Spear of Destiny (Misadventures of Loren Book 1)

by Ines Johnson

  I placed the last sword on the rack and grabbed my satchel. When I turned back around, the room was silent and empty. The door was shut and they were all gone. They'd left me behind.

  I could've called out to them, but a thickness settled in my throat. My shoulders slumped, likely from the heavy weights of the swords I'd been carrying. I wrapped my arms around myself to alleviate some of the tension as I headed towards the door.

  Maybe it had been a mistake? Maybe they expected I was behind them? I walked out the armory door to see the group walking down the hall, shoulder to shoulder. They poked fun at each other and laughed their jabs off. No one looked back to see if I was there. And so, I kept my distance.

  The simple truth was I hadn't honed my skills with boys until I was older. So, young boys weren't exactly in my wheelhouse. Grown men, however? I usually had them eating out of my hands.

  As we passed by the Throne Room where the Round Table was housed, I heard low voices. I peered across the threshold of the room to see that the knights were in deep conversation. Everyone's eyes were intent on the speaker, listening hard.

  Gawain caught my eye and smiled. Then my view was blocked. Geraint sneered as he swaggered towards the great door and then he shut it in my face.

  So okay, I'd never been the type to fit in with a large group of males. One on one was better. I'd had a string of lovers, but since I was a bit allergic to commitment, they never stuck around. Much like my father's family.

  I carried the name Van Alst and had a small trust fund that they'd tried unsuccessfully to keep away from me. When my father delivered me to their doorstep when he'd had to go on a particularly rough dig, they'd shoved me into a boarding school after only two weeks of knowing me. It took me a couple of months to get kicked out and for my father to come get me. I never left his side again, until he died.

  I looked around the hallways of the castle, wondering which way to turn. I decided to head into the kitchen to find Igraine, the closest thing I'd ever had to a grandmother. But when I got there, Igraine was nowhere to be found. She was likely in the Great Hall eating with the rest of the community.

  But the kitchens weren't empty. Morgan and Gwin were standing over the stove. In the original Arthur stories, Morgan Le Faye was Arthur's sorceress sister that he'd had an illicit affair with. Guinevere was his wife who had an adulterous affair with his best knight, Lancelot.

  That was not this story.

  Morgan and Gwin were sisters. Morgan had dark hair, an argumentative wit, and an anarchist attitude. Gwin was blonde and proper and perfect. And I was their black sheep of a cousin.

  They were older than me by a handful of decades, but physically, we looked like contemporaries. Their parents had retired and were living in Florida. Apparently, there was a ley line near Walt Disney World. So, the three of us were the last of the line of Sir Galahad, with Gwin being the oldest and me bringing up the rear.

  The sisters stood in a tight huddle as they peered into a pot. The ladle went around the edges of the cauldron of its own accord. With one hand, Morgan tossed in dried plants. With another, she tossed in pulverized herbs.

  "A little essential oil for the soul. Alcohol for the spirit." Morgan opened her hand and a bottle of wine floated into her grasp. She opened the spirits and dashed in a splash. Then she grabbed a pinch from a salt dish. "And salt for the body."

  "I don't think it'll work," said Gwin. "Science and magic don't often coexist well."

  "Science and magic together are what makes alchemy," said Morgan. "They work perfectly together under the right hand."

  Morgan mumbled a few words that I couldn't hear. In the few magic lessons I'd had, Gwin had told me that the words didn't matter. The chant just helped a witch to focus her powers, much like the Om of meditation.

  Whatever Morgan chanted sounded like a calming hum. The brew bubbled up. Its rapid growth appeared to rattle the sides of the cauldron making the kettle shake on the stove grate. A green foam grew into a volcano and then the top popped in a loud burst. Goo splattered with a wet plop on both of the sister's noses.

  "Morgan," Gwin groaned, looking down at her shirt. "This is my favorite top."

  Morgan scooped a dollop of goo from her lower eyelid. "I must have added a little too much alcohol."

  Gwin turned to her sister, her face indignant. Morgan wore a frown of disappointment as she turned her gaze from the pot to look at her sister. The two faced each other in silence as they surveyed the damage done.

