Predictably, Mordred bristles at the insinuation of a lie.
“My father, Agravaine, was your mother’s brother. So, yes, I am indeed your cousin.”
“Yes, Mordred,” Arthur says slowly. “I recall. Agravaine took up with a slave girl, who bore him a bastard son.”
“I’m as much Agravaine’s son as anyone!” Mordred’s voice is raised and some of the lords furrow their brows in disapproval. I cut in.
“Nothing wrong with a bastard, Mordred. You’re in good company.” I wiggle the fingers of my raised hand. Mordred looks unappeased, and Arthur changes the subject.
“You have a message from my sister?”
Vivienne answers quickly, latching onto the new topic.
“Yes. My lady has a simple message: cease the peace talks with the Saxons, or she will remove the men she has placed under your command. For good.”
Arthur looks grave, as well he should. Morgan’s not inconsiderable support of our campaigning has helped us win many battles. It would be a large blow, a substantial decrease in our manpower. She has let Arthur command them ever since her husband fell ill with a wasting sickness that he has yet to recover from. Now? I don’t know how we would fare without her forces.
The lords look outraged and some sputter with indignation. Mordred finally looks at ease now that he holds the position of power, and Vivienne’s chin is high.
Arthur turns to the men.
“What say you?”
“We are too close to a peace,” says Gawaine. “Losing the troops now will make us look weak, but we need this truce.”
“I agree,” says Percival, a warrior from western Gwent. “A pause in the fighting would give our men a chance to work the fields. We are so close.”
I take a wrinkled autumn apple out of my pocket and carve off a slice with my dagger, then pop the slice in my mouth with the blade and my thumb.
“Morgan’s men are a full fifth of our army,” says Gawaine’s brother Gareth. “We would be very vulnerable without them. Too vulnerable, perhaps. And the peace is no sure thing. Why is Framric taking so long? Is he waiting for good weather to attack us unawares?”
There is some murmuring at this. Arthur listens carefully to all of them, while Mordred and Vivienne stand silent and I eat my apple.
“What do you say, Merlin?” Arthur says finally. “You know the Saxons better than anyone.”
“Too well,” Percival mutters. I stare at him levelly.
“Do you want to say that again, Percival?”
Percival looks down. I chuck my apple core out of the tent flap.
“A Saxon’s word is unbreakable. They would be thrice-cursed by their gods if they renege. No, I believe Framric is thinking very carefully on terms that would be acceptable to us. The Saxons have sustained heavy losses at the end of our swords, and I’ll wager he’s thinking twice about engaging us in battle once more.”
“Good,” says Arthur. “Then we might still have the advantage. We look weak without Morgan’s men but that’s only if we show the Saxons our loss. We can pretend—light extra night fires, patrol the edge of the river with more men than we might normally—and the Saxons will never know the difference.”
Heads nod and murmurs of agreement travel around the tent. Arthur nods, satisfied.
“Is there any dissent to the plan?” Silence. “Good. Then the peace talks will continue. Mordred, Vivienne, you may take your lady’s men with you when you leave. And you can tell my sister that fighting is not the only way.”
CHAPTER XV
It’s ten o’clock by the time Anna’s movements on the bed jostle me awake. There’s something that is supposed to happen this morning—what is it? I don’t teach until later.
“Morning,” Anna spies my open eyes. “At least, I think it’s still morning. I hope you have something good for breakfast. I’m starving.”
Oh, well. It can’t be that important if I can’t remember it.
“I’m sure we can find something. Would pancakes satisfy?”
She runs her hand down my arm, then sits up.
“Sounds perfect.” She saunters over to my closet and rifles through my shirts. A white dress shirt evidently passes muster, because she slides it off the hanger, slips her arms into the sleeves, and carefully fastens two well-placed buttons. The shirt tail only just covers her bottom. I hide a smile. Everything Anna does is so artful, perfectly calculated yet with an air of nonchalance. Choosing the revealing shirt is especially amusing, since the housecoat I gave her last night is directly at her feet.
