“Hope you had the sense to let him knock you up. Man like that’d never stay with trash like you. But if you got a brat, then he’ll have to pay and pay good. Trust me.”
Jane tried to grab the bottle. “That’s the liquor talking.” She could feel her face was bright red.
“Not taking my booze,” the woman muttered.
“Where did you get it?” Jane asked, trying to distract her attention.
“Think I can’t order delivery?”
“I told Stefano’s not to take orders from you.” Jane reached across her for the square blue bottle, and got a corner of it, right across the cheekbone. “Oh,” she gasped, stepping back, her hands darting to her face. She blinked, trying to keep her balance as her vision darkened around the edges.
“I called The Liquor Mart.” Her mother’s grin was smug, and… well Jane couldn’t call it evil. But there was no trace of a mother’s love there. Not any more.
Kemble stepped firmly up to the other side of the hospital bed and grabbed the bottle.
“Hey,” her mother protested, flailing for it. “That’s mine.”
“I don’t think so,” he said firmly, glancing to Jane. “You all right?”
“Of course she’s all right,” her mother slurred. “Little bitch deserves what she gets.” Jane wanted to sink into the floor. Her eyes were filled with tears from the pain. She could feel her cheek had split. Warm liquid ran down her cheek. Oh, no.
“Enough,” Kemble barked. His voice had all the authority of a real Prince of Wales in it. “You will not talk to your daughter like that, Mrs. Pedrino. Look at this place. What’s wrong with you?”
Uh, oh. Kemble didn’t even know he was punching a button. He tossed the bottle into a corner and rounded the foot of the hospital bed on his way over to Jane.
“What’s wrong with me?” Her mother’s voice was rising. “A no-good husband who divorced me when I was pregnant? Made a fortune and gave it to some other bitch. Second husband died in jail. And all I’m left with is a shit-ass daughter I never wanted who dragged me down.” She was shrieking now. “Nobody ever valued me like I was worth. All my life, nothing but crap. Crap, crap, crap from everybody…”
Kemble’s cell phone was ringing, but he was busy gently taking Jane’s hand from her face. “Let me look at this.” He got out his handkerchief and daubed at the streak of blood.
“You’re ruining your handkerchief,” she protested.
He ignored her. “Do you have any disinfectant around here? You may need stitches…”
A knock sounded on the half-open door and two patrolmen in navy blue uniforms and black leather leaned into the room. Jane saw the moment they smelled the feces.
“Jesus Christ.” The younger one looked around and held his nose. He was a handsome Hispanic young man.
Jane held Kemble’s handkerchief to her cheek and hurried forward. “Officers, I’m so sorry.”
“Ms. Pedrino,” the older man with the salt and pepper hair nodded to Jane. “You know you have to keep your mother quiet.”
“Hard to do when she’s being assaulted, Officers,” Kemble said. He stood behind Jane. At least her mother had quieted down. She was muttering to herself and plucking at the covers.
The older officer peered at her. “It’s nothing,” Jane said.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Do you want to press charges, Ms. Pedrino?”
“Of…of course not.” She looked around, feeling a little confused. Kemble stood stiffly off to one side. Her mother looked triumphant. There was a trail of spittle at the corner of her mother’s mouth. How old she’d gotten recently, Jane thought. Her skin was almost gray. It looked opaque somehow, like paper. Her eyes were clouded and flat too. The wrinkles around her mouth from years of smoking made her look like some kind of a tide-pool creature when she pursed her lips. Jane wasn’t even sure how sick she was anymore. Maybe she’d live forever.
“Well, Ma’am, then you call her doctor and get her a sedative or something. You know we can’t have her disturbing the peace like this.” The older guy’s eyes were apologetic. He couldn’t feel any worse than she did about it all. “You need any help here?”
She shook her head. The officers turned to leave. The young one looked very relieved. Kemble strode past her and shut the door behind him.
Well, that was that. A little piece of her heart seemed to break off and flutter to the ground. Nothing new about that. Jane had been slowly losing pieces of her heart for years.
