"The greatest?" Liam asked.
"Not now, Liam."
"If you saw Shawna's mother," he told the killer, "you might not be so, what's the word?"
"Cavalier," Sophie suggested.
"Asshole. You might not be such an asshole about it."
"I don't have to talk to you, sheep."
"Don't you call him that."
"Don't sweat it, darlin'," Liam said. "I've kind of changed my mind about a couple of things in the last five minutes. I thought you had a thing. Well, you don't. This guy does. Whatever problems you and I have, we can work it out."
"That's really touching," the killer said. "I haven't puked in eighty years, but I might right now."
"Oh, Liam, really?" Try to stay focused, you silly cow, she told herself, but it was impossible to deny how incredibly happy those words had made her. "You don't think I'm some vampire snob who can't relate to a mortal because she's seen too much?"
"I do still think that," he admitted, "but, like I said, we can work it out. Doncha think?"
"I do think," she admitted. "I agree, comparably speaking, our troubles don't seem so insurmountable now, do they?"
"I'm still here, you know," the killer reminded them. "Shit, this is why I'm up here in the first place. Decades of being the go-to guy, the guy who can get you what you need, but nobody ever saw me. I was just one of Nostro's stooges."
"I'm sorry for the mean things I said," Sophie said, looking up into Liam's blue, blue eyes. "I was angry, and I was afaid."
He smiled down at her. "That's okay. I said some things, too. Mostly because I was mad."
"Will you guys pay some attention to me? Don't you remember? I'm the guy everybody's mad at?"
"Think they're still holding our room downtown?"
"Probably not. But we could get one up here," she said, reaching up and stroking the new bruise on his neck. Liam shivered and she smiled back at him.
"Dammit!" Abruptly, annoyingly, the killer lunged at them, interrupting what was going to be a wonderful clinch. Liam put up an arm to fling him off...and the killer lunged again.
"Ow! Little son of a bitch bit me." Liam was staring at his now-bloody arm. "Broke the skin, too. Can vampires transmit rabies?"
"How dare you touch him! Nobody bites him but me!"
"You tell him, honey," he added, shaking the blood off his wrist.
Screaming, the killer lunged at them again. Liam, who had been digging in his pocket for a clean handkerchief, again warded him off.
Sophie didn't understand until later what happened next; it was too quick, and it hurt her to watch. Liam had swiped back at the killer, and the killer's screams heightened in pitch until she thought her ear drums might rupture. The killer had actually staggered back--why, Sophie didn't know--and Liam followed up, this time swiping down.
The killer looked down at himself, which was understandable, because he was glowing. Sophie looked at him, and the light hurt her...it had been like trying to see into the middle of the sun.
Liam, either by accident or design, had drawn a line on the killer: from nipple to nipple. And then, from neck to belt buckle.
A cross.
The killer watched in horror--Sophie felt a little horrified, too, in truth--as the lines Liam had drawn on him first glowed, then sank into him, like a foot into mud. And, five seconds later, the screaming was cut short as the killer's vocal cords turned into ash...as the killer's entire body turned to ash.
"This never happens," Sophie said, staring. "It's just a movie legend. I've never seen anybody turn into dust before. It just doesn't happen these days."
Liam held out...a necklace? A fine gold chain, with a cross--a cross! Sophie hurriedly looked away from it. "I took it from Betsy. Promised to fix it for her. And I will, too," he added. "Just as soon as we finish some other business." He kicked through the three-foot mound of ashes, scattering it. Then he took her into his arms. "So, I guess I'm your sheep."
"No," she told him. "You're...yourself. Liam. You're Liam."
"I'm a lucky fellow, is what I am." He kissed her.
She kissed him back, then looked at the foot-wide black smudge on the grass, all that was left of Shawna's tormenter. "I'd say so, yes."
Epilogue
"LET me get this straight. You drew a cross on the bad guy with my cross? And he turned into dust and went to Hell, or wherever bad vampires go when they turn into dust?"
"Yup."
