by Sandy James
Beagan shook his head and shifted to a rabbit again before Rebecca turned around with her hand full of arrows. She dropped them in the quiver as she returned to his side.
“Again.”
She laughed, the melody ringing in the air like a song. “Now, how did I know you were going to say that?” Reaching over her shoulder, she wrapped her fingers around an arrow.
He saw her mistake too late. One arrow had been returned to the quiver upside-down. Her fingers closed around the arrow’s razor-sharp head.
She cried out, jerking her hand back. Small drops of blood fell from one of her slender fingers.
Artair reached for her hand and cradled it in his as he pulled the linen square from his pouch. Gently wrapping the cloth around her injured finger, he gave her a frown. “’Twould seem your Sentinel failed to teach you to take proper care with your weapon. The tips are razors, lass.”
“Aye,” she drawled, imitating his brogue the same way Sparks always did. Her grin warmed his heart. “’Tis a shame you didnae do a verra good job.” Those smiling brown eyes reached straight to his soul.
He held her injured hand to his chest, then tugged her closer. He could time the beat of her heart simply by watching the delicate pulse along her slender neck. Fighting the desire to press his lips against that vein, he took a few steadying breaths. They didn’t help.
He kissed her forehead, even though he wanted more. “The goddesses are waiting for us. We must go to them.”
Rebecca nodded, took the handkerchief from his fingers and stepped out of his arms.
* * *
“You’re certain?” Artair asked Ix Chel.
This was the first time Rebecca had seen the Air goddess, and she was trying hard not to stare disrespectfully. But Ix Chel was so beautiful, she demanded attention. Long, ebony hair, so black it shone blue. Brilliant brown eyes. She was dressed in a flowing shirt and skirt reminiscent of the style Mexican women wore to a fiesta, and her clothing was embroidered with what was probably real gold and silver threads and studded with jewels in a kaleidoscope of colors. Rebecca couldn’t help but compare the goddess to how Cher appeared during her heyday.
“Sí, MacKay,” Ix Chel replied. “Jin has made his move.”
“We’re ready for him,” Megan said, never bothering to defer to the Sentinel whenever a goddess came to call.
Freya smiled, obviously pleased with the fire in her Fire.
“What has he done?” Artair asked.
“His usual mischief,” Freya replied. “At current count, over forty young women are missing. All blondes. One of the unfortunate girls is only fourteen.”
Small sparks rose from Megan’s hair. “What do they have in common, besides being blonde? Where are these girls from?”
“They are all orphans from many different countries,” Rhiannon replied. “Most had been fostered to families, but these girls seemed to have no bonds to their hosts.”
Rhiannon shifted her gaze to Freya. “Black magicks keep these disappearances a secret. Jin does not hold the kind of power one would need to escape his island prison. ’Tis the Seior. And it surely comes from you.”
Freya popped a large flame from the tip of her index finger and tossed it toward Rhiannon. It fell to the grass at the Earth goddess’s feet and continued to burn like some small campfire.
Rhiannon twirled her finger, and a small funnel of dust rose to snuff the flame.
“My brother practices Seior,” Freya insisted. “I do not.”
“That is not true,” Rhiannon replied. “You have been known to wet your hawk’s beak at the black magicks as well.”
“It was not me!” A small plume of smoke rose from Freya’s white-blond hair.
“Then perhaps your twin is behind this. Perhaps Freyjr is to blame. And you had the nerve to call me ‘Mischief.’”
Freya scoffed. “You dare to suggest I am behind those missing girls? You dare suggest I brought about the Air Amazon’s death? You stir up trouble where you should not.”
Rebecca was grateful when Ix Chel stepped between the squabbling goddesses, throwing each a chastising frown. “This is not about either of you. It is about losing my Maria. It is about young women who might be in danger, and it is about finding the missing Amazons and protecting the new.” Turning to Megan, Ix Chel said, “The new Sentinel has created an algorithm to patrol news from all over this world. He uncovered the stories of the missing girls.”