*****
Kemble couldn’t believe this whole situation. “Wait, officers. Aren’t you going to do anything about this? She’ll be screaming again any minute.”
“What do you want us to do?” The older officer looked disgusted. “Arrest an old woman in a hospital bed? The girl just has to keep her quiet.”
“And clean up the house,” the younger one murmured.
Kemble watched them walk away. He’d never felt so frustrated in his life. He’d had no idea what Jane had been dealing with. And that felt wrong. He should have checked it out. Even his father didn’t know, he was sure. This woman was practically part of the family, and they’d fallen down on the job. She had no one to protect her. The police wouldn’t do anything. Maybe it was true, they couldn’t, but weren’t there social workers or something? Couldn’t the old bat be put in a home?
He turned back to the house, hesitating. He knew what the problem with that was. Jane wouldn’t allow it. As she’d told them all before, this was her mother. Taking care of your mother was what you owed for her raising you. But nobody owed this.
He pushed back into the house without even knocking. He had a feeling Jane might not let him in. It wasn’t lost on him that she hadn’t wanted him to see this. He wasn’t that dense. “Jane,” he said. She was standing behind her mother’s bed, turned away toward the window, her back to Kemble. Her mother’s incoherent mumbling, punctuated by cursing, and cackles. “Jane, come back to the Breakers. Let Mother take care of that cut on your cheek.”
“You know I can’t do that.” Her voice sounded distant.
“Sure you can. Eddie and Ken can take a turn watching your mother.”
“And leave you unprotected?” She sighed, turning. “Go home, Kemble.”
“I’ll send over a cleaning crew…”
“Kemble, no. I’ll clean it up.”
“Really, it’s just a call away.” He reached for his phone.
“No.” Jane had actually raised her voice. “How would I pay for it?”
He shut his mouth when he found it was hanging open. “You don’t have to pay for it, Jane.” He shrugged and tried to muster a grin, just to lighten things up.
Now Jane started wringing her hands. “Your father built me a darkroom at the Breakers, for goodness’ sake. I’ve been there all the time. I eat with your family, drink with you. I’ve been mooching off the Tremaines for...for years.” Her voice broke. “I’ve got to stop.”
“What good is having money if you can’t use it to help people you like?”
He thought that was a pretty good response. So when her hands dropped to her side and her gaze got flat and bleak, he didn’t understand what had gone wrong. “You’ve always been the one to give,” she said. Her voice was too quiet, too flat. “You don’t know how it is to be the one who has to take all the time.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. They all loved Jane. Even after Drew got married, nothing changed. Jane still practically lived at The Breakers, at least until recently, when her mother started taking up so much time. She was as much a part of the family as …
“Just go, Kemble. I mean it.”
He still hesitated. What ever he said seemed to just make things worse. He ran his hand through his hair. His father would know what to do.
But Kemble didn’t. And that was just killing him.
He couldn’t just stand here forever like a useless pile of shit.
So he turned around and left her there.
*****<
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Morgan smiled into the mirror. She wasn't getting any younger anymore, but it was enough. She turned her head. The long hair was streaked with gray, but it was only streaks. She peered at her eyes. The sclera were almost white again. Wrinkles, yes. Who was it that said a woman’s neck never lies? But it could be worse. It had been worse. Rotting corpse worse.
Possessing two of Merlin’s Talismans of the Tarot had changed that. She needed the other two, of course. Hardwick hadn’t located the Cup or the Pentacle, but neither had the Tremaines, according to their source. It was time to check her preparations for the moment when she would have them all. Plan for success, she always said.
She pulled on a red velvet dressing gown. She didn’t like to leave the presence of the Talismans for long. Wrapping it around her body, she entered the living area of her private suite. She owned the casino and its attached hotel now, thanks to her Cloaker. Cloaking was a great power for robbing things. Jason just made himself disappear, followed the staff into any vault she could name, and walked out with money. Talk about money seeming to just disappear.
