Mythos (The Descendants, #1)

The Descendants - Book 1

  Mythos

  By Vrinda Pendred

  Cover Image by SelfPubBookCovers.com/Bill

  Copyright © 2013 by Vrinda Pendred

  Published by Vrinda Pendred

  ASIN: B00CNIMLXQ

  For information, visit www.vrindapendred.com

  This one’s for the Lazarus girls,

  Ronnie and Nessie

  PROLOGUE:

  MAY 2013

  The grey-eyed boy flew down the M6 at unnatural speeds. It was half-three in the morning and he was dismally aware that he didn’t have much longer until the sun returned.

  The journey he was making could have taken him a day, including stops, but he’d made it last two days so far, because he didn’t want to see anyone - and because he preferred being able to push the car Top Gear style without worrying about careening into another vehicle. Despite what the speedometer said, he didn’t have a death wish.

  He glanced at the road signs that headed the motorway. At some point, they had stopped indicating all the quaint little English town names like Bottom Flash and Sheepy Parva, and now they simply read THE SOUTH. He’d started at the manor house he’d grown up in, in Carrickfergus, Northern Ireland, and was now somewhere between Birmingham and Coventry.

  Tomorrow night, he would reach his destination:

  London.

  For hours, his phone had beeped wildly for attention. In the end, he’d switched it off. There were only two people who could be ringing him. One was the man he was supposed to call his father.

  The boy had listened to the first few voicemails with guarded amusement. As if his father was worried about him. The boy wouldn’t have been surprised if his father was more concerned about the car. It was a 1973 convertible Jaguar E-Type in hunter green and mint condition, which had cost about €20,000 to buy and thousands more to maintain. It had hardly been driven and sat in the double-garage at the back of their disconcertingly oversized house. The boy had always thought it was a travesty not to take such a beautiful creature out more.

  The boy, on the other hand, was a menace, in his father’s eyes. He could do things, as he’d overheard it described to his mother. He was dangerous. He’d made a lightning bolt appear, for goodness’ sake, like he was Thor himself. If he could do that, what more was he capable of?

  It didn’t matter that he’d had a spotless record before. It didn’t matter that he spent all his time alone with his nose in his books, while the other boys at the public school were occupied in rebelling against the parents they would ultimately come to emulate. If anything, that just made him more dangerous. After all, it was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

  No, his father didn’t want him back - just the car. The car had never hurt anyone, even accidentally. And it had been in the family for longer.

  The other person ringing him over and over and over was Melody.

  When will you be here? she kept asking, like an impatient child in the backseat. It was driving him mad.

  They had been ‘together’ almost a year, now, but always at a distance. She’d never had any real claims on his time before, and now that he was about to live with her, she was already showing signs of change. She’d lost her easy charm and begun sounding needy in a way that didn’t bode well. It made him a little sad.

  But it didn’t matter, because although he’d told her he was coming to London to be with her - and as much as he’d told himself that was why he’d suddenly thrown away his cushy life, packed up his favourite books and a few changes of clothes and stolen the car - he knew it wasn’t true.

  He was going to London because of the black pulse.

  His whole life, he’d felt like he’d been trying to find something. For a long time, he told himself it was because he was adopted. He thought maybe he was trying to find love. It was a good theory, bearing in mind all he’d ever received from the people who had taken him in as a baby was detached affection that smacked of obligation.

  That and driving lessons. He begrudgingly had to thank them for getting him his licence.

  Then one night, he had a dream that made him break out in a sweat upon waking. In the dream, he’d been drawn to a pulsing light. It was black and throbbing and he knew by instinct that it held fantastic power. But most of all, he couldn’t stop thinking how beautiful it was. He wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life - more than his real parents, more than Melody, more than the feeling he had when he was driving free down that motorway in the peace of night.

  But he woke up just before he could touch it. It left him feeling dissatisfied and desperate. It was more than desire; he needed the dark light.

  The dream followed him into the next night, and the next, and every night thereafter, never letting him go. Suddenly, he was breaking every rule he’d ever set himself and becoming something he was not: a thief.

  He stole into the garage and slipped into the car so easily. It was like the Jag had been waiting for him to take it away. In fact, everything about his escape had been easy, like he’d been wrapped in a protective bubble by whatever it was that wanted him to go.

