by J. M. Briggs
“Alex?” Aiden called softly. “You ready to try?”
Try? She blinked in confusion as she automatically swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. Then her brain caught up as Bran gave her a pointed look. Right they were going to try and trigger a vision if nothing happened when she got here.
“Yeah.” She cleaned her fingers off on the paper napkin. “Nothing so far… just all a bit familiar in a weird way.”
“Well, that’s something,” Bran said. “So I’ll give you some of my magic and see if we can help you see something specific.”
“Right,” Alex agreed with a small smile. “Worked in Wales.” She giggled a bit nervously. “We found a dragon.”
“Wonder what we’ll find this time,” Lance murmured with a look to Jenny who gave an anxious laugh.
Alex crossed her legs and rolled her shoulders trying to shake off the building tension. As expected no one was paying any attention to them. Bran offered her a reassuring smile as he sat opposite to her. In the corner of her eye, Alex saw Nicki move her fingers and a few sparks of her blue magic appear. She offered Alex a wink and Alex nodded at the silent promise to watch over them.
Bran held his hands out towards her, resting his wrists on his knees that were almost touching hers. Alex hesitated and formed her fingers into a fist as she noticed they were trembling. There were a dozen thoughts zinging through her head and fighting to be heard, but they were all fearful. Her stomach turned and her lungs compressed as if something was being pushed against them. The edge of her vision blurred and a rush of fear flashed through her.
Grabbing Bran’s hands before the fear could descend into another panic attack, Alex kept her eyes down so he and the others wouldn’t see her reaction. Bran squeezed her hands and Alex felt a flush of shame, certain that he knew what was happening. Still, he stayed silent and Alex focused on her desire to see more of Eckstein’s life. It was impossible to visualize the desire, realizing that she had only a rough idea of what he looked like due to his children.
Alex could feel the magic creeping over her. It was like stepping into a warm mist as it settled over her. Her own glittering dark silver, iron colored, magic flickered over her skin so faintly that she suspected only she could see it. Bran’s yellow magic was barely visible in the sunlight and she watched silently as it blended with hers, changing into the color of her own magic.
“Never going to get used to that,” Alex said.
“Yes you will,” Bran said gently. “It’ll be okay, Alex,” he whispered in a low voice. “Just keep breathing.”
She wanted to snap at him. Alex could feel the words rush to the tip of her tongue, but somehow she kept her jaw shut and the words inside. Bran just squeezed her hands again and the flow of magic eased a little as he gave her some more time. Closing her eyes, Alex exhaled slowly and began to repeat the name Gottfried Eckstein in her mind over and over. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but she could feel something happening as the magic flared in her chest. Her head was heavy. She tried to open her eyes only for the world to drift away.
Awareness returned in an instant as if they had just blinked. There was a moment of confusion and a sense of déjà vu that they didn’t understand but easily dismissed. They were walking towards the house again, but they could see tiny changes that marked the passage of time. Part of the fence and the front shutters were in need of fresh paint. Flowers in the window boxes were beginning to bloom and the sound of birds drifted down from the tree. Yet the chill that they’d been living with seemed worse than ever. They glanced back towards one of the other houses on the street.
One of the neighbors was out by their garden watching them with sharp eyes, but looked down quickly. Moving forward, they shifted the leather bag they were carrying to their left hand and tried to ignore the sense of being watched. The wind began to pick up and above their head, the leaves rustled. In front of them, the door opened and Ilse stepped into view. There was a tired smile on her face and they offered her one in return. As they stepped through the doorway and into the entry they let out a soft exhale. Ilse’s hand came up to cup their cheek spreading warmth into their face. It was pleasant and they closed their eyes for a moment.
“Welcome home.” Ilse leaned up to kiss their cheek.
“You alright?” they asked as the door closed behind them and they read the tension on her shoulders.
“Mister Fischer was taken today,” Ilse answered in a low voice. “For reeducation.”
“Oh…” they gasped, uncertain of what to say.
“Someone heard him make a comment about business being bad,” Ilse began to explain in an almost frantic rush. Locking the door, they quickly escorted her deeper into the house and hopefully away from any eager ears. “They can’t do this!” Ilse snapped. They entered the kitchen and she slammed her hands down onto the counter. “He’s a good man! He shouldn’t have to-”
“Ilse,” they scolded in a low voice. “Quiet! Everything listens now, you know that.”
She lowered her eyes, a look of defeat that made their heart clench and ache. Stepping forward to wrap their arms around her, they closed their eyes and breathed in the smell of the earth from the back garden. Her head rested against their chest and for a moment the lingering chill eased.
“We’re luckier than most,” Ilse admitted a few moments later. “We could be living in the middle of the city rather than outside of it. At least we have some privacy. We don’t have to be as afraid as other, but Gottfried I’m so tired of being afraid.”