There they were. The new, lighted display case that held the Wand joined the one that held the Sword. In the dim room, they glowed literally, and also with an aura of power. Beautiful. The sword was pristine, no matter that it was nearly sixteen hundred years old. The blade glinted, the jewels in the hilt winked at her. It was huge, as was natural in Merlin’s Dark Age Britain. That made it of similar size to the Wand in the case next to it. It had been concealed in plain sight as a walking staff. Silver was inlaid with twining ribbon dragons that wound up the shaft. Its gleam was dull and throbbing rather than sharp like the Sword. Together they made half of the symphony she required for her purpose.
In the shadows several figures waited. The Clan was growing. She still hadn’t found a Firestarter to replace the one the Tremaine boy killed, though.
A channel of light opened into the dim room with the opening of the door to the outside corridor, breaking her reverie. She snapped her stare to the side. This better be good.
Ah. “Hardwick. Any news?”
The spectral man shook his head. “Not on the other Talismans. But I do have a printout of your plane ticket to Bucharest for next week. You’ll be staying at the Intercontinental for four days as requested. When you’ve recovered from jet lag, I have a private limousine to take you up to Sigishoara. Brother Celescu is expecting you.”
“Excellent.” She took the proffered ticket jacket. Her reflection in the glass of the display cases showed a smile she couldn’t help was covetous. “We’ll see how my little project is doing. Wouldn’t do to let him forget how grateful he is to me.”
Hardwick cleared his throat. “Is it… safe?”
She chuckled. “Brother Theodosius is very devoted to his God. And a monastery is as safe a place as any for a virgin.” She examined the ticket briefly to see if he’d gotten her favorite first class seat. Yes. 2b. First off the plane. She glanced up at Hardwick. “While I’m gone, I want you to do some research for me. I want to know where the best military minds are buried.”
Hardwick looked non-plussed. “You mean strategists at the Pentagon, or the Royal Air Force? Like that?”
“No.” She glared at them. “Physically buried. I’m talking about the best military minds of all time.”
“Okay.” Hardwick blinked. “You, uh, have a list?”
“That’s your job,” she snapped. “And when I return I want to work on prying the Tremaines out of their fortress. They have much to answer for.”
If you like the Children of Merlin series, you may also like The Gods’ Dream trilogy.
THE GODS’ DREAM TRILOGY
BOOK ONE:
SOWER OF DREAMS
by
Debra Holland
Copyright © 2011 by Debra Holland
PROLOGUE
SEAGEM, ON THE PLANET KIMTAIR
YEAR 23 OF THE REIGN OF ICEROS
“Indaran,” Daria called to her eldest brother.
He stood at the prow of his ship, gazing at the white-capped swells. As she ran to him, her feet skimmed the wooden deck, seeming to take on wings. “Indaran!”
He whirled. The blue tunic and pants he wore as sleepclothes billowed around his strong body. The wind whipped blond hair across his face. He pushed away the blowing strands with a familiar impatient gesture.
He grinned at her, his white teeth a stark contrast to his tanned, handsome face. Taking two strides, Indaran caught her as she jumped into his arms, and spun, twirling her until she squealed.
Wrapping her arms and legs around him, Daria squeezed her beloved brother with all the happiness in her heart. She pressed her nose against his chest, sniffing sea brine and Indaran’s own man-scent, almost forgotten after the months he’d been away.
He kissed both her cheeks, and the stubble of his beard scratched her face. “Daria, little bird. Only six years old and look how strong you’ve become to appear like this during our dream time. Even Mother’s othersense can no longer reach me when I sleep. Now I just hear the faintest voice, like a breeze.”
“I miss you so much, Indaran. I wanted to see you. You’ve been gone sooo long.”
He carried her to the prow. The ship sped over the olive-gray sea, each dash of the vessel through the waves sending up cold spray to mist her face. Daria wrinkled her nose at the murky depths, disliking the chill the sight of the water gave her, and how the dull sky weighed on her spirits. Even the sullen glow of the early morning sun failed to lighten the surroundings. She wanted Indaran to turn the ship around and sail back to Seagem’s translucent emerald-blue ocean and beautiful lavender skies.
