“I’m sorry. I don’t feel I can give you more than that.”
“No, no, it’s fine. This must be a very chancy time for you. But I know that you’ll fulfill Her wishes in whatever you do.”
“Goddess willing.” Ava felt more uncertain than ever.
“I’ll pray for you, High Priestess Ava. I will pray that you are as strong as we need you to be.”
Tears smarting her eyes, Ava hugged Tami. “Well, enough about all that. Show me how I can help you and the refugees.”
Chapter Three
Six Days Until Midsummer
It started with a whisper.
Ava strained to understand.
Slowly, the sound built up. It was a chant of some sort. She could just barely hear it. Her brain struggled to make sense of the words. It sounded like Brittonic. But no, it was more ancient than that.
What were they saying?
The words seemed to swirl around her, like a ribbon of sound, winding about her, from legs to head.
Clearer now, the chant almost coalesced in her mind. There was definitely malice in it.
Stop! I deny you! She tried to fight it off.
The longer it went on, the more it seemed to tighten around her. Danger. This is dangerous!
Stop this now! She started to writhe and push the booming words away.
The chanting surrounded her until she was in a sort of cocoon. It tightened, and her breathing became difficult as the utterings grew louder and louder.
STOP IT! she demanded. I am the High Priestess of the Sisterhood, and I deny you your power!
There was a far-off cackle.
Who was that?
“I can do anything to you. You cannot fight me. I am inside you,” hissed a female voice.
Ava jerked awake in a strange room. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was or what had brought her there.
Then she recalled that she was in her great-aunt’s spare room. And the dream had destroyed her sleep and any chance of peace she had. Again.
She’d had the dream—with increasing frequency—for months now. Each time she heard that woman’s voice—so angry, so powerful—she was filled with such dread, she shivered in fear. Who was that? Why was she attacking her so persistently?
Ava couldn’t get out of bed with the fear from the dream and the weight of all her responsibilities looming over her. She clutched the duvet over her head, a thin barrier to the dreadfulness waiting for her.
Graham called up the stairs: “We leave in twenty minutes! Are you about ready?”
Despite the oppression she felt, Ava got up and dressed, fighting off the feeling that the roof was going to peel off the house, and she would be sucked out into the sky.
I don’t matter. Only this mission matters.
The soggy landscape rolled by the windows. Streams of people made their way down the narrow lanes, their pitiful belongings heaped on their backs or in tattered rolling suitcases. Ava saw an old woman wrapped in a blanket and covered with a garbage bag lying in a wheelbarrow, pushed along by a gaunt-faced man. A woman leading a string of children of many ages and ethnicities trudged along. Where were they all going? Who would care for them?
The old burgundy leather car seat creaked as Duke Drunemeton settled in beside Ava, reminding her of the responsibilities she had that day. She’d had the chauffeur raise the privacy window between them and him. She wanted to give the duke a sense of isolation.
Just for a moment, that horrid, recurring dream flashed into her mind. She shivered, and that reaction triggered the suffocating feeling that presaged a panic attack.
Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.
Ava tried to focus on the simple things to steady herself. The smells of the Rolls were sort of comforting in their antique persistence: gasoline-heavy exhaust, old leather, and dust. On top of that was the slightly sweet scent of the cologne the duke was wearing. Ava didn’t hate it, but she didn’t like it, either.
Before coming to Britain, all the options and opportunities were evaluated. It was decided Ava should mate with the Merlin-heir—Duke Drunemeton—as the best way to implement the Sisterhood’s plan, post-restoration.
The Sisterhood’s geneticists believed that a child born of such a union was likely to be the next-step in evolution. It was clear that humans had gone as far as they could, given the psychic tools inherent in the genome. There were indications that a larger potentiality could be achieved, if the psi talents were sufficiently boosted.
The Sisterhood had experimented with drugs, diet, crystals, and all manner of techniques. But there seemed to be a ceiling to what could be achieved.
