She squealed around the next corner and was five blocks away before the sirens started after her.
“The cops here are a little slow on the uptake, aren’t they?” Alex said.
“That’s Hopes Fort,” Frank said. “Is everyone okay?”
“I don’t think they even hit the car.”
Evie drove until the pavement gave way to dirt. One car screeched to a stop at an intersection to avoid hitting them, the only oncoming traffic they encountered. Once again, that was Hopes Fort. But the sirens—two or three sets of them—were getting closer.
A flash ahead caught her attention. One of the cars was approaching from the other direction. They were going to hem her in.
Out of town now, all around them lay barren winter fields, plowed clean, waiting for spring planting.
She hoped the sedan had good tires.
White-knuckled, glancing manically in the rearview mirror, Evie leaned the wheel to the right. The car slid off the road, listing as it rolled onto the shoulder, which sloped to a ditch. Steering a wide arc meant she didn’t have to touch the brakes, and she had no faith in her ability to execute a Hollywood turn-on-a-dime at high speed. In moments, she was driving across the field, spewing a cloud of dirt behind her. She checked her mirrors and couldn’t see the cop cars through the dust.
An honest-to-God car chase, straight out of an issue of Eagle Eye Commandos. Not to mention the larger-than-life heroes surrounding her. She couldn’t wait to tell Bruce about this.
Home was about five miles ahead. She’d never considered going anywhere else. No one argued, so she kept going. Home was safe; the others must have thought so, too.
“They don’t seem to be following,” Arthur said, twisting to look out the back window.
The police cars were still there: One stopped on the road, two others slid down the embankment to the field, where, near as Evie could tell, their tires were spinning. They were shrouded in a huge cloud of dust, which was getting farther and farther away. Hopes Fort police cars: ten years old and in need of new tires. Or maybe they had a little luck on their side. Merlin was still out there, after all.
Something thudded against the right side of the car. Evie looked in her mirrors, out the window, but she couldn’t see what had struck them. It almost sounded like she’d hit an animal.
The same noise slammed against the left side, and suddenly a canine head thrust over her father’s still-open window. Paws hitched over the glass, it barked, guttural and ferocious, saliva spraying, eyes dark and shining. Alex pulled her father away, and Evie used the master control to shut the window. It slid closed slowly, and the barks still echoed, even after the animal lost its purchase and fell away.
The hits sounded all around them now, animals throwing themselves against the car on all sides.
“Coyotes,” Frank said.
Evie drove through the middle of a swarm of them. They came from all sides to intercept her, inexplicably committing suicide in their attempt to jump on the car, to claw through the metal. The prairie was filled with coyotes; they yodeled at each other through the night when she’d lived here. She hadn’t imagined so many of them, though. Hundreds of them came at her, a sea of fur.
Her instincts cried for her to stop the car. She hated driving over them, hurting them. But if she stopped, they’d rush the sedan and maybe find a way inside.
“They’re Hera’s,” Arthur said.
“Or one of her followers’.” Alex watched out the back window as the sea of coyotes, alive and dead, spilled away.
She thought she’d be driving too fast for them, even over the dirt, and that they couldn’t keep up. But new ones, seeming to spring from the earth itself, replaced the old.
“They can’t hurt us,” Frank said, but his tone was uncertain.
Alex huffed. “Yeah, until we try to get out of the car.”
That problem presented itself quickly as the Walker house appeared, a block on the flat horizon.
“Do I slow down or what?” Evie said.
No one answered, and she swerved, hoping for a solution to present itself in the extra few moments.
“You might as well stop,” Alex said. “We’ll run out of gas eventually.”
“What about the coyotes?”
“One thing at a time.”
Bouncing hard, passing from cropland to the dried-up grasses of the prairie, which was untilled and rocky, Evie aimed for the house. Her passengers braced against the front seat. She paralleled the road leading to the house and counted it a small blessing that no police cars were waiting there. The broken highway had helped them on that front.
