Trisha shrank back as the other four turned to look at her. “What are you talking about?” she asked shakily. “I’m not a Queen.”
“There were four Queens in Avalon, Trisha,” Nim said, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Elaine and Nyneve are dead but Viviane and I remain.” Her voice quavered ever so slightly when she said that. “Perhaps Merlin intends to replace us.”
“You can’t possibly believe that!” Trisha protested. “I’m not a Queen, I’m just a nurse from Boston! Hawk, tell them!” Hawk just stared at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“All right,” said Arthur briskly, “I think we’ve done all we can here. Let’s go up to my office and see what our next step should be.” He folded the paper neatly in two and tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of his coat.
They walked down the aisle towards the door, but Trisha hung back a little, catching Nim’s eye. They let the men get a few paces ahead of them.
“I’m not a Queen,” Trisha insisted quietly. “There has to be another explanation.”
Nim looked amused. “Is it such a bad thing, to be a Queen?”
“I don’t want to be a Queen! I don’t know the first thing about it.”
“Do you think I did? My sisters and I were the daughters of a minor lord in Cornwall, good for little more than sewing and tending sheep. Queen of Avalon is just a title, Trisha. What’s important is what you can do with this.” Nim returned the cairngorm to her and Trisha turned it over in her hands doubtfully.
“But I don’t know what to do with this,” she complained.
“You can do more with it than the rest of us. That will do for now.”
Hawk reached the door first and grasped the handle, glancing back at them curiously. “Everything okay back there?”
“Couldn’t be better, Gavin,” Nim assured him calmly. Hawk didn’t seem convinced, but he pushed the door open and then stopped in his tracks.
Trelawney stood just on the other side, facing them with his hands behind his back. Without his thick-lensed glasses on, he looked a lot younger and taller.
“Doctor?” Arthur asked him with a frown. “Is something wrong?”
Trelawney took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he said calmly. “I have no choice.” He brought his right hand around and pointed a tube the width of his thumb at them.
“GUN!” Hawk yelled. He thrust Arthur out of the line of fire and leapt at Trelawney just as the tube boomed in a burst of fire and smoke. Something sliced like a hot knife along his ribs and then he was on top of the doctor, driving him down hard onto the floor and grabbing his hand in a crushing grip before he could fire the weapon again. “You bastard! You’re the traitor, aren’t you?”
Behind him, a confused commotion of panicked voices erupted, but Hawk ignored it as he wrestled with Trelawney, trying to pin him down. The doctor was surprisingly fit and wiry but he was no match for Hawk’s greater weight and strength. Hawk’s fist struck his chin with an audible crack! and Trelawney slumped under him. Hawk yanked the tube from his hand and looked it over. It seemed to be made of hard plastic, with a very simple trigger mechanism. A one-shot printed handgun, he thought grimly. Easy to get through the metal detectors. Fuck.
He got to his feet, making sure Trelawney was still out before checking on the others. Lucas had his back to him, blocking his view. “Arthur!” he called urgently. “Are you all right?”
Lucas looked back at him, a haunted look in his eyes. “Hawk –” he said, his voice breaking.
“What? What’s wrong?” Hawk pushed his way past Lucas and his heart dropped into his stomach.
Arthur knelt on the floor beside Nim, his hands covered in blood, but he seemed unharmed. He glanced up at Hawk and then back down again. Hawk followed his gaze and saw Nim pressing her hands against Trisha’s abdomen. Her hoodie was soaked in bright red blood and more puddled on the floor beneath her.
Blue light flared under Nim’s hands but sputtered out immediately. She tried again, with no better effect. She shook her head grimly. “It’s not working,” she said tersely.
“Trisha!” Hawk fell to his knees, letting the gun clatter to the floor unheeded. He reached out to Trisha helplessly but he didn’t dare interfere with Nim’s efforts. “Do something!”
“I’m trying!” she snapped. “Something’s deflecting me.”
