The Lost Codex Read online

  Praise for the Collectors’ Society series

  “The most unique, fascinating, wondrous book I’ve read in a very long time! I was glued to every page.”—Shelly Crane, New York Times bestselling author of Significance and Wide Awake

  “So unique and different, the first thing I thought when I finished. . .Man I wish I would have thought of that! Buy this book, you won’t regret it!”—#1 NYT bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken

  “This book should come with a handwritten tag that says ‘Read Me’. And you should. Right now. One of my favorite reads of the year. Loved it! I want to live inside Heather’s brain.”—Daisy Prescott, USA Today Bestselling author of Modern Love Stories

  “This fantasy was a breath of fresh air. It was unique, inspiring, and obviously a five-star read. If you enjoy romance, adventure, and traveling through worm holes go get this book ASAP!”— Jennifer Foor, author of the Best Selling Mitchell Family Series, The Kin Series, The Bankshot Series, The Twisted Twin Series, Diary of a Male Maid, Hope’s Chance and Love’s Suicide

  “One of the most inventive stories I’ve ever read. Brimming with sexiness and romance, magic and lore, it’s a modern-day fairytale adventure that is not to be missed.”—Vilma’s Book Blog

  “THIS BOOK WAS EPIC! . . . I wanted to escape into a story that held not only romance, but also mystery. And that’s exactly what I got when I read The Collectors’ Society. I got a riveting, refreshing, and unique plot that was not only driven by a beautifully sweet romance, but also a thriving story filled with suspense and unbounded mystery.”—Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads

  “Alice is the new standard that I set for all heroines.”—BFF Book Blog

  “Deserving to be a new classic for the modern day, The Collectors’ Society should be on your must read list.”—The Paisley Reader

  “If you love classic literature, and you love fantasy and fairy tales, this is a must read book for you.”—Book Briefs

  “This is one of those books where you have to sit back and question an author’s sanity because how the hell did they ever come up with this amazingly insane and totally unique idea if not for a bit of insanity on their parts. All I can say is thank goodness for Heather Lyons and her crazy thoughts, Collectors’ Society is. . .. . .I can’t even explain it, just know that it IS…”—Reads All The Books

  “…A unique tale that will leave you breathless, enthralled and begging for more. If you thought you knew classic fairy tales, think again!”—Resch Reads and Reviews

  “I’m finding it almost impossible to put down in words the love I feel for this story. It was nothing like I expected and yet everything I wanted.”—The Book Hookup

  “I’m not exaggerating when I say that The Hidden Library has everything you could possibly want or need in a book: laughter, heartache, romance, action, adventure, mystery, suspense – the list goes on and on. If I could’ve dreamed up a book that would satisfy my not-so-secret love of fairy tales as well as my never-ending search to find exciting and inventive storylines, I wouldn’t have come close to dreaming up The Hidden Library because it’s completely and delightfully unique. Not only does it have a nostalgic feel that beckons my inner book lover, but it’s also refreshing in a way that kept me guessing as to where the narrative would go next. ”—Nose Stuck in a Book

  “Beautifully crafted settings, gripping plots, and enough emotion to satisfy even the coldest of hearts, Lyons has taken elements from some of the greatest novels in history and fashioned them together to create herself a spot on the shelf of future ”Great American Classics”. Heather Lyons has woven together a story that transforms history, bringing a new-found love of classical literature to a whole new generation of readers.”

  —One Guy’s Guide to Great Reads

  “I was completely entranced with the first book of this series, The Collectors Society, and The Hidden Library is no different. This is a highly entertaining and well-written series that I hope doesn’t go away any time soon.”—Books She Reads

  “This series keeps getting better and is a must read. A rare 6 star rating from this picky reader!”—A Literary Perusal

  “I’ve never, never, never EVER read a book with such extraordinary characters in the fantasy genre.”—Melissa Reads Books

  “A mystically fantastic read that takes you on a magical fun journey. . .. Start this series now!!!”—TSK TSK What to Read

  “This book has everything, everything. A beautiful romance. Wonderful friendships. Some love sacrifices. Broken hearts. An evil genius.”—Lost in a Book Blog

  “Sequels don’t always live up to the original books but let me tell you Heather has knocked it out of the park with The Hidden Library. . .”—Book Starlets

  “This is why I love reading!!! This. Series. Right. Here.”—Maria’s Book Blog

  “If I could give a book a million golden stars, this would be the one. THE FORGOTTEN MOUNTAIN has upped the Collectors’ Society game and once again, captured my attention with its incredible heart, valor, passion, and creativity! In years to come this series will be one I recommend to young and old alike. The brilliance of this story and series is one that should be savored and adored by all the world over.”—Typical Distractions

  Also by Heather Lyons

  The Fate Series

  A Matter of Fate (#1)

  Beyond Fate—a novella (#1.5)

  A Matter of Heart (#2)

  A Matter of Truth (#3)

  A Matter of Forever (#4)

  The Collectors’ Society Series

  The Collectors’ Society (#1)

  The Hidden Library (#2)