The car’s shocks were shot. She didn’t dare slow down, but the vehicle slid and swerved under her, the wheel jerking out of her hand. She clung to it to try to keep it steady, like she was guiding a ship in a storm. She’d never noticed so many ditches and dips in the land, which she had always insisted was maddeningly flat.
One last burst of gas, one last rise to scale, and she roared onto the driveway, cut left toward the house, throwing the men to one side of the seat. She hit the brakes, the car lurched, and they were still. She gasped, and her heart pounded like she’d run the whole way from town herself.
Two dozen or so coyotes swarmed around the car, yipping and leaping to claw at the windows, which were smeared with their saliva and blood.
“Now what?” Her voice quailed.
Arthur, sword in hand, prepared to open the door. “Close it when I’m out,” he said to Alex, next to him.
“Are you crazy?” Evie cried.
But he’d already shoved the door open with his feet. Slashing a clear path with Excalibur, he gripped the edge of the roof and hauled himself up. The sound echoed inside the car as he hit the roof and steadied himself. Alex kicked a coyote away and slammed the door shut as soon as he was clear.
As the chalky smell of the dust settled, the coyotes’ scent became discernible—a musky animal odor of unwashed fur and hostility. One of them sprang onto the hood of the car. Evie flinched back as it lunged up the windshield, its claws smacking the glass. Excalibur swept down, caught the animal on the shoulder, and cut deep. It squealed and fell, rolling off the hood. Then Arthur was at the back of the car, stabbing a coyote crawling up the trunk.
“It almost makes it all worthwhile,” Frank said, his voice hushed. “Getting to see him fight.”
The sword flashed again, and another coyote yipped and fell.
Alex shook his head. “This isn’t a proper fight. It’s slaughter. This wasn’t meant to hurt us. It was meant to slow us down, annoy us. She still needs one of you alive, to get into the Storeroom.”
A new sound entered the fray, more barking, but deeper, rougher, from a large dog. Queen Mab came racing from the back of the house, eating yards at a time with her great stride.
She barreled into the nearest coyote, slamming her claws on it and closing her jaws around its neck. It yelped, and blood poured into its sandy fur. In a moment it lay still. Three others sprang at the wolfhound.
“She’ll be killed,” Evie said, her breath catching. “They’ll kill her.”
But Mab wouldn’t be left out of the fight. Her purpose was to defend the house.
Mab writhed and caught a coyote by the throat, even as another scraped its claws down her back. She didn’t seem to notice, wanting only to kill her enemies. Arthur’s sword swung again, another coyote fell, and Evie hoped that Arthur could kill enough of them to be able to help Mab before the coyotes finished her.
It would be far too close. For every throat Mab ripped out, two more coyotes rose up to sink their fangs into her legs and flanks. Arthur stood on the hood now, slashing to keep them away from her, hollering at them to get away.
A bright light flashed, like lightning, though the sky held no storm clouds. Arthur fell to his knees, shielding his eyes with his left arm, and the coyotes yipped and cowered away.
A voice rumbled a word that Evie couldn’t make out, but it rattled her bones. Sh
e covered her ears to make it stop. They all covered their ears, even Arthur. He kept Excalibur in hand, though he hunched over on the hood of the car, distracted. Vulnerable.
Evie thought the worst until the coyotes, the dozen or so that were left, gathered themselves and ran, bundles of wounded fur and muscle racing from the driveway onto the prairie.
A falcon hovered over the newly cleared driveway. Then another flash of light blazed, and the falcon disappeared.
Merlin stood before them, his sleeves rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone.
At once, they all left the car. Claw marks scored the paint all over it. Arthur jumped off the roof and met his friend and mentor, clasping his arms.
“A simple scouting mission, you said,” Merlin grumbled.
Evie and her father went to Mab, who was panting hard and trying to pick herself up. The hound was more red than gray, bleeding from gouges taken out of her neck, shoulders, back, flanks, and belly. She flattened her ears, peered up at them, wagged her tail a couple of times, and didn’t make a sound.