“Magic?” Arthur asked. Nim nodded in silent frustration. The blue light flared again, even brighter this time, but it faded and vanished after a couple of seconds. “I’m sorry, Hawk, she was standing right behind me.”
“When I pushed you – oh my God.” Hawk rocked back on his heels, gripping his skull with his hands as the full realization of what he’d done hit him. “I killed her,” he whispered.
“She’s not dead yet, Hawk,” Arthur told him sharply, “and Trelawney pulled the trigger, not you. Lucas, call the medical team! We need to get her to a hospital.”
“Trisha,” Hawk rasped. He reached out and took her hand, lying limply on the floor. The cairngorm lay a few inches away. “Don’t leave me, Trisha. Please don’t die.”
70
Trisha’s dreams were strange, almost surreal. Everything was slightly out of focus with all the color leached out and the images changed every few heartbeats, as if she was watching an old-fashioned TV that kept switching between channels.
She saw Hawk a short distance away, talking to – no, yelling at – a group of men in hospital scrubs. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, just a muffled rumble of noise, and she couldn’t tell what he was angry about. Then the image changed.
Hawk sat in a chair, bent over with his face buried in his hands. Nim sat across from him, her hand outstretched to touch his knee, and Arthur stood behind him, looking haggard.
Her parents were there, listening to Hawk. Her mother’s face contorted and she slapped Hawk hard across the face, snapping his head around. He didn’t try to protect himself and her father urged her away as she wept uncontrollably. Hawk just stood there like a statue, his shoulders slumped in a posture of abject despair. Trisha tried to call to them, but she couldn’t make a sound.
Nim sat close beside her, her fingers resting on the back of Trisha’s hand, but she couldn’t feel her touch. Something flared, a blue-white flash, the only color in all the scenes so far, but the light faded away and Nim withdrew her hand, looking forlorn. Someone Trisha didn’t recognize came into view and Nim hastily wiped at her eyes before visibly composing her face and rising.
It was darker now and for a moment Trisha thought she was alone. Then her eyes traced the outline of a man slumped uncomfortably in a chair, his head back and his eyes closed. It was Hawk again, sleeping fitfully. Even in the muddy image, he looked gaunt and exhausted.
More doctors appeared, bending their heads over their charts and monitors. Not one of them looked in her direction, but their pessimism was almost palpable.
Hawk again, this time in the corner of the room facing the window. Pale moonlight came in and he knelt in the illuminated square on the floor, his hands clasped together and his head bowed. His lips seemed to be moving but there was no sound.
“Hawk,” she called, desperate to have him hear her, but he didn’t react. Instead, he covered his face with his hands and cried, his shoulders shaking. “Hawk!”
The vision faded and Trisha was alone. Her heart ached for Hawk but she knew none of this was real. Why am I seeing him like this? He’s too strong to break down like that. Is someone he cares about hurt? Is it Lucas? Is that why I haven’t seen Lucas here? She tried to force herself to wake up but darkness enveloped her and the dreams ceased.
“Miss Macmillan? Miss Macmillan, wake up.”
Trisha’s eyelids fluttered open and she looked around. She was lying in a bed in an unfamiliar room, with no memory at all of how she got there. The room seemed to be filled with a haze that turned everything into shades of gray and something beeped in a slow, regular rhythm somewhere behind her head.
Am I in a hospital? she wondered in surprise. Why? What’s wrong with me? She tried to sit up but a hand rested on her shoulder, keeping her in place.
“Miss Macmillan.”
A man sat in a chair beside her bed, smiling at some private joke. He looked like a Hollywood casting for the role of Doctor/Elderly/Distinguished, with white hair and a trim white beard and smile wrinkles around his clear blue eyes. He wore an old-fashioned three-piece suit in dove gray with a neatly knotted tie of crimson silk. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a gold watch chain dangling from his waistcoat, but she would have had to lean way over to check. The plastic badge hanging from his breast pocket identified him as M. Ambrosius.
