The Labyrinth of the Dead
Read The Labyrinth of the Dead Online
Authors: Sara M. Harvey
BY SARA M. HARVEY
This novella is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed
in this book are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
The Labyrinth of the Dead
Copyright © 2010 by Sara M. Harvey
Cover Art "The Labyrinth of the Dead" © 2010 by Melissa Gay
Cover Design by Justin Stewart
Interior Design by Jason Sizemore
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce the book, or portions thereof, in any form.
ISBN: 9780984553501 (Trade Paperback)
ISBN: 9781452373577 (eBook)
Apex Publications
PO Box 24323
Lexington, KY 40524
www.apexbookcompany.com
www.saramharvey.com
www.melissagay.com
Don’t miss the other two books of Sara M. Harvey’s exciting Penume trilogy from Apex Publications:
The Convent of the Pure
and
The Tower of the Forgotten
!
THE CONVENT OF THE PURE
ISBN: 9780981639093 (Trade Paperback)
ISBN: 9781452333373 (eBook)
Secrets and illusions abound in a decaying convent wrapped in dark magic and scented with blood. Portia came to the convent with the ghost of Imogen, the lover she failed to protect in life. Now, the spell casting caste wants to make sure that neither she nor her spirit ever leave.
THE TOWER OF THE FORGOTTEN
ISBN: 9781937009007 (Trade Paperback)
ISBN: 9781465879486 (eBook)
Deceit and disaster abount, bringing Portia and Imogen closer to each other and to doom than ever before. Old allies and old enemies converge in this final chapter of the nephilim's power struggle over the world.
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Acknowledgments
Biographies
Ye
Pow’rs, who under Earth your realms extend,
To whom all mortals must one day descend;
If here ‘tis granted sacred truth to tell:
I come not curious to explore your Hell;
Nor come to boast (by vain ambition fir’d)
How Cerberus at my approach retir’d.
My wife alone I seek; for her lov’d sake
These terrors I support, this journey take.
—
Ovid’s
Metamorphoses, Book 10
—1—
PORTIA GYONY stood at the threshold. The air
crackled in a whirlwind of electrostatic energy and bore the acrid scent of
ozone. Although Imogen was right beside her, it was not right. Within the
inscribed circle set down in chalk and salt on the scuffed hardwood floor,
Portia’s memories were a maelstrom. Imogen lay there, silent and motionless,
her hair spread out in a halo of sunset-red curls. For a moment, they were
still at the convent with the inferno raging behind them. Portia could taste
bitter smoke in her mouth. A scream caught in her throat as she watched Imogen,
her sweet, beloved Imogen, collapse the moment she stepped through the gateway
that separated the convent from the rest of the world.
Imogen Gyony had
been from that moment a soulless doll. It was not the first time she had been
separated from her body, but this time there had been no handy necromancer to
catch her spirit as it fled. There was only Portia, and she was determined to
go and get it back.
The treacherous Lady Claire Aldias sat
at her small writing desk, jotting a few equations into the margin of her
notebook. The metallic scratching of her fountain pen’s nib nearly drove Portia
to distraction. Since the night in the convent when Lady Analise Aldias had
bound her with an angel’s soul, Portia had discovered a host of new abilities.
Occasional and often uncontrolled focus of the senses was the latest in a long
list of talents, and she trained day after day to learn to control all of them.
Claire grunted and shifted her glasses
higher up on her nose.
Portia glanced toward Captain Cadmus
Gyony, the head of House Gyony, and he cracked his knuckles. "M’lady, we won’t
be much pleased if this fails…
again
."
"It is a delicate arrangement, not that
I’d expect the likes of you to understand."
The captain stood alongside Lady
Claire, his thickly muscled arms crossed and his waxed moustache twitching with
anxiety. If she was intimidated by the Gyony toughs who flanked her, Claire did
not show it. She simply ignored them and focused on her machines, stepping
between each of the squat generators, tweaking and adjusting, a film of sweat
across her face that caused her wire-rimmed glasses to slide down her nose
again. Exhaling loudly, she stood up, primly wiping her fingertips on her
starched white apron.
"Now, Portia." She smiled and it set
Portia’s teeth on edge. "Do we remember what your instructions were?"
"Yes, Lady,
I
do." She patted
the canvas shoulder bag that was slung across her body. "I have myrrh and
salvation flower, I have holy water and medallions, and I have something
treasured by…the deceased." She could not help but glance at Imogen’s lifeless body. "I am to anoint her with the myrrh
and the salvation flower, present her with her treasured object—"
"This would be easier if you told me
what that was."
"I don’t see why it’s any of your
business. My lady."
"Portia, I am not here to harm you."
"Begging your pardon, my lady, but I
don’t believe you any farther than I can spit." Portia felt the spark of power kindling
behind her breastbone. "You want something out of this, just the same as I do.
I don’t know what that is. I know that you Aldias do nothing out of the
kindness of your pitiful black hearts, but I have made my decision that
whatever you are getting out of this endeavor is worth it to me to bring Imogen
home."
