The Brutal Time Special Edition

by Christina Bauer

  “I do,” replies Lincoln. “And, if you don’t mind my saying so, Xavier has a soft spot for women.” Lincoln lets the thought hang out there.

  I know what my guy means. It’s not that my father is a dude-hater, but he is a capital-G General. If someone’s in armor and asking questions, my father’s personality goes, shields up. But if I walk up all solo and sweet—well, as sweet as I get—then there’s a better chance Not-Dad will spill some intel.

  I crack my neck. “On it.”

  Lincoln kisses my cheek. “Go do your thing.”

  Marching forward, I pause behind Not-Dad and tap his golden-clad shoulder. He turns around and damn. Does he ever look miserable. There’s a hollowness to Not-Dad’s eyes that just cracks my heart.

  That’s when it hits me. This Not-Dad misses Mom, even though he doesn’t know her. I’ve heard, it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Now I get it. My real father always has a fire in his soul. Even when Dad was suffering; he had a purpose. Mom. They truly love each other.

  And that realization makes my eyes kind of watery.

  “Can I help you?” asks Not-Dad.

  This is a moment for verbal fireworks. Leadership. Glamour. I take in a deep breath.

  “Hey, so I’m your daughter.”

  Not my best opening.

  “Are you now?” Not-Dad looks at me like I’m insane. “And who is this demon on your shoulder?”

  My brows lift. My snow imp is back?

  Sure enough, the little fuzzball materializes on my shoulder to salute my father. “Captain Fluffbottom.”

  “You have a demon imp as a pet?” asks Not-Dad.

  “Buddy, buddy.”

  “This is my friend, Fluff.” I scratch his tummy with my pinky. “He’s been secretly stalking me for a while, it seems. How did you see him?”

  Not-Dad grins. “I see many things. Just as I see how you are a quasi-demon.”

  This is a classic situation, by the way. My father has a list of unique super-powers a mile long. For a lot of them, he doesn’t even know they’re special until another archangel or whoever can’t do them. Like seeing supposedly-invisible imps.

  Never one to be ignored, my tail swoops around to wave at Not-Dad as well. I roll my eyes. “My tail also says hello.”

  Not-Dad bows slightly at the waist. “Greetings to you, your imp, and tail.”

  A sparkle lights up Not-Dad’s blue eyes. I’ve seen my father when he’s done with people. There are glaciers that seem fiery when compared to my father’s glare. But now? Not-Dad is interested.

  “Greetings back at ya,” I reply. “So, uh, what’s going on?”

  A small smile rounds Not-Dad’s mouth. He’s totally humoring me, but whatever. As long as I get intel, I’m a happy girl.

  “A joyous event,” replies Not-Dad. “The archdemons have learned the error of their ways. Merlin and Nimue will soon raise Avalon so we may have a proper celebration of their change.”

  “Wow, is that ever a bad idea.”

  Not-Dad shrugs. “My fellow archangels have flown out to inspect each archdemon. None have used magic or committed any sins. They appear legitimate in their transformation.”

  “Only because Colossus is still locked up. Not sure if you’re aware of this one, but the archdemons are totally meh without their leader. Plus Merlin and Nimue are raising Avalon? I saw one of these underground castle things. Everyone was trapped in an enchanted asleep.”

  “It’s rather easy to raise an enchanted castle,” says Not-Dad. “The sleeping enchantment is a different matter. There’s only one way to activate it. You must wield a special staff loaded with charged gemstones.”

  A memory appears. Back in Lucifer’s lab, Lincoln and I found an empty box labeled for gemstones to the Staff of Avalon. Gears in my mind churn, aligning this old recollection and Not-Dad’s new words. “I’ve got news for you. The gemstones for the Staff for Avalon have been found.”

  Not-Dad shrugs. “The gems won’t function without the staff itself.”

  “Hah.” Now I’m on familiar territory. Real-Dad and I have this verbal battle all the time. “Did you actually see the thing get destroyed?” Not-Dad opens his mouth to reply, but I keep going. Here comes one of my fave arguments. “This is like a story where the evil dude falls off a cliff … but you know he’s coming back. Unless you saw that staff thing broken up before your own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it was gone.”