That’s when the geneticists suggested that a pairing between Ava—a descendant of Anya—be mated to another descendent of Anya. At first, there wasn’t a strong feeling whether it should be the duke or Lord Steadbye. Both were healthy males of the bloodline. But then the Sisterhood Leadership contemplated what could be achieved if she were mated to the Merlin-heir, a trained psi-adept. The answer, to them, seemed quite clear.
Ava wasn’t completely averse to it. Duke Drunemeton wasn’t unattractive. That spark she’d felt when she touched him was interesting and might indicate something exciting. Nor was it unappealing to imagine being the mother of a new, psychically stronger race of humans. But she didn’t like the feeling of being a puppet, and she was damned if she would become one.
The scientists at the Sisterhood told her she had the perfect psychological profile for the assignment. The Chief Psychologist, Mingxia Ong, said, “Given your estrangement from your family and your lack of ability to form romantic attachments with anyone, an assigned pairing is probably optimal for you.”
Ava had consulted the Goddess on whether this was a wise course of action, but She had offered no advice.
It was a tricky thing to be High Priestess. She was the absolute ruler of the Sisterhood, right up until the Sisterhood had ideas about what the High Priestess should be doing. Her grandmother had warned her the job was a double-edged sword.
First things first―how to penetrate the duke’s prickly exterior? Because if she didn’t, then things would go wrong pretty fast.
And it would be her fault.
Duke Drunemeton seemed cold and suspicious. He’d worked himself up to a proper mad, and all but snarled, “So you used the opportunity to apply for the position as the Director to meet me.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Ava saw no point in making up a new story now.
“I don’t like people lying to me,” he said.
“Would you have let me in the door if I said I was sent by the Goddess, Your Grace?”
“Most people call me Harper,” he said, relenting a bit. “The head of the Drunemeton clan is called ‘the Harper’ after our founding member.” He glanced at the driver behind the privacy window and folded his hands in his lap. “And in point of fact, I would have heard you out had you come to me with that approach. We’re all servants of the Goddess.”
Told you we should have done it my way, she told the mental journal.
Ava was aware that the heirs of Merlin had called themselves “the Harper,” or more casually, “Harper,” since the great-grandson. But she also knew from the Sisterhood files that the duke was a stickler for formal address, so she hadn’t called him that until given permission. “You may speak freely. I tested the sound-proofing myself last night.” He said nothing. “When the position of Director opened up, it afforded me entree into your home.”
“So all those recommendations are bogus,” he said bitingly.
“Yes. But if it had been necessary, I could have acquired them.” In spite of his grumpy demeanor, she could feel he was attracted to her. She had selected this particular close-fitting knit green dress for the purpose of seducing him. She knew quite well how it highlighted her figure, fair skin, and auburn hair.
Harper said, “How is it you seem to know about the Merlin and Arthur lines, yet we know nothing of you?”
“This will be hard for you
to hear.” Ava knew he was not going to like this next bit, but she didn’t see any way around it. “Merlin’s family has employed a member of my family to work as servants since the fourth heir.”
“What?! You’ve been spying on us?” His face flushed. “And to whom were these people reporting?”
Ava took a few deep breaths to battle back a surge of panic at his strong reaction. She had to make him understand the why. “I offer no defense for this. The Sisterhood had to know how went the lineage. How close we were to The Time Foretold. Who would be the wise man adept, and who the king? I am sorry about your father, wife, and daughter, by the way.”
“Sisterhood?”
“I’ll explain after we’re with Lord Steadbye.”
Harper was breathing in short gasps. “Ava…is there someone at Drunemeton right now from this Sisterhood?”
For a moment, Ava thought about lying. She was confident he couldn’t read her. But he was no fool. The Sisterhood files stated clearly that he was a genius. “Your housekeeper, Chesna Paterov, is my great-aunt and a member of the Sisterhood.”