Cradling Mab’s head, Evie heard herself making nonsensical comforting noises, telling Mab what a good girl she was. She was a foolish dog, really—she didn’t have to fling herself into the fight like that. She should have stayed safe. But she was a dog with a mission, and who was Evie to criticize?
Her father took longer to lower himself to the ground, on obviously complaining limbs. He hissed with pain before adding his own voice to Mab’s praises. “That’s a girl, it’s okay, girl.”
Alex knelt beside her. “How is she?”
First aid didn’t seem remotely useful. Evie said, “I don’t know.”
“Well, her tail’s still wagging, so it can’t be too bad, eh?”
Mab’s watery gaze seemed to ask him if he were joking.
“Can you do something for her?” Frank rubbed Mab’s head, almost absently.
“I’ve been a soldier for over three thousand years. I ought to be able to dress a few wounds. Let’s see if we can get her into the house.”
“I’ve got her.” Arthur had joined them. He got to one knee and scooped the hound up in his arms. Mab’s immense body nearly obscured him, but he hefted the weight with seemingly little effort. He moved slowly and carefully. Mab yelped once, but didn’t struggle.
Slowly, with Frank leading the way and Alex walking near Arthur, they went into the house.
Merlin hung back, scanning the prairie around the house. Evie waited for him.
“They’re out there,” he said. “A gathering storm. They’ll lay siege to the place.”
Movement caught her gaze. She looked out to what had drawn his attention. A few coyotes remained, loping around the edge of the property. They didn’t approach or make any threatening moves; rather, they seemed to be patrolling, marking a circuit around the house, watching for anything that might approach, or try to leave.
“What do we do?” she asked.
“Wait. Plan. Pray, if you’re so inclined.”
And whom did one pray to, when deities appeared and kidnapped your father? They went to the house. Merlin backed up to the porch, keeping his gaze outward, still searching the surrounding fields.
The others had placed Mab on a bath towel on the kitchen table. Alex presided over the impromptu operating table. His tools were a bottle of peroxide, a box of gauze, and a thread and needle.
“She’s going to be fine,” he told Evie after she’d locked the door. “So long as she doesn’t enthusiastically rip the stitches out as soon as I’m done. But you wouldn’t do that, would you, girl?”
Mab gamely attempted a tail wag. Her expression was humanly woeful.
He continued conversationally, “And I suppose you’ve had your rabies shots? Never mind.”
Her father leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his stomach.
“Dad, are you okay?”
“You didn’t have to come after me like that,” he said, his voice low.
Her tone was matter-of-fact: “Yes, I did.”
“She didn’t act alone, Mr. Walker,” Arthur said.
Her father closed his eyes. “I know. Thank you. Thank you all. Alex, let me get you a clean shirt. That one’s a little messed up.”
The front of Alex’s shirt was scarlet. The rest of them had escaped relatively unscathed, but he looked like he’d seen battle. “Thanks. That’d be nice.”
Frank started to turn, then stumbled, slumping against the wall.
Evie reached his side in a heartbeat. Arthur was there as well, lunging across the kitchen. Alex, needle in hand, could only watch.
He brushed them away. “It’s the stress catching up with me, that’s all.”
“Dad!” Recriminations were laden in the word. Tension edged her voice.
Not waiting for explanations, Arthur stepped in and pulled Frank’s arm over his shoulders. “Come along, friend.”
“Bed,” he said with a sigh.
“That’s right.”
Evie followed them, wondering why her father would accept help from a mythical stranger and not from her. Though she supposed you didn’t argue when King Arthur insisted on carrying you to bed.
As a final insult, her father indicated for Arthur to pause outside the bedroom door. “Evie, stay here.”
Arthur took him inside and closed the door.
Back to the wall, she slid to the floor, pressed her face to her knees, and covered her head with her hands.
Some long minutes later, the door opened and closed again. Arthur emerged, a white T-shirt in hand, which he put over the back of a chair near Alex.
