Return of the Grail King

by Theresa Crater

  The servant flicked it and the fabric unfurled to become a cloak.

  Anne gave herself a shake. What was she doing in Egypt, anyway? Hadn’t she been talking to . . . who had it been?

  Another woman strode into the room, her spine straight, head held high. She wore the white gauzy robes of a priestess, a weskhet collar of carnelian, turquoise, and lapis dwarfing her small neck. “Nephthys—” she stopped just inside the door “—why have you bothered with lining your eyes? We are planning on disguising you.”

  “We’re twins. It hardly seems necessary.”

  The priestess gave her a quelling look and waved her hands at the servant girl to hurry. The girl draped the cloak over Nephthys’ shoulders.

  “Ah.” Nephthys ran a hand down the soft fabric, then sniffed the collar. “Yes, Isis always wears myrrh.” She started to step toward the priestess, but noticed the servant bending at her feet. “Well done. You may go now.”

  The girl scurried away.

  “Follow me,” the priestess commanded and turned on her heel, not waiting to see if Nephthys obeyed. They left the family quarters and entered a long limestone hallway tiled with travertine. A murmur of voices came from a hallway to the left. They paused until the sound faded, then turned right and continued down another hall until they reached the end. Two tall cedar doors marked the entrance to the family shrine. The priestess pushed one open, lit a taper, and ushered Nephthys to the center altar, a square of blue-veined marble about waist high.

  She lit a votive lamp. Golden statues glimmered in the shadows. The priestess held charcoal over the lamp until it gleamed a dull red in the dark, then dropped it into a stone dish. She sprinkled powder over it and a heady sweetness rose into the air, making Nephthys dizzy.

  The priestess began a low murmuring chant, like a stream running beneath paving stones, almost subliminal. Calling on her temple training, Nephthys allowed her breath to slow and deepen. She listened, drifting on the sound.

  The chant grew louder and with a sharp exhalation, the priestess touched her face. More sounds, another touch, this time over her eyes, then her heart. The priestess took a scepter and spread the energy down her arms, down the front of her body, her legs to her feet.

  Silence.

  The priestess took up the lamp and surveyed her work. “You are ready.”

  Leaving the priestess in the family shrine, Nephthys walked on silent feet toward her sister’s apartments in the compound, moving quietly, hugging the shadows. A servant passed. His eyes flickered to her face, then with a frown, he asked, “My Lady Isis, I thought you had gone to sleep.”

  “I needed to look at the stars again, Qen. I’m going back to bed now.”

  He turned to follow her.

  “I don’t need any more help tonight. Please go to your own rest.”

  “As you wish, my Lady.” The man bowed slightly and continued on his way.

  Nephthys continued down the outside corridor, then entered another limestone hallway lit by evenly placed torches. She passed wooden doors, putting her head close to listen at the second door. The redolent smell of cedar filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes and listened. She heard faint, even breathing. Her sister slept. At the end of the hallway, Nephthys pushed open the tall door to Osiris’s chamber and crept inside.

  He lay sprawled on his back, his golden skin lit by moonlight from the open windows. His stomach rose and fell with his long breaths, the toned muscles distinct even in deep sleep. Shadow and light played in his shock of dark hair. His arm lay outstretched, his tapered fingers open as if grasping for something.

  Nephthys drank in the sight of him for a moment, letting his muscled torso, the slightly opened mouth over the firm chin, the long, toned arms arouse her. Then she stepped out of her carefully chosen cloak, stripped off her shift, and walked on bare feet to the side of the bed. She knelt on the edge, lowering herself so that her round breast came to rest in his outstretched hand.

  He stirred in his sleep. Nephthys stroked his side, the skin soft. A low moan escaped his open mouth. Nephthys trailed her breast up his bare arm, her nipple hardening in anticipation. She pulled the cover off his prone body. His manhood stirred. Her own moist center grew as wet as the lands after the inundation.

  Nephthys straddled him and his eyes snapped opened. Now was the test.