Anna disappears into the bathroom while I pull on jeans and pad to the kitchen. That humming from last night is still here, too low to truly be heard, and yet there it is. I frown.
“Anna? Can you hear that humming? It’s still going.”
She peeks out and listens with a tilted head.
“No, you’re imagining things. How are the pancakes coming?”
She smiles sweetly at me when I raise an eyebrow, and shuts the door. Strange—I wonder where the hum is coming from. It’s getting on my nerves.
Back in the kitchen, I gather ingredients. Flour, salt, sugar, baking powder—I love the chemical simplicity of this item—crack an egg, glug of milk, liberal slab of butter. I pause for a moment to appreciate the grocery store, where all these ingredients are pre-processed, with no work on my part. I’ve tried my hand at churning butter, and it’s a tedious task.
Anna emerges when the first of the batter lands on the frying pan with a sizzle.
“Mmm, I can’t wait.”
“Syrup or honey?” I hold up a jug of maple syrup in one hand and a ceramic pot of honey in the other, the honey pot covered in sticky drips from frequent use. I enjoy maple syrup, the national pride of my current home country, but honey has always been my first and most beloved sweet.
“Syrup,” Anna replies promptly, as expected. When I put the containers down on the counter, my index finger smears a thick blob of honey. I’d been trying to avoid that.
“Damn.” I show Anna the sticky digit. “I really need to wipe that down.”
“Here.” She grabs my hand and brings it to her mouth. Her tongue reaches out as her mouth opens to receive my finger. I have no objection, and I’m intrigued enough that I ignore the banging noise from one of my neighbors. We draw closer and her lips close around my finger while her tongue continues to lick the honey. I like where this is going.
“Oh! Sorry, oh—uh—” A voice from the hallway sputters. Anna and I turn to face the voice and my finger slides out of her mouth. Jen and Alejandro stare back. Alejandro’s cheeks are ruddy with embarrassment and Jen clutches her purse tightly. “Sorry, Merry, I didn’t—I’m just dropping Alejandro off like I said I would. Remember?”
“Right. Is it that late already? Time flies,” I say. Anna gives an amused chuckle. “Come in, both of you. If you were any more embarrassed, I’d mistake you both for tomatoes. Coffee?”
“No, thanks,” Jen says. She looks more closely at Anna. “You look familiar. From Wallerton, right?”
“Good memory,” Anna says. She turns to run a hand across my bare chest. “I’ll take a shower. Save some pancakes for me.”
Anna nods at the other two as she walks unhurriedly to the bathroom. Alejandro leaps out of her way and tries to avoid watching the shirt above her legs wiggle teasingly. Jen waits to speak until the bathroom door closes.
“Are you out of your mind?” she hisses. My shirt from last night is on the floor nearby and I pull it on while Jen speaks. “That’s Anna. The crazy woman who tried to blow up Wallerton. She’s part of Potestas. Remember? The people who tried to kill you?”
“I hadn’t forgotten. Trust me, all that went through my head when she showed up at my door last night. But you forget that I have some special insight into people’s true emotions.” I sweep my hand around Jen’s head to indicate the lauvan swirling there, invisible to all but me. Jen’s lauvan are currently dancing with agitation and fear. Fear for me? I give her a r
eassuring smile. “Anna’s lauvan check out with her story. She left Potestas because I’d been shot—she didn’t like their methods.”
“But geologic disaster is fine.”
I shrug.
“She had a change of heart. It happens—sometimes.”
“Or she’s a good liar, and you can’t keep it in your pants.”
I feel my face grow hard. Judgement from Jen, a mere child in the course of my lifetime, is hard to swallow. Jen has no idea what my life is like, can’t possibly imagine how I make the choices I do. She doesn’t understand, can’t understand, the need to pretend for just one night that I’m not alone in the crippling vastness of time.
Although she might have a point—Anna didn’t have to try too hard last night. I pass my hand over my face, scrubbing away my expression, but not before I see Jen’s face. She knows she went too far.
