Prophecy's Child (Broken Throne Book 2)

by Jamie Davis

  “Are you going to see the lady?” Seelie asked.

  “Who is the lady?”

  “She lives in the water and likes to watch us play. I think she is pleased to see us here.”

  “Is she here now?” Victor looked toward the pool. Maybe he was here to see the lady that lived at the center of this magical place. Maybe he would finally get answers to his many questions.

  “I’m not sure. She’s not always there.” Seelie giggled and flew out ahead of Victor. “I guess we’ll see when we get there.”

  He followed the tiny winged figure, filled with a surprising hope and undeniable sense of purpose. He was supposed to be here, and time didn’t matter so long as he remained a soldier of intention.

  Seelie continued to lead him onward, and soon his boots rested on the shore of what Victor now saw as a small lake, bordered by tall, leafy trees, mist floating on its surface and drifting into the wooded boundary on either side.

  Seelie hovered inches away. “Wait here. The lady will come if she wishes to speak with you. I’ll wait for you up the trail.”

  Victor turned and watched her flutter back in the other direction. The path back led through a forested track he didn’t remember traversing to get here. When he turned back to the lake, a woman in silvery, white robes was already walking across its surface towards him.

  It was impossible to describe her. To call her ageless defied eons. She looked at once young and ancient, innocent and knowing, vibrant and frail — a powerful presence that he could barely process and would no doubt remember forever.

  The woman walked to the water’s edge, her toes inches from the mossy shore. She smiled down at him.

  Victor realized that he’d dropped to one knee at her approach, somehow compelled, as if it were the only thing he could do.

  “You have come to us at last.”

  “Where am I?” Victor whispered.

  “This is a place that is, was, and always will be. It is everywhere and nowhere.” The woman smiled to soothe his confusion. “Let us say it is a convenient place for beings such as you and me to meet.”

  Victor had met with superiors often enough to know that he wouldn’t be getting a better answer. He had many questions about the crater, the fairy-like creatures, and everything else. But his best play was to wait and see what this formidable woman standing atop this mystical lake might have to say.

  “Others have had many more questions. You do not?”

  “I have questions, but suspect I’m here to satisfy more than my curiosity.”

  She laughed aloud. The sound filled his heart with a joy he’d never felt or imagined. “You are a pragmatist, Victor Holmes. Much like your ancestor, the one named for the lance he bore in battle. He, too, was pragmatic and noble, though he never lived to fulfill his destiny as the king’s ultimate protector.”

  Victor didn’t know anything about any such ancestor. His family, so far as he knew, had an ordinary history, coming to the new world from England a few centuries before. Still, he felt he should say something.

  “I am honored to know I had an ancestor with such a noble history.”

  “Noble, but tragic. His tale was filled with misfortune, because of his hubris and an inability to fulfill his destiny. That fate has come full circle and the chance to accept the quest has returned to your family, as it has to others. But I must warn you: this burden will demand a payment I cannot forestall, as it is with all great quests. The knights of old knew that greatness must always carry a cost. Will you accept the certain burden of payment with only the chance of great reward?”

  He searched her ancient eyes for a clue as to what his payment might be, but saw only the soft assurance of a mother urging a child to step forward in faith. Nothing was certain, and in this current climate, that lack of certainty was more fragile than ever.

  Victor nodded, meeting her steady stare.

  “Speak it, Victor. Accept the quest. I may not assign it otherwise.”

  “I accept the quest.”

  She smiled, warm, affectionate, and grim with acceptance of an uncertain future. “Very well, my son, descendant of Lancelot. You will be the once and future queen’s protector. You will join her knights in their quest to recover throne. This new promise may shatter your previous oaths, all second only to this one. Rise and go forth.”

  Serving a queen as her protector?

  “But you’ve not told me what to do. A quest has a purpose. You’ve told me to protect some queen and her throne, but there are no monarchs.”

  The woman receded towards the center of the lake, gliding across its surface rather than walking backward. Her white and silver robes glowed with an almost blinding light. Victor could barely see her form as she whispered her final words.