Arthur then moved to sit on the floor beside her. “He took something for the pain. He’s resting now.”
She sniffed loudly and wiped her face, attempting to hide that she’d been crying. She looked away from him, not wanting him to see. Her voice caught, though, and betrayed her. “I try to help him, but there’s nothing I can do.”
“No,” he said. “There isn’t.”
He touched her shoulder, and she took in the invitation to lean against him while he held her, his chin resting on her head.
At least she wasn’t alone anymore. How bad could things be if Arthur of legend was fighting for her? He didn’t seem much like a legend just now. He was a solid, human presence, warm and protective. She rested in his arms, grateful for the moment to catch her breath.
A throat-clearing sounded nearby. Alex, looking sheepish.
“I was wondering if I could get help carrying Her Majesty to the sofa? The dog,” he explained, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder when Arthur looked quizzically at him.
Evie stood quickly, flushing, embarrassed that she was flushing because she had nothing to flush about. Except that Alex was staring at her like she did.
Arthur carried Mab to the sofa. The dog filled all of it but a corner where Evie sat and stroked her head. The fur there was silky, flat against her skull. She hoped to calm the dog into sleeping, giving her wounds a chance to heal. It hurt to see proud Mab so weak.
Alex stood behind the sofa and watched over them. Arthur had moved away, to look out a window.
Merlin watched Alex closely. “Three thousand years, you said. That would make you older than I am.”
“Likely,” Alex said without facing the wizard.
“How? How does one live so long and survive being run through by Excalibur? You must be one of the old gods. Like her.”
Alex looked at each of them, Evie last. His hands clenched on the back of the sofa. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave, turn and storm out as he’d done whenever she’d asked too many questions. But Merlin was difficult to refuse.
When he finally spoke, he spoke to her. “I fought beside Odysseus in the Trojan War. The day after we entered the city”—he didn’t have to tell that part of the story—“I was taken prisoner by Apollo, who was unhappy with the turn of events. He enslaved me and intended to keep me for all eternity, enspelling me, to make me ageless and impe
rvious to harm. Things didn’t quite work out, but I was stuck.”
“Apollo the god?” Merlin said.
“He wasn’t a god.” Alex straightened and paced along the back of the sofa, his gaze downcast. “Hera isn’t a god. None of them were. They were just people with too much power who used it for their own gains. You, Merlin—you matched her in a fight. You have as much power as any of them. You could have been a god, but instead you chose to serve. That has been one of the worst frustrations of my long life—living among the prayers, the shrines, the temples, the saints and knowing all the while that the gods we worship are just people.”
Arthur had found a cloth dish towel from the kitchen and was cleaning Excalibur. The movements were slow, methodical. He said, “There is the one God. The true God.”
Alex suppressed a chuckle and shook his head. “They died. The gods I worshipped as a boy are all dead. Zeus sacrificed himself to destroy the ancient pantheon and change the world. That’s what it takes to change the world, you know: a person of great power sacrificing himself, trading his own life for the transformation. So he did, and in a few years, the footprints of the many gods faded. When the gods stopped answering prayers in so personal a manner as the myths tell, the myths changed, the many gods became one. A god who was an idea rather than a person was born. He became all gods.”
“Then what of Christ his Son?” Arthur said, true to his own legend.
“Do you know I saw him once?” Alex, brash and insensitive, continued. “He could have been the greatest wizard since Zeus himself. The power of Zeus, the charisma of Apollo—he could have been a god. But a lot of magic had left the world by that time. It’s my theory that he learned somehow of what Zeus had done—the sacrifice of self for power. It’s a story in so many cultures: the hero gives his life to restore his land, and is reborn as the king. That was what he was trying to do, I think. He succeeded, in a sense: I think he’d have been surprised to learn how far his name has spread. And how it is used. But he gave his life for that fame. His followers wait for his coming that never happens. And meanwhile, thousands of minor wizards work their magic in his name and call them miracles.”
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