking key. "Here. This will work."

  When the key opened the lock, Avery said, "I need to take you to the casino again."

  "Aw, you know they banned me." Casey's grin was echoed by Avery's. He had, for a time, made quite a bit of money that way. He was useless at games of pure chance, but excelled at cards. That had paid for his half of the Junk Shop building’s purchase outright. Unfortunately, casinos tended to object when people mysteriously won too much, so that source of funds had eventually dried up.

  "Ooh, sparkly!" Avery said as soon as the chest’s lid was open.

  The "sparkly" item turned out to be a quarter-sized enameled metal pendant with a stylized dragonfly design. It was colorful and shiny but not antique. Avery slipped the chain over his neck and beamed down at it. "Mine, all mine!"

  Meanwhile, Casey lifted out a cloth-wrapped bundle. In a mockingly surprised tone, Avery exclaimed, "Oh, will you look at that? It's a book!"

  "An odd one," Casey said, gently unwrapping it. The book him. He brushed his fingers over the soft, pale leather cover. The book's construction resembled a medieval manuscript, but he didn't think it was that old. It did not have a feel of great age, and there was very little wear.

  The pages were made of odd, velvety-soft parchment. The text was in elaborate calligraphy with beautiful illustrations. At first, he thought the alphabet was not English — the letters were all loops and swirls and elaborate swoops — but then, when he looked closer, it snapped into focus. He glanced back at the cover.

  The title was

  Deeply curious, he turned the pages. “It's a damn book of spells. We found a Magical Book."

  "Stop fucking around," Avery replied. "How would you even know?"

  "Because it says so. Look — right here, ‘To Treat The Devil's Pox, create a poultice of betony, tansy, feverfew, fennel, and lupin, and apply to the afflicted area while chanting, God in your name—'"

  Avery started laughing. "That's what it says, huh?"

  "Sure." He carefully turned the pages.

  "Does it have a love spell?" Avery leered at him. "You could use a lover. Someone cute and sweet, rather than the assholes you usually go for."

  He shot Avery a glare. However, he couldn't help but think it be nice to have a boyfriend who wasn’t a jerk. Most recently, he'd broken up with a man who'd made fun of Avery behind both of their backs. His ex, Stephen, was probably why Avery had made the remark.

  Stephen had tried ridiculing Avery multiple times to their store manager and close friend, Shana, and after a few warnings, Shana had let him dig himself into the deepest of holes before revealing she was recording it all. Then, she’d fired him, shown the video to Casey, and Casey had emphatically broken up with him.

  "C'mon, a love spell would be awesome," Avery teased.

  "Hey, look, here's one to summon a Knight Of The Fair Folk... maybe it could send me a cute blond knight in shining armor. I'd like one of those, ideally a jerk, and someone who might love me for ." He paused and looked up at the sound of Avery's laughter.

  Avery shook his head in disbelief while still smirking. "You're shitting me. You can't read that book. It's in Russian or something."

  He frowned at Avery. "Seriously? It's a bit ornate, but I can read it."

  "Yeah, right." Avery tried to take the book from him.

  Casey stepped back, holding it to his chest, then turned to the desk and carefully put it down. He didn't want to risk damaging it. Even though he’d grown up with a freaky paranormal Gift, he definitely didn’t believe in magical spells. However, the thing was a work of art and likely worth some decent money.

  His Gift at him in a crazy warning of danger when he thought of getting rid of it. Apparently, the book needed to remain in his possession. This was all so very odd.

  He turned to the next page. "A spell," he read, "to drive beetles from one's property..."

  Huh. Every summer, after the monsoon started, the Junk Shop was plagued by large numbers of giant rhinoceros beetles that inevitably made their way indoors. Casey didn’t mind them, but some of the customers were less nonchalant about insects big enough to be classified as wildlife lumbering about on the floor.

  "Seriously," Avery said. He peered at the script and said, "You're funny, Casey. I'm not sure what language that's written in, but I don't recognize it."

  "It’s in English. Watch, I'm going to summon some hot fantasy dude and bind him to me."

  He turned back to that page, and in his most dramatic voice, he read the spell aloud:

  My glorious knight

  Brave warrior swift and strong

  I call thee to come

  "Haikus," Avery rolled his eyes between the first verse and the second. "The only poetic form you've been able to master."

  Casey ignored that. He could feel rising, a wild power that swirled around him and flowed through his veins, tingling and tugging and . Colors he’d never seen before flashed in front of his vision. Awareness came with the spell; it was as if there had always been a gap in his life, unknown and never before seen, and now it was revealed. The hair rose on the back of his neck as his Gift warned him that what he had just learned was , a veritable Pandora’s Box of knowledge. However, when he paused and tried to resist the half-completed thing, there was a terrible against his Gift, and he knew instinctively that to leave this half-done would be the worst option. He read the next set.

  Thy command is mine

  My words, wishes, interests

  Followed forever!

  ... and the spell was done. There was a thunderous crackling snap and the sense of a rush of power that came from the land beneath their feet and coursed through his body to the book ... he could what was happening, and it, and sense more far power beyond what he’d tapped.

  There was a gust of wind. Prismatic light, blinding bright, surrounded a tear in the very air of the room. His Gift screamed at him. There was an angry shout from a voice he didn't recognize, and Avery snarled profanity back.

  ~~*~~

  He was going to make it! The brow had a handful of sheep in it as Simon galloped toward the dock. The sailors saw him coming and, guessing his intent, shoved the animals up it and out of Elynal’s way.

  Then, the air ripped apart in a spectrum of color and light. Corruscating ribbons of purple and orange energy whipped across the road. The sound was like thunder, roaring water, and ripping metal all at once.

  The road that had been lit by the dawn sun an instant before was now dark as night.

  Elynal was a steady horse, but all animals had their limits. She tucked her haunches, slid to a halt on the granite cobblestones so quickly that her shoes threw sparks, dropped her shoulder, and swapped ends. Simon, exhausted and starved, in an ill-fitting saddle, couldn’t keep his seat when she spun around. Elynal was fifty feet away before he had even hit the ground. He rolled across the cobbles and came to a halt, inches from what he recognized as an incredibly powerful portal.

  There were stars overhead, with constellations he did not recognize, as another reality bled into his. The ground beneath his back rippled like water as the power of the portal distorted the land itself.

  He scrambled to his feet. Elynal, now a hundred feet away, stopped and stared back at Simon with her nostrils flared. Her snort was much louder than the soft hiss of energy swirling in rotating circles around the hole in the air.

  Waves lapped against the dock behind him. Men shouted in alarm. A sheep He heard the creak of winches, drawing rope up. The Dawnsilver, quite sensibly, was casting off.

  He wanted to run.

  He needed to run.

  Nothing good came from magic that potent.

  One of the tendrils of power lashed across the ground and caught him square in the chest.

  He should run ...

  He should ...

  He ...

  A powerful and utterly unnatural compulsion seized him: Enter the portal.

  He was so close to freedom!

  Freedom ...

  Free ...

  NO!

  Pain seared through his body as he fought the grips of an unyielding ensorcellment.

  NO!

  Simon dropped to a knee. His vision grew darker than the unnatural night that surrounded him.

  He would be no man’s geasbound slave!

  Simon resolved to slay the wizard who’d bespelled him. He would keep his dignity and his free will until the very end, even if doing so meant the worst kind of magical torture.

  Simon launched himself directly through the portal with his sword still in his grasp.