Looking to Artair, Rebecca wondered how that bit of information would affect him. As usual, his face remained stoic. Yet he had to be concerned that the evolving world had passed him by. A stab of hurt pierced her heart as she pictured another woman, a mortal woman, teaching him about the technology he hadn’t learned while suspended in time here in Avalon.
“’Tis easier to know these things in this time,” he said. “In days of old, an entire village could go missing, and there wouldn’t be word to the rest of the world. You cannot hide information in this age. I find it harder and harder to work the magicks I need to erase memories after a fight.”
She was having a hard time paying attention as Rhiannon’s eyes now seemed to be following her every move.
The goddess spoke again, but not to Rebecca. Rhiannon turned to Artair. “Ganga cannot find Trishna, just as I am still seeking Helen. Yet, I feel no danger for my Earth.” She glanced toward Rebecca. “My stronger Earth.”
Rebecca bit her lip to keep from throwing a smart-ass comment at her goddess.
The Lady of the Lake turned her attention back to the Sentinel. “Ganga is searching as we speak, but she tastes Trishna’s fright. We fear our Water is in Jin’s hands. The Amazons will have to go to her because goddesses cannot interfere. This is the domain of man, of Amazons, not of Ancients. Ganga believes Trishna is now in danger, so we can no longer keep the four new warriors apart. Together they are stronger.”
Artair nodded. “’Twas for their safety, to keep the Ancients from knowing they’d been called. But now the lasses have learned their skills, and we must harness their combined power.”
“They shall be united soon.” Rhiannon arched an eyebrow. “Are your warriors ready, Sentinel? Are your Amazons as strong as Johann Herrmann’s?”
Artair’s gaze caught Rebecca’s. With a steady voice, he answered his goddess. “They are ready.”
The goddess looked at Rebecca and frowned. “And is their Sentinel ready? Can he let them be what they were meant to be and not coddle them like children?”
Rebecca had never seen Artair as angry as he appeared at that moment. Fists clenched at his side, face flushed, he answered in one slow, drawn-out word. “Aye.”
Rhiannon gave him a curt nod.
A flash of light appeared, and Rebecca whirled around to see the appearance of the final Amazon goddess.
Ganga was beautifully exotic—olive-skinned with a coal-black braid that fell to her knees. Dressed in a teal sari so luminous small bursts of light played across the fabric, she stepped into the middle of the gathering.
Her gaze fell first on Rebecca then Megan before she turned to Sparks. “As I feared, Trishna is in danger. Jin has stripped her of her powers, I felt them leave her. She is helpless, and I cannot find her.” Ganga placed a slender hand on Sparks’s shoulder. “Can you sense her?”
“Only a little. I can tell she’s close but…”
Sparks erupted, small bursts like fireworks shooting from her hair and hands as Ganga jumped back. Two small, brown rabbits hopped over to settle at Sparks’s feet. The changelings were answering Sparks’s wish.
“Get the van.”
Chapter Thirteen
“We’ve got to find her,” Sparks insisted, pacing in nervous circles around the sandpit and flicking her Zippo.
Rebecca caught the hazy smell of exploded fireworks drifting through the air each time Sparks passed her.
“Aye, but we must make careful plans.” Artair glanced at Rebecca, concern plain in his eyes. “We cannot just rush in.”
&nb
sp; He worried about her, unsure of whether she was ready to fight. Ready or not, she had no choice. An Amazon was in trouble. Innocent girls were missing.
After the goddesses disappeared in bursts and shimmers of multi-colored lights, Artair had called the Amazons together. They’d tried to formulate a plan, but Sparks couldn’t settle down long enough to help.
“I don’t get it.” Sparks slammed the lighter shut and slid it in her pocket. “I should’ve felt her before now. I should’ve known she was in danger. Why the lag time? I felt Maria. I felt her die.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “She jumped.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rebecca asked.
“The day she died, she jumped before the revenants got to her. I felt her fall. That’s when she called me to be your Guardian. Maria was supposed to be the Guardian. She had the patience. Just like you, Rebecca. Maria was—” Tears glistened in her eyes but never fell from the long lashes. “We had all gone on with our lives. We’d stopped being Amazons. There wasn’t anyone around to help her. We thought—we thought it was over. We thought we’d won, that we’d changed the world. I mean, shit, how much worse could it ever get than World War II?”
