by Candace Sams
The big man up front oh-so-slowly turned in his seat to furiously glare at Merlin. Their driver’s steel blue eyes were riveted on the older man for at least a full minute before he turned back to start the engine. Unfortunately, the thunder god’s shoulder length blond hair dripped profusely. The top of the seat in front of them was as drenched now as the man. Wherever they were going, this Macsen Rhys character wouldn’t be comfortable in his current wet condition even if he was immortal.
Next to her, Merlin literally shook with glee.
Frankie shook her head at her backseat companion, while trying to suppress her own mirth. Clearly, Jon was trying to make some point with Mac. She didn’t know what it was, but this first meeting, wasn’t going well. She opened her mouth to say something conciliatory to the man driving, but Merlin took her hand, gently squeezed it, and began talking business.
“We’ll have about a five-hour trip, so there’ll be time to get reacquainted. Do let me pour us some hot tea, however. We may all be immune to such ravages as colds and pneumonia, but there’s no sense being either uncomfortable or uncivilized. I’ve got a thermos, and a tin of biscuits. Also, feel free to speak in front of Mac. He’s cleared to hear anything.”
Their driver didn’t respond to that bit of information at all.
As Merlin, aka Jon Merdwyn, pulled a silver, bullet-shaped thermos, a can of cookies, and two mugs from somewhere in the darkness of the floorboard, she saw their driver tighten his grip on the steering wheel as he professionally maneuvered the sedan away from the airport, and toward a major thoroughfare. Jon was making a great show of assuring her comfort was of utmost concern while pointedly ignoring the wet man in front of them. She began to feel sorry for tall, blond, and brawny Mac.
Merlin handed her a hot drink, she tried to ignore how Mac had twisted the review mirror at such an angle that he could now stare right at her. She simply turned her head away, and put her full attention on her old friend.
“Here’s to a successful relationship,” Merlin toasted as he gently tapped his mug against hers.
She sipped the wonderful tea as the older man continued.
“Ever hear of Bloodnight Castle?” Merlin asked.
“I have. As usual, your information got to Washington safely. I was thoroughly briefed, but I’d still like to hear everything from you. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Very well. Let me begin by saying that the current owner of the castle, and most of the staff, have all vacated the place. They’re on a sort of paid holiday while Garrett Bloodnight and his trainee are in Scotland.”
Mac snorted loudly. Frankie pretended to ignore him.
“Paid holiday?” she asked.
“For the staff, yes. As for Garrett and the rest of us, we cannot afford the luxury now. Garrett is really in Scotland making sure his trainee…Jean Long…gets used to covert work. As she’s new to an immortal life, their vacating Bloodnight land is a sort of exercise…to get her comfortable with her powers whilst hiding the fact that she’s an Ethereal. They could be there for some time. In their absence, Mac is guarding the property, and will serve in whatever function is necessary,” Merlin outlined as he nodded toward the megalithic driver. “You, my dear, are needed because —”
“You feel that Morgan LeFey will make her move sometime soon…soon being a relative term,” Frankie added with a smile. “And Bloodnight land is to be the location Morgan will attack first, since one of your prophecies decreed it. It’s the location where King Arthur’s knights fell and where Morgan will avenge her son’s death. It will be the beginning of her march across the globe. Unless we can contain her.”
“My prophecies are not always precise. There is one thing about which all Ethereals agree. The evil magic Morgan has accessed, to keep herself alive and become the sorceress she was in Arthur’s time, is likely eating her away. There is always a deleterious price for using such dark magic. Moreover, I don’t feel another decade will go by before that hag makes her move. At any rate, I will most assuredly affirm the information sent to the White House,” Merlin continued. “You see, Garrett Bloodnight, as one of this country’s more renown immortals, has let it be known that he’s in retirement. This helps keep him from being seen in public with Jean Long who, as I’ve already mentioned, is an Ethereal. As such, she has never been registered with our government’s authorities. That circumstance, as you know, is quite illegal in Britain. It’s illegal that Ethereals exist at all, without registering.”
