Lark smoothed her hands over her hair. The spell had coiled it into a complicated arrangement on top of her head, braided with silver cords in a style she’d copied from one of the other Majae.
She hated funerals even more than she hated combat.
She stepped from her brownstone to find a procession of Magekind winding past the house. Like Lark, all of them were dressed in black velvet or silk, the dark fabric heavily embroidered in silver or a scattering of jet beads. Picking up her skirts, she walked across her tiny lawn to join them.
“Hey, Lark! Wait up!”
She turned to see a tall, athletic brunette hurrying toward her despite heavy velvet skirts, accompanied by Diera and a handsome bearded man.
Caroline Du Lac dragged her into a fierce hug. “Dammit, how many times do I have to tell you—ya gotta watch the teeth!” Her voice dropped. “You could have been killed…”
Touched, Lark hugged her back. “Hey, some overgrown tick is not going to keep Lark McGuin down for long.” She gave Diera a grateful smile. “Especially not while I’ve got friends like you two.” She stepped back and studied her friend. “How about you? Come through all right?”
Caroline snorted. “Hey, I’m married to Ginsu Galahad over there.” She jerked a thumb at her husband, who watched with an indulgent smile. “He slices, he dices, he makes evil sorcerers cry like little girls. Nobody even got close enough to muss my hair.”
“That’s an outright lie, darling,” the knight drawled. “You made one or two cry yourself.”
Diera moved up beside Lark and hooked an arm around her waist. “My children, I hate to interrupt the hyperbole, but we’d better get moving. We’re holding up the procession.”
They walked two miles, picking up more mourners as they passed castles, villas, and mansions, until at last they reached Avalon’s central square. Four flower-decked biers occupied its center.
If things had gone differently, Lark herself might be occupying one of them.
It probably wasn’t a good idea to think about that.
Wiping her suddenly damp palms on her skirt, she followed the others as they trooped around the biers to form concentric circles.
The ceremony that followed had become all too familiar over the past months. First came prayers from representatives of the faiths the fallen Magekind had practiced, then the eulogies from friends and lovers.
Finally Arthur Pendragon and his sister Morgana Le Fay stepped from their places at opposite sides of the square. An elegant figure in his black tunic and hose, the former High King lifted his bearded chin and scanned the crowd. “Centuries ago, we Magekind took a vow to Merlin to use our abilities to protect humankind from its own worst impulses, even if it meant laying down our immortal lives.” Normally, he prided himself on his use of modern slang, but for solemn occasions like this, Arthur fell back into more formal cadences.
He spread his brawny arms wide. “These four kept that vow last night in battle against the worst threat we’ve known in all our long history. I honor their memory and their courage, but what’s more, I make a vow on their biers: they will be avenged!”
Around Lark, the Magekind roared their approval as she lifted her own voice in a shout of agreement.
Arthur turned in a slow circle, scanning the crowd, letting them see his fury. “Geirolf meant to mock Merlin when he used those black grails of his to make his followers vampires. We killed him for his crimes, just as we’ve killed two thirds of his followers. But another third remains. As long as they exist, they can use the final grail to create more vampires. We dare not rest until we find the cup and destroy it—and with it, the last of Geirolf’s spawn.” Arthur lifted his chin. “But make no mistake—we will succeed, just as we’ve succeeded against the forces of ignorance, rage, and bigotry for centuries. And these heroes will rest in the peace they deserve.”
The Liege of the Magi raised his voice in a parade ground bark as he reached for the sword hanging at his side. “Magi, present arms!” Drawing Excalibur from its scabbard, he lifted the great blade skyward. Next to Lark, Galahad drew his sword as the other Magi did the same.
“Majae!” Morgana shouted, raising her ringed hands. “Join with me in sending our lost heroes home!”
Lark sent a wave of magic at the biers, her spell blending with those the other women fired. The biers began to glow under the building enchantment, shining brighter and brighter until they merged into a white-hot ball of light. Abruptly the ball shot upward like a rocket to detonate far overhead in an explosion of dancing sparks.