“World War II?” Megan asked, coming to stand by Rebecca’s side. “What do Amazons have to do with war?”
“Wars bring some Ancients out to play,” Artair answered. “While humans fight, Ancients can wreak havoc and blame others.”
“People were fighting Hitler,” Sparks added. “The Amazons were fighting Chernabog.”
“Chernabog?” Rebecca asked. “Is he a demig?”
Artair shook his head. “A god—a powerful god we assumed was content with his place in the modern world. But, nay. He stirred up trouble, wanting humanity to worship only him.”
“And you stopped him?”
“Aye. He sought to enslave humanity. The Amazons captured him.”
Sparks snorted. “You make it sound easy. Shit, the moron was holed up in Germany. He tried to hide out among the Nazis. American troops were all over the place, so were the Russians. Getting to Chernabog was harder than getting to Hitler.”
“But you did get to Chernabog,” Megan said as she tapped her pack of cigarettes against her palm. She plucked one out and put it in her mouth.
Sparks smiled, pulled her Zippo back out of her pocket and lit Megan’s cigarette.
“Damn right, we did.” She took a cigarette from the pack Megan offered, holding it between her fingers like it was already lit. “When we got him, the patron goddesses punished him by exiling the bastard to Chile.” A weak smile spread over her face. “He sure wasn’t happy. Remember his new job, Celt?”
Artair laughed. “Guarding camahuetos.”
Rebecca didn’t get the joke. “Camahuetos?”
“One-horned magical bulls. Chernabog is now a cattle herder,” Artair replied before wrinkling his nose at the cigarette smoke drifting near his face. “Must you smoke those filthy things?”
Megan defiantly lit Sparks’s cigarette with her thumb.
Feeling Megan’s thrill at being naughty, a giggle popped out of Rebecca before she could bite her lip. The Sentinel’s responding scowl could have melted the Ice Age.
Sparks took a long pull on her cigarette, blew the smoke out in one thin stream and then sighed. “After Chernabog went to Chile and Hitler was burnt toast, we figured we were safe. How could some demig pull the same stunt in this day and age? Radio, television, the Internet—everyone knows what’s happening everywhere in the world. A whole bunch of people disappear or die, it’s not a secret.” Sparks took another drag on her cigarette and coughed out most of the smoke. “In the old days, we would’ve covered up a revenant battle with a hurricane or an earthquake and a touch of Sentinel mind-wiping. You know—that way people weren’t suspicious of so many dead. Now, you can’t hide dozens of dead people. CNN would be all over it like ugly on Medusa.”
“Aye,” Artair added. “’Tis the reason the Amazons went back to live in the world and we sent Avalon to the Atlantic Coast.”
“Avalon moves?” Megan asked.
“Aye, if needs be. ’Tis less noticeable here. Americans accept odd things. Like Amazons. The goddesses have had their priestesses raise new generations here as well.”
“There’s another generation after us?” One of her kindergarteners might just well be the next Earth.
“Aye, but they’re wee bairns. And they may never be called. More often than not, they never know their destinies. Few of the chosen girls become Amazons.”
Sparks nodded. “Most get to live boring, normal lives. They’re not needed. They never get their powers or their extra-long lives.”
“We were wrong that the Amazons were nae longer needed, that their usefulness had passed into history. But it seems yours won’t be the last generation.” He turned to Sparks, clearly sharing a memory. “We were wrong.”
She simply nodded again.
“Tell me about Trishna, lass,” Artair said to Sparks, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“For the last few months—since Maria died—I couldn’t feel the connection very well. I knew she was alive, but I couldn’t find her.” Sparks took a deep breath. “But she’s screaming at me now. We’ve got to get to her. Someone’s trying to hurt her, and she’s afraid.” She glanced over to Rebecca and Megan. “Trishna’s got balls of steel. I’ve seen her face five revenants at the same time and laugh about it. If she’s afraid, the bad guy we’re facing is dangerous.” She turned back to Artair. “We’re going to her, Celt.”