He pointed to a distant smudge, a smoky outline against the pale horizon. “Look, little bird, the land of our ancestors, unseen by any of our people for generations.”
Daria shivered. The view of Indaran’s destination gave her a pain in her belly, and she glanced away. To one side and behind, another trading ship kept pace with Indaran’s, sails taut against the wind, while a third followed from a distance, looking like a miniature she could cup in her hands.
Indaran nuzzled her hair. “I’ll bring back the ships back with interesting goods. Just think of all the stories I’ll have to tell. I’ll even seek out a special trinket for you, little bird. Or would you prefer a toy or a new pet?”
Even this enticement couldn’t divert Daria from her purpose. “I want you to come home, Indaran. Father’s counselors grumble that their prince is out—” she deepened her voice, trying to sound like a man “’—gallivanting on a useless chase for glory.’”
He laughed. “I can see them now. It’s not for glory, Daria, but for exploration, for adventure. And...maybe a little glory.”
“Mama’s worried. She walks around with her forehead like this—” she used two fingers to pinch the skin of her brow “—when she thinks I’m not looking.”
His merry smile vanished. He set her down and crouched to stare at her face, his green eyes intense. “Yadarius will keep us safe.”
She wanted to believe him. Surely, the SeaGod who walked through her dreams, played with her, and brought her the wisdom she needed, would take care of her brother. “Mama says you are sailing beyond Yadarius’s realm. We don’t even know what gods rule where you are going.”
Indaran looked toward the land. His eyes lost their intensity, becoming distant. “We only know that they’re TwinGods,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Even their names are lost to us. But I’ll find them out.”
He shook his head slightly, as if coming back to himself, and brushed her brow with his lips. “Tell Mama not to worry. Yadarius will never forsake us.”
“But how do you know?”
He flicked the tip of her nose with one calloused finger. “Because when we started this trip, He told me so.”
The ship shuddered.
Indaran’s eyebrows drew together in the same frown-crease she’d seen so often on their mother’s forehead. He stood, then patte
d her sleeper-clad bottom. “Go, little bird, I must awaken.”
She knew the futility of protesting. Once Indaran woke up, their visit would end—although she’d still be able to touch his heartline—the same as she could any other member of her family. “I’ll visit again.”
He smiled. “Promise?”
Daria slashed her fingers across her chest. “Sword’s oath.”
Indaran laughed. “My little warrior.”
The ship gave another thudding shudder. Then, as if a knife cut between them, her connection to Indaran severed, pitching her into total darkness. In the silence, her heart pounded louder than waves breaking on rocks. Daria reached out her arms and othersense in a frantic grab for her brother. Only black emptiness met her attempts.
She couldn’t sense his heartline.
Daria awoke, screaming Indaran’s name.
CHAPTER ONE
SEAGEM, YEAR 37 OF THE REIGN OF ICEROS
In the palace weapons salon practicing the pas-sa-ra, Daria paused, watching for the shift of her older brother’s body. When the thrust came, Daria parried, a pattern so familiar she could dance it blindfolded.
Daria’s breath wheezed, and her limbs seemed leaden, as if sand ran beneath her skin instead of muscles. A cramp squeezed her side. Ignoring the discomfort, she whirled, crouching and swinging her leather-wrapped sword near Setteff’s ankles.
He leaped—barely high enough.
In spite of her exhaustion, she grinned at him, with a smile guaranteed to taunt. “Too much alcohol last night?”
Setteff grunted in response. Sweat beaded on his thin, long-nosed face and coated his copper-colored hair. His heavy padded tunic looked damper than hers. In the sword dance, Setteff had the advantage of superior brawn and a longer reach, but Daria had the greater speed and agility.
He tried to slow their rhythm, but she compelled him to pace her. With no breath left to goad each other, they fought in silence, the only sounds the scuff of feet on the floor and the clack of the swords striking.
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