“Welcome back, Miss Macmillan,” he said pleasantly. “We were becoming concerned about you.” She couldn’t quite identify his accent.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to shake the fuzziness from her mind. “Why am I in a hospital?”
Ambrosius’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose. “Don’t you remember? You were shot, Miss Macmillan.”
“Shot?” She tried to sit up again, but a sharp jolt somewhere in her lower back sucked the breath out of her and she fell back gasping. “I was shot?”
“Yes, by an employee of Mr. Pendragon’s, I believe.”
That sounded vaguely familiar and Trisha dug through her memories trying to pin it down. We were in the lab, I remember. We were leaving and – and someone was there. Dr. Trelawney. He had a gun! “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “He shot me!”
“I believe I already said that,” Ambrosius reminded her, but his face creased in a smile. He seemed awfully amused by her plight.
“So am I going to be okay?” she asked carefully. She didn’t feel injured, other than the twinge in her back, and that could easily just be a side effect of lying down for too long.
“Well, I’m afraid your situation is quite grave,” Ambrosius allowed, his features finally growing serious. “The bullet lodged in your spine, very close to your spinal cord.”
“But – but they got it out, didn’t they?” Trisha asked hopefully, not daring to acknowledge the alternative. Ambrosius cleared his throat and she pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her heart thump in time with the beeping behind her.
“Your doctors felt it would be too risky to operate, especially in your weakened condition. You did lose a lot of blood before you were brought in and your other internal injuries are quite severe.”
“But –” She was finding it hard to breathe now. “I’m stronger now, right? They’re going to operate now, right?” She kept waiting for Ambrosius to nod in agreement but he looked at her steadily.
“The swelling from the wound is pressing on the nerves in your lower back, Miss Macmillan. They don’t want to risk surgery now, but if they delay much longer, you will never walk again.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. Tears streamed heedlessly down her cheeks. “What can we do? I don’t want to – I don’t want to die,” she pleaded.
“You won’t die, Miss Macmillan,” he said firmly, “and you will walk out of this room, I promise.”
“Really?” She searched his face, fearful that he was just telling her what she wanted to hear, but he nodded with an assurance that allowed no argument. “You – you can help me?” she asked, scarcely daring to hope.
“I can. That’s why I’m here.”
“When?” she asked, unable to help herself. “Soon?”
“Now,” he smiled. “Just go to sleep and when you awaken, it will be done.”
“Thank you! Oh, thank you! I don’t know what to say!”
“No thanks are necessary, Miss Macmillan,” he smiled again. “All I ask in return is one small favor.”
“Anything!”
“Come find me when you’re up and about. We have a lot to discuss.”
“Oh, um, okay,” Trisha agreed doubtfully. It seemed like a strange request, but if Ambrosius could do what he promised, she’d hike halfway around the world to talk to him.
“Wonderful. Well, then. Are you ready?” Trisha nodded eagerly and he chuckled. “Close your eyes, then, and dream.”
He reached out and touched her forehead. Her eyelids suddenly grew heavy and the world faded away around her.
71
When Trisha opened her eyes again, nothing seemed to have changed, except that the colors had returned to the room. The monitor behind her still beeped, a little bit faster, but Ambrosius was gone.
She carefully assessed herself, trying to decide whether the operation was over. She carefully flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes and everything seemed to work properly. She turned her shoulders to the left and right, half-expecting to hear a muffled snap as her damaged spine broke in two, but nothing happened. She tried leaning forward and there was no accompanying twinge. She seemed to be perfectly fine, which was strange. There should have been some post-operative pain, at least, but it was almost as if she was never shot at all.
Wait a minute. She squinted suspiciously at the empty chair beside her bed. Was he lying about all that? Why would he do that? Just to get me to promise to visit him? That doesn’t make any sense.
The head of her bed was tilted up slightly and she tried to sit up and see what was really going on, but she discovered an IV in her left arm hooked up to a saline bag hanging from a hook and an uncomfortable pressure between her legs revealed the presence of a catheter. She really was in a hospital for some reason.