Lark watched the magic fade with aching eyes. Beside her, Caroline sniffed loudly.
“Now, put aside your grief and listen,” Arthur said as he stepped into the vacant space where the biers had stood, broad-shouldered and grim in his embroidered black doublet and hose. His black boots rang on the stone as he slid Excalibur back into its scabbard. The other vampires followed suit, swords rattling.
Lifting his dark head, Arthur scanned the silent crowd. “Each of those we lost had been members of the Magekind less than ten years. Heed me well—I will lose no more of my children!”
He paused, letting the silence build. No one in the crowd so much as coughed. Satisfied that they were taking him seriously, Arthur continued, “The councils have met, and it is decided. The most experienced Magekind will be paired with our newest recruits. The veterans’ responsibility is to assist them in combat and ensure they have the skills needed to survive while we all hunt the last grail. And lest there is any doubt—these assignments are not a topic for debate.” He looked at his half sister. “Morgana.”
“Yes, Arthur.” She threw her arms skyward and closed her eyes. Light burst from her fingertips. Far above the square, glowing slips of paper began to float downward like leaves.
By instinct, Lark put a hand out. One of the sheets landed in her palm, and she curled her fingers around it.
“Good luck,” Caroline said in her ear, as the spell took her by the hand and began gently to tug. Lark followed the magical pull as, around her, other Magekind began to mill around doing the same.
Arms folded, Gawain watched as young members of the Magekind sought out their new guardians. “Great,” he said to Bors, who was also one of the original Round Table knights. “We’re both going to end up baby-sitting grass-green rookies who don’t know hilt from blade. Dammit, Arthur…”
“Yes, well, I’d advise you not to give him a hard time about it,” Bors drawled. “I don’t think he’s in the mood.”
“I noticed.” Gawain recognized the warning signs in his liege’s clipped speech as well as anyone. Sometimes Arthur was open to suggestion, and sometimes you damn well took orders and kept your mouth shut. Otherwise, you caught the flaming edge of that Pendragon temper—if you were lucky. If you weren’t, he carried a grudge. And Arthur could carry a grudge for a long, long time. He’d only recently forgiven Lancelot for his one night with Gwen sixteen hundred years before.
“Either way, we’re going to have our work cut out for us with this lot.” Gawain’s gaze lingered on a young Magus who walked through the crowd with a particularly bewildered expression. “The last couple of generations have gotten soft. Too much television and riding in cars.”
“Not all of them.” Pain tightened Bors’s face.
Gawain winced, silently cursing himself for his unthinking comment. “Anything new from Richard?”
Richard Edge was Bors’s son with Meredith Edge, a Maja who’d been the knight’s lover. Despite the brief relationship, Bors had helped raise Richard in Avalon until the boy’s growing violent streak had forced his banishment to mortal Earth.
Bors shook his dark head. “I haven’t spoken to my son in twenty-six years. His mother and I were afraid he’d start killing people, but as far as I can tell, he’s done nothing but study magic.”
“On mortal Earth?” Kel asked from his scabbard. “He’s not going to have much luck with it there.” Magic did not work well on humanity’s home, and mortals ha
d not evolved to use it. It took intervention by someone like Merlin or Geirolf to give a human the ability to work magic.
“Maybe,” Bors said grimly. “The problem is, he disappeared a year ago. Meredith was unable to track him. After she died fighting Geirolf’s cult, I had Morgana search for him, but she had no luck either. It was as if he’d vanished right off the planet.”
Gawain frowned. “He could be dead.”
“Maybe.” Bors expression was grim. “But I don’t like it at all.”
As his friend brooded, Gawain rocked back on his heels to watch the new Magekind wander around with their enchanted slips of paper.
A slim brunette attracted his attention. She was petite, nearly a foot shorter than he was, but her body was lushly curved. Her dark hair slid to the small of her back in a fall of silk, and her eyes were huge and brown.
“Look, somebody’s gone and recruited a Playboy bunny,” he joked, hoping to distract Bors from painful memories. He slipped into a mocking singsong. “‘Hi, my name is Bambi, and I’m barely legal. I love puppies and kitties and throwing flaming balls of death at my enemies.’”