  The Forgotten Mountain (#3)

  The Lost Codex (#4)

  The Collectors’ Society Encyclopedia

  The Deep End of the Sea

  Royal Marriage Market

  The Lost Codex

  Copyright © 2016 by Heather Lyons

  www.heatherlyons.net

  Cerulean Books

  ISBN: 978-0-9908436-8-9

  First Edition

  Cover design by Whit And Ware

  Editing by Kristina Circelli

  Book formatting by Champagne Formats

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  PRAISE FOR THE COLLECTORS' SOCIETY SERIES

  ALSO BY HEATHER LYONS

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  THE JABBERWOCKY

  POTIONS AND DREAMS

  NO

  REALITY

  NO MERCY

  CONVERSATIONS

  THE SAFEST PLACE

  A ROOM WITH NO DOOR

  A FAMILY’S SIN

  A MOTHER’S LOVE

  ARSON

  AFTERMATH

  A MYSTERIOUS BOOK

  TWO DIFFERENT-COLORED EYES

  LIFE AND DEATH

  DESPAIR AND RESENTMENT

  FOUR LADIES & A BOOK

  COMPROMISED

  A LIGHT, A KISS, & A PRESENT

  A TROUBLING REPORT

  REFUSING TO SAY GOODBYE

&nbs
p; A WITCH

  TORTURE

  NOBBYTOWN

  HOW TO CATCH A RABBIT

  WHAT MAKES A MONSTER

  THREE UNEXPECTED GIFTS

  KINGS, QUEENS, AND THRONES

  PROPHECY, REVISITED

  FOUR COURTS UNITED

  COR CASTLE

  THE CONVERGENCE

  THE DEBT

  THE PLEASANCE ASYLUM

  POLITE SOCIETY

  THE ASHBURY’S BALL

  EPILOGUE

  A BIBLIOGRAPHY

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  ALSO BY HEATHER LYONS

  ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  This one is dedicated to

  Evelyn Torres and Samantha Modi,

  two amazing, supportive women

  I am lucky to call friends.

  Brom officially welcomes you

  as honorary members of

  the Collectors’ Society.

  A GNAWED-UPON BONE SHARD protruding from a patch of trampled, jaundiced grass pokes at my boot whilst others haphazardly adorn the loamy forest floor. No dread pools in the pit of my belly upon such a gruesome sight, though. It is the intoxicating rush of anticipation that courses through my bloodstream.

  According to my Grand Advisor, I suffer from a constant thirst for adventure.

  When I draw it out, my vorpal blade hisses from the sheath hanging upon my back. In the distance, a scaled tail, mottled and greenish-purplish-black in the dappled sunlight filtering through the tulgey trees, crushes a thornbush in a cantankerous thump, but the destruction is likely due to a wild jubjub bird daring to taunt the beast than anything else.

  Tracking this particular Jabberwocky posed no problem. Although its dam was vanquished years before, the younger beast’s favorite haunts are well known to Wonderlanders far and wide. Remembering its dam’s ferocity and proclivity toward death and ruin, most leave the heirs to their own devices, although there always are those addled enough to dare to attempt be the latest to best one of Wonderland’s most fearsome monsters.

  And here I am, attempting to do the same—only, I do not wish for this Jabberwocky’s death. I do not covet the glory some may bestow upon such a feat. I simply desire a scale from its hide.

  If only Jabberwockies were known for their reasoning.

  I glance away from the tail, toward a stately tree several yards beyond where the beast dozes. Tall and silvery-golden, adorned with velvety, plum-colored leaves that glint like cut amethysts in the thin shafts of light streaming through branches, the tree offers protection to my favorite hunting companion. We two are not so foolish to believe our combined might will prevail against a Jabberwocky without better tactical planning, even against one as young as this. Instead, we employ an old standard: we shall conquer and divide.

  I give the signal. The White King of Wonderland tilts his crossbow toward the grove just beyond the beast’s scaled belly. An arrow laced with jubjub feathers is fired. The Jabberwocky rouses, its attention no doubt captured by the sight of common feathers, but as expected, it does not abandon its prone position. I use the opportunity to sprint closer, ducking behind another large, twisted tree carved by scarred strokes of talons.

  I’ve cut the distance between myself and the Jabberwocky in half.

  A few minutes pass before another feathered arrow soars through the air. As before, the Jabberwocky does little to investigate, but its attention diverts just enough for me to finish my approach. While not the most intelligent beasts within Wonderland, or keen of hearing, Jabberwockies rely instead on aromas to lead them to their prey. Indiscriminate about food sources, Jabberwockies are known to eat all sorts of animals, including humans.

  In order to counter such a quandary, my Grand Advisor, the Caterpillar, concocted a noxious concentrated oil for the White King and me to bath in in order to allow the stench to permeate our pores and hair. Naturally, we were thoroughly repulsed at mimicking decaying woods, fungus, and feces, and we involuntarily wept from the fetor. I reminded Jace there was no need for him to go through with the hunt, that it was my responsibility. His response was as stalwart and familiar as always. “The beauty of free will,” I was told, “is that we can choose whether or not to do what we wish. And I wish to go with you today.”

