“She’s here,” Sir Cade says. “Morgan, I want you to meet Sir Joseph, your father’s former squire.”
He pushes me closer to the mirror and I find myself shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the next as a pair of brown eyes peers at me from under bushy brows, a spotted hand stroking the long, silver-white beard that grows thickly under a beaked nose.
“Gorlois’s heir, at long last,” the scratchy voice says.
I make a small curtsy—probably the only thing I can do without making Sir Nigel blush with shame.
“You are the last in your line,” Sir Joseph continues, “and as such it is my duty and honor to serve you, Your Grace.”
It’s now the man’s turn to bow deeply, but the movement seems to unsettle him and he ends up suffering from a severe bout of coughing.
“Sir?” I ask, wondering with a sudden panic if he’s on his deathbed.
“Your father,” the old man wheezes, “came to see me before you were born.” He leans out of sight and I hear the distinct sound of someone expectorating, before his lined face comes back into view. “He sacrificed himself to protect you, Your Grace.”
“I know,” I say, with a pang of sadness at the uselessness of my father’s death, and I close my hand over my scar. “But they still managed to free Carman with my blood.”
“Through no fault of yours,” the old man says, coughing.
“Well…,” I start, for I don’t feel entirely blameless in this matter as there’s an infinitesimal chance that, had I listened more closely to Arthur’s orders—however distasteful they may have seemed to me at the time—things might have unfolded differently.
“Thankfully, Sir Gorlois had anticipated such a calamity might unfold and took some measures to try to curtail the damages, which means there’s still hope.” Sir Joseph draws nearer to me so that all I can distinguish are his eyes, set deep above his crooked nose, and the single, yellowed tooth protruding from his lower lip. “Excalibur,” the old man breathes, fogging his side of the mirror.
I try to hide my disappointment. Why is it everyone keeps thinking I have that stupid sword? “Like I’ve said before,” I say, trying to remain calm, “I don’t know where he hid it.”
“Your Grace,” the old man says, wiping the condensation down with the dirty sleeve of his shirt, “your father hid Excalibur with you.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. The old man must’ve completely lost his marbles. But as I wipe the tears streaming from the corners of my eyes, I see Sir Cade looking at me sternly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, growing serious once more, “but, like I just said, I don’t have the sword my father stole. Never have.”
Sir Joseph spits again, though this time he doesn’t hide himself to do it. “You can’t steal what belongs to you in the first place,” he says. “That weapon has belonged to your family for centuries!”
“We know he didn’t hide it on you,” Sir Cade says behind me. “But we believe he left you with a way to find it again. A clue, if you will.”
“Somewhere only you could find it,” Sir Joseph adds.
“I’ve never seen anything remotely close to a sword near me,” I say. “I mean, except for the regular ones at school and Arthur’s private collection.”
“His Grace was very adamant,” Sir Joseph says. “He told me the sword rests with both you and the other.”
“The other?” I ask, finding this whole conversation more and more ludicrous. “What other?”
“We think he was talking about your mother,” Sir Cade says.
I take a long, deep breath to stabilize myself and stop my thoughts from tumbling over one another. Does that mean they think the sword’s with her?
“Sorry to burst your bubble,” I say at last, “but I don’t know where she is either. Or who she is, for that matter.”
“Which is why Arthur’s latest attempt to rekindle our ties with the Fey must succeed,” Sir Cade says. “It would give you the perfect opportunity to find them both.”
“Arthur knows about this too?” I ask.
Sir Cade hesitates. “We didn’t think it wise to tell him, considering who his father is.”
“You need to do everything in your power to find the sword, Your Grace,” Sir Joseph insists. “Before anyone else does, or we’re doomed.”
“But Arthur’s working on another prison to stop Carman,” I retort. “He found a book that explains how—”
“It will fail,” Sir Joseph says, sounding certain. “That demon witch’s got the Sangraal now, and we no longer have the power to withhold her. Excalibur’s our only chance, Your Grace.”
