“Wylde’s mother taught me the secret of the D. I have made a new Gateway into our realm and intend to bring my people back into this world, under Master Wylde’s dominion. He values my service.”
Alvara dropped her glass, spilling wine all over Talon’s ankles. He hissed instinctively as the mother stared dumbfounded into the middle distance between us, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
Talon set her glass back onto the table – since it hadn’t broken – and then lifted up his leg straight into the air, perpendicular to the ground – an acrobatic feat only felines could do – and began licking the wine from his fur. Gunnar grimaced in distaste, especially since Talon’s mooseknuckle was pointed directly at him.
I noticed all this absently, because I was also staring at Carl. “I wasn’t aware of all that, Carl. The tree you grew is a Gateway?” Another damned doorway into some dangerous world on my property. Come on!
Carl nodded proudly. “Your mother is truly a master of the D, as you call it here. We also refer to the trees as Elder Portals. My people will serve you, King Wylde, Master Temple. Or they will bathe in an ocean of blood. You will be pleased with me.”
I nodded to him, not knowing what else to do with Alvara watching. Then I turned to face her, thinking. I had no ties to the Chancery, knew next to nothing about them, and most of those in the Land of the Fae hated or feared me. Perhaps the banished Fae were different… To gain her trust, I needed to give her something, an olive branch. “Do you know of my… experience in Fae?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Everyone knows about Wylde, the Manling born in Fae. All fear you, and most hate you. No disrespect intended, but your attack on the Queens caused quite the uproar.”
I grimaced. “Attack on the Queens…” I growled, taking a sip of my wine to calm down. “They attacked me. Demanded my servitude. I responded in kind.”
She considered that, looking startled. “Oh.”
“And not all hate or fear me,” I said, brandishing the silver butterfly Barbie had given to me after our last… encounter. When she had given me the lap dance of all lap dances. I was pretty sure she hadn’t meant it that way, or not just that way. It had been some form of respect, ritualistic, a symbolic act of some kind. And before she had left, after she had mentioned Callie with a sad smile, she had placed this silver butterfly on the ground.
The mother stared at it curiously, her eyes growing distant. “That is… very important. Although I don’t know how. I can sense the power vibrating inside of it. She must love you dearly.”
I studied her. “Romantic love?”
She considered that for a moment before shrugging. “There are many forms of love. Only she can tell you what she meant by it. I can merely sense the passion behind its creation.”
I nodded, studying the butterfly before putting it back into my pocket. “Hopefully, this proves I am not a natural enemy to the Fae. Those who go against me, yes, but I’m not inherently an enemy. Some humans are dicks. Some Fae are dicks. I stand up to dicks, on principle.” Gunnar coughed. “You know what I mean,” I muttered.
Talon had finished cleaning himself, and seemed to be dozing on the couch, not bothering to drink his wine, but judging by his swiveling ears, he was aware of every word. I listened to the sounds of Alice running around upstairs, laughing as she played with her toys, and I found that I was smiling.
It was good background noise.
“So, was the tea party really Baba Yaga’s idea?” I asked, smiling faintly, thinking of anything to bring some levity into the strained conversation.
She smiled. “When Callie Penrose asked me to meet with you tonight, I remembered a conversation I had with Baba a few months ago. I’d asked her about you, if you were as cruel as we all thought…” she said in a soft, wary tone.
Gunnar leaned forward. “What did she say?”
“She told me if I wanted to see what you were truly like, to put you in front of a child that I cared for and watch how you responded.” She met my eyes meaningfully. “I thought Baba had been warning me. She doesn’t often talk about her work associates, and I knew she had at one point been tasked with killing you, but afterwards had begun working for you. I assumed the worst, naturally. That you had subjugated her…”
I nodded slowly, not offering a comment.
