Eye of the Oracle oof-1

by Bryan Davis

  When they reached Patrick, Elam stopped for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. Three bright lanterns formed a triangle at the center of the table, illuminating Patrick’s face and the faces of four other men. Their eyes followed Charles as he drew close to one of two empty spaces.

  Patrick nodded at the chair. “Please sit, my friend.”

  Elam strode to Patrick’s side, taking his place as the oldest errand boy who ever lived.

  Professor Hamilton slid out the chair and cleared his throat. “May I say, Sir Patrick, that I am honored by your selection of me as a new member of this distinguished body, and ”

  “Oh, cut the squash!” one of the men boomed. He then laughed and patted the man next to him on the back. “We’re about as distinguished as rubber socks! Aren’t we, Kaplan?”

  Kaplan glared at him. “Rubber socks? What’s the connection?”

  “Nobody knows we exist!” The man burst out with a series of belly laughs.

  “I know rubber socks exist,” a third man protested.

  “Quiet!” Patrick raised his hand. “Let’s not give our new designate the wrong impression.”

  Kaplan drummed his fingers. “It seems to me that he is getting exactly the right impression. All we ever do in our meetings is crack jokes and tell tall tales. When McCorkle died, maybe we should have just propped up his body in his chair, then we wouldn’t have needed a replacement.”

  The first man piped up again. “McCorkle’s corpse would be funnier than he ever was. That’s for certain.”

  “The point is,” Kaplan continued, “that waiting for Arthur’s heir to arrive has been like sitting in the maternity ward waiting for fifteen hundred years of labor to finally end. It’s no wonder we expectant fathers are getting a bit punchy.”

  “Fathers?” the first man rejoined. “I feel like the poor mother!”

  Patrick rapped his knuckles on the table. “Gentlemen! Please!”

  The men murmured for a few seconds, and when all was quiet, Patrick again gestured for Charles to sit.

  Professor Hamilton nodded and sat down. “Thank you, Sir Patrick.”

  Patrick folded his hands. “Since we consider ourselves equals, Charles, we normally dispense with titles that indicate superiority. I realize my knighthood is significant to you, but I am merely called Steward. You will learn the others’ titles in due time.”

  “Very well. What shall I be called?”

  Elam leaned over and whispered in Patrick’s ear. “Merlin.”

  Patrick’s face brightened. “Of course. Merlin!”

  “Merlin?” Professor Hamilton repeated. “Why Merlin?”

  Patrick glanced at Elam but quickly returned his gaze to Professor Hamilton. “It seems to me that you are as gifted in spiritual matters as anyone I know. Your heart for God reflects the legends of the great prophet of old.”

  Professor Hamilton’s face flushed. “I am grateful for your confidence in me,” he said, fidgeting in his chair.

  “Merlin,” Patrick continued. “As you know, we are the protectorate of the Arthur legacy, and we wish to make his heir’s ascendancy to the throne an easy path. Since you are the newest member, it is your privilege to investigate the latest report of a possible heir and either verify or falsify his pedigree.”

  Professor Hamilton bowed his head. “I am honored.”

  “Not if he sends you to Alaska,” Kaplan said. “That’s where I went on my wild goose chase when I joined.”

  Patrick rapped his knuckles again. “Not Alaska, but you will have to visit the States West Virginia, to be precise.”

  “Very well.” Professor Hamilton folded his hands and nodded. “What information do you have?”

  Patrick withdrew a small map from his jacket and spread it out on the table. “Our intelligence is based on the movements of our enemies, and one of their prominent agents has set up residence in Castlewood, West Virginia.” He pointed at a spot on the map. “Our spy believes the agent is seeking information about a young person, perhaps a pre-teen or teenager.”

  Leaning close, Professor Hamilton touched the edge of the map. “Then securing a position at a local school would be an optimum plan of action. My credentials should suffice.”

  Patrick touched a ring on the professor’s finger. “The officials might wonder why an Oxford professor would want to teach there, so you should prepare a convincing explanation.”

  Elam edged to the table and tried to read the emblem on the bejeweled gold band. It appeared to be etched with Latin words signifying the professor’s achievement in college Philosophi? Doctor.