Harper stared at Ava. Finally he whispered angrily, “Mrs. Paterov’s been housekeeper of Drunemeton House for forty years!”
“Aunt Chessie’s most fond of you. She’s been worried to death I would tell you. Try not to be angry when next you see her.” Ava was not actually close to Chessie since she had only met her a few times. But Aunt Chessie was a nice person who had done a great job for the Sisterhood and the Drunemetons. It was a delicate balance to serve two different masters. Ava hoped Harper let her keep her job. If she still wanted it.
His mouth stayed closed in a firm line.
Ava decided to try giving him more information, to see if that might help settle him down. “The chauffeur is Aunt Chessie’s brother-in-law, Graham.” Aunt Chessie’s husband Norton had passed away several years ago, but she had remained close to his brother.
Ava could feel that his heart was still beating harder than it should. “And I suppose you’ve more watchers at Steadbye Place?” His voice rose.
Graham checked the rearview mirror. The soundproofing didn’t cover yelling, and the duke―Harper―was just short of shouting at her.
Ava put up her hand, both to signal to Graham everything was okay and to try and get Harper to settle down. She subtly projected calm at him as she said, “No. Just at Drunemeton. That’s where the records are kept. That’s where the Sacred Grotto is. We’ve been able to keep track of changes and problems from that point.”
Ava felt Harper shut down on her completely. He glared out the window, his aura pulsing spikes of red.
There was nothing further she could do. Ava knew he would feel it if she tried a stronger spell. To cover up the uncomfortable silence, she turned on the car’s ancient radio. The strains of a Bach violin sonata died out, and a deep voice announced: “This is the British Emergency Radio Network. For those who are just regaining electricity and have not heard what has happened, let me recap.
“Forty-three days ago, on May Day, someone, or group of someones, exploded an unstable plutonium package a hundred feet from the Prime Minister’s residence at Number 10 Downing Street. In the space of a moment, they incinerated the PM, the Cabinet, and support staff, and both Houses of Parliament, which were in session. Also destroyed was Buckingham Palace, along with the royal family in town for a birthday dinner for the Prince’s youngest child.
“Many believe that was their aim.
“But perhaps they didn’t count on the sheer size of the blast that also vaporized an estimated nine million people, and have made sick or injured at least another four million. Thousands of refugees—homeless and ill—are on the roads seeking sanctuary.
“Britain’s economy stands in ruins. Trillions in personal wealth, billions in real estate, half of the headquarters for the world’s banks, treasures from Western civilization in dozens of museums, many corporate centers, and all state systems were wiped out at one blow. What electrical systems the bomb didn’t destroy were wiped out by the electromagnetic pulse immediately afterward. Most transportation was incapacitated by the EMP as well.
“Britain, a nation that has survived over a thousand years, multiple invasions, the German Blitz, and the collapse of the Empire, barely functions at any level.
“But we must persevere, citizens. We must attempt to continue on.”
The opening strains of the Beatles’ “All You Need is Love” started up.
“Unimaginable,” Harper snarled, as she turned down the sound. “There isn’t a hell hot enough for whoever did this!”
“Do they know who did it? Has anyone taken responsibility?” The Sisterhood couldn’t figure out who the terrorists were. There had been no one crowing about their “success” on the internet.
“No one seems to know. I find it profoundly troubling, this lack of suspects, or reason for doing it,” he said.
“Quite.” Since it was revealed that it was The Time Foretold, the thing Ava had been rather obsessed with was how the Goddess knew nearly 1,500 years ago that London would suffer a nuclear attack, but didn’t stop whoever committed the atrocity. Did She allow the incineration of millions to accomplish Her goal of reinstating King Arthur’s heir to the throne? Ava felt a sick sweat cover her body. What a monstrous idea!
She was getting that suffocating feeling again.
Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.
Harper looked up. “Ah, we’re here.”
