Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1)

by Hanley, Donald

  “Everything okay in here?” Hawk appeared in the doorway, still clad only in his shorts. He scowled up at Nim’s light but he didn’t seem to think it was anything out of the ordinary.

  “We’re fine, Gavin,” Nim assured him. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”

  “Hm.” He looked Trisha with an unreadable expression and she suddenly remembered she was wearing just her t-shirt and panties as makeshift pajamas again. She pulled the hem down lower, hoping the light wouldn’t show her blushing. She couldn’t help but notice the outline of his cock pressing against the soft cloth of his shorts and she tried looking anywhere except at him. “Well, get to bed, you two. We have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Good night, Gavin.” Hawk nodded and left, muttering something under his breath. “He’s right, we should try to get some sleep.”

  “I don’t think I can,” Trisha told her breathlessly. “How did you do that? There has to be a rational explanation for that.”

  “There is, but you won’t let yourself accept it. Here, let’s try something different. Choose any object in the room.”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll see,” Nim smiled. “Anything at all, although nothing too large, please. If you prefer, fetch something from one of the other rooms.”

  Trisha looked at her askance and then cast her eye around the room. There wasn’t much there, other than the furniture and the lamps on the night stands. She eyed the brush Nim had borrowed from Butler to take her hair down, but it seemed a little too convenient. Instead, she went into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing she came across in the cupboards, a small saucer. Nim nodded when she returned with it.

  “Very good. Now look it over carefully. Assure yourself there’s nothing unusual about it.” Trisha did, feeling a bit foolish as she peered at it from all sides and tapped it with her finger, but it looked and felt exactly what it was supposed to be, a plain dish of white porcelain. “All right, now hold it up in the palm of your hand.”

  Trisha did as she was bidden, watching Nim closely as she held the plate up at chest level. Nim focused on the dish for a long moment and then her eyes slid up to Trisha’s face as she lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  “Okay,” said Trisha, trying to keep her impatience hidden, “so what’s supposed to – Oh my God!” She jumped backwards but the plate didn’t come with her. Instead, it hovered in midair, spinning slowly, a literal flying saucer.

  “Take a look,” Nim told her. “There are no threads holding it up, no magnets. no mirrors, no holograms. It’s just a plate, controlled by my will.”

  Trisha’s heart thumped loudly in her chest as she stared at the dish. She didn’t want to get anywhere near it, but Nim waited patiently and she finally inched forward, reaching out with a tentative finger to tap the plate’s rim. It scooted sideways an inch and resumed its slow spin.

  She waved her arm above and below the plate and felt absolutely nothing holding it in place. Her eyes told her it was hanging in mid-air but her brain refused to accept that. She finally had to close her eyes and take several deep breaths.

  “How – ?” She had to clear her throat and try again. “How are you doing that?”

  “Would you believe me if I said it was telekinesis?”

  “There’s no such thing,” Trisha said firmly, but the evidence in front of her was compelling. “Is there?”

  “I find it interesting that you’re willing to accept this normally impossible phenomenon if I give it a scientific name, but not if I call it magic.”

  “Magic isn’t real,” Trisha insisted.

  “And telekinesis is?” Nim smiled.

  The saucer suddenly swooped away and Trisha ducked with a yelp, but it merely settled itself on top of the dresser. She eyed it uneasily, half expecting it to take off again and buzz her, but it just sat there looking exactly like a plate. She edged away from it nonetheless.

  “What else can you do?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “A great many things,” Nim sighed, “many of which have no other label than magic. Most of them would be difficult to demonstrate indoors, however.” She cocked her head at Trisha. “Are you convinced yet?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, but her heart wasn’t in it. Nim did these things somehow, but Trisha couldn’t fathom how. Magic is impossible, isn’t it?

  “Well, let me try one more thing and then we’ll have to call it a night.” Nim rose to her feet and lifted the bottom edge of her camisole.

  “What are you doing?” Trisha asked nervously.