“I remember why,” Frankie nodded. Keeping Ethereals illegally hidden was one of the great things the queen had done, on her own accountability. If it was ever discovered the monarch had hidden immortals with magical qualities, Her Majesty’s reign might truly come to an end. Frankie understood that it was hard enough for mankind to fear those with supernatural strengths and senses, without knowing there were magical immortals among them. Though Ethereals were very, very rare, even America had to have them though she’d never met any. The difference was, Americans had rights to their privacy. When immortals were contacted and called upon to act at the behest of the US, those of them in America had always stepped up, and done all that was asked of them. Many, like her, worked full time for the government — appearing, living, and acting as mortals — so that they could train covertly, and have access to certain knowledge that regular members of society could never know about. The most dangerous covert missions were always handed to immortals, with the immortals never letting anyone know who they were. In time, they moved on and took on new names. They used disguises. Still, most US immortals worked for the government, with the rest being on call during any disaster. Stronger, faster, with keener senses, immortals could go where regular humans could not. They committed to jobs no one would ever know about; missions that saved a lot of US lives. All of this was the great difference between having a constitution, and not having one — of being an American immortal or Ethereal versus immortality of any kind in Britain.
“To confirm the information you’ve been given, Frankie…Garrett Bloodnight is the one remaining descendant of a Knight of The Round Table.”
“He is the descendant of Sir Galahad,” Jean said, repeating information she’d been given. “My briefing indicated that Galahad was the man who killed Mordred.”
“Indeed,” Jon advised. “Galahad gutted Mordred, then threw his entrails right in Morgan LeFey’s face during the last battle of Camelot. For that blasphemy, Morgan and her minions hunted all the knights and their families down. She killed them, and even hunted their servants.”
Frankie nodded. “But one child escaped. The infant son of Sir Galahad was taken away to live as a peasant, while never knowing his real identity. Even Morgan didn’t know about that one child, and still doesn’t know that Garrett Bloodnight is the immortal descendant of that infant. Have I got it right?”
“You do. And you know what Morgan will do to this entire country, to get her hands on the one living descendant of Galahad. To date, I have been able to hide Garrett’s identity using magic misdirection, but her portents may reveal the blood connection, sooner or later. You can imagine what rage she’ll bring to the battle.”
“Merlin, you told the president that Morgan still needs magical objects to either bolster her power, or to enact something else she’s got in mind.”
“Quite true. Nothing has changed except my intense sense that she’s near. I simply don’t know what guise she’ll use. I haven’t seen her since she fled the battlefield after the fall of Camelot.” He arched one brow. “Indeed, if anyone has had a good look at her since then, with or without her using magical disguises, it might have been our friend up front,” Jon said as he nodded toward Mac.
Frankie turned her head to gaze at Macsen Rhys. He still said nothing, but kept his gaze straight ahead.
Frankie cleared her throat at the poignant silence, then continued. “Merlin, you nor anyone else could ever tell me why Morgan’s sigil was the swastika. She used it before she handed it to Hitler.”
“I don’t know that anyone can tell you why she chose that particular symbol, though it’s very old indeed. She used it while at Camelot where all kinds of animals and mythological creatures graced knight’s standards and shields. Unlike everyone else, she didn’t use her imagination to design her mark. She simply stole an emblem from another race. The shrew then began to imbue it with evil intent. Back then, nothing she did ever surprised anyone. She was as vile as the sun is bright. I can recall her machinations at court, insisting that Mordred be recognized as Arthur’s heir even when the hag had slept with practically anyone who’d fill her coffers. It’s no wonder no one trusted her. She was as unused to the truth as her bastard son,” Merlin affirmed. “Sadly, a few knights were won over by her promises of land and position. That was what led to Camelot’s downfall.” He sighed heavily. “If only Arthur had sent the woman away when she’d first arrived.” He paused, then spoke louder. “If only our driver would weigh in on the subject!”