“But after the speech tonight, seeing Mordred alive and in the flesh… I realized that perhaps we needed someone as scary as you to defeat him,” she admitted. “Still, I remembered Baba’s response. Her warning.” She lowered her gaze, embarrassed. “I was about to decline Callie’s request, but I hadn’t counted on her being quite so… convincing.” Alvara looked up at me, then, smiling distantly. “She cares about you quite deeply. As much as I’ve ever seen a powerful woman care for a powerful man. You should consider yourself very lucky.”
I smiled. “I do, but don’t put the cart before the horse. We aren’t…” I searched for the right way to say it. “We’re just very good friends.”
She arched a brow at me. “Then you, Nate Temple, are an idiot.”
Gunnar burst out laughing, lifting his glass to salute Alvara. She dipped her chin primly, but she did clink glasses with him. I sighed, staring into my cup. “You have no idea, Alvara…” I agreed.
She gave me a satisfied nod. “Callie Penrose convinced me with one simple phrase. Character is who you are in the dark, when no one is watching.” I nodded slowly. That sounded like Callie. Alvara met my eyes, making sure she had my attention. “Then she told me that if I had any doubts about your character, to put you in a room with my child, with no one watching.”
Talon’s eyes popped open in disbelief, and even Carl looked properly surprised. Gunnar grunted in approval. I could only stare. Why hadn’t Callie told me any of this?
Alvara cleared her throat. “Having two very powerful, very different women say the same thing made me reconsider Baba Yaga’s comment about you. That perhaps she hadn’t been warning me but trying to tell me the same thing that Callie told me tonight. That your character was best seen in your simpler interactions, not in the rumors spread about you. To look at how you treated those with less power than yourself. To judge you – not by how you treated your enemies, but how you treated everyone else. So… I agreed,” she said, shrugging.
I was silent for a full ten seconds, taking a sip of my wine as I digested everything. “Was the makeup really necessary?” I finally asked.
Alvara burst out laughing. “I told Alice to do her worst,” she admitted, slapping her knee gleefully. Carl, surprisingly, gave her a respectful flick of the tongue – which made me feel all sorts of strange, being able to distinguish between his tongue gestures, now.
“Thank you for testing me, Alvara. I’m glad I didn’t disappoint,” I told her. “I’m not a great man, but I try very hard to at least be a decent man.”
“Man-ling,” she corrected, enunciating the addition. “You do the term justice. Don’t let fearful rumors define the word. Let your actions define it. Make it mean something to be proud of. Something others can be proud of. Something maybe your Callie can be proud of…” she added suggestively. I rolled my eyes, and her face grew serious. “I think it’s time for you to become a legend, Wylde.”
I smiled, nodding in agreement. “I think I can do that…” I said, still thinking of Callie. She had delivered, as usual, beyond all expectations. And she’d done it with a casual comment to a stranger at a bar. It was my job to close the deal.
“Now,” I said, leaning forward. “What does a legend need to know about defeating Mordred?” I asked. My friends leaned closer as well, looking radically energized and motivated.
And hungry.
Chapter 12
Alvara considered my question in silence for a minute, digging deep from her long memory, and searching for anything useful. “Mordred, unknown to many, was a very powerful wizard, and a brilliant tactician,” she began. “His mother, Morgause, was a very strong enchantress, and passed on her gift of magic, al
though in an unexpected way, of course. Perhaps that has to do with her Fae and Arthur’s mortal blood mixing.”
Or maybe it was that and the fact that Arthur and Morgause were brother and sister. I wisely didn’t voice this, not wanting to offend Alvara if sibling relationships were more… acceptable among the Fae.
“Is Morgause still alive?” I asked instead, fearing the worst.
Alvara pursed her lips, looking uncomfortable. “Morgause is no supporter of Mordred. She holds a position of power in the Fae Courts, and…” she let out a long breath, as if making a difficult decision. “She may even be one of the reasons her son was sent to Hell.”
Gunnar let out a long whistle. “That sounds like motive.”