  Morgan's finger crooked at her sister's top and she snorted. Gwin swiped away the green brew from her sister's cheek with a giggle. Beside them, the cauldron burped and the sisters laughed hysterically.

  I watched them for a moment as they wiped themselves off. I'd been an only child. I didn't quite understand how siblings could go from angry with each other one second to the best of friends the next. It looked nice. I scratched at my chest, turning on my heel.

  "Loren," called Morgan. "Hey, where are you going?"

  "Oh," I said turning back. "I was just... I was going..."

  I had nowhere to be, no one to go with, no one waiting for me.

  "See," said Morgan looking at me and motioning to the bubbling brew. "This wouldn't happen if I was working in an actual lab instead of in a thirteenth-century kitchen."

  "We remodeled in the twentieth," said Gwin, looking around at the stainless steel appliances on the other side of the room which barely got used by the old school witches who cooked in the kitchens.

  "God, I need to get out of this place," said Morgan. "I'm going to go crazy here."

  "You're being dramatic, Morgan," said Gwin as she set about cleaning up the mess that Morgan had just made. "You have enough to do with your duties here and your academic studies."

  "Yeah, at my online university," Morgan grumbled. "Chemistry should be done in a laboratory with beakers and Bunsen burners, not a crockpot."

  With the looming threat of his brother out in the real world, Arthur had decreed that all witches stay on the grounds of Camelot, which grounded Morgan who'd been accepted into Cambridge's graduate program.

  Morgan turned her navy-blue gaze on me. Mischief I'd only ever seen in a bathroom mirror twinkled at me. "You think if I blew something up The Arthur would finally be pissed enough to release me from this prison?"

  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or to draw up a list of explosive materials to gather.

  Gwin rolled her eyes as she looked away from her sister and at me. "You have lunch yet, Loren?"

  "Um, well..." I started.

  "You'll come with us," said Morgan.

  They came toward me, walking shoulder to shoulder. Then they opened their circle and beckoned me into it. I slipped between the two sisters and we headed out of the kitchen and out of the castle through a back door.

  "Speaking of school," said Gwin. "Are you ready for your next lesson?"

  Gwin was trying to teach me to control my powers. She was a great teacher. I'd just been a horrible student all of my life, much preferring to learn from the school of hard knocks than an actual instructor. But there were no YouTube videos on how to be a witch. So, I had to listen.

  So far I'd learned to shoot fire out of my hands, and I wasn't very good at that. I wasn't ready for another lesson. Not after the morning I'd had.

  "I'm a bit tuckered out from knight training. Or should I say squire training."

  "What?" Morgan gasped. Her ears went red, and her face screwed in indignation. "They demoted you to squire? They're all a bunch of pigs. You know what this calls for? A little retail therapy. I happen to have access to Arthur's accounts."

  "Oh," I sighed, my heart melting at her devious plan. "We are so related."

  "Morgan," said Gwin in a warning tone. "We can't use those accounts unless it's for the castle."

  Morgan and I looked at each other. Then we each looped an arm around through Gwin's and tugged her out across the bridge and into town.

  It didn't take much convincing to lure Gw
in to the dress shop, especially when we pointed out the damage done on the job to her favorite top. We had a delightful conversation about worker's compensation on the way. Gwin was a goody two shoes witch, but she was also a warm-blooded female.

  We walked against the flow as the townsfolk headed into the castle for the midday meal. Most of the work stopped for about an hour like a Southern Spanish town on siesta while people left the rat race and broke bread with their neighbors.

  Elderly knights made their way toward the castle dressed in slacks and kirtles. Some witches were dressed in tunic dresses and surcoats that trailed to the ground. Others wore jeans and peasant blouses with pointy-toed shoes. The teens wore a mix of fashions with boys in leather pants and boots to gym shorts and girls in mini-skirts and laced bodices.