Again, she and Merlin glanced toward the front seat, but Macsen Rhys said nothing.
One more time, Frankie covered the silence with a new query. “You’ve outlined portents in your mystic scrying sessions. You’ve told us your best predictions. But I know your habit is to relay your visions in generalities. Do you have anything new to add?”
“Nothing. Indeed, you may see very little of me at Bloodnight since I’ll be spending a great deal of my time locked away. I intend to concentrate more effort in my scrying,” he explained. “I’ve seen glimpses of a dark figure in a gray fog. There is a woman there who cries out for her son.”
“Mordred?”
Merlin nodded. “But then the figure in the fog laughs, and swears she will rule the world. It’s all a bit jumbled, but certainly much more than a nightmare.” Merlin frowned. “I can feel her. If I did not have her same magical powers, she’d have overrun Europe by now. The difference between us is that I was gifted my Ethereal life by nature. Since Mother Nature’s gifts are very strong, I can block much of what Morgan tries to scry. Still, she is formidable. She is pulling her longevity and every spell she works from some dark pit.”
“Your scrying information assured victory. You’ve seen that the battle on Bloodnight land would be her last!”
“Oh yes. It will be. Unless she attacks before we are prepared.”
Frankie swallowed hard. This was not what she’d been led to believe. She’d always thought the last battle would be brief and end in England, with American immortals’ help.
“You see, my girl…if she finds out that Galahad’s seed lives, in Garrett Bloodnight, she will most certainly attack before all our chess pieces are on the board. That, could be our undoing.”
Alarmed now, Frankie asked the next, pertinent question. “Am I one of those pieces?”
Merlin took her hand in his. “One of them. But a very important one.”
“I know you need America on your side. I’ve been given permission to inform you that you have it. The president is with you. One hundred percent!”
Jon smiled heartily and almost shouted his next words to the driver. “You hear that, Mac? We are not without allies!”
“There is one thing I must remind you about,” Frankie quickly injected. “The president will only be in office four more years. Since this is the last four years of an eight-year stretch, he cannot run for office again. Whoever comes after him will obviously have access to all this information, but the next president might not feel the same way about getting our country involved in a magical battle. I can’t promise anything beyond support for four years. If you need more American immortals, who aren’t on any register, they can and should be sent for now. I wouldn’t wait until the current administration leaves office. What I’m trying to say is, if Morgan doesn’t make her move in the time left to the current administration, and you can’t get all your so-called chess pieces in place…to include a US alliance…then…” her words trailed away.
“Frankie, one of the reasons that you are here is your knowledge of this country from WWII. You are not in the UK simply as a representative for America, you’re one of the best operatives your country has ever known. That means I already have one of your country’s very best immortals in place. Don’t worry. I am planning to have my chessboard filled, as it were. Whoever Morgan calls forth and controls, that force will be formidable! But we will win —”
“Assuming she doesn’t attack before portents indicate the time is right,” she reiterated.
“Indeed.”
“Can you swear that your visions are as precise as possible, Merlin?”
“Would my doing so calm you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I promise you that we will see victory. You are here, and the colonies are on our side.”
“Thanks for the confidence where I’m concerned, old friend. As to ‘the colonies’…that’s cute,” she muttered without smiling. Then, she turned to the one person in the car who had more information concerning the enemy than perhaps anyone else on the entire planet. As Merlin had just said, Mac Rhys might have seen Morgan since the battle of Camelot. Information he might provide was crucial. “Mr. Rhys, would you be so kind as to regale us with your knowledge of Morgan LeFey’s appearance? Is there anything you can tell me?”
Silence filled the sedan.
Frankie stared at the back of the man’s head and suddenly wanted to put her leather, round-toed pump right at the base of it.
“He’s in a mood,” Jon muttered. “When the brute gets this way, there’s no reasoning with him.”