"Well, shoot. And we missed it!" Betsy dumped more sugar in her coffee. They had come, by mutual agreement, to the Country Kitchen on Highway Six. "Though, we did save Theresa," she admitted, brightening. "That was pretty cool. Sinclair zapped her with his mojo. Made her forget she'd ever met Fuckface. And a good thing, too, because she was starting to get into her dad's gun collection in a really unhealthy way."
"Excellent," Sophie said. "Just excellent."
"And you fixed my necklace! What, you found an all-night jewelry store?"
"I had some tools in the truck," Liam said, looking modest.
"Thank you again for bringing this distasteful business to our attention, Dr. Trudeau," Sinclair said. "If not for your conscientiousness, he might have done a great deal more damage."
She shook her head. "I wish I'd caught on sooner."
"You did everything you could. More than most people would have done, I bet," Liam told her, squeezing her hand. She squeezed back, carefully, and smiled at him. "Oh, man. I ever tell you, you've got the prettiest smile?"
"No. It seems to be one of many things you've been keeping to yourself," she teased.
"Not anymore."
"I have things to tell you, too," she admitted. "Many things."
"Well, we've got plenty of time now. We can tell each other everything."
"I can't wait. Liam, I--I don't think you're a child with a crush."
"I think that might be as close to 'I love you, too' as you will get," Sinclair said.
"Seriously. You guys. We're right here." Betsy waved at them from across the table. "I mean, make with the goo-goo eyes a little more, why don't you? Get a room!"
"We did. And we'd better get there pretty quick, or my new girlfriend is going to go up in smoke like that little prick."
"Horrible thought. Dr. Trudeau." Sinclair nodded at her, and she stood beside the booth and bowed back. Liam slid out behind her. "Liam." Since he wasn't a subject, the king shook his hand. "Thank you again."
"It was nice meeting you," Betsy said, shaking their hands. Sophie started to bow to her, then thought better of it (the warning glare was a tip-off). "Thanks for figuring it out, tracking down the bad guy, and killing him. I'm trying to figure out what you needed us for," she joked.
"It's nice to make new friends, if nothing else," she replied, smiling shyly at the queen. "I've been alone for a while, but it was by choice...a poor one, I'm thinking now."
"Yeah, well, nice to meet you, too."
Sophie was looking at the new queen with a thoughtful expression. "I avoided this area when Nostro was in power, but now things seem very different. I'd like to stay in touch."
"Nothing would please us more," Sinclair said. "Good night."
"One more thing," Liam said, as he and Sophie went back out to the truck. "Since I'm telling you all the deep dark secrets I've been keeping, I've got another one."
"Yes?"
"I hate cats."
She laughed. "Be serious."
"Sophie. I hate 'em. That's why I don't have any."
"You have a dozen!"
"Well, they aren't mine. I just feed them and look after them."
"I thought you loved cats," she said, confused. "You're always bringing them to me and--oh."
"Yeah."
"Oh!"
"Uh-huh. You know, you're not as smart as you think you are."
"I guess not," she admitted, and laughed, and kissed him.
GALAHAD
Angela Knight
1
SHE came out of it curled on the l
iving room rug, sweating and nauseated. Caroline Lang swallowed hard, trying not to heave up the pint of magic, calorie-free Ben and Jerry's she'd had for dinner. The copper taste of blood drowned out any lingering chocolate, accompanied by a pulsing throb in her lower lip. She must have bitten it.
Groaning, she rolled onto her hands and knees and watched her arms shake. Her muscles were still jumping in the aftermath of the vision, and her head throbbed. The television didn't exactly help, blaring a used car commercial loud enough to wake Elvis. "Off!" Caroline gasped, casting a quick spell.
The TV instantly went silent. She sighed in the blessed stillness.
One minute she'd been licking a spoonful of Chunky Monkey and yelling answers at a particularly witless Jeopardy contestant. She'd just told him the capital of Lithuania when all hell broke loose in her brain. Blinded by the storm of images, Caroline had reeled to her feet, tripped over the coffee table, and fallen flat on her face.