  Nim stripped off her top and laid it on the bed. Her breasts were quite large for her slender frame but they still rode high on her chest. Her skin was very pale even in the yellowish light of the orb still hovering overhead, as if she rarely stood out in the sunlight. Her nipples and areolas were a delicate pink, the hue of a maiden’s innocent blush.

  “This works better if there’s nothing in the way,” she said, stepping out of her tap pants and setting them aside as well. Trisha caught a flash of a neatly trimmed triangle the same color as her hair before she turned away and moved to the open area of floor between the bed and the bathroom. Her butt was a perfect apple shape, as white as the rest of her. “Here we go.”

  Nim turned back to face Trisha, slowly raising her hands. Trisha looked around nervously, unsettled by Nim’s casual nudity and worried that Hawk might suddenly reappear in the doorway. It took her a startled moment to realize that Nim was no longer naked.

  Instead, she was clothed in a long dress of shimmering cloth, pure white embroidered with subtle patterns of gold that glittered in the light like tiny stars. Her sleeves covered her arms all the way down to her hands, edged in intertwined leaves of gold, and the laces of her bodice looked like golden vines. Her long neck was bare, but a braided belt hung low about her hips and jeweled rings adorned her fingers and thumbs. A narrow circlet of hammered gold held back her hair, which was suddenly long enough to hang to her waist. She looked like a Queen with a capital Q and all Trisha could do was stare.

  “You see me now as I was then,” said Nim somberly, “the night before Arthur’s forces met Mordred’s at Camlann. My sisters and I waited on Avalon for word of the battle, knowing that many of the men we knew and cared for would die the next day.”

  “Oh my God,” Trisha whispered.

  Nim lifted the hems of her skirts, revealing slippers threaded with gold, and approached her. Trisha’s entire body trembled as she got closer and her knees nearly gave out on her, but Nim reached out and took her hands, holding her up.

  “No,” she said firmly, “you must never kneel to me. I am not your Queen, but I hope that someday I can be your friend.”

  She leaned forward and gently kissed Trisha twice, once on each cheek. Tears dripped down Trisha’s cheeks, but she wasn’t sure why, and they didn’t stop when Nim gathered her in her arms and hugged her tightly.

  40

  Born February 25, 1993, in Richmond, Virginia, to James Matthew Macmillan and Donna Leigh Macmillan née Carmichael. Graduated from Warwick High School in 2011 and Virginia Commonwealth University in 2015. Currently employed at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. Resides at 95 Thorndike, East Cambridge, Massachusetts. Unmarried, no current relationships.

  Lionel scrolled through Giles’ report, his fourth cup of coffee cooling by his elbow, looking for anything that might tell him why Patricia Macmillan was so important. The report was remarkably thorough given the short time Giles and his researchers had been working on it, but it was little more than a list of trivia about Trisha’s life. She was utterly ordinary.

  He sat back in his chair and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’d gotten almost no sleep since yesterday’s disasters and the thin light leaking through the kitchen windows told him he wouldn’t get any more before he needed to get ready for the new day. The problem was, he had no idea what to do. Even if Savard wasn’t clinging to life back at the house,
there was no way they’d be able to storm the Pendragon apartment and free Trisha, not with Nim there.

  A flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned to see Chantal enter the kitchen. She wore his silk robe but she hadn’t bothered to tie it. She also hadn’t bothered to put any clothes on and he got a good look at everything she had to offer as she slid onto one of the stools.

  “You shouldn’t have removed your bandages,” he said with a frown, although most of her bruises and cuts had already faded. He couldn’t see the gash on her shoulder, but the gunshot wound in her stomach was just a ragged bright pink star now.

  “I don’t need them,” she told him dismissively.

  “You should still be in bed.” Her eyes looked particularly bright and he wondered if she had a fever.

  “I am well,” she said flatly. “What are we going to do about Hawk?” Her leg shifted back and forth with nervous energy, alternately hiding and revealing the black patch of her cunt, and his tired brain locked onto its mesmerizing rhythm. She noticed his gaze and she slowly spread her legs with a wicked smile, running a long finger down her belly to tease her lips open. She was very wet. “Or shall we amuse ourselves first?” she purred.