“We will do our best to assist you, Morgan,” Sir Cade says, “though our hands are tied at the moment.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” I say, holding my hands up before all this crazy-talk overwhelms my brain completely. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying my dad hid Excalibur and left clues with me and my mother, some Fey, might I remind you, I’ve never even met. And now you want me to go with Arthur on his little expedition to Avalon so I can find her and this blasted sword before Carman does.”
“In a nutshell,” Sir Cade says, dead serious.
“And in the meantime, you two will be having a jolly old time, drinking tea while I constantly risk my life?” I ask indignantly.
“Not exactly,” Sir Cade says, his gaze growing distant, a vein throbbing at his temple. “But it’s too early to make my role public just yet, or I’ll get the boot before I can finish my task.”
“Which is?” I ask suspiciously.
Sir Cade gives me a bitter smile. “It is in your best interest not to know exactly what yet,” he says. “Just know that we are both working to finish Gorlois’s dream.”
Sir Joseph nods solemnly, only to start coughing again. “It has been a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Grace,” he says, his image becoming hazy, “but I must leave you now.”
And with a final bow, the mirror fogs over, Sir Joseph disappearing from view.
“How come I never heard of him before now?” I ask, staring at my coppery reflection before Sir Cade replaces the portrait over it. “Is he another wild oat?”
“Sir Joseph is in jail,” he says. “In fact, I believe you were but a few floors above him just yesterday.”
I repress a shiver. “Why is he in there?” I ask. “He’s not Fey, is he?”
Sir Cade straightens the frame and stands back before taking out his ring again. “His crime was being loyal to your father. As I’ve said, we will try to help you, but your best bet is to stick to Arthur and the Fey party he’s brought over.”
I want to tell him how Lugh’s never told me about my own mother either, no matter how many times I’ve asked him about it, but my uncle ushers me out and back the way we came as quickly as possible.
“You better get back to the festivities now,” he says, as we hurry down the serpentine hallway, “before anyone wonders where you’ve gotten to.”
As we finally near the exit, he stops. The lanterns above taint the first half of his face red, casting deep shadows below his prominent cheekbones.
“I need to stay here,” he says. “My employees won’t say a thing, but it’s best if I’m not seen with you.”
“Why not?” I ask hotly. “Why can’t people know you’re my uncle?”
“Gorlois wasn’t liked by everyone around,” Sir Cade says. “In fact, many were happy when he died. And you saw what they did to his…squire. If I were to reveal my parentage to Gorlois, I would not last here very long, and then I would be completely useless to our cause.”
I nod in understanding, my stomach knotting up. As if dealing with Carman wasn’t enough, now I have to worry about some internecine war[76] my father started in the midst of the Order itself.
“Will I see you again?” I ask, before the door can shut on me again.
The question seems to take Sir Cade by surprise. “Of course,” he says, giving me the first genuine smile of the evening, one that reminds me stro
ngly of my father’s picture, “though probably not any time soon, if we don’t want to raise any suspicion. Quickly now, and be careful.”
Before I have the chance to say goodbye, I find myself all alone again, a thousand questions jostling in my mind.
If my father truly hid Excalibur with me, it’s no wonder I’ve been let out of jail so easily, even with all of Irene’s objections—it had nothing to do with Arthur being all chivalrous or some other bull crap of the sort. And if that’s the case, then I must definitely tread very carefully, for my every step must be closely watched.
A deafening BANG echoes down the empty staircase followed by a loud scream.
A moment later, I hear the rapid patter of shoes hitting the marble floor, then a figure bursts out from around the corner, rushing towards me.
“Inspector Bossart?” I ask, recognizing the man’s weaselly features.
“Run!” he yells, the whites of his eyes showing, a gun in his hand.
Chapter 28
The inspector grabs my arm as he passes by, forcing me to run with him.
“What’s going on?” I ask, as weird grunts follow in our wake, getting closer.