  “Trust, Victor. Continue to do what is right. Follow your heart. The rest will be revealed soon enough.”

  Light overwhelmed him. Victor squeezed his eyes tight to shut it out. When he opened them again, he was kneeling in the darkness of a starry, cloudless night at the edge of a crater in the center of a collapsed building.

  He looked toward the pool and all the flickering lights around its surface and the grassy banks nearby. He saw no sign of the lady or Seelie.

  Victor made his way back to his car, unsure of all that happened, his heart racing with the knowledge that he was now in service to a queen he did not know, nursing countless questions all the way home.

  CHAPTER 43

  Winnie checked her phone for the fourth time. Still, no new messages. Tris and Cait were to load all the charmed items, including the military haul from the armory, in a rental van parked across the street from the warehouse, where they’d arranged their meeting with Cleaver. They weren’t here yet and Winnie was getting concerned. They had to drive to the warehouse and stage all the gear so that it looked like Cleaver had it in his possession. That way the authorities would swoop in, leaving Winnie as the informant on the outside and in the clear.

  Of course, that all depended on the gear being properly positioned before Cleaver and his men showed for the meeting. She’d watched the warehouse for over an hour and saw no sign of Cleaver, his guys, or the rental van.

  Winnie had called Cricket to drop a hint about their upcoming haul and ensure there were no mix-ups. As expected, with the gear in their load, he had told her Cleaver was coming from New Amsterdam to handle the trade himself. That part of the plan had worked exactly like they’d wanted.

  An engine roared in the distance. Winnie turned toward the sound and saw a white mini-van swiftly approaching, Tris driving and Cait in the passenger seat. Winnie stepped out onto the sidewalk and pointed across the street.

  The van stopped in front of the warehouse. Winnie ran over and opened the large sliding garage door. Cait jumped out and helped. Tris pulled inside. Winnie and Cait slid the door closed behind them, a small boom echoing in the empty building’s interior.

  Tris stopped the van in the room’s center, then hopped out to meet Winnie and Cait at the back.

  “Any trouble with the rental?” Winnie asked.

  “Nope.” Tris shook her head. “We put the rental in the name of one of Cleaver’s subsidiaries out of New Amsterdam. When the police trace it back, they’ll have that going against them as well.”

  Cait opened the van doors and stood looking at the boxes — drab olive crates stacked to the ceiling. “We need to get all of this out and stacked around the back of the van so it looks like it’s being loaded rather than the other way around.”

  “And we have to hurry,” Winnie checked her phone for the time. “Cleaver could be early. We want everything in place, just in case.”

  It took twenty minutes to unload the van and stack everything around the floor in an arc behind the van. Cait opened a few crates to make it look like the gear had been inspected. Winnie got her first close look at the stolen items: weapons that fired canisters filled with charmed objects, using the magic inside to degrade an enemy’s defensive and offensive capabiliti
es; magical defenses that sprayed interference outward from where the pylons were placed. Winnie could feel the powerful Sable magic pulsing inside the crates, like caged animals ready to pounce on the unsuspecting creatures lured by their captors. She could imagine the horrific effects of the weapons, given the magic she could sense.

  Winnie was distracted by the powerful magic and didn’t hear Cait calling out until she tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the small, person-sized door set in the wall beside the big sliding door.

  “Winnie, someone is knocking at the door, calling out your name. I think you need to answer. I’ll keep watch in case there’s trouble.”

  Winnie wondered who that could be. It was early for Cleaver, and Tris still had to call the local Red Legs and alert them to the pending trade. She pulled herself away from the military equipment and went to open the door. Cait assumed her position by the doorway, ready to pounce if she saw any trouble.

  Winnie opened the door to the last person she expected to see.

  Morgan was standing in the doorway, dressed in a long black overcoat, clearly trying to hide her Red Legs uniform from casual view, though how anyone could miss the scarlet trousers, Winnie couldn’t imagine.