“I know,” they answered softly, kissing her forehead. “I know, Ilse. If there was a way…” They sighed and closed their eyes, letting the wish go silent. Now they weren’t even sure what to wish for. “I’ve….” They released her and took a step back, trying to take a deep breath, but failed. Stumbling for a moment, they fell back against the table in the kitchen. It rattled slightly, the plates and silverware shifting. “I’ve got to join the Nazi party. There was an SS agent at the university today.”
“They-” Ilse gasped and then she covered her face with her hands. “What… what are you going to do?”
“There really isn’t a choice,” they reminded her weakly.
“But, Gottfried, you don’t approve of this. How can you put your name on this?”
“We have four children to feed, to clothe and care for,” they finally said. “If it were just me Ilse… but no one questions government acts. You can’t. There won’t be anyone who will help us and you aren’t allowed to work anymore.” Head sinking and shoulders slumping in defeat they added, “I’ll agree. Happily of course. Leave no room for anyone to question and report us.”
“Enrich will be pleased,” Isle forced out, her lip trembling slightly, but that was as close to crying as she got. “He’s been asking about why you weren’t a member already.”
“I never considered myself a man who would ever strike his children, but…”
“I know,” Isle reassured him. She slotted her body against theirs and laying her head against their chest. “I almost struck him myself two days ago when he said that it was right and good to rid ourselves of the Jews.” She sniffed and they thought the tears might now come. “They’ve taken their children from us. Taken out all the ethics and reason we tried to give them and poured blind loyalty and cruelty in its place.”
The wind outside was howling just enough that they didn’t feel terror at her saying those words out loud. Enrich was out at one of the many activities, Reinhold was with his friends and the girls were upstairs. There was a hum in the air, a vibration that danced across the back of their neck. This wasn’t what they were supposed to be seeing and that strange thought made them frown, but they didn’t move. The odd feeling grew and there was a zing of energy down their arm that made them shift suddenly as the world and Ilse faded.
Opening her eyes, Alex stayed completely still and let the sunshine warm her suddenly icy skin. For a moment she was confused. The air suddenly smelled and tasted different. Th
e faces around her were strange until her memory of them suddenly snapped back into place. She kept her lips sealed and stayed silent, afraid of what she might say if she allowed herself to. Her stomach was tied in knots and she regretted that sandwich.
“Alex?” Bran called softly. “Did it work?”
“I connected,” Alex said quickly.
“Did you see the hammer?” Nicki asked with a glance around. “Anything useful?”
“No,” Alex forced out. “We need to go later. This was too early again.” Alex closed her eyes again for a moment and almost savored the fear and dread she could still feel lurking in her body. It was strange to be grateful for it, but she understood why at least. On multiple levels. “Just give me a few minutes,” she said. “Then we can try again.”
“Do you think it’ll work?” Lance asked her with a frown, drawing her attention to him. “Is this helping?”
“I still don’t know when or how Gottfried found the hammer,” Alex told him as a real smile began to tug at her lips. “But I can tell you that he was absolutely trying to protect it from the Nazis.”
“That may be why you saw that,” Bran told her softly. “You needed to know that first.”
Pausing, Alex considered the words and gave him a sheepish nod and smile. “Yeah,” she agreed a moment later. “I think you’re right. Let’s try again.” Alex held her hands out towards Bran, drawing a look of surprise from him.
“What? Are you sure?” Bran asked, his lips twisting into a worried frown.
“Yes,” Alex insisted. “I was focusing on him and not the hammer. I’ll focus on the hammer this time like I did the chalice. Either I’ll see where it is now or learn more about how it got from Norway to France.”
She could see the hesitation on Bran’s face though the others all looked fine with the idea. Nicki even looked excited. “Relax Bran, she’ll be fine,” Nicki told him. “Unless… are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine,” Bran answered with a nod. He looked like he was going to say something more, but instead held his hands out towards Alex again. “Once more unto the breach.”
“I’m not sure Shakespeare is appropriate here,” Alex replied. She focused her attention on his hands and held onto the relief she felt from seeing Eckstein. Underneath it was more of that nervous dreading energy that she didn’t know what to do with.
“I disagree,” Bran replied softly. They linked their hands together and the magic began to flow.
20
His Partner
Wet was not a state that Merlin enjoyed. His shoes sloshed on the pebbly beach of Ravens Lake as he forced himself to walk towards the street. Thankfully there wasn’t any traffic on the northern side of the lake and no one around to witness Professor Ambrose Yates soaked from the belt down. He hummed thoughtfully to himself, lamenting the loss of control over the tunnel while reminding himself to be grateful that he’d made it to Ravenslake at all. He had warned the children about water travel in the past and had lost students to the swirling depths before. Calling on his magic, Merlin opened his hand as green sparks began to illuminate his skin. With a simple command, he dried his pants and boots, removing the unpleasant moisture from his person.