  “Isis.” He placed his hands on either side of her waist. “But I thought—”

  Nephthys leaned down and claimed his mouth, shifted her weight to open to him, and he slid home.

  This is so easy. Perhaps I over prepared, she thought.

  He gasped out his pleasure. “My love,” he whispered.

  Then there were no more words.

  Nina Lockhart studied the scruffy man from across the restaurant, then pretending to adjust her pearl and diamond earring, pressed the listening device more firmly into her left ear.

  “You’ve followed our instructions to the letter?” her agent asked.

  The man—he called himself Zebulon—leaned back, his head at an arrogant tilt. He wore a wrinkled shirt that had once been white and brown trousers in equally reprehensible condition. “Well, if I’d done that it wouldn’t have worked, but we’re ready to lock up the—” Zebulon paused and looked around him, then waved his hand in lieu of naming anything specific “—as you instructed. Just say the word.”

  “And you guarantee our desired result?”

  “Of course.” The hacker wiggled in his seat, unable to contain his eagerness. He picked up his glass and took a quick sip of wine, spilling a bit in his haste. “There is the matter of my payment.”

  “The agreed upon amount will be deposited into your account on completion of the task. The last installment.”

  He glanced rapidly around, ferret-like. “One million more.”

  Nina’s lip curled in distaste.

  “If all goes as you say,” her agent replied, his velvety voice containing the hint of a threat.

  “Oh, it will.”

  The agent nodded. “We expect action by close of business today.”

  “No problem.”

  The agent pushed back his chair and rose with the grace of a dancer, or the highly trained martial artist that he was. The waitress rushed over and he handed her money, a large bill judging by her reaction.

  Nina stayed, watching her hacker in the mirror above the bar, twirling the olive in the bottom of her martini glass. After a rather conspiratorial conversation with the waitress, the hacker ordered and sat back, a look of satisfaction on his face. He picked up his phone and poked at it. Nina wondered at him using it in a public setting, but assumed he knew his business.

  She nudged her own phone to life and clicked on the pineapple icon Gregor had installed to piggyback on Zebulon’s devices. Gregor had assured her it infiltrated other systems on a public network and would not be detected. She watched for a few minutes, but the hacker didn’t text or email anyone. Just scrolled through some technical computer journals.

  Suddenly, Zebulon sat up straighter, his gaze darting around the restaurant. Nina lowered her eyes to her drink. Zebulon bent to his phone, furiously typing. He put it down and seemed to turn it off. Nina nudged her phone again, and when it sprang to life, she saw the pineapple icon had disappeared.

  She snorted, ironically satisfied that her spying had been detected. She’d hired the very best.

  Nina asked for the check, paid, and left the restaurant. She needed to prepare for the next step.

  Chapter 4

  Elizabeth rested on the floor beside Anne. Arnold had placed Anne on cushions, then spread more pillows beside her and created a make-shift back support for Elizabeth, who held her granddaughter’s head in her lap. Gerald sat on the floor beside her. Both their eyes were closed, Elizabeth’s hands resting on either side of Anne’s face. Elizabeth had sunk deep, swimming amongst the thick currents running in the temple, probing the murky tides that ran between her granddaughter and the astral figure of Mordred that stood silent, hovering l
ike a battle crow over the sacred crystal that had always stood in their family temple. Elizabeth firmly believed in the crystal’s provenance—from their temple, to the European temples of her ancestors, the Temple of Isis in the ancient land of Egypt, all the way back to the main temple of Atlantis. Gerald was a steady pillar to her left, his firm strength upholding and protecting her.

  Before she could penetrate the fog any further, the sound of footsteps pulled her from meditation. As quietly as he could so as not to disturb her, Winston Stuart set down his black doctor’s bag and pulled out a stethoscope.

  “Winston. Thank God.” She told him what had happened so far, slowly at first as she surfaced from her meditation.

  Winston listened to Anne’s heart and lungs, then pulled out a blood pressure cuff. Pulled back her eyelids, took her pulse. “She seems stable. Her blood pressure is slightly elevated, but that might just be what’s normal for her at this stage of the pregnancy.”