I look over my shoulder, but the inspector yanks me harder and all I can see are a couple of figures running jerkily at the end of the dark hallway before we round another corner and they disappear from sight.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“Those were the Beaumont children,” the inspector says, panting heavily.
“Were?” I ask.
We burst through a door into a small courtyard. Flurries of snow greet us, whipping every inch of exposed skin like thousands of needles. I shiver in Arthur’s jacket, but keep running on the Inspector’s heels, the hem of my dress sticking to my legs like slimy algae.
“I don’t know what you people are up to,” I hear him mutter, “but this is all highly irregular. Once I’m out of here, I’m going straight for the authorities!”
“Aren’t you the authority?” I ask as he stops along a wall, looking for an exit.
“Shut up, girl,” the inspector snaps, “I need to think.”
“Think about what?” I ask, getting more and more nervous. “Who to shoot next?”
I hear the doors slam open behind us then someone lets out an eerie, hair-raising howl.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice pitching higher with fright.
But the inspector is no longer next to me.
“Inspector?” I call out again, running along the wall in search of the weaselly man.
My foot slips on a patch of ice and I fall sprawling into the snow, losing one of my shoes. The grunts keep getting closer as I struggle to get back up. Then the hairs at the back of my neck stand up and I suddenly roll over onto my back in time to see a shadow lunge at me.
There’s a loud bang, and the creature collapses to the ground, the force of the impact sending it rolling away from me. Then someone grabs me by the scruff of my neck and pulls me up.
“Bloody hell, girl!” the inspector shouts. “There’s no time to be fooling around!”
“Wh-what’s going on?” I ask through chattering teeth.
“I should be asking you that question,” Inspector Bossart mutters. “I came here to collect two bodies, and instead I’ve got these—”
Something dives into him and another shot goes off before they both fall to the ground, shouting and growling. There’s a loud snarl and the inspector screams.
I drop to the ground, feeling around for a weapon, when my hands close around something thick and heavy.
The inspector’s gun!
I grab the weapon, aiming at the flailing bodies, and pause, unable to distinguish one from the other. If only there was some light! A wave of warmth washes through me at the thought, and a large globe of fire erupts in the air above, reflecting brightly off the snow.
One of the two struggling shapes freeze momentarily at the sudden light and, with a grunt, the inspector flings his assailant off. I swing the gun towards the attacker as he straightens up again, and my finger releases the trigger in shock.
“A child?” I gasp, taking in the boy’s half-naked body, a large Y-incision poorly sutured showing stark black against the grey pallor of his skin.
“Monsters,” the inspector spits. “Get out of here, girl!”
“Would love to,” I say, keeping the gun pointed at the resurrected corpse, “but I don’t think it will let me.”
The boy’s glassy eyes are fixed upon me, unblinking.
“How about we get you back to the nice, dry morgue, huh?” I ask the dead boy. “It’ll be nice and cozy on the operating table, and….” I pause. “Inspector?”
“What?” the older man asks, shuffling over on the icy ground.
“Didn’t you say you came for two bodies?” I ask, glancing over at the man just as the second child jumps onto his back.
I see the girl’s mouth open wide, displaying two rows of pearly-white teeth, before they clamp down on the inspector’s neck and tear out a large chunk of flesh.
With a scream of pain, the inspector crumples to the ground, his blood turning the snow around him scarlet.
“Stop!” I scream at the girl.
My fingers squeeze the trigger and the gun fires with a deafening bang. The firearm recoils in my hands and I lose my grip on it as the bullet hits the girl’s shoulder. But the dead child doesn’t seem to feel a thing and dives onto the inspector for another strike.
“No!” I yell, throwing my hands forward.
Another surge of energy blazes through me and a sizzling bolt of lightning catches the Beaumont girl square in the chest, flinging her off the inspector’s body to land heavily a few yards away.
“Inspector!” I shout, rushing towards the fallen man.