“What’s done is done,” I say. “As far as I can tell, she’s on board.”
Jen sighs explosively and grabs a pancake from the frying pan. She tosses it from one hand to another to cool before she pops it in her mouth.
“I hope you’re right. It’s just that you said yourself that you can be blind to good judgement when a woman is involved.”
My mouth twitches with the hint of a smile.
“I don’t believe that’s quite the phrasing I used. I promise I’m being careful—she really does appear genuine.”
Jen harrumphs but makes no answer. Alejandro points to the pancakes.
“Merlo, they’re burning. Can I help?”
“Oops. Please.” I pass him the batter and put the kettle under the faucet.
“Merry, that reminds me,” Jen says. “I was doing genealogy research for my mother. She’s terrible with computers. Anyway, she paid for one of those subscription services for old records: birth, death, parish notes, military, the works. I managed to go back to seventeen fifty on her father’s side.” She grips the counter. “I tried to look your family up.”
I pause to look at her incredulously. She did what? Jen takes a breath and continues.
“I thought you might be interested in your history. But there really aren’t many Lyttons in Wales.”
Alejandro is frozen behind Jen, a caricature of alarm on his face. I would laugh if the stakes weren’t so high. Instead, I finish filling the kettle then put it on the stove to boil. Jen shifts her feet from side to side.
“Then before I searched further, I started thinking—Lytton isn’t a Welsh name, is it? And why does Alejandro’s family know you as Merlo Nuanez? Are you on the run? What’s really going on? What did you lie to me about, your birthplace or your name?” Jen’s expression is equal parts fear, anger, and determination.
What do I say?
“Perhaps I wasn’t born Merry Lytton.” I open a cupboard to take out two coffee cups. “Perhaps I had to change it. Perhaps there’s a good reason for that, which I’m not ready to share with you. Yet.”
“Are you serious? More than…” She wiggles her fingers in midair. I laugh in spite of everything.
The bathroom door opens, and Jen says, “We’re not done this conversation, Merry. I think I’ve earned your trust after the volcano.” Jen marches to the door and Alejandro hurries after.
“Where are you going, Alejandro?” I call after him.
“There is a café downstairs. I think I will try it this morning.”
The door closes, and Anna strolls into the kitchen.
“I think I scared away your guests.” She daintily lifts a pancake from the frying pan between her nails. “You’re burning them.”
I snatch a fork and hastily scoop up burned pancakes. My insides are writhing and breakfast holds no appeal. What the hell was Jen researching me for? What will I say the next time she brings it up?
“Too bad you burned the pancakes.” Anna examines one darkened side, then shrugs and pops it in her mouth. “I’m a terrible cook, but I bake the best cakes. I’ve examined my past lives with hypnosis, and I’m fairly positive I was a baker three lifetimes ago.”
I try not to choke on my coffee. Anna doesn’t notice.
“What about you, Merry? Have you had any insight into your past lives?”
One ridiculously long lifetime is enough for me.
“Can’t say I’ve undergone much introspection in that direction.” Time to change topic. As fascinating as Anna’s so-called past lives undoubtedly are, I have a pressing need for information. I carry a plate of salvaged pancakes to the table, followed by Anna with the syrup and honey, before I ask her. “What can you tell me about my shooter? Second rule of battle: know your enemy.”
“What’s the first rule?”
“Sharpen your sword.” I grin at her and she raises an eyebrow.
“Drew is a loose cannon. High as a kite, sometimes—I don’t know what he’s on, but he can’t kick it. That’s why he was recruited. He’s desperate to quit, but he can’t do it on his own. It’s a bit sad, really. Mmm,” she sips her coffee. “Just what I wanted.”
I would chastise her lack of empathy but I’m feeling less than charitable after having been shot.
“Recruited? Why would Potestas want a drug addict who’s barely keeping it together? What for?”
“Sure, he’s a bit out of control sometimes, but incredibly loyal. He’d do anything for the cause. And the organization is not entirely evil—some of their methods might be questionable, but they do have good intentions.”