After that, she'd been subjected to fifteen solid minutes of the Vision from Hell. None of which made a damn bit of sense. There'd been a seven-foot devil and cups of human blood, women sacrificed on stone altars, vampires grinning while they did stuff no vampire had any business doing. She'd even seen herself, flinging magic around like something out of The Lord of the Rings. But what really worried her was the guy with the sword, his handsome face cold with determination as he fought at her side.
That was all she needed. Another flipping vampire, sinking his fangs into various parts of her anatomy, including her heart. Unfortunately, she was going to need all the help she could get.
This being a witch thing was starting to seriously suck.
No way, Caroline thought, beginning to panic as the implications of her vision became painfully clear. This is a really bad idea. I haven't had the training. I'll screw it up. I'll get somebody killed. I'll get me killed. She climbed to her feet, longing to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her face. I'm only an English teacher. They can't seriously expect me to...
Yes, they could. Caroline had only been in Avalon a month, but she already knew these lunatics took the Maja's Oath seriously.
But what if she didn't tell anybody? What if she just ignored it? Nobody had to know.
Except her.
Caroline groaned, knowing there was no way she'd just stand around with her thumb up her butt and let people die without trying to do something about it. Of course, she didn't have a clue what to do, but one step at a time.
Okay then. She straightened her shoulders, the decision to act steadying her. Much as she hated the thought, she had to find the vampire swordsman. Luckily, that shouldn't be a problem. It felt as if the vision had tied a mystical cord around her neck, and he was somewhere out there on the other end.
She'd just have to make sure he didn't get too close. She wasn't up to another game of Bite-and-Run, not after her glorious month with Count Rat Bastard, otherwise known as Dominic Bonnhome, who'd gotten her into this mess to begin with.
Just before she stepped outside, Caroline took one last longing look around. Over the past couple of weeks, she'd consoled her broken heart by playing with her new powers, including conjuring a houseful of French antiques. She'd since decided they were a little much for her tiny brick ranch, so when she'd seen this cool cream leather living room set on Queer Eye, she'd magicked herself a copy. She liked the results. The cream set off the gold in the cheerleading trophies tastefully displayed on top of the TV.
Now, whether a twenty-eight-year-old woman should actually display her cheerleading trophies was a different question. She'd think about that one if she survived.
Enough stalling. Time to find the vampire.
Caroline opened the door and stepped out into an alien world. To the east, a Scottish castle towered over an expansive golf course that was a dead ringer for Augusta. Just across the cobblestone street, the neighbors' Roman villa lazed in the moonlight, surrounded by an olive grove. Something tiny and glowing zipped around in the trees, reminding Caroline of the lightning bugs back home.
It was probably a fairy.
Next to those displays of conspicuous magical consumption, her pretty brick ranch looked like a double wide. It was a good thing witches and vampires didn't form homeowners' associations, or she'd be in deep trouble for dragging down the neighborhood's property values.
When she got a little stronger in the magic department, Caroline fully intended to ditch the magical duplicate of her house in Georgia and replace it with something that would let her keep up with the Draculas. Disneyland, maybe.
Crossing her postage-stamp of a yard to the cobblestone street, she paused a moment to get her bearings. Ahead, the magical city of Avalon sprawled in all its shimmering, otherworldly glory beneath a sky spread with alien constellations.
Pretty as it was, it was a little unnerving.
In the space of eight weeks, she'd gone from grading papers to losing her job to living on an alternate Earth in a parallel magical universe. Sometimes she got mental whiplash so bad, she had to create a dimensional gate back to Realspace Earth, where her parents had a house in Atlanta. An evening spent listening to Dad bitch about the Braves made her feel almost normal again.
One of these days she was going to have to tell them what she'd become. But any conversation that began, "Well, Dad, I picked up this vampire in a bar..." couldn't go anywhere but downhill.
CAROLINE tracked the swordsman down in an elegant brick Georgian that looked like a set in My Fair Lady. The massive double doors opened automatically when she stepped up to them, but once inside, the building seemed as empty as the rest of Avalon. She wondered where the heck everybody was. The place had seemed crowded enough when she'd arrived with Dominic. Then, poof! Instant ghost town.
Was it something she said?
He was here, though. This close, Caroline could feel him--strength and masculinity, powerful and dark and frightening.