  Modern and medieval lived harmoniously in this small corner of the world. The magical town of Camelot was situated in the modern-day town of Caerleon in Wales. The majority of the residents were magic kind, but human tourists mingled in with the locals on the weekends, oblivious to the supernatural in the medieval-themed town.

  But not today. Today was Tuesday, a notoriously slow day for tourists. The fake sword in the stone exhibit sat abandoned with no fanny-pack toting parents forcing their kids to take a staged photo. No one stood reading the placards of an embellished history of the legend of the great Arthur's place in Caerleon.

  The placards made up lies from the truth. The words etched in stone told of a battle the great Arthur fought in Caerleon, the City of the Legion. According to legend, as written by Geoffrey Monmouth, Arthur held court for the feast of Whitsuntide here in Caerleon. He called forth his chieftain allies to sail down the River Usk to join him and renew their pacts of peace.

  It was a great story. It just never happened here. The current Arthur was the third of his name. It had happened with his great-grandfather, Arthur the first, son of Uther Pendragon. And it had taken place back in Glastonbury, the original home of Camelot.

  But the stone gimmick, and the placard marking the feast, along with a few other carefully crafted tales kept the truth hidden from humans. Hiding in plain sight they called it. That and the protective charm placed around the castle.

  As I stepped away from the castle and onto the path into the city, I felt a marked change in the atmosphere. I hadn't felt it before, when I was more human than witch. But stepping away from the castle and the protective charm today was like shedding an outer coat. I shivered as we continued down the deserted road.

  We were greeted by all as we weaved through. People didn't just say hello to Morgan and Gwin. They spoke to me as well. And not just cordial niceties.

  They asked how I was settling in. They asked if I needed anything. They made me promise to come by and see them for a cup of tea, to deliver a keepsake that they had of my mother's, or just to spend a little time.

  The chill that had settled on my shoulders lifted as we came out the other side of the crowd. Standing between Gwin and Morgan as they chattered on, I felt like I was in a cocoon. Or no, a nest with the bum of a big bird keeping me warm until I was ready to fly.

  It may sound corny, and a little gross. But it felt nice. Being a part of something, being included, being accepted, felt nice. Which made me wonder just how long would it last?

  Chapter Four

  We crossed the cobblestone street and headed for Minerva's Modern Medieval Market, a mouthful if you dared to mumble it. Minerva was coming out of the storefront door and turning the lock when we stepped onto the sidewalk.

  "You're eating out today?" asked Morgan. Her sultry voice hit the high-pitched whine of a child.

  "Just up to the castle," Minerva smiled at the three of us. "Worked my fingers to the bone on a new corset. Decided to give them a break and my belly a treat and see what Igraine was serving today."

  Minerva was tall with an hourglass shape. Like most women in the town, she wore a mashup of time periods. Her simple, wrap skirt could've come down the runway of Italy. The waist was cinched with leather bindings. Mounted on her shoulders were golden epaulets. Her hair was done up in intricate braids like a crown. On her feet, she wore a nude shoe, but the underbelly was the unmistakable red calling card of Louboutins.

  Now I understood Morgan's whine. If this was Minerva's everyday wear, I was itching to see what she created for her customers. Clothes and fashion were my weakness. I typically went for the high-end, straight off the runway, and designer labeled articles. But once the wares were in my closet, I loved to mix and match, especially the vintage with the contemporary.

  "Did you and the Arthur have one of your rows?" asked Minerva eyeing Morgan. Before Morgan could respond, Minerva turned the lock from closed to open. "You ladies go in and do as much damage as you please. I'll put it on his accounts."

  Minerva winked at us as she headed down the street towards the castle. I turned from her and walked into the shop. The moment my feet crossed the threshold, my mouth was salivating.

  There was a rack of tunic dresses. They ventured from the long and fitted to accent the figure, to the short and loose to reveal the figure. There were fur-trimmed gowns made of velvet. Lace-trimmed gowns made of satin. Prim wimples and elaborate headdresses shaped like hearts and butterflies. I loved headdresses. The only reason I ever considered getting married, or going to church, was so that I could wear one.