“And what is the road to hell paved with?” I mutter rhetorically. When Anna looks at me inquisitively, I shake my head. “Nothing. Can anyone join Potestas? Is there an application?”
Anna shrugs and takes a bite of pancake.
“I don’t know much. I didn’t get very far in. The higher-ups only told us newcomers what we needed to know. What with the secrecy, and the shooting, I had to leave. As far as I know, Drew wasn’t acting on Potestas’ orders. He went rogue. But still, there was no action taken against him by the org, none at all. From where I stood, they condoned his actions. And that, I could never agree with.” She smiles at me and reaches over to caress the knuckles of my hand.
“Why is Drew so desperate, so loyal? What does he stand to gain?”
“You remember when I told you about the spirits, on the mountain?”
Hard to forget. Her wild exuberance at the coming destruction, the billowing volcano as backdrop—it left an impression. I wonder uneasily what I’m doing sitting across from her at the breakfast table.
“I remember. Something about possession.”
“That’s right. The disruption of Mt. Linnigan was in preparation to release the elementals, in order for them to share bodies with members of Potestas. In return for allowing possession, the spirits would give us extraordinary skills and abilities.”
“And what was Drew so keen to get?”
“He was promised a release from his addiction,” Anna says in a hushed voice. “A whole new lease on life. It’s all he wants, what he’s so desperate to have. And right now, they managed to get him a partial spirit takeover using an amulet of power, so he can see what it would feel like. It’s only for a short time, though, and he doesn’t want to go back to the way things were. Not at all.”
Now the fear and desperation oozing from the glossy gray lauvan finally make sense. But there’s one more piece of the puzzle I don’t know.
“Why is he after me?”
“You’re the one who stopped the plan in Wallerton. You got in the way of his transcendence. To him, you’re dangerous, and in the way, and you’re at large to defeat Potestas’ future plans. He can’t let anything else get between him and his goal.”
I lean back in my chair to digest this information, and stare at Anna while she daintily pours syrup on her last pancake. Now the truth is out. Drew is still after me, armed, dangerous, spirits on his side, and a desperation so intense I can almost smell his fear from here. He won’t stop until I am dead.
Good luck with that.
“How
did you manage to destroy the necklace, figure out what to do at Mt. Linnigan?” Anna avoids my eyes and takes a nonchalant bite, but her lauvan are tense and waiting. She wants to know, has perhaps been waiting for the right moment to ask. I’m on my guard. Time to think fast.
“You said it had to be destroyed to sever the connection to the spirit world. I ran back to my car, poured my spare can of gasoline onto it, and lit it on fire. I fed the flames with enough dry branches to melt the metal.”
There are plenty of holes in my story—there’s no way I could have built a hot enough fire to melt metal in the few minutes I had to spare, and I don’t carry a spare gas can—but it satisfies Anna, who looks slightly disappointed.
“How did you know what was going on? It’s almost like you had some way of knowing things that others don’t.” She gazes at me searchingly. I give her a disarming smile.
“I’m a good detective. I hate to rush you, but I do have to get to work.”
“Of course, I’ll leave you in peace.” She stands and clears the dishes.
“What’s your plan? What will you do now?”
“I don’t know if I dare stay in Vancouver. I’m afraid of what the org might do when they realize I’ve deserted the cause.”
“Wallerton?”
“I can’t go back there.” She grimaces. “Too many bridges burned, too much like a step backward. Maybe I’ll head east, try somewhere new.”
I follow her to the door. At the threshold, she turns.
“Thank you for being there for me.”
“Take care of yourself, Anna.” I kiss her cheek. She smiles and walks down the hall without answering.
***
I find Alejandro where promised, in the coffee shop on the ground floor of my building. He looks both relieved and disappointed to see me alone.
“I’m heading to the university now,” I say without preamble. “Would you like a ride anywhere?”
“I’d like to see the university.”
“Need anything upstairs?”
“No, but I was thinking, grandfather’s notebook. Is there something in it, some ideas, to fight the attacks?”
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