“You cannot just charge in,” Artair said, shaking his head. “You know that. We need to make careful plans. Do you even know where she is?”
“She’s close. Probably fifty miles or less. The changelings are bringing the van. We can just—I don’t know—drive around until I find her.”
Artair rolled his eyes and dropped his hand to his side. “Oh, aye. That would be a great plan. Ye know better.”
“I suppose you’ve got a better idea, you stubborn Scot?” Flickers popped from Sparks’s fingertips.
“Tell me what you see,” Rebecca said, reaching out to put a hand on her mentor’s arm.
Sparks took a long breath and closed her eyes. Her face scrunched in concentration. “It’s dark, but not completely. Like the inside of a big building without many windows.”
“Good. What else does she sense?”
She wrinkled her nose. “She smells revenants. They’re close, but she can’t see them. The stench is overwhelming.”
“What about the building?” Artair asked.
“It’s big,” Sparks continued. “Like a warehouse or something. And she hears water. She’s trying to draw strength from it, but the water is…polluted. Shit, she’s actually sad the fucking water’s dirty!”
“Is she alone?” Rebecca asked. “Can you tell who holds her? Is it Jin?”
“I—I can’t tell. It’s odd. She knows someone’s there, but she can’t see him or hear him. She just senses him. Someone is watching her. She can feel eyes on her, staring at her.”
“Will we be able to do that with each other?” Megan asked as if Rebecca could possibly know the answer.
She’d simply been acting on instinct to calm Sparks down and give her some focus. But, then again, her instincts and intuition had never let her down. Now Rebecca understood why her Aunt Kay had told her to always trust her gut. Aunt Kay—Kaylista—had been one of Rhiannon’s priestesses. She was still having some trouble with that idea, but at least she understood why her aunt had always stressed Rebecca’s strength and independence.
Before Artair even answered, she knew. The bond was already there. It had been from when Sparks had first come for her, from when she and Megan had fought the revenants in Condemned.
“Aye,” Artair answered. “After the four of you bond, you’ll be able to see through each others’ eyes when need be. Takes practice and time. Sparks and Trishna have been sisters for more than three score.”
“Yeah, well…
We’re way out of practice,” Sparks said. She stood as stiff as a statue with eyes wide and flashes popping from her hair. “I won’t lose another sister, Celt. I won’t.”
“We’ll go to her aid. We won’t leave her alone to die,” Artair promised.
* * *
Jersey. It had to be freaking Jersey.
Rebecca had never visited the polluted wasteland of a state without something bad happening.
There was that time in Atlantic City when she’d been mugged. That deep-sea tuna fishing adventure had resulted in her being pulled overboard and almost drowning. And she didn’t even want to think about that horrible bike trip through Pinelands National Reserve.
Some things were best forgotten.
They stopped on the outskirts of Newark, in some abandoned industrial park that looked suspiciously like the setting of several horror movies she’d seen in high school. She swallowed and tried to act like a kick-ass Amazon.
Megan was almost giddy. Tiny sparks flew from her fingertips, and, for the first time, the smell of smoke wafted around her—just like Sparks. Fire and Fire. Megan’s smoke smelled like the cherry pipe tobacco Rebecca’s favorite professor liked.
“Settle down, Megan,” she cautioned, trying not to let her sister’s reckless enthusiasm infect her. “We don’t even know if we’re in the right place.”
“We are.” Sparks reached into the van to pull up the covering on the hidden cache of weapons. She grabbed a knife, slid it in a leg sheath, then retrieved a sword she held up to regard in the inky darkness. “She’s here. I know it. I can almost smell the revenants.”
Rebecca nodded, not entirely sure Sparks was thinking straight—especially since she was making plans outside of the van instead of remaining concealed inside. The woman seemed so agitated she could hardly focus as she paced around like a lioness in a cage. Her anxiety only fueled Megan’s volatility. She wished she had some calm to send to her sisters.
Glancing to Artair, she tried to read his expression. His eyes were locked on Sparks, as though he was having some doubts about this mission. Were those doubts about Sparks locating Trishna or doubts about sending the new Amazons into such an unpredictable situation?