  Thus, here we are, reeking in such a way that renders us invisible to the Jabberwocky.

  To many, our mission would be superfluous. Plagued by dreams I cannot fully recall or understand for the past two mornings, I’ve woken disconcerted, aching for a man whose name or face I cannot conjure. Once daily reality emerges and the dreams fade, I am left with unexplainable, heartrending emotions I refuse to allow myself to dwell upon, and yet manage to do all the same.

  Jace and I are to be married on the morrow. The White and Diamonds kingdoms will unite in such a way Wonderland has never seen before. Peace, prosperity, and stability will be assured for half of our land’s inhabitants. It is a dream he and I have lovingly planned for years, one that even the White Queen has officially, albeit grudgingly, sanctioned.

  I am baffled how, for the past pair of days, each brush of his skin against mine feels erroneous rather than blissful. When our mouths touch, the urge to pull away overrides our history and what we mean to one another. A niggling, deep-seated tug in the confines of my soul insists he is not the man I wish to be with, that my heart impossibly belongs to someone I cannot recall except in remnants of pure emotions and desires.

  I cannot allow this. I love him, this kind, honorable, wonderful man. My heart and future have belonged to Jace since the age of eighteen. No—he possessed it long before then. We met when we were children, verbally sparring on a battlefield over words beginning with the letter H. I adored him near instantly. For the scant years I returned to England, I daydreamed about the handsome, young king to the point of distraction. My sisters swooned over potential suitors, yet I rebuffed any who dared to court me. I pined for a Wonderlander with nearly colorless eyes.

  When I returned to officially claim my throne, and we came face to face for the first time in years, he greeted me with, “Hail, harridan.” It was accompanied by a deliciously naughty smile.

  Years of fanciful daydreams were easily displaced by a far superior reality.

  I countered his salutation in kind. “Hello, hapless hedonist.”

  The Caterpillar’s loud snort of disapproval failed to lessen my delight. Neither did any of the gasps from my ladies-in-waiting. The White Ferzes’ eyes nearly popped from their exceptionally large sockets. I was utterly besotted by a widening smile from a handsome boy now grown into a beautiful man.

  In the days, weeks, and months that followed, the connection between us deepened, solidified. While there was no doubt I found the White King physically attractive, it was his sense of self as both a man and a ruler that drew me in like a bee to a premier singing Flower’s garden. We shared similar ideals, similar hopes and dreams for a better, more prosperous Wonderland for all. Our politics aligned just as smoothly as our hearts.

  He is everything I admire in a partner, a man, a friend, and a lover.

  Something as meaningless as dreams cannot be allowed to derail our future together. If I must battle a Jabberwocky to ensure our happiness, and Wonderland’s future, then I will do just that.

  A good minute stands as a test to whether the Caterpillar’s poisons are enough to mask my smell before a third feathered arrow soars overhead. As soon as the Jabberwocky lifts its head, Jace fires a poisoned arrow into the base of the beast’s neck. The Jabberwocky roars as the liquid-filled tip digs into its flesh. It pushes itself up on its two legs, stumbling instantaneously, just as the Caterpillar promised it would. Another howl rattles the trees before it collapses in a clumsy heap upon the sawdust corpses of trees.

  “Jabberwocky blood is acidic,” my advisor informed me just this morning. “Anything injected will be neutralized fairly quickly.”

  “Define fairly quickly.”

  His smile was thinner than normal f
or one without substantial lips. “For most concoctions? Seconds.” I was offered a tiny bottle with a cork stopper. “With this? A minute, if you are fortunate.”

  I peered into the iridescent lavender liquid. “What will it do?”

  “Temporarily weaken muscles.” To Jace, he said, “Use a crossbow. Aim for the small space at the base on his neck, to the left. There is an inch or so of unprotected skin. Do not miss.”

  The White King’s ability to strike any object, even at vast distances, is legendary throughout the Courts. And now he once more proves the validity of such praise, as his arrow pierces the Jabberwocky exactly where ordered.

  My window is opened, tiny as it may be. I dart forward, the vorpal blade firm in my hand as I mentally count down seconds. The beast releases a mournful gurgle of frustration, its elongated whiskers and scaly jowls limply sagging around massive teeth. When I skid to a stop, the tips of my leather boots collide with its tail.

  A groan ripe with helpless ire nearly blasts my feet from the forest floor.

  I throw my satchel to the ground before prying thick scales off with the end of my blade. “My apologies,” I gasp as I wrench off bits of its tough hide. “I promise, I’ll depart momentarily.”

  Its body shudders, as if allowed, it would quake with indignation. Once I reach the count of ten, I shove my treasures into the satchel and sprint out of the jabberwocky’s lair.

  Seven.

  The earth beneath my feet rumbles.

  Six.

  Jubjub birds explode from the trees at the sheer intensity of the beast’s wrath.

  Five.

  Rumbling turns to assured quaking.

  Four.

  I curse the forest’s messiness.