  Not-Dad gives me a dry look. “I did see it broken up before my eyes.”

  “Oh.” I debate walking away—this is turning into a whopper of an embarrassing conversation. Yet I can’t. My family, my people, and my entire world are all at risk. I lift my chin. “I take it back. Who cares what you saw? It is hella dumb to party with a bunch of archdemons in an enchanted castle.”

  “All the archangels voted; the majority wish to celebrate.” Not-Dad sighs. “Yet I know your argument would have been accepted by Lucifer.”

  This. Is. Awesome.

  True fact: I’ve spent hours chatting with real Dad about the rules of archangel life. I totally have this one covered.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I announce. “Let’s hold an official archangel revote. I’ll stand in for Lucifer. Maybe the results will be different.” Most archangel votes are close. They rarely agree on anything.

  Not-Dad’s blue eyes glow with intensity. “You know about that rule? How?”

  The words just tumble from my mouth. “I’m your daughter from the future. You’re blabby.”

  Not-Dad eyes me carefully. I know my real father enough to realize this is his assessing gaze, the one which silently asks, is she full of crap? Before Not-Dad can come to a decision, a voice echoes across the open grounds.

  “I, King Arthur, have arrived! Let my celebration begin!”

  I should stay focused on convincing Not-Dad to hold a re-vote. Yet I can’t. King Arthur just showed up and announced himself.

  The real King Arthur. Wow.

  Some small part of me screams that was lame protocol. Kings just don’t announce themselves. Even so, I can’t help but feel little medieval butterflies take up residence in my stomach.

  Did I mention this is the real King Arthur?

  The king steps closer and whoa. Lincoln was right. I mean, I knew my guy wouldn’t lie. Even so, it’s one thing to hear that King Arthur is a hot mess. It’s another thing to see a royal shit-show in full color. He’s all potbelly, filthy clothes, and wobbly gait. Plus, he’s got eight archdemons marching behind him as well as a figure cloaked in red. No question who that is.

  The Crimson Scourge.

  I suck in a quick breath. This is so very, very bad.

  34

  Myla

  King Arthur meanders onto the grassy field. Although Lincoln and I only stand a few yards away, we can still smell the regal booze breath. The king stumbles over to a wooden bench, leans over, and grips the top. His entire body sways as Arthur tries to hoist himself up.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  It’s the fourth time that Arthur finally hauls himself to stand atop the bench. By now, everyone has stopped chatting. All eyes are focused on the so-called king. So there’s no reason for Arthur to set his pinkies into either side of his mouth and let out a loud whistle. Yet that’s what he does anyway.

  “First of all,” says the king. “Have the rascals arrived? Merlin and Nimue, show yourselves!” He scans the crowd and grins. “There you are.”

  Sure enough, Merlin and Nimue lurk at the fringes of the grassy field. The siblings don’t seem to notice me, but that’s probably because they’re too busy glaring hot death in Arthur’s direction. I’m starting to understand why they might truly loathe the guy.

  “You are bound to serve me,” announces Arthur. “I am the true king who drew forth the sword in the stone.”

  “Aye,” say Merlin and Nimue in unison. That may be the word they say, but all the hatred in the universe is locked into that
single syllable.

  Arthur pipes up again. “Now these traitorous mages shall raise Avalon! Then we’ll begin our celebration.”

  The siblings clasp hands and whisper incantations over the ground. Blue mist rolls out from their palms to fill the forest beyond the grassy field. Soon there’s enough haze that the colored cloud rises above the far-away treetops.

  The ground rumbles. A silver castle breaks through the grass and forest. The earth splits. Trees snap. Animals screech as they run for it. Little by little, a silver castle shoves its way up to the surface.

  So that was badass.

  Like Pendragon castle, this structure is compact and boxy. A ring of jagged stones encircles the roof, reminding me of a jawline with so many missing teeth.

  I recall my chat with Not-Dad. He said that any mage could raise this castle without wielding the Staff of Avalon. Sure enough, Merlin and Nimue had no staff. They just held hands and had it happen.

  Whew.