Bors chuckled.
Kel spoke from his scabbard. “She’s also Tristan’s great-granddaughter.” He always knew those things.
“Yeah? Wonder if he’s protective?” Gawain eyed her, still tempted. She might be worth getting on Tristan’s bad side…
Bors snorted. “We’re talking about Tristan here. He thinks women are only good for one thing, and since she’s his lineage, this one wouldn’t even be good for that.” He looked skyward, attention caught by the slip of paper whirling toward them as if laser-guided. “Hell. I knew this was coming.”
Sure enough, the slip disappeared right into the center of Bors’s chest. He grimaced. “Ah, shit. I was hoping for some pretty Maja.”
Sure enough, a tattooed young male stepped out of the crowd with a noticeable swagger. “Sir Bors?”
“That’s me, kid,” Bors looked him over. “Come on. I don’t suppose you know how to fight?”
“Well, yeah. Like, you bet your ass.”
“Uh huh.” The knight sounded resigned. “Let’s go.”
Poor Bors, Kel said in their link. Not only does he not get free pussy, he has to ride herd on a cocky little schmuck. Like Arthur, the dragon loved using mortal slang.
Gawain chuckled as the two men walked off. His attention returned to the pretty brunette. She paused a few feet away, apparently too focused on her task to realize she was being watched. He inhaled, trying to sample her scent without being too obvious about it. She smelled richly sexy to his vampire senses, but there was no male scent lingering on her skin. Probably unattached then.
Just the way he liked them.
As he’d known it would, the Desire woke, sending a wave of hunger through his blood. His fangs began to ache, and an urgent heat spun into his balls. He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t fed in a couple of days—he’d been busy helping Gwen and Arthur find the second grail last night, and he’d spent the night before that rescuing the girl. Between them, he and Kel had used a great deal of magic. His body needed a woman, needed her blood and the sweet, erotic burn of her climax pumping magic back into him. Now.
Unfortunately, the one he had his eye on now would probably end up with whoever her assignment was.
As if on cue, her dark eyes widened, startled, as the piece of paper suddenly flew from her hand. Before Gawain could react, it zipped toward him and disappeared right into the center of his chest.
This one’s yours, Gawain, Morgana’s voice said clearly in his mind. Don’t get her killed, and try not to inflict more psychological damage than you can help.
The girl blinked those doe eyes up at him.
“Umm. Hello.” She paused and cleared her throat. “I’m Lark McGuin.” Her voice held a hint of a sexy drawl, rich and smoky and as southern as Kentucky bourbon. She offered her hand for a handshake, and he took it. Her long fingers felt fragile and warm in his. “I guess you’ll be my…mentor?”
“Apparently. I’m Gawain.” She looked startled—at least she’d heard of him. He reached up to tap the hilt of the dragon sword sheathed across his back. “This is my partner, Kel.”
The dragon extended his long neck and cocked his head, studying Lark with jeweled eyes. “My pleasure.”
“It’s an honor.” To her credit, she spoke directly to Kel. New Maja tended to ignore him as if he were nothing but the sword he appeared to be. “Lord Tristan is my great-grandfather, and my grandfather loved telling stories about the Round Table.” Turning her attention to Gawain again, she cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable. “So what do we do now?”
Gawain suspected his smile was more than a little suggestive. “What would you like to do?”
Unease flickered in that chocolate gaze, and she shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”
He frowned. Was there a hint of fear in her scent? No, he must be mistaken. Why would she fear him?
THREE
Lark followed Gawain’s broad back through the crowd. He was almost as outrageously handsome as Tristan, though his face was a bit more rough-hewn and angular. Blond brows matched the neat Van Dyke beard framing his mouth and the thick blond hair that lay around his broad shoulders. An embroidered tunic covered the kind of muscular chest that was only built by swinging a broadsword, and his dark hose clung to a pair of powerful horseman’s thighs. Gleaming black boots sheathed his legs to the shin, adorned by a pair of golden spurs—the symbol of knighthood.