  Lionel shook his head and took a gulp of coffee to clear his mind, grimacing at the bitter lukewarm taste. He rose from his chair to dump it into the sink. “We need to figure out a way to get Trisha back.”

  “So you prefer her to me?” Chantal pouted. Her reflection in the window watched him as she stroked herself, rocking her hips back and forth. Her tongue slowly circled her lips, leaving a glistening trail behind. “Am I not pleasing to you?” She was already breathing heavily.

  “We don’t have time for this,” he said, but the huskiness in his voice betrayed him. She smiled as she slid off the stool and strode towards him, letting the robe slip off her shoulders. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her breasts and the two hard points of her nipples into his back. Her hands stroked his chest through his shirt and drifted down, finally stopping over the bulge threatening to tear through his pants. “Chantal,” he croaked in protest, but he didn’t stop her.

  “You want this as much as I,” she whispered, her breath tickling the side of his neck. Her fingers found his zipper and reached inside, releasing him, and he gasped as she slowly raked her nails up his length. The mixture of pleasure and pain nearly sent him over the top, but she felt his cock swelling and released him. “Not so fast,” she murmured. “I must have my pleasure first.”

  “No, we don’t have time for this.” He turned around to pull the robe around her but his stiff cock brushed against her bare belly. She immediately reached down for it again and stroked it slowly, her gaze boring into his. Her eyes were dilated so much he almost couldn’t tell what color they were. “Chantal, stop. You’re in heat, it’s making you do crazy things.”

  “This isn’t crazy,” she growled softly. “This is desire.” She leaned forward and ran her tongue across his lips as her fingers caressed his entire length. His breath caught in his throat as his cock twitched, primed for release.

  “Stop it,” he said hoarsely, but he couldn’t move away. She smiled wickedly and cupped his balls with her other hand, the tips of her fingernails pressing into his scrotum. He gritted his teeth, trying to hang on to his tenuous control, but it was too much. His cock jerked and spasmed, pumping wads of thick white cum over her stomach. She milked him dry with her hands as he sagged back against the sink, rubbing his semen into her skin before it dripped on the floor.

  “Now it is my turn,” she told him, licking her fingers one by one. “Pleasure me, Lionel. Make me scream your name.” She leaned against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest.

  “No, we can’t.” He managed to take hold of her arms and push her back a step while he caught his breath. “We have to check on Savard and then –”

  “What?” Her playfulness vanished in an instant and she pulled herself out of his grip. “Is something wrong?” Belatedly, Lionel realized he hadn’t told her about what happened yesterday.

  “Nim escaped, with Butler’s help. They –”

  “Nim!” she snarled, like a cornered animal. The tips of her incisors looked very sharp. “What did they do to him?”

  “He’s hurt, but we can –”

  “We will do nothing!” she snapped. “I will take care of him, since you obviously cannot.”

  “Chantal –” He reached for her but she spun away and all he held was his robe. Her naked form was just a flash of white before she disappeared from the kitchen. “Shit,” he muttered. “What else can go wrong?” He looked down at his sagging cock and grimly tucked it away, already wondering how he was going to explain this to the Queen.

  41

  Trisha woke with a start, momentarily disoriented by her unfamiliar surroundings. Pale sunlight filled the room, indicating it was well past sunrise, and she was alone in the bed. Muttering voices from the other room told her at least two of the others were up, but she lay still for a long while, staring up at the ceiling where Nim’s glowing orb had hovered.

  Was it all just a weird dream? she asked herself. The fire, the plate, Nim’s dress. It all seemed so real. She pushed herself upright to see the top of the dresser. The saucer was missing. Did Nim bring it back to the kitchen, she wondered uneasily, or did I just imagine it?