  “What is going on?”

  “Let’s check the baby.” Winston placed his stethoscope on Anne’s abdomen, moving it a few times, his eyes closed in concentration. “Good heart beat.”

  He prodded her rotund belly, checking the position of the baby. “The child seems to have dropped lower in her pelvis. Just what you’d expect this close to birth.”

  “Yes, I’ve had children.” Elizabeth chuckled.

  “It’s hard to know more without taking her to the hospital.”

  “Is it safe to move her?”

  “Physically, yes, but these seizures must have a psychic origin. What have you been able to ascertain about this—” he pointed at the crystal in the center of the temple “—situation so far?”

  Arnold pushed two large cushions across the floor for Winston and he settled awkwardly beside Elizabeth.

  “Somehow, the spirit of Mordred has taken control of the crystal.”

  “Mordred?”

  “Or an entity taking on his appearance.”

  “How can this be? Our wards are strong. The temple is highly protected.”

  “This is the question.” Elizabeth stroked Anne’s forearm. “I haven’t been able to break through yet. The resistance is powerful.”

  “Does Michael know?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ve been here. Susan is trying to contact him. He was called to Egypt. She hasn’t reported back.”

  “Shall we try to move her again?” he asked.

  “Do you think it’s wise?”

  “Let me put some monitors on her and then we’ll see what happens.”

  Elizabeth stood up on stiff legs, hanging on to Gerald until the blood flow returned. Then she moved back a few steps to make room for Winston to work. She leaned against the wall and set herself to watch the psychic currents as they tried to move her granddaughter.

  Winston reattached the blood pressure cuff to Anne’s arm and positioned his hand over the pulse in her wrist, then nodded. Arnold knelt on the other side of Anne, slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders, then lifted her. Even heavy with child, she seemed easy for him to manage.

  Winston checked her pulse, then motioned for Arnold to continue.

  Arnold took a couple of steps toward the door.

  “Hold here,” Winston said. He closed his eyes, counting her heartbeats, then inflated the blood pressure cuff and watched the meter. “Good. Another few steps.”

  Arnold moved toward the door again, then paused. Winston checked her vitals. “Same again.”

  Arnold readjusted Anne’s weight in his arms. Her head lolled to the side and Winston gently pushed it back against Arnold’s large shoulder. Another few steps. Winston repeated his examination, then nodded for Arnold to continue.

  After two steps, Anne’s body suddenly stiffened. Arnold halted. Anne twitched, then convulsed, her fingers going rigid, sticking out at angles. Her face twisted, her body jerking back and forth.

  “Go back,” Winston ordered.

  Arnold jumped back a few steps and Anne relaxed once again in his arms. He stood waiting for instructions.

  Winston looked to Elizabeth. “What is causing this?”

  She pointed to the crystal. Above it, the malevolent figure of Mordred hung like murky smoke, clear for all to see. The figure flickered like a dark candle flame. He pointed at Anne, who twitched in response.

  She stays here, he said.

  “I thought I saw his mouth move,” Winston said. “What did he say?”

  Elizabeth repeated Mordred’s message for everyone to hear.

  “This is outrageous,” Gerald shouted.

  Winston faced the flickering figure. “What do you want?”

  Mordred’s only answer was a bone-chilling laugh, loud enough for them all to hear.

  Arnold balled up his fists and took a menacing step toward the apparition.

  “Stop,” Elizabeth commanded sharply. “I wish you could wring his neck, Arnold, but unfortunately, he’s dead already.”

  Arnold let out a frustrated growl.

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders and marshalled her energy. The lives of her granddaughter and great grandchild were at risk. With Thomas gone, the family’s future generations. This situation would take all the occult skill she’d learned in her long life studying, meditating, and leading rituals.

  She sent a probe of energy toward Mordred, calling upon the large crystal she’d worked with for decades to respond to her, to throw off this interloper. The heaviness in the room seemed to lighten for a moment. The crystal, now as dark as a deep smoky quartz, cleared bit by bit.