  But it just wasn't the medieval styles on display. Minerva also had the latest fashions of the day. There were designer jeans, leather jackets, crew neck shirts. There were even those godawful shirts with the cutouts at the shoulders that were casting shame on the runways and fashion spreads. I had never been a fan of putting holes in my designer clothes.

  I turned away from the modern and focused on the old. I didn't know where to begin. I had carte blanche to take whatever I wanted. I felt like Julia Roberts in the hooker movie. Only in my real live version, there were no mean girl retail workers. And I didn't have to sleep with The Arthur to have at it.

  I snagged a royal blue cotehardie from one of the racks. I held up the garment to my chest in a mirror. The long sleeves and fitted torso would look good on my body. It was the row of buttons down the front that made me cringe.

  Morgan walked over, gave the dress a tug, and showed me the zipper inside. I squealed with delight and dashed into a dressing room. I pulled off my clothes and stepped into the dress, pleased with the modern enhancements that made the garment easily accessible.

  "What do you think?" I said when I stepped out of the dressing room. "Will Gawain be tempted to rip this bodice off me?"

  Both Morgan and Gwin had smiled as I stepped out. But they both frowned at my words. I wondered if someone else had their eye on the knight.

  "Unless he's already ripping one of your clothes off at night?" I asked.

  Morgan wrinkled her nose. "I grew up with him. He's like a brother. The only thing he ever pulled on me was my pigtails."

  I looked to Gwin.

  "Oh no, no." She shook her head. "I'm married."

  "To a homicidal maniac," I said. "No offense."

  "None taken." Gwin tugged at her lip as she looked off in the distance.

  "I mean, my last boyfriend tried to kill me, too. So, I get it. Well, actually he tried to sacrifice me to a Greek god. But to-may-toe to-mah-toe."

  Leonidas Baros was the only man I ever claimed as a boyfriend. Likely because he was the first man I ever wanted to be more than friends with. He was my sword master when my dad had been in Greece studying the restorations on the Parthenon. I'd learned most of my moves from Lenny, both vertically and horizontally. I'd fallen hard for that man. Unfortunately, his soul belonged to another man.

  No, not in that way. He was a Chosen of the demigod Zeus. Any humans chosen by the Greek gods gave up their soul in exchange for eternal life. Lenny was over a thousand years old. He'd been alive during the Battle of Thermopylae. In fact, he'd led that ill-fated battle of the 300. Did I mention Lenny was King Leonidas of Sparta? Well, that's yet ano
ther story.

  "But I'm over it," I said. "I'm so ready for a rebound." And I knew just the knight I wanted to bounce around with. Looking at Gwin's shock, I figured she needed to do a bit of bouncing around herself. "Doesn't Merlin's attempt on Arthur's life and his violation of your magic terminate the marriage contract?"

  Gwin turned back to me with wide eyes. "Terminate?"

  "Yeah. I'm sure that's grounds for a divorce at the least."

  I didn't think it possible, but her eyes widened even more. "Divorce? There's never been a divorce in the history of Camelot."

  "But a divorce would free you up to come out of the closet with your feelings for Lance."

  "What?" Her hands fluttered like a bird's wing. "No. There's nothing going on between Lancelot and me."

  "Do you want there to be?" I hedged.

  "When we were children, we…" She looked away. "But we're adults. And I have my duties and responsibilities. I'm still the Lady of the Castle. My people need me. I would never abandon them, not like my husband did."

  Her smile was one I'd seen her put on often. It was a plastic smile. The one I'd seen her give to a group of frat boy tourists last week when they had gotten rowdy at the sword in the stone exhibit. She hadn't cracked under them, I knew I'd fare no better. So I turned to Morgan.

  "What about you? You have your pick of the knights."

  "I would never," she wrinkled her nose. "As soon as they catch Merlin, I'm off to university. I'll find myself a tweed wearing, four-eyed tenured professor and settle down."

  "You can't live off a ley line at your age," I said.

  Morgan was pushing one hundred fifty in human years. She could spend days, weeks, maybe even a couple months off the line. But if she spent much more time than that off the line, her true age would catch up with her and she'd die.