  She slipped out from under the covers and hurriedly pulled on her discarded clothes, grimacing at the stiff feel of her pants and socks. She went into the bathroom to take care of business, wishing she could take a shower and brush her teeth. She felt grubby and the anxious face with dark circles under her eyes staring back at her in the mirror wouldn’t have looked out of place in a homeless shelter. She took a deep breath to steady herself and went out into the kitchen.

  All three of them were there, dressed and ready to leave. Butler sat at the table with a coffee mug and a white cardboard box in front of him, while Hawk leaned against his usual spot at the counter, looking grim. Nim was pouring a cup of coffee, dressed in the same outfit she wore yesterday, although her hair remained loose around her shoulders. She looked up and smiled at Trisha as she hesitated in the archway.

  “Good morning, Trisha,” she said warmly. “I’d ask if you slept well, but I suspect none of us did. Coffee?” She raised her mug questioningly.

  “Yes, please.” Trisha accepted the cup and doctored it properly with the sugar and cream on the table. Butler pushed the box towards her, which contained five frosted doughnuts and three kolaches.

  “I was going to make omelets for breakfast,” he said by way of apology, “but we don’t have any eggs. Or cheese. Or ham. Or anything else.”

  Hawk snorted and Trisha felt the ghost of a smile tease the corners of her lips. “This is fine, thank you.” She sat and plucked a kolache from the box. It was still hot and she had to breathe quickly to keep it from burning the roof of her mouth. The gulp of coffee she chased it down with was just right and she started to feel a bit better. “So what’s going on?”

  Nim seated herself between Trisha and Butler, wrapping her fingers around another steaming mug. “We have a nine-thirty flight back to New York. Lucas and I will head straight to the airport to return his rental. Gavin will bring you home in the Jaguar and then meet us there.”

  “No.”

  Nim turned to look at Hawk in surprise. “No?”

  “I need to do something about my car. I’ll head back later.”

  “It’s Sunday, Gavin,” she reminded him. “All the repair shops will be closed.”

  Hawk shrugged indifferently. “There’s no rush. It’s not like we’ll make any progress in New York.” None of them looked at Trisha but she kept her attention on her coffee cup. It was her fault they had to give up on their Quest and go home.

  “Very well,” Nim sighed, “but stay in touch. Lionel and Savard are still out there.”

  “And Chantal.” Trisha hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but they all
looked at her.

  “True,” said Nim somberly. “You’re welcome to come with us, Trisha. We can protect you in New York.”

  For a fleeting instant, she was tempted, but she shook her head. “I can’t. I have to work tomorrow.” What she really meant was I want to get back to my life and pretend none of this ever happened.

  “As you wish. But if you ever need our help, just call. We’ll be there for you.”

  Trisha was surprised at how grateful she felt at Nim’s offer, even though she hoped she’d never see any of them ever again. I must really be messed up, she told herself dolefully. I have Stockholm Syndrome or something. She managed a nod and concentrated on finishing her makeshift breakfast.

  Now that Trisha was up, Butler went into the bedroom to pack his things, returning a short while later with a small rolling suitcase. Nim had nothing to carry except her fur-lined coat and Hawk’s luggage was nowhere in sight. All Trisha needed to do was retrieve her coat and scarf from the living room. She put them on in silence, the Glock a reassuring weight in her pocket.

  “We’d best be off,” Nim said briskly. “Trisha, despite everything that’s happened, it’s been a great pleasure to meet you. I wish you all the best.”

  “Uh, thanks.” Trisha held out her hand, but Nim surprised her with another fleeting hug and a kiss on the cheek. She wondered if Nim was actually French as well.

  “Sorry about putting you through all this,” said Butler, looking like a schoolboy apologizing for a prank gone wrong. He stuck out his hand and Trisha shook it briefly. “If you’re ever in New York, come by and visit.”

  “Sure, I’ll do that,” she said faintly. Butler grinned at her and Hawk shook his head, clearly neither of them believing her. Nim looked amused as she gestured to the door.

  “Come along, Lucas,” she said. “Goodbye, Trisha. Take care.”