  The fog in the room swirled again and Mordred’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. Arnold gave a shout. From the gasp the other men surrounding her let out, she supposed the apparition was visible to all of them now.

  He shall not return, Mordred sent, his voice almost a growl in her mind.

  “Who?” Elizabeth asked aloud for the benefit of the others. “Who shall not return?”

  You know, Mordred whispered.

  The fog drew back, then rose in a wave. The building force was so powerful, Elizabeth opened her eyes to look. The wall of energy continued to rise, blocking out the others in the room around her. It rose to the chandelier, the hanging crystal tinkling, then reached the ceiling of the temple, almost fifteen feet.

  “Elizabeth.” Gerald’s shout reached her through the black wave, roiling like the waters of a storm.

  The grand matriarch raised both hands, rooted herself deep into the earth that had sheltered her and her family before her, opened her crown, and brought down a river of light, then directed it all at the heart of Mordred’s menacing upsurge. But the dark wave broke over her, scattering her energy, throwing her against the wall behind her. She landed with a thud.

  The wave receded, pulling back into the fog that hovered around the crystal, leaving Elizabeth gasping for breath. Winston was there in an instant, feeling her head for bumps, checking her pulse. “Does anything hurt?” he asked.

  She shook her head no.

  “Look at me,” he said. “Follow my finger.”

  She did as he asked.

  He sat back on his heels, apparently satisfied.

  Once she could speak evenly, she said, “Gerald, call the Lodge. We’ll work tonight.” She felt around Anne’s neck. “But first, go find the crystal key. She isn’t wearing it. It’s probably on the bedside table. Maybe in the bathroom on the countertop.”

  “I’ll bring it right away.” He stood and walked toward the door, but then waited, turning back to hear the rest of her orders.

  “Winston, how can we make her more comfortable? She must stay here for now. Until we can break this link.”

  “So it would seem.” Winston stood. “Her vitals have all returned to normal, but she can’t lie on the floor. I’ll get a hospital bed brought in. Monitors. We’ll need a nurse.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Do you know someone with esoteric training?”

  “Mary Shak might know someone. She’s invo
lved in several esoteric organizations.”

  “Good. I’ll stay here and work on this . . .” Elizabeth waved her hand at the brooding figure.

  “I think it’s best to leave it be for now.”

  “I can’t leave my granddaughter.” Elizabeth closed her eyes against the tears that welled up.

  “Of course not. Sit with her. Perhaps meditate. You might connect to Anne,” Winston suggested.

  “I’ll stay, too.” Arnold stepped forward. “You both need protection.”

  “I appreciate that, Arnold, I really do, but there is no physical danger. I need you to run a security check on the house, our properties and finances. All the businesses. See if there is some corresponding threat in the world. That might give us a clue to who is behind this.”

  “It’s already done,” he said, turning on his heel, his head held high, shoulders pulled back, his face grim.

  The others followed him out.

  Elizabeth settled down as best she could on the pillows Arnold had brought her, closed her eyes, and went in search of her granddaughter. She matched Anne’s breath, questing out to follow the thread of her consciousness. After a few minutes, the dark behind her eyes lightened slightly and she saw a low bed hung with gauze curtains. A fresco lit by a stray moonbeam depicted women with lyres and sistrums.

  Egypt? What did Mordred have to do with this ancient scene?

  Quiet sounds of love-making drifted to her ears.

  “Isis,” the male figure called out as his back arched up in the final throes of passion.

  But was it Isis? Elizabeth studied the woman’s face, lit by an almost full moon. No, this woman was more domestic, projecting the feel of home and hearth. Yet there was something of the night about her. Some hidden purpose.

  Tucked into the Egyptian woman’s energy field she saw the outline of Anne.

  After delivering Anne’s crystal to Elizabeth in the temple, Gerald went to his study and started making calls. After half an hour, he put down the receiver of the desk phone and ticked off another name on his list. Gerald ran his finger down the list of names in front of him. Most of the lodge would come tonight around seven o’clock. The Hardy’s had just left town, but would come back and make it by tomorrow if they were still needed.