  “I would simply tell the truth,” Professor Hamilton said. “I have always been interested in Arthurian legend, especially the stories surrounding Excalibur, and my research has led me to Castlewood. I doubt that anyone would question me beyond that.”

  “True enough, I suppose.” Patrick folded the map and returned it to his jacket. “If you find the heir, and you are convinced of his authenticity, bring him back to me. There is a test he must pass to prove that he is worthy in mind, body, and spirit. I won’t divulge the nature of the test at this time so that you can honestly say you don’t know what it is.”

  Professor Hamilton withdrew a pocket calendar and opened it to the current date. “Is there a suggested timetable?”

  “You are to leave immediately and bring him back as soon as you have him in hand. Since our opposition seeks to thwart Arthur’s return, their agent will not have the heir’s best interests in mind.”

  Kaplan stood at his place. “Merlin, all jesting aside, I, for one, welcome you with open arms. Our jocularity has no real reflection on our sincere wish to fill our empty chair with the one true king. If you should find him, we are willing to lay down our lives to assure his ascendancy.”

  “So say we all!” the first man shouted, now standing next to Kaplan.

  The other two men stood with them. “Hear, hear!”

  Patrick slowly rose to his feet and nodded at Professor Hamilton. “What say you, my old friend?”

  Professor Hamilton slid back his chair and stood with the rest. “If Arthur’s heir is in West Virginia, then I will not rest until I bring him to this very room.”

  Chapter 9

  Blood and Light

  December 30, 2002

  Gabriel followed Bonnie as she tiptoed down the stairs. When she neared the bottom, she peered over the banister, her hiking backpack shifting with the movement of her hidden wings. With no one in sight, she skulked toward the front door.

  All was quiet. Gabriel zoomed down the hall to the laboratory and sneaked a look through the open doorway. Just as Bonnie had feared, Dr. Conner sat at a table next to a collection of glass vials and a set of hypodermic needles. He marked one of the vials with a Sharpie, then scratched down an entry in a logbook. Gabriel glided back to Bonnie and mentally shoved her toward the exit. Maybe she would be able to get away before her father had a chance to find her.

  As her hand touched her coat on the wall rack, the telephone rang. Bonnie froze in midstep. Dr. Conner breezed into the front room, holding a mobile phone to his ear. “Yes, Dr. George.” He pulled out a desk drawer and withdrew a thin stack of paper. “I have the test results right here. There is no doubt about the findings. My wife’s blood definitely has the allele we discussed.” He nodded and dropped the stack on top of the desk. “That’s right. An anthrozil. . Yes, I’ll bring the samples to you tonight. . That late?. . Sure. I guess I can do that.” He glanced at Bonnie, and the color in his cheeks suddenly drained away. “Dr. George, I have to go. I’ll see you at my office.”

  Bonnie lifted her cell phone. “Daddy, Mama called. I’m supposed to meet her downtown. She’s taking me shopping for my birthday.”

  “Oh. Your birthday. Right.” Dr. Conner ran his fingers through his short nap of red hair, keeping his eyes from direct contact with Bonnie’s. “That can wait. I just need a couple of minutes.”

  Bonnie shuddered. “But you said you’d never ”


  “I know what I said.” He grabbed her wrist, tightly at first, but his grip slowly eased. “This really is the last time. I promise.”

  Bonnie pulled in her bottom lip and stared at her father. A tear welled in her eye. Finally, she whispered a shaky, “Okay,” and followed him toward the laboratory.

  Gabriel stalked behind them, his energy field flashing. Bonnie was no guinea pig! If only there was a way to stop this madness! He could plug himself in somewhere and short circuit the lights, but that wouldn’t last longer than the time it took to flip the circuit breaker, and the shock would paralyze him for hours. What else could he possibly do?

  When they reached the lab, Dr. Conner picked up a hypodermic needle. “You know the drill, Bonnie. It’s just a prick.”

  As Bonnie pushed her sleeve up, her hand quivered. She picked up a rubber ball from a letter basket, laid her arm on the table, and squeezed so tightly, her forearm muscles bulged.