  “What do you want, Morgan? Haven’t you already hurt us enough? Or are you back for another attempt to get us all killed?” Winnie hadn’t seen her sister since that terrible night in the steel mill. Now, she found herself with many things she wanted to say and perhaps even do to her sister.

  “You have to stop what you’re doing,” Morgan blurted on her way inside. “You don’t know what they’ve done, or how things are stacked against you.”

  Cait stepped up behind Morgan and pulled her elbows behind her back. “Just say the word and I’ll make sure she never crosses us again. It’s the least we can do to avenge all the people she helped kill in the Harvester.”

  “I didn’t help kill anyone, I swear, Cait. I didn’t even know what that thing did. My presence was requested by a superior. By the time I knew what they were doing, I couldn’t stop it.” Morgan looked from Winnie to Cait to Tris, then back at Winnie. “I promise I’m telling the truth.”

  “How stupid do you think we are, Morgan? You show up here in a Red Legs uniform. You chose your side in this war a long time ago, apparently well before we knew you were betraying us.” Winnie was fuming, inches from Morgan’s face. “It took me a long time to figure out that you were the one who bugged us, and that you stood back and let Danny take the rap. Then you let them kill Joey and all those other people … including my … ” Winnie bit her lip to keep from crying. “Now you show up here, pretending like you care enough to warn us?”

  “You don’t understand.” Morgan shook her head. “They were supposed to stop your running and make you get a normal job. They told me they were only after Artos, not you or your friends. I’ve been trying to watch what they were doing so that I could help you ever since.”

  Cait smacked the back of Morgan’s head. “You expect us to believe that you’ve been helping us? Prove it.”

  “I haven’t been able to do much, but I have been watching and biding my time. Now it’s time to come forward. You have to stop what you’re doing and get out of here now. Victor and Kane know what you’re doing and they’re going to send the entire force in to sweep all of you up. I only just snuck away. They’re loading up to come here now.”

  “That’s all part of the plan, Morgan. Shows how much you know. We planned on calling the Red Legs in.” Winnie laughed, then motioned to Tris, still standing by the van. “Tell her, Tris.”

  “I haven’t called anyone yet. I wanted to make sure we were set and figured we didn’t want them to have too much of a heads-up.”

  Winnie shot Tris a sharp look then turned back to Morgan. This wasn’t good. Before she could ask Morgan how she knew where they were, the door swung open and two large men entered the dimly lit warehouse.

  They spotted Cait holding the captive Morgan.

  One called out. “Boss, there’s a Red Legs constable here. Could be trouble.”

  A voice Winnie could barely hear said something outside the door. The men stepped aside to make room. Their eyes danced across the room, raw nerves evident with every gesture. One of the men had his hand tucked across his chest, resting on something hidden from view. Probably the butt of a gun.

  With his thugs out of the way, Cleaver Yorke entered the warehouse, ducking to fit his tall frame through the small access door. He was followed at once by Cricket and Garraldi. Neither looked happy, eyes on their boss for a cue to their next move.

  Winnie needed to defuse this situation, or Morgan would disappear for good. She was angry at her half-sister for all that she’d done. She wanted her gone, but not like this.

  Winnie stepped toward Cleaver. “You’re early. I didn’t expect you for another half-hour.”

  “I make it a point to be early and a little unpredictable. Call it a survival trait.” Cleaver pointed at Morgan. “It pays off a lot more often than not. Garraldi, take the Red Leg to the car.”

  Winnie raised a hand. “That won’t be necessary. She’s with me, my half-sister, came to warn us that there’s a major raid planned on this location, and any minute now.”

  Cleaver looked at Morgan, then Winnie, before venting a long and wheezing guffaw. He pointed at Winnie, then Cricket, before finally composing himself enough to talk.

  “Your sister? She doesn’t look much like you, but I do remember Cricket mentioning something about a sister. Something to do with the Harvester and some old-fashioned family betrayal, or do I have that wrong?”