  Some tension unwinds from my shoulders. Looks like Not-Dad was right about raising Avalon. Perhaps he’s right about other things, too. Namely, that only Staff of Avalon can cast a sleeping enchantment inside the castle itself.

  Arthur points to Merlin and Nimue. “Be Gone. Return to exile.”

  What a prick.

  For their parts, Merlin and Nimue step away so quickly, you’d think they cast a speed spell.

  “Let us enter the castle,” announces Arthur. “There you will formally meet my new companion.” He gestures toward the red-robed figure. My breath catches.

  His new companion is the Crimson Scourge.

  I scan the grounds, waiting for someone to cry how they are not stepping into an enchanted castle with the Crimson Scourge.

  No one says a word.

  I wave at Not-Dad. He glances over in my direction. I point to the red cloaked figure and mouth the words, no, no, no.

  Not-Dad sighs and looks away. I can almost hear his words in my head. We voted. When it comes to archangel stuff, all versions of my father follow the rules.

  Which leads to a big decision. I give Lincoln’s hand a gentle squeeze. Our gazes lock. I glance between the forest spot where Lin and Nimue stepped away … and then to Avalon. I lift my brows. The question is there if not asked, which way should we go?

  Lincoln tilts his head toward the castle. Avalon.

  I nod. Agreed.

  “Let us begin!” announces Arthur.

  With that, the king marches inside Avalon. Everyone follows. Archangels. Archdemons. Knights. The obvious Crimson Scourge person. Lincoln and I go as well.

  Inside, the castle resembles the one I saw with Pendragon. Like before, there’s a small reception chamber and a huge mead hall. The larger chamber isn’t lined with books, but it still holds a circular table at its center. Arthur goes to stand before the hearth.

  “Welcome, archangels and archdemons!” he cries. “On this historic day, we shall all celebrate my brilliance.” He looks over to the Crimson Scourge. “And we have a special guest. Huzzah!”

  Arthur pauses, waiting for a response. Most likely, he’s waiting for a cheer. It doesn’t come.

  “Now,” continues Arthur. “I’m not one to sing my own praises. That is far better done by Dalston Rusus the Bard! Come forward!”

  Sure enough, Drusus steps up. Unlike Arthur and his special guest speech, the bard’s appearance actually causes some polite applause. Drusus takes his place beside Arthur. After swinging his lute out before him, the bard begins to play. The tune he plucks out is gentle and haunting.

  I cross my fingers behind my back. Don’t be a creep here, Drusus. Tell the truth.

  The bard’s voice echoes out through the hall, the tone lyrical and sweet.

  A young boy of no means

  becomes king of all the lands

  King Arthur did it all

  King Arthur did it all, all, all

  Sorrow presses in around me. Drusus is not telling the truth. Lincoln wraps his arm about my shoulder. He knows what a bummer this is. Drusus sings on.

  Locked up archdemons

  Set Colossus in a cage

  King Arthur did it all

  King Arthur did it all, all, all

  * * *

  The demonic learns a lesson

  And so we celebrate

  King Arthur did it all

  King Arthur did it all, all, all

  The words aren’t much, but add in the sweet lute playing and Drusus’ magnetic voice? The song becomes nothing less than haunting. Within a minute, no one is looking at the drunk king anymore. Instead, we’re all entranced by Drusus.

  Memories appear. I’m back with Drusus and Charles. No wonder Drusus got so upset about his extended son. Drusus spent his life lying for King Arthur. Those musical untruths hurt people, starting with Merlin and Nimue. Centuries later, Charles is doing the same thing.

  The song ends. This time everyone claps enthusiastically, myself included. It makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, but Drusus is just that good. Which is incredibly evil.

  Arthur turns to the figure in red. “Come forward, my friend!”

  Here we go. Crimson Scourge time.

  The mage seems to move in slow motion while stepping to stand beside Arthur. Once before the hearth, Arthur pulls back the hood covering the Crimson Scourge’s face. I can’t believe my eyes.

  It’s Remy.

  Helping with the contest Remy.

  Stuck in the bowels of Antrum with lots of odd boxes Remy.