“And he’s supposed to help defeat Morgan? I assume that’s why he’s been made aware of all this knowledge; why you told me he was safe to talk in front of?” Frankie muttered as if Mac Rhys couldn’t hear what she was saying.
Merlin snorted in disdain. “He knows a great deal, my girl. I suppose he’ll talk when he’s good and damned ready!”
With all the stoicism of the once-standing Berlin wall, their driver maintained his forward-gazing silence.
Frankie simply glared at the back of his blond-covered head.
Some instinct told her their driver would like to speak to her in belittling terms.
In her time, she’d heard women called a lot of things, and had stomached a few nasty tags. Having lived for well over a century, there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen or heard, and in many languages. Even immortal women hadn’t been accepted as warriors by a lot of immortal men. Still, what she was called back then — what had happened between the immortal sexes decades ago — was far less important than the absolute silence of the man to whom those overly broad shoulders belonged. She and Mac needed to work together, but she keenly sensed his frustration. It was an emotion he wasn’t trying to hide, nor could he at its current, absurdly high level.
“Rude, petulant rogue! The queen will hear of your behavior,” Merlin muttered as he leaned forward and spoke to an obviously careless driver.
Chapter 4
Being ignored for most of the conversation, even to the point of never being introduced except in passing, wasn’t what bothered him. Being treated worse than any servant ever seen in Merlin’s company didn’t faze him a bit. However, all this happening in front of another agent was mortifying.
Gone were his awed feelings of the American. Now, he was nothing more than a chauffeur, and luggage handler.
All that notwithstanding, Merlin’s failure to fully divulge information was what pissed him off. Badly.
The cagey wizard always had something up his sleeve, this time was no different. This time, however, if precision wasn’t employed, the world would pay for it. Morgan LeFey wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. Despite Merlin’s claims to the contrary, their nemesis was probably using a scrying dish to glean their every action, even to the point of bringing in the Americans. Since the same thing had happened during the war years, Morgan had to suspect similar tactics now. The predictability of Merlin’s current plans was infuriating. The least the older s
age could do was go to the Canadians first, or even the French. But no. Merlin did the first thing any enemy would suspect. He ran to Washington.
Mac drove on in silence, not that his silence was met with anything other than condescension. No one bothered to ask why he was so quiet or he’d have gone into a speech he’d prepared for some days. The hours rolled by as he tuned out their plotting and planning. His part in this scheme was already mapped out, leaving nothing to improvisation. With Merlin’s connection to the queen firmly built over many years, there was nothing to be done but play the pawn on the chessboard of fate. This time, he feared Morgan LeFey was onto them all, just waiting for the chance to pounce, and in such a way that they could not mount a defense.
Bloodnight Castle came eventually into view. It was a grand edifice bearing corridors with many rooms. It had been built on the very ground where the last knights of Camelot had been slain and burned. With that thought precariously in mind, he concentrated on parking the sedan near the front foyer; hopefully not over anyone’s deeply buried remains.
Countless previous fortresses had been built on this ground. Servants, both uninformed humans from the nearby village and immortals, took care of the place night and day when Garrett was present. Of course, his oldest and best friend was now Sir Garrett Bloodnight, having been secretly knighted at Balmoral, by Her Majesty. This honor was due in no small part to Garrett’s war sacrifices as well as to the undisclosed nature of his heritage. As the man who must meet and defeat Morgan in battle on these very grounds, by Merlin’s prophecy, no one doubted Garrett’s ability to do the job. This most certainly included him. He was one of the pieces on the chessboard to which Merlin referred, though he was of no royal or exalted lineage at all. In fact, he attributed his presence as much to his friendship with Garrett as to Merlin’s machinations.
As to the American, she should go home until she and her ilk were needed. As far as he was concerned, they’d bloody well kept out of WWII until it was almost too damned late. Why bring them into this muddle now, when that was precisely what Morgan expected?