The grand old car swung into the forecourt of Steadbye Place. It was a stately home built in the seventeenth century style of red brick, wood beams, thick plaster, and high peaked roofs. Where Drunemeton was an imposing H-shape, Steadbye was a rambling structure that looked to have been built upon at random intervals as the family needed more space in the intervening years. It was more like a home and less like a monument.
The Earl of Steadbye had obviously been watching for them. Instead of sending out a servant, he came out himself, holding an umbrella. Although Ava had seen pictures of him from birth (a chubby, happy infant) to just after his birthday three months ago (someone had put a cheap paper crown on his head), nothing prepared her for the presence of him. His dark-blue eyes, black wavy hair, mixed British and African features—particularly those expressive lips—made him handsome by any standard. She felt from him such power, such strength of will, such charisma! His large aura was an orangey-red that made it look as if he was walking inside a flame.
For a moment, Ava couldn’t breathe.
Graham opened the Roll’s door.
Harper got out first and hugged Lord Steadbye affectionately. He turned and said, “Ron, let me introduce you to our, uh, cousin, Ava Cerdwen.”
Ava exited the old limo and went into a deep curtsey. “My King,” came out of her mouth, unbidden.
Unlike Harper, Lord Steadbye wasn’t guarded. Ava could feel his reaction immediately: He was intensely attracted to her. In fact, he wanted her in a way he had never wanted any other woman before.
And Ava wanted him in the same way.
Graham helped Ava up, which was a good thing, as she was temporarily lost in those amazing blue eyes.
Behind her, she felt Harper’s equally strong emotion: an intense jealousy.
I’ve done it again—the exactly wrong thing!
Goddess, help me! It was supposed to be Harper I seduced! This wasn’t in the plan. What do I do now?
Chapter Four
It was some time before the three could get settled into the handsome, candle and lantern-lit drawing room at Steadbye Place. Tea was brought, and pleasantries were exchanged in front of the servants—mostly about the Rolls. But at last, they were left alone.
“The ride over was quite exciting,” Harper began.
“Was it?” Lord Steadbye said absently, barely taking his eyes off Ava.
What is this intense attraction we have for each other?
“Oh, yes,” Harper continued. He told Lord Steadbye what he and Ava talked about on the ride o
ver. Perhaps because of his feelings of jealousy, Harper phrased things in the most negative manner. By the time he finished speaking, Lord Steadbye was giving Ava a warier look. She could feel his guard go up.
“It does sound a lot worse when you say my family was spying on you, Harper,” Ava said.
“Why didn’t your people come forward before now?” Lord Steadbye asked.
“We were commanded not to reveal ourselves until the heirs of Merlin and Arthur knew The Time Foretold was at hand. Our rules are every bit as serious as yours. Anya’s books govern us as much as they govern you.”
“You know about our rules?” Harper asked.
“I am aware that Anya set down prohibitions and strictures for the Merlin and Arthur families,” Ava said. “We know that the Steadbye family is the judicial branch—in charge of adjudicating disputes that arise among the heirs. They are outwardly involved with the country’s laws. More specifically, they participate in the House of Lords and justice system, guarding against anyone interfering with the two families’ holdings, and their safety. That must have been tricky over the centuries. The Drunemeton family is in charge of steering the families toward the goal of placing the heir of Arthur on the throne, while managing the items in the Sacred Grotto and preserving and disseminating the legends, myths, and values of King Arthur. Neither heir is allowed to attract attention to himself by taking political office or receiving public recognition for their activities—beyond sports. Have I missed anything?”
Harper looked nonplussed at her recitation.
Lord Steadbye sat staring into the fire for a long while. His hands were steepled before him, elbows dug firmly into the needle-pointed armrests, as he considered what he’d heard. Neither Harper nor Ava interrupted him. While only Harper could make the decision to include Ava in the next steps, Lord Steadbye—the heir to King Arthur—had to be in accord. And at that moment, he was weighing the information, as a trained barrister would.
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