  Winnie shook her head, desperate to conjure a plausible explanation. “She was there as part of our plan; we just didn’t expect it all to come so close to the wire. If it hadn’t been for Morgan, Tris couldn’t have rewired the control panel and I could never have overloaded the system and stopped the Director’s plans.”

  Cleaver glanced at Tris, standing by the van. Winnie looked over, too. Tris nodded but said nothing. She was clearly angry, freaking out about their plan going south, just like the last time.

  But Winnie wouldn’t give up. She had to salvage something. Cleaver had proven more resourceful than she expected.

  Cait broke the uncomfortable silence. “Based on Morgan’s warning, we need to clear out of here before the Red Legs arrive, or we’re all in for more trouble than we bargained for. We don’t want a shootout with the authorities.”

  “No, we don’t.” Cleaver shook his head and gestured to one of his large men. “Anthony, you and Vincent load the van and ride with the mousy one. We’ll conclude this deal at a secondary location I set up for just such a contingency. Winnie, you, your sister, and the tall girl can ride with me.”

  Winnie could only agree. She motioned for Cait to bring Morgan, then followed Cleaver outside.

  There were several black SUVs. Cleaver pointed to one. “Winnie, you join me in this one. Your friend and sister can follow in the other one.” He opened the door and held it, waiting for her to comply.

  Winnie didn’t have much of a choice. She nodded at Cait, who still led Morgan by the arm. Her sister looked petrified. Fine. Morgan owed her for this, and a lot more.

  Winnie got in, followed by Cleaver and Cricket, sitting in silence as the driver pulled into the night.

  ———

  Victor entered the empty warehouse after it was cleared by the tactical team. He saw no sign of Winnie or the stolen gear.

  He pounded his fist into his hand. He was torn; he had wanted both the recovery of the military Sable gear and for Winnie to escape. Now he was stuck with the possibility that the stolen material would find its way onto the black market. That would be bad for everyone. Artos himself had called them in on the bust, citing strong ties to the community and the need to keep a lid on illegal magic hitting the streets. He was sure the old man had more than altruistic thoughts in mind when calling in the raid on Winnie and her compatriots.

  The tactical team c
ommander walked over. He was dressed in all black body armor, night-vision goggles flipped up on his helmet rig to expose his concerned expression. He handed Victor a laminated plastic ID card with a metal clip.

  “One of my men found this on the warehouse floor.”

  Victor turned it over in his hand: Morgan’s badge. He growled in his throat, his hand squeezing the plastic until the edges cut into his hand.

  “Fan out. Search for any clues as to their whereabouts. They had to leave in a hurry, so let’s figure out where they disappeared.”

  “Yes, sir!” The tactical commander saluted, then ordered his men to sweep the interior and exterior again.

  Victor watched them, knowing they’d likely find nothing. Cleaver Yorke was a professional, and unlikely to leave any accidental clues. It was pure luck Morgan had dropped her ID for them to find. He wondered what she had been doing there, though he had some ideas. based on her torn loyalties.

  Confronting Morgan was something for another time. For now, his focus was on recovering her and the stolen hardware. He pulled out his phone, dialed, and waited for someone to answer.

  This had better work, he thought.

  CHAPTER 44

  Winnie looked around at the stacks of empty aluminum beer kegs. They were huddled in the back room in a Fells Point club — this was where their collapsed deal would finally conclude. This was where Cleaver had set up his headquarters when he moved in on the Baltimore Sable trade. Now they were back and dealing with the current conundrum.

  Cait still had a hand on Morgan who, thankfully, had kept her mouth shut. If she stayed that way, Winnie might be able to talk their way out of this and maybe keep Morgan alive. But that would only work out if nothing else went south. Problem was, Winnie didn’t even know what else could go wrong. Their careful plan, scrapped long ago, offered no solutions for dealing with their situation. She looked over at Tris, who fanned herself to ward off the enclosed room’s stuffy warmth. Cleaver’s men had deposited them in here upon arrival, and now they were waiting for any sign of their intentions.