But before I can reach him, cold fingers wrap themselves around my leg and pull me down. I twist around as I hit the ground, my dress ripping apart, and throw my hands up defensively. A blaze of fire catches the dead boy’s stony face, turning him into a live match, the flesh of his face bubbling and sizzling like steak on a grill. I squirm around to get a foot in between us, then kick as hard as I can. The boy falls rolling into the snow, his whole body now engulfed in white-hot fire. Then, with a last twitch, the boy finally stops moving.
I turn away, feeling sick to my stomach, when I hear a gurgling gasp.
“Inspector Bossart?” I call out, crawling over to the man’s side.
Another whimper comes from the unconscious man and I lean down to examine his wound. His chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, blood pulsing slowly out of his torn neck to the beating of his heart. I take my gloves off and use them to staunch the blood flow, pressing down hard, but the thin satin cloth quickly gets soaked through.
“It’s gonna be OK,” I say in a shaky breath. “Just stay with me.”
Closing my eyes, I try to calm down and concentrate on healing the man. All I need to do is patch up his jugular, somehow reform his scalene and trapezius muscles, then regrow his skin over it all. Piece of cake, really.
Heat builds in my hands before passing into the injured inspector, and I slowly feel the outflow of blood decrease. The man shifts under my touch, a soft moan escaping his lips.
“Just a moment longer,” I say, cold sweat pooling in the small of my back.
An explosion rends the air, momentarily turning the falling snow to sleet and sending me sprawling onto the inspector’s body.
Screams and shouts erupt in the distance as the low whine of a siren blares into the night. A second later, the sky lights up with gigantic flames that rise above the courtyard’s enclosing walls and I feel my gut knot up in fear as I realize one of the compound’s buildings is on fire.
“Saint George’s balls, this is not good!” I say through gritted teeth, peeling myself away from the unconscious inspector.
I bend over the man’s neck to quickly inspect my work. Though his flesh is still open, the bleeding’s stopped and the muscles have reformed
themselves.
“That’ll have to do,” I mutter, pushing myself up on shaky legs.
I grab the inspector’s arms then slowly drag him back to the building, his boots leaving deep, twin trails in the snow. Panting from the effort, I leave the inspector propped up against a wall before heading back up to the ballroom for help, my feet silent on the marble steps. But when I enter the massive suite of rooms, I find them deserted except for a few straggling staff members.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
One of the Fey servants stares at me, mutely, then slowly lifts its hand to point outside.
I turn around as the building shakes with another explosion. The chandeliers above swing wildly, their crystal finials clinking together like castanets. Heart thumping, I pause by the open French doors, snow and smoke drifting in to form dark puddles on the parquet floor, and my blood runs cold at the sight before me. The gardens light up in bursts of colored flares as knights battle Fey in disorganized clumps, the security hall at the other end ablaze.
My hand clenches around the door frame as a creature twice the size of a man stomps its way in my direction, a tail the thickness of a trunk swishing angrily behind it. Its long, flat head sweeps back and forth, as if in search of a juicy prey. Suddenly, it stops moving and a large, dirty green eyeball comes to fix its stare upon me. Target found.
I shudder as it lets out a massive roar that makes my bones vibrate, then charges. Three knights jump in its way to try to stop it, pummeling it with blasts of air and water. But their frenzied attack doesn’t seem to affect the great beast and it tears down through the knights like they’re nothing more than a bunch of bowling pins.
“There she is!” a strident voice rings out. “The traitor!”
A crowd of angry knights still dressed to the nines appears at the foot of the patio stairs, their outlines glowing in the orange blaze of the fires. Another boom shakes the floor beneath my bare feet and a heat wave washes over us a short moment later.
I lift my arm to shield my eyes, coughing.
“She’s the one who called those monsters over!” Jennifer shouts, her beautiful blond hair now flapping in the wind around her face like that of a madwoman.
Morgana Trilogy Complete Series Page 73