Lark would have thoroughly enjoyed the view, if not for the sensual hunger glinting in Gawain’s green eyes. After her run-in with Fangface the Sorcerer, she wanted to avoid vampires for a while.
That, however, wasn’t really possible. Thanks to Merlin, Magi and Majae enjoyed a symbiotic relationship—the vampires needed to drink the witches’ blood, and the witches needed to donate it. Otherwise, a Magus would starve, while a Maja’s blood pressure could spike so high, she’d suffer a stroke.
Fortunately, you could bottle your donations, which is what Lark had been doing. She hadn’t had time to look for a lover since becoming a Maja, since she’d either been out on missions or training with Diera and Tristan.
Come to think of it, Fangface had been only the second vampire who’d ever bitten her.
Lark’s hands curled into fists. Presumably Gawain wouldn’t tear into her with Fangface’s viciousness—she’d actually enjoyed Dominic Bonnhome’s vampire lovemaking, after all. Still, just the thought of it made her break out in a cold sweat.
I’m so not ready for this.
But if she admitted she was afraid, Gawain would think her a coward. She’d grown up listening to firefighters joke about gutless rookies. She was damned if she was going to become the butt of that kind of joke.
John would be mortified.
Daytona Beach, Florida
Richard Edge had a hard-on. Cloaked in an invisibility spell, he leaned against the cream break face of the Breakers Shopping Mall and watched a slender, dark-haired woman walk through the automatic doors. It was late, after eleven. She must have caught the late movie at the mall cinema.
She was pretty enough, he decided, with big dark eyes and a full mouth, but she was older than he liked them. Richard’s taste ran to coeds, preferably blondes or redheads.
Apparently, though, she was perfect for Jimmy Jones.
He could smell Jimmy’s arousal, could sense the vicious anticipation radiating from the sorcerer as he waited a few feet away, cloaked in an invisibility spell of his own. Unlike Richard, he hadn’t attempted to conceal himself from magical senses.
But then, he hadn’t known anyone with magical senses was on his trail.
As the woman started across the parking lot toward her car, Richard felt Jimmy trail after her. Inhaling, he detected the metallic tang of a weapon on the wind. No scent of gunpowder, though. Probably a knife.
Jimmy liked to do his killing the old-fashioned way.
Richa
rd licked his lips and felt his erection stiffen even more as he watched her walk away. The mall doors opened again, releasing a trio of teenager boys whooping about the movie they’d just seen, but he ignored them, completely focused on the woman and her invisible stalker.
For a moment, he imagined what his father would do if he were here. Bors would take the little fuck’s head before he even knew what hit him. Personally, Richard favored cutting out the heart. Slowly. Gave him more time to enjoy it.
Smiling darkly, he started after the two. As the woman reached her Windstar, he broke into a run, his spell-silenced feet making no sound on the parking lot blacktop.
The woman walked around the van to the passenger door, one hand dipping into her purse for her keys. Apparently unable to find them, she paused to dig around, her attention on the handbag’s contents.
Just as she looked down, Jimmy dropped the invisibility spell. He was a skinny little bastard, dressed in the gaudy crimson robes Geirolf’s followers favored. The knife he held in one fist gleamed almost as cold as his soulless blue eyes. A lunatic grin of anticipation curved his narrow mouth.
The woman looked up from her purse, saw him, and screamed, the sound so pure and piercing with terror, Richard’s cock twitched against the fly of his jeans.
Jimmy lunged for her, wrapping one wiry arm around her throat as he pressed the knife between her ribs. “Shut up, bitch!”
As she froze in terror, Jimmy lifted his head and chanted a quick spell. A dimensional gate popped into existence, and he began dragging the woman toward it. At that, she screamed again and tried to pull back, but he lifted her right off her feet and stepped through.
The instant before the gate vanished, Richard sent a spell of his own into it. As his magic showed him the killer’s destination, he smiled in pleasure. They wouldn’t be hard to follow at all.
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