I shivered at the implications. Was Mordred determined to take out both his parents? This didn’t help me, really. I was persona non-grata to the Fae, so it wasn’t like I could just waltz up to her and ask her to help me talk some sense into her son. But indirectly, it could be a good piece of news. Mordred had no allies among the Fae.
Alvara continued. “Despite his estranged relationship with his mother, maybe even as a result of that bad blood, he has gathered an army – and it’s growing every day – to march on Camelot. Mordred felt he was betrayed by his city – and his family – and I cannot say he is wrong to believe so. I think he thirsts for vengeance. To destroy everything his parents ever created. Burning Camelot to the foundations, and possibly turning next to the Fae Courts and his mother. To burn out even the memory of his parents’ very existence. These are two very powerful symbols in Fae. Destroying them would disrupt the balance that keeps us all relatively safe.”
“I understand why the Fae Courts must not fall, but why is Camelot important? Is it even populated, now?”
Alvara sighed. “Camelot is not heavily populated, true. But it is a symbol…” she shook her head, eyes dancing with fear, “and destroying those symbols would break the resolve of the Fae. You understand how Fae uses memories, stories, and legends to sustain itself, yes?” I nodded, remembering. The more humans that spoke about Fae, the longer Fae kept its utilities running. We were like a battery for them. “Camelot has many stories attached to it. Losing it… could be cataclysmic.”
I nodded with a weary sigh. “I understand.” I was getting a better picture of the man. Even with all the contradicting stories, that was one point that seemed consistent. He’d always wanted Camelot for himself. When he felt betrayed by the city he most coveted, there was only one logical reaction. To destroy the symbol of his shame. But was this truly just about his pride? Or was there also some power he wanted to reclaim?
Like the Round Table. Since his first act had been to set up a charity called The Round Table Initiative, I was guessing that was a clue.
I doubted he wanted the table for power, because he’d already stolen the Nine Souls from Hell. It had to be symbolic. Destroy his dad’s Round Table. And likely… his dad’s sword, Excalibur, as well.
Thankfully, I knew I didn’t have that. I’d checked the Armory, and any other myth I could find regarding its passing through the pages of history. I’d even reached into my satchel, not long ago, thinking of nothing but Excalibur, knowing I had terrible luck like that – that I might find it inside, mislabeled as a letter opener, or something ridiculous.
“Mordred never acts without a purpose, often multiple purposes. If he is also aiming for St. Louis, he has a reason,” Alvara continued. “Whether it be to acquire something he desires, to gather an army, or perhaps it is his chosen location to set up his own court – a new Camelot.”
The room was silent as we sipped our wine, thinking.
Alvara continued after a few moments, looking thoughtful. “This is likely just his opening move. He sets his foes to panic, looking where he wants them to look, doing what he wants them to do, reacting how he wants them to react…” she said slowly, letting me know – politely – that I was falling victim to his desires.
I cursed angrily, clenching my fist. “It’s not like I can just forget about allying the houses. After his talk tonight, they’ll fall into his palm without me running interference.”
She held up her hands with a sad smile. “You think he did not know this?”
“But why St. Louis?” I pressed, hoping for an objective answer that differed from my theory.
“St. Louis is important to a great number of Freaks,” she said carefully. “None know exactly why, but we all feel it. Maybe that is his reason, too.” She studied me, waiting for a response.
I finally shook my head. “No. He’s after something specific. You said it yourself.” I gathered my thoughts, thinking furiously. Mordred had made it very apparent tonight that he was interested in me, specifically, even going out of his way to gather intelligence on me. A mutual acquaintance of Alaric Slate and I had been gossiping, giving Mordred ammunition for his attack tonight. But I had no idea who that could have been. Alaric and I hadn’t been particularly close. We’d known each other for a few days, tops, before I’d killed him. The pool of potentials was very, very small.
So small, that I couldn’t even think of one. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t one of my friends, and wasn’t any of the dragons, because we’d just cleaned house with them, recently. Who or what could have pointed a flashing arrow down on me as his target?