She looked around for a call button and her searching gaze fell on a small cluster of chairs in the corner of the room. A familiar figure sat in one of them, his head propped up on his hand as he dozed fitfully. He still wore the same Providence sweatshirt, now badly wrinkled and grimy, and he desperately needed a bath and a shave.
“Hawk!” Her voice was just a weak croak, as if she hadn’t used it in a long time, and she just now realized how dry her mouth was. She worked up some spit with her tongue and tried again. “Hawk!” He stirred and his hand slipped, dropping his head to his chest. He jerked awake, looking around groggily before rubbing his eyes wearily. She could almost hear the grit under his knuckles. “Hawk!”
His head swiveled in her direction and he stared at her wide-eyed like she was some sort of an apparition. His mouth fell open and his lips formed her name. He rose from the chair like a marionette on strings and staggered towards her. “Trisha!” he breathed raggedly.
“Hey,” Trisha said, a bit alarmed at how bad he looked. “You look terrible.”
“You look – you look – my God.” His knees couldn’t hold him up anymore and he collapsed into the chair. He reached out and carefully touched her hand, as if he was afraid she would break if he wasn’t careful. She solved that problem by grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly.
“Wow, you smell terrible, too,” she told him, wrinkling her nose. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“It’s been nearly a week, I think. I’m not sure. Trisha,” he said carefully, “the doctors – you were hurt very badly.”
“I know, Trelawney shot me.” Hawk blinked at that bald statement. “But I’m fine now. The operation was a success.”
“Operation?” Hawk looked dismayed. “They haven’t operated yet. The bullet’s right next to your spine. You –” He looked away, his mouth working, and then he tightened his jaw and looked her straight in the eyes. “You’re paralyzed, Trisha. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not paralyzed. See?” She moved her legs under the covers and he clamped his hands on her thighs with a flash of panic in his eyes.
“Don’t move! You might –” His voice trailed off and he lifted his hands away slowly. “Do that again.” She sighed but complied. The look on his face was priceless.
“Didn’t they tell you they took the bullet out?” she teased him. “What were you doing all this time?”
“I was here,” he said with a puzzled frown. “I never left.”
“Maybe they did it while you were asleep
,” she suggested, but that hardly seemed possible.
“Trisha,” he told her somberly, “you were dying. They weren’t going to operate on your back because they didn’t think you’d survive. Why are you suddenly better?” he asked himself.
“That new doctor did the operation,” Trisha explained impatiently. “They must have brought in a specialist or something.”
“What new doctor? I talked to every single one in the hospital. Arthur brought in every trauma surgeon he could find in a hundred-mile radius. Not one of them thought you’d live, let alone walk again.”
“Well, then, someone found the right guy,” she retorted, “because I’m perfectly fine and more than ready to get out of here.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered. He turned in his seat to look at the clock on the wall behind him. “I spoke to the head surgeon just an hour ago. He didn’t mention any specialist and there’s no way they could have spirited you out, operated on you, and brought you back that quickly.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” she demanded, affronted.
“No! I just don’t understand what happened!” He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving lank furrows in their wake. “I need to talk to that doctor, find out what happened. Do you remember his name?”
“It was a weird name, sort of European, I guess. Dr. Ambrosius.” Hawk blinked and then just gaped at her as his jaw slowly fell open. “Are you okay?” she asked doubtfully.
“Ambrosius? Are you sure about that?” Hawk rose to his feet suddenly and for an uneasy moment she thought he was going to grab her by the shoulders to shake the truth out of her. She nodded quickly. “Did he tell you his first name?”
“His badge just had his initial, M.”
“Fuck.” Hawk turned around and paced back and forth, his hand covering his mouth.
“Do you know him?”
Hawk stopped and stared at her, a strange look in his eyes. “All of us do, or did, before he disappeared. That’s his full name, Merlin Ambrosius.”
Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1) Page 37