  South, it kept speaking to him in the night.

  And finally, London.

  Whatever it was he was searching for, that was where he would find it.

  ITZY

  ONE

  July 2013

  Itzy was writing when she got the phone call.

  Or, more accurately, she was writing just before she got the call. It often seemed to happen that way, as if the caller had known she was busy and kindly waited until she finished before they disturbed her.

  It was July and the sun was high in the sky, streaming through her bedroom window and illuminating the pages of her notebook before her, on the desk. But she hardly noticed. She was caught in that ephemeral state between waking and dreaming, lost in a haze of grey.

  The phone continued to cry out for attention. She snapped out of her trance and picked up her mobile from where it sat on her desk. She noticed the time displayed on the screen.

  Two hours had passed and she couldn’t remember them.

  She glanced back at the notebook, just as the phone stopped ringing. The words staring up at her from the pages looked unfamiliar, as if she hadn’t written them herself. But this didn’t surprise her the way it once had.

  The phone started ringing again. She could see it was her aunt Gwen, in Toronto. Normally her heart did somersaults when she saw that her favourite member of the family was ringing. But now, her chest swelled with heavy foreboding.

  Her eyes darted from the phone to her notebook and back to her phone.

  Then again to the notebook.

  She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t shake the idea that something was very wrong.

  As if moving through molasses, she pressed the button to take the call.

  ‘Hiya, Gwen,’ she answered, trying to sound like she didn’t think the world was ending.

  Gwen’s response did nothing to allay her anxieties. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she broke out through tears.

  Itzy sat up straight in her desk chair. It swivelled a little, on its wheels.

  ‘Gwen, what’s wrong?’ She felt her heart rattle in her ribcage. There was only one possible explanation for why her aunt would ring in such a state. In fact, Itzy had secretly been preparing herself for this moment for years. But now that it was upon her, she didn’t know what to do with it.

  ‘Your father….’

  She didn’t have to finish, because Itzy already sensed what she was about to tell her. But Itzy needed her to say it, anyway. She needed to hear the words. Somehow, it wouldn’t seem real until then.


  Gwen swallowed and audibly shuddered. ‘He’s dead,’ she blurted before a fresh wave of tears could drown her voice.

  Itzy sank back in her chair with the phone pressed to her ear. ‘…how?’

  ‘Suicide. He…they found an empty bottle of pills….’

  Itzy felt like someone had punched her in the gut. The room spun around her until she forgot where she was. Who knew how long she sat like that, listening but not really hearing her aunt cry.

  Suddenly, Gwen said, ‘I’m sorry.’ It was the second time she had apologised for something that couldn’t possibly be her fault. ‘I know you said you never wanted to talk about him again, but…I thought you ought to….’ She broke off again in a dreadful sob.

  ‘N-no,’ Itzy said. ‘It’s okay. I know what I said, but…thank you,’ she whispered. She felt like she was on autopilot.

  But this wasn’t one of her mysterious, uncontrollable trances. This was life.

  Then Gwen took a breath and said something very strange. ‘There was a note.’

  Her voice was so clear in Itzy’s ear that she could have been fooled into thinking they were only down the road from each other, rather than separated by the Atlantic Ocean. She sounded worried. Her niece could imagine her biting one of her nails on the other end of the phone.

  When Itzy didn’t reply, Gwen asked, ‘Do you want to know what it said?’

  Itzy couldn’t decide if she wanted this or not, so she remained silent, waiting for her aunt to make the decision for her.

  Gwen told her.

  When she finished, she said, ‘Itzy. Maybe…maybe don’t tell your mother.’

  Itzy shook her head, and then remembered Gwen couldn’t see what she was doing. ‘I have to. How can I keep this a secret?’

  Gwen sighed down the line so heavily, her niece imagined she could feel her breath tickling her ear. ‘I know. I know. I just wish….’

  ‘I wish a lot of things,’ Itzy said. Before she knew what she was doing, she ended the call on her mobile phone.

  What was wrong with her? She never hung up on Gwen.

  But she knew what was happening to her. The moment consumed her like a vicious beast with hungry fangs. She had worried about this day for seven years.

  And now it had finally arrived.