  Stole part of my Band of Epochs Remy.

  Remy Elayna Danae, whose initials spell the word RED, which must be how she got the crimson part of the Crimson Scourge.

  What a bitch.

  Remy lifts her arms. Red mist appears round her right hand. Magic. A moment later, a staff materializes in her fist. This instrument looks like the one Nimue wielded to raise Pendragon Castle, only Remy’s version looks like someone welded together broken bits.

  My heart sinks. Remy had that pile of smashed up metal junk in the archives. Chances are, the broken staff of Avalon was in there. And the gemstones? Remy must have sent her falcon in to get them from Lucifer’s lab.

  More memories appear. Remy also kept boxes of royal correspondence. The thrax are positively obsessed with all things Lucifer-related. One of Lincoln’s people might have reported the lab’s discovery. Remy read our freaking mail. She could easily have intercepted that info.

  I want to face-palm myself. Remy was so helpful. She almost got killed at the contest. And it was all a scam. I think back to her inscription. The Great Lady Remy Elayna Danae. I get that thrax culture doesn’t make it easy to move up in the world. But this is an extreme way to handle things.

  Remy whispers an incantation. The jewels of the staff flare with golden light. Yellow mist bursts from the stones, filling the room with a heavy haze. When the enchanted cloud fades, all the archangels are asleep. Including Not-Dad.

  I open my mouth, ready to scream my lungs out. Mostly, I want to yell at Remy.

  Lincoln pulls me into a hug. “Don’t.” His touch helps me stay calm. Barely.

  Remy strolls over to us both. “Aren’t you going to thank me for keeping you awake?”

  I round on her. “Two words. You. Suck.”

  She grins. “All I wanted was to be a great lady. Now I’ll be the most important ruler of all time. And you can’t stop me. In fact, you have to watch it all unfold.”

  I smack my lips. “Yeah, I got that.”

  “I chose a horrible contest for you,” continues Remy. “Picked the worst winners. You never suspected a thing. I hunted down the ghouls from your mother’s conference and paid them invade the Arena. Even gave extra gold to whoever fake-knocked me out. Still you were oblivious. Now you’ll witness my success. I will lead and shine where both of you have stumbled and failed.”

  “This won’t work,” says Lincoln. “If you turn yourself in now, Myla and I can protect you.”

  “Not a chance. Instead, I’ll r
aise Colossus while you two watch.” Remy steps out the exit. Eight archdemons macrh along behind her. None force Lincoln and me to follow. I shake my head. Damn. Remy knows us too well. My guy and I won’t run when someone’s about to raise Colossus.

  We’ll try and fight this somehow.

  35

  Lincoln

  Turning to Myla, I cup my beloved’s face. “Do you wish to run?”

  No matter what, I won’t risk Myla’s safety. For me, there is no world without her. If my wife wants to escape, I’ll protect her with everything in me, body and soul. We’ll figure the rest out somehow. We always do.

  Myla’s eyes flare with blue light. “No running. More ass kicking.”

  I smile. “Excellent.”

  With that decision made, Myla and I leave the silver palace. Once the last archdemon steps outside, the silver castle lowers into the ground once more. The soil piles back into place. Trees and grass retake their old positions. If I hadn’t seen Avalon rise, I wouldn’t have believed it was ever here.

  And yet the archangels are still inside.

  I hate to think of anyone buried alive. But archangels? And to have Remy—one of my own people—be the cause? Even more loathsome.

  With the enchanted castle gone, we march through the corridors of Camelot. Along the way, I can’t help but notice how the floor’s dotted with muddy boot prints. Many rooms are ransacked.

  Evidently, the staff left in a hurry, including all the not-too-effective guards.

  A wise choice, actually.

  At last, we enter the main mead hall. It’s a long rectangular room with an arched ceiling. An empty fireplace lines one wall. Hefty wooden tables cover the floor.

  Remy scans the room, cataloguing as she goes. “We’re all here. Eight archdemons. The esteemed King Arthur and his knights of the round table.” She glares at me and Myla. “And a pair of unfortunate adventurers. Now it is time for the Crimson Surge to fulfill her destiny!”