  Dr. Conner tied a rubber band around her upper arm and swabbed the tender flesh in the crook. As the needle drew near, she closed her eyes and turned her head, her whole body trembling.

  Gabriel caressed her skin at the needle’s entry point. It poked a tiny hole in the midst of a dozen or more minute white scars. Dr. Conner attached a collection tube to the needle, and as blood began to flow, he unfastened the band and tossed it to the lab table. “Just a few more seconds, and I’ll be finished.”

  Bonnie kept her head turned, panting as she whispered something to herself. Gabriel moved closer to listen to her feeble, halting voice.

  “Yea, though I walk. . through the valley of the shadow of death. . I will fear no evil. . for thou art with me. . thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

  Dr. Conner pulled out the needle and pressed a ball of cotton on the wound. “I have what I need. You can go now.” He turned away and began entering numbers on a log sheet.

  Tucking her head low, Bonnie hurried out of the lab. After grabbing a coat off a rack, she ran to the front door. Gabriel zipped alongside her, but, of course, he could offer no comfort, only a sympathetic embrace with his wing, another hug she couldn’t feel.

  Bonnie threw the door open, ran outside, and banged it closed. As she stuffed her arms into her sleeves, trying to fit her coat over her backpack, she slipped and almost stumbled down the porch steps. Stopping for a moment on the lawn, she heaved in a couple of deep breaths and mumbled to herself. “Okay, Bonnie, get a grip. You don’t want Mama to know you’ve been crying. She’ll just get upset again.”

  She took a final deep breath, and a thin smile grew on her lips. Combing her fingers through her hair, she hustled to the open garage and snatched a helmet from a shelf next to her bicycle. After strapping it in place, she straddled her bike and guided it onto the driveway. Overhead, tiny flakes of snow floated silently down from the gray sky.

  She pushed a pedal and rolled out onto the street. Gabriel rushed ahead of her and hopped onto the front, attaching his energy field to the metal handlebars. Bonnie pumped the pedals hard until the bike reached a brisk cruising speed, then relaxed and pedaled more easily.

  Amidst a flurry of snow, girl and guardian raced through the neighborhood and onto the main thoroughfare’s bike path. Having left her gloves at home, Bonnie raised a hand to her mouth from time to time and blew on her fingers. As a thin dusting of snow coated the street, she slowed her pace and guided the bike toward the clearer pavement. Traffic dwindled, and with it the danger of colliding with a car, but she maintained a tight grip on the handlebars to keep from losing traction and taking a spill.

  After several minutes, they reached a two-story white building at the edge of downtown Missoula. As the snow thickened, Bonnie parked her bike next to a hedge in front of the building and jumped over the two steps that led to the entrance. Blowing on her cupped hands, she pushed open the front door with her elbow and slipped off her coat. As she unhitched her helmet, she scanned the spacious lobby, then smiled. Her mother sat on a cushioned bench just outside an office.

  Tucking the helmet under her arm, she ran to her mother’s side and kissed her cheek. “Mama,” she whispered, “what’s going on? Why here instead of the mall?”

  Irene combed back Bonnie’s mussed hair. “I heard from my brother. He believes that a slayer has moved into our area. That means he’s probably on my trail.”

  “How could a slayer find you?”

  “My brother gave me no details.” Irene unfolded a telegram and began reading. “A dark knight is coming quickly.” She lowered the paper and looked at Bonnie. “That’s a coded message all dragons are supposed to know.” Clearing her throat, she continued. “Go to the surrogate nest. Your daughter’s passage has been arranged.” She refolded the telegram and put it into her purse.

  “What does it all mean?” Bonnie asked.

  “My brother is concerned that something might happen to me, so he arranged for a safe hiding place for you, just in case. He is well-connected with adoption and foster care services in England and in the U.S., so he can make sure you are buried in the system where no one can find you.”

  Bonnie gripped her mother’s forearm. “But nothing’s going to happen to you, right?”

  “I don’t think so.” Irene patted Bonnie’s hand. “But we have to be ready, just in case.”

  “So why did you call me here?”