Then, a very sneaking suspicion came to mind. “What would Mordred want more than anything?” I asked, finally, taking a calming breath and a sip of my wine. I already knew the answer, but I wanted a second opinion.
Alvara thought about it. “The Round Table and Excalibur, surely. But what if he believes those items are no longer in Camelot? Arthur died long ago, as did Merlin. No doubt some thieving wizard stole these things years ago, locking them away in his personal stash. I hear wizards are notorious for it. Like a crow with their shinies. Perhaps Mordred thinks they are here.”
And her eyes slowly locked onto mine like a bird of prey, not accusing, but judging my response.
I kept my face very still, nodding at her words for effect. “You’re probably not wrong…”
Her gaze drifted to the weapons in her umbrella stand. Too casually, they came back to me. “Didn’t your parents amass an Armory?”
Yeah, if she’d come to that conclusion so easily, I was pretty sure Mordred had, too. Where else would you hide a dangerous sword and a magical table?
Maybe that asshole with the magical Armory.
I was pretty sure why Mordred wanted to be my best friend, all of a sudden.
Chapter 13
I met her eyes and nodded. “Neither of those items are in the Armory. I swear it on my wizard’s power,” I told her, casually using my magic to bond me to the oath. She studied me for any sign of deception, but I was telling the truth. “But Mordred doesn’t know that.”
Talon had opened his eyes slightly upon hearing me swear an oath and was now watching us discreetly.
“He thinks your Armory has his heirlooms,” Alvara breathed incredulously.
Any number of people could have told Mordred about my Armory, and it began to make sense why Mordred hadn’t simply come at me with the power of his Nine Souls to lay waste to Chateau Falco to claim control over it. Because destroying my mansion would potentially destroy his only entrance into the Armory.
And I’d inadvertently given him an invitation to my home in two days. Practically bringing him to sit at the Round Table for drinks while we discussed his Round Table Initiative. Even though his aim was off, his arrow would land dangerously close to his prize – the Sanctorum, where the Round Table actually sat. Unless I did something fast, he was about to accidentally hit his target.
And for obvious reasons, I couldn’t very well take Mordred into the Armory to prove that what he sought wasn’t there. Because he might decide that he wanted to go shopping through all the other dangerous magical weapons since he was already there.
Discovering that Armory – the cache of supernatural weapons and fabled magic
al toys my parents had stolen and locked away over the years – had pretty much been the point when my worldview suddenly turned into an extreme close-up of a big, stinky defecation chamber.
Mordred wanted to use his parents’ tools of power to destroy everything they had ever built – poetic justice. And I needed to lock down my parents’ tools of power in order to keep them from Mordred. Irony was a swift flick in the eyeball, some days.
I needed to tell Pandora to lock down the Armory. Tonight.
Alvara cleared her throat, slowly setting down her glass and looking me in the eyes. “Mordred said some things tonight, and I think I’m only just now beginning to read between the lines. He said you had a past – which is impossible. That you pulled him out of a personal hell…” I closed my eyes, deciding not to lie. If Mordred had his way, everyone was going to know soon enough, and likely at the worst possible moment. I needed to get in front of it.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I accidentally broke him out of Hell.”
She sucked in a breath to hear such a thing actually spoken. Suspecting it was different from hearing it. And I hadn’t waffled or dodged the question, something the Fae weren’t familiar with.
Open honesty.
Carl scowled at her. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
Her eyes widened. “With all due respect, Elder Carl, I think it’s exactly as bad as it sounds.”
Carl cocked his head. “I disagree. I found Hell quite pleasant. Nothing like everyone says.”
Talon scoffed, overriding the stunned look on Alvara’s face as he rounded on Carl. “The place was horrifying! I still have nightmares about it!”
Gunnar rolled his eye at the two, maintaining his position between me and Alvara. Like my very own one-eyed secret service. Alvara – if possible – looked even more alarmed. “You were both in Hell with him?” she hissed, her hands shaking in her lap.
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