The silence stretched across the growl
of the machines and the three Gyony guards coughed meaningfully.
"I won’t be threatened by you." Claire
folded her hands and settled onto her chair.
Portia’s temper
bubbled and she tamped it down, taking a few deep breaths. The call of the
angel soul within her was seductive, the abilities begging to be set free to
wreak terrible vengeance on the Aldias. She had done nothing but train since
the moment she had returned to the chapter house, but even so, it was difficult
to keep her potent and often surprising powers under control. When she had
mastered herself enough to speak again, she met Claire’s gaze.
"Madame. I will remind you that you
made an agreement." Portia’s words were clipped, strained. "Upon your word, as
a Nephilim of the Grigori, you have sworn to render
us your aid."
"And, so help me, I mean to do exactly
that. You have asked to get to the spirit world and there you shall go. If I
have to kill you myself to send you there."
Portia matched her chilly smile. "Good.
And if I see Lady Hester, I’ll be sure to give her your warmest regards."
Claire flushed and turned her attention
back to her desk. She consulted her notes for a long moment before reaching for
the small control panel beside the desk.
"Everything is ready. You had best say
your farewells, Portia."
The captain’s face was impassive, but
his eyes were red-rimmed. He reached one meaty hand toward her, and as she
grasped his wrist in a formal shake he drew her into a tight embrace. "Do me
proud, my girl. You are a credit to our house. Come back safe to us." He
clapped her back, and then stepped away, staring at his boots a long moment
before giving Portia a firm nod and a salute.
She saluted him in return, then turned
to the three Gyonys who guarded the entrance. Lady
Anna Gyony, the house lieutenant, bowed her head.
"Godspeed, Sister. Remember what we
worked on. It will suit you well on the other side."
Portia rolled her shoulders as a tingle
blossomed in the center of her back. It passed quickly, and she nodded. "I’ll
do my best."
"You always have. Hester would be so
proud of you. Please send her my love if you indeed see her. She was so dear to
Cadmus and myself." Anna embraced Portia quickly and stepped back. Masters
Angus and Casey saluted her, and Portia inclined her head to them before
stepping back into the circle.
"Ready when you are, Lady Claire."
"Remember, the shadow-world may look
familiar in many ways, but it is not the world you know. Be careful. I expect
you back here when you’ve been successful."
Portia bit back a reply and pondered
once more what quest she was undertaking on behalf of the Aldias.
Claire pushed the round-handled lever,
and blue sparks caressed her gloved fingertips. The generators surrounding
Portia chugged into a higher gear, turning the deep hum into an ear-piercing
whine. The sigils painted on each generator and inscribed along the
cloth-covered wires began to glow. The air whipped past her face, pulling at the
hems of her wide, pleated trousers and slapping her across the neck and
shoulders with the thick braid of her silver hair. Portia pressed her bag
against her hip, lest it flap wildly and disgorge its precious contents. She
was weaponless, carrying only the herbs and trinkets given to her by Claire.
She hated trusting the woman who had robbed her and all of Penemue of Lady
Hester Edulica, the only mother Portia had ever known
or loved. Claire was still plotting, still controlling the situation to suit
her own ends. Ambition and greed had driven her, were still driving her. And
Portia had now entrusted her with not only her life, but Imogen’s
soul.
Claire motioned to one of the few servants
attending on her in the remote little cottage, and the waifish girl brought
over a book. It was blackened and burnt; Portia had sifted through the ruins of
Nigel’s library in the convent for days to find it. Lady Claire gingerly turned
the pages as the pale little servant held the tome against her narrow chest. Libitina was her name, Portia recalled. She was a wispy,
ashen thing that unnerved Portia considerably with her mouselike
movements and the omnipresent odor of lilies that accompanied her.
The scent
of lilies, so precious to the dead,
Nigel had once said.
Claire began to read from the volume,
and the wind roared. Sparks and coppery-smelling steam rose in torrents from
the generators and danced along the wires that ringed the inscribed circle.
Portia crouched defensively over Imogen’s body as the
walls themselves began to rumble. Claire’s voice echoed over the din, each
syllable striking Portia to the depths of her soul, reverberating beneath her
breastbone where she still bore an arcane glyph carved there with blood and
ash. Throughout, Imogen lay unperturbed, with her eyes gently closed and her
softly slack mouth showing the pearly edges of her teeth.
"Oh, my love." Portia tucked Imogen’s fluttering stray curls behind her ear. She pressed
a kiss to her beloved’s cool lips. "I will not come home without you."
The door on the far end of the one-room
cottage violently blew open. The chalk line ran across the threshold of the
door, dividing the cottage that sat in an abandoned field on the outskirts of
Penemue from the swirling black void beyond. Portia straightened and faced the
vortex. She reached out and grabbed the flapping door. There was a storm on the
other side, a storm that mirrored the tempest in the small room, and through
the streaking mist she could see a broad field in the darkness, and in the
distance a copse of skeletal trees against a bleak horizon.