  “I wanted to show you where to go.” Irene nodded at the office door next to the bench. “If something awful happens, get here as quickly as you can. Mrs. Lewis works in this office. She knows what to do. I wanted to introduce you, but she’s in a meeting right now.”

  “I. .” Bonnie turned her head away. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Irene stood and lifted her purse strap over her shoulder. “You don’t have to dwell on it. Just remember this place and this office. It might never happen, but we have to face the possibilities.”

  Bonnie kept her head turned. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Okay, Mama. I’ll remember.”

  Irene laid her hand on Bonnie’s cheek and gently turned her head back toward her. “Bonnie, I love you very much. That’s why I’m telling you these things.”

  Bonnie wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and laid her cheek on her shoulder. “I know. I’m just scared.”

  Irene kissed the top of Bonnie’s head. “There’s one more thing. If the worst does happen, you need to find another dragon. My brother thinks he lives in Castlewood, West Virginia. His human name was Jared at one time, but I don’t know what it is now. I did hear, though, that he has a son about your age, so that might help you find him.”

  “If you’re gone,” Bonnie said, still leaning on her mother’s shoulder, “how will I get there?”

  She nodded at the office again. “Since you can’t get past airport security, they will arrange to transport you to Castlewood by train. It might take a while, and you might have to endure quite a few transfers, but you’ll get there eventually.”

  Bonnie pulled away and looked her mother in the eye. “You want to hide me from Daddy, don’t you?”

  Irene turned away, her voice barely audible. “He can’t protect you from a slayer.”

  “Won’t, you mean. He’s in love with his research, not you or me. He thinks we’re lab rats.” Bonnie took her mother’s hand and extended her arm. “He’s stuck you even more than he’s stuck me.”

  “You know I can’t stop him.” Irene pulled her hand away. “Not without revealing our secret.”

  “I know.” Bonnie stuffed a hand into her pocket and lowered her head. “You’re right.”

  “If something happens to me, you’ll be safer in foster care than you would be with your father. They’ll change your name, so he won’t be able to find you.”

  “I’d better get going,” Bonnie said, taking her helmet from under her arm. “It’s starting to snow pretty hard.”

  Irene tapped the helmet with her fingertip. “If we can’t fit your bike in the car, we’ll just leave it here until to
morrow. I’m sure they’ll let us.”

  Bonnie wiped the water droplets from the shiny surface. “So, are we really going to the mall like you said?”

  “Of course.” Irene hooked her arm around Bonnie’s elbow and led her toward the door. “Thirteen is a special birthday. Have you decided what you want?”

  “That pen set I told you about, and maybe a new journal. I’ll probably fill my old one up in the next couple of weeks.”

  Irene pushed the door open. “Don’t you need anything else? Books? Music?”

  Bonnie dipped her head. “Do you think it’s weird to just want pens and journals?”

  “I didn’t mean that at all,” Irene said, waving her hand. “You have a writing talent that amazes me! You write with a fiery passion that I could never hope to equal. In two thousand years I have never seen anyone your age who comes even close.”

  Bonnie let a thin smile break through. “Thank you.”

  “And do you know where your talent comes from?”

  “From being a dragon?” Bonnie guessed.

  “You might have inherited it from a dragon. I’m not sure. But I do know this; your talent comes from God. However you choose to use your writing, make sure every word honors your maker. If you do that, I’ll be delighted to give you all the pens and journals you’ll ever want. I was just wondering what else you need.”

  As they descended the front steps and pierced the curtain of falling snow, Bonnie looked up at the dark sky, blinking at the thousands of flakes. “As long as I can write prayers in my journal, I have all I really need.”

  Gabriel floated near the ceiling in Bonnie’s room, admiring the new wallpaper wide vertical purple and pink stripes that matched the purple blanket and pink sheets on Bonnie’s poster bed. Ever since they moved to this new house, her father had promised to decorate her bedroom, mostly to assuage her pain at leaving Carly and all her friends at her old school across town. Finally, after four years of her father’s promises and excuses, a pair of handymen came in and slapped the paper up with little care for craftsmanship.