When he reached the road he looked around to get his bearings only to sigh. Morgana’s home was much closer than his own. Shaking his head, he started to walk up the road and watching for the turnoff to his fellow mage’s residence. He gripped the strap of the backpack tightly in one hand and kept an ear open for any sound of the jars being disturbed.
Soon enough he was walking up the drive of Morgana’s home with the gravel shifting beneath his feet and the Victorian style home towering over him. Thankfully, her red car was in the drive and Merlin trudged up onto the porch. Ringing the doorbell, Merlin reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to loosen the tension gathering at the base of his skull.
The door opened, just a little at first, but then all the way as Morgana saw who it was. “Ambrose.” Morgana raised an eyebrow with a curious glint in her green eyes. She took him quickly even as she stepped to the side of the door and gestured him inside. “What happened to you?”
“Good to see you too, Morgana,” Merlin greeted. He was suddenly aware of the dried lines of mud across his pants and boots. “I had a slight problem with the water tunnel on my way back. Your home was closer.”
“You’d better have more than that as an explanation.” Morgana huffed as she closed the door. He heard the telltale sound of the lock and latch as he headed into her living room. “I can’t recall the last time you had that kind of trouble with a water tunnel.”
“It happens.” Merlin waved hand dismissively. “I assume my spare clothes are still in the guest room.”
“They are,” Morgana answered with a nod. “But what distracted you so badly?”
“I will explain,” Merlin promised as he looked at a nearby clock. “Oh dear, it seems that I was in the tunnel for some time.” He shook his head, trying to place exactly what time it would have been here when he entered the tunnel. “I’ll explain after I clean up.”
He could almost hear Morgana beginning to argue but headed back to the spare bedroom determined not to give her a chance. Once the door was shut behind him she fell silent apart from one last grumble. Merlin carefully pulled the backpack off and set it on the floor. He wasn’t willing to face Morgana’s wrath if he dirtied her linens despite her ability to clean them with magic.
Changing into fresh clothing quickly, Merlin sighed at not having a chance to shower, but he was testing Morgana as it was. After living almost three millennia she really should have been more patient. He dismissed the spare jacket and rolled up the sleeves of the button down shirt before picking up the backpack. Entering the bathroom, he washed his hands and face before looking thoughtfully at his reflection. He looked tired and the worry lines that the centuries had given him were more pronounced than they had been for some time. Shaking his head, he dried off his face and headed out towards the living room.
He could hear Morgana in the kitchen and in his mind’s eye could see her making tea for them. There was a tension in the air that he was certain she had sensed and while neither of them were modern British, they had both long embraced tea.
“Morgana,” he called. He sat down on the sofa, placing the bag next to his feet. He unzipped it and looked down at the wrapped jars with a mixture of dread and relief. “If you have a moment.”
“Ambrose,” she returned coolly, walking into the living room from the kitchen with the expected tray of tea. “Where have you been and what happened?” She set the tray down on the table and sat in one of the armchairs.
“I had some things to take care of,” Merlin explained calmly as he zipped the bag closed. He was aware of Morgana eyeing the bag carefully and knew that a thoughtful frown would have taken over her face by this point. “I had confidence that you and the children would be alright.”
“That was cryptic, Ambrose,” Morgana observed, narrowing her sharp green eyes on him. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m a literature professor,” Merlin protested with a slight pout hoping that she’d let it go. “I’m allowed to be archaic and cryptic.”
“No,” Morgana said with an even more suspicious look. “That’s all professors.” She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What have you been up to?”
“I’m afraid that I was checking on some things after failing to find Mjǫllnir. Sif woke at my call, but she has no information about the hammer. I’m afraid that she is going to wake her family.”
“Lovely, more Old Ones,” Morgana grumbled. Her gaze shifting from the bag back to him.
“Indeed, but they liked Thor for the most part and with luck, they will return to sleep once the hammer is found.” Merlin groaned and rubbed his forehead as he looked towards the bag. “Well, I should be getting home.”
“You will not.” Morgana’s eyes narrowed on the bag. “You just got back and haven�
��t explained anything, Ambrose.”
“I’m not sure that it is wise-”
“No,” Morgana snapped. She leaned forward in her chair, setting her dark eyes on his. “You don’t get to do that, Merlin! We’ve known each other too long, been through too much. Three thousand years of living, war, and loss so don’t you dare try.”
“Morgana…” he trailed off and swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s complicated.”
“Then explain in small sentences. Use our native tongue if you need to,” Morgana said. “Where have you been and why?” Her eyes darted over to the backpack. “And what is that? What are you trying to hide from me?”
“Nothing,” he insisted weakly before sighing and shaking his head. “I’m just… struggling with how to begin, Morgana.”