Her favorite flavor.
Cut that out, Caroline, she told herself sternly. You're on a fangfree diet, remember?
Following that psychic pull, she walked down a short corridor past stained glass windows, heavily carved wainscoting, and a chandelier dripping with crystals shaped like daggers. Yet another set of intimidating doors swung slowly open. Caroline resisted the temptation to give them a magical creak.
The first thing she saw was a walnut bar the length of an aircraft carrier, equipped with more brass than the Boston Pops and more crystal than Tiffany's. Around it stood walnut tables and massive armchairs upholstered in oxblood leather. Other than the swordsman, there was no one in sight.
He sat in an armchair wearing a full suit of plate armor that gleamed gold in the dim lighting. A great helm sat on the table at his elbow, next to a pair of gauntlets. His long sword leaned against the arm of the chair, its hilt encrusted with gems.
Damn, he looked more gorgeous and romantic than he had in the vision. Black hair lay tangled around shoulders broad enough for an Olympic gymnast. His face was equally broad and exotic, with an arrogant Roman nose and cheekbones so high and sharp, they could grate female hearts into pate.
He turned to look at her as she entered, one brow lifted, his eyes a smoky blue that gave his harshly handsome face a hint of the poet.
All of which provided a marked contrast to the bottle of Jack Daniels he balanced on one knee.
"You just sit around in full armor?" Damn, she'd kill for a can opener. "Doesn't it chafe?"
"It's enchanted. I've worn less comfortable Armani." The swordsman squinted at her through the smoke curling from his thick black stogie. Instead of the usual cigar reek, it smelled masculine and exotic, a hint of magic giving the smoke a faint glow. "Don't believe I know you, kid. And I thought I knew every Maja in the Mageverse." White teeth flashed. "Most of 'em in the biblical sense." Flicking ashes into a crystal ashtray sitting beside his helm, he took another puff. His hand was big, square, and scarred, but his lips looked impossibly erotic as they closed around the cigar.
She dragged her wandering attention away from all the carnal ideas that mouth gave her. "I'm Caroline Lang." And how was she supposed to explain the situation without sounding like an even bigger idiot than usual? "I'm new here."
The swordsman stood to shake her extended hand. His touch did devastating things to her concentration. "Hell of a time to join the business." He nodded at the nearest chair. "I'm Galahad. Have a seat."
"Galahad? The Galahad?" When he lifted an amused brow, she mechanically moved to take the chair he'd indicated.
Gorgeous old tales spun through her memory. Sir Galahad, son of Lancelot and knight of the Round Table. So pure of spirit, he alone of all Arthur's knights was fit to find the Holy Grail, the cup of Christ.
The legends had neglected to mention he was a vampire.
They'd gotten the part about the Holy Grail wrong, too, according to the vamp who'd made her a witch. Assuming Count Rat Bastard hadn't lied about that the way he had about everything else. For one thing, it wasn't holy.
According to Dominic, the cup actually belonged to Merlin himself, who used a series of tests to determine the worthiness of the knights and ladies of Camelot. Those who passed were allowed to drink from the Grail, which magically transformed them. The women became magic-using witches--Majae--while the men became warrior vampires, or Magi. Collectively, they were known as Magekind, the immortal guardians of Man.
The Magekind were a fertile lot, but their children were born mortal. The Latents, as they were called, carried a genetic trait called Merlin's Gift that could transform them into Magekind.
If, that is, the adult Latent made love to a Maja or Magus at least three times. Repeated sexual contact triggered the Gift, transforming the Latent in an explosion of magic. Without that contact, the child grew old and died like anybody else, except for passing the trait on to his own Latent descendants. Sometimes the Gift passed unused through so many generations, the Latents themselves forgot its existence.
Which is how Caroline became a witch after meeting Dominic Bonnhome in a bar. He'd spent the next month romancing her--wine, roses, expensive dinners. She'd just lost her teaching job to state education cutbacks, and she was feeling all too vulnerable. Dominic seemed the perfect antidote: handsome, seductive, fantastic in bed. A dream lover who anticipated her every need and fulfilled each and every one of them. What more could a girl want?
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