by Ines Johnson
"Cambridge is on a line. I'll be fine."
I felt a pang in my heart. I hated to see her go. But that's what families did in my experience. They all eventually died or sent you away or left you behind. Boyfriends and friends, too.
I'd never been the type to have a group of girlfriends. I'd never clicked with cliques. Never strutted with a squad. The one time I'd tried had been a life-scarring disaster. It happened at boarding school.
Having traveled all over the world I had a broad fashion sense. I wore a hijab when I was eight because I thought it was a crown. I wore kente cloth as a cape when I was ten. I rocked saris as magical robes at twelve. I often mashed these styles up.
When I went to boarding school as a teen, I brought all my clothing with me. We were allowed to wear what we wanted after school and on the weekends. In most of the cultures I'd visited, women dressed either modestly or bared their chest. I had yet to wear skirts and shorts or heels or any underwear, but that's what all the popular girls were wearing.
I was more fascinated by Dilawar and her colorful hijabs. We instantly clicked. Then just as instantly, we were targets of the meanest clique.
Erwen Reilly had firebrand red hair and sea green eyes and she was the Queen B of the school. I'd watched armies line up behind generals, I'd watched tribes get in line behind rulers, but I'd never seen the power that Erwen commanded over the girls of the school. She had everyone under her thumb. Except for me and Dilawar.
I didn't step in line behind Erwen because whatever perfume she wore always gave me a headache. But even though I didn't want to stand behind her, it didn't mean I didn't admire the girl's fashion sense. Erwen was always decked out in whatever the models in Teen Vogue were wearing. Day by day, I began putting away my traditional garb in favor of what was in the magazine spreads.
Along with Erwen's high-end wardrobe, came a mean streak that didn't often have a rhyme or reason as to who she'd target. When her target became Dilawar and her modest clothing, I stepped up to defend my friend. Unfortunately, I'd been in my first ever pair of heels. As I rushed in to rescue my friend, I fell promptly on my ass and my Guess ruffled jean skirt flew over my belly.
Did I mention that underwear was a new thing with me as I began my time in boarding school? The binding scraps of cloth made sense when wearing shorts or pants. But I hadn't bought into wearing them under skirts.
When I went to step in and be a hero, it also happened to be one of my commando days. So when I say I fell on my ass, I mean it in the total, literal sense. I was henceforth known as Loren Van Ass.
The teasing was relentless for both Dilawar and me. Dilawar was pulled out of school the next week. Her father, who had not wanted her attending school in the first place, had found a husband for her. She was married at the age of fourteen. I endured another month of that place before working damn hard to get kicked out and sent back to my dad who was on a dig in Rwanda during the country's civil war.
I'd dressed in designer clothes after that for fear of the next mean girl that might come my way. But I still had an eye for the exotic and the vintage. The shop Gwin, Morgan, and I were in would've made a cosplayer wet their bed while wide-awake.
The fine silks made my mouth water, and also made me wonder if the worms were somewhere in the shop. The lace sandals were seriously working my shoe fetish. I pulled out a flowing headdress that reminded me of my days as a hijab-wearing, superhero princess.
Morgan headed into a dressing room. Her arms were full of shirts, pants, and gowns as she prepared to do the damage she'd promised Minerva she'd do to Arthur's accounts. Gwin trailed behind her with a single, modest dress. I turned to look at myself in the full-length mirror. I looked the picture-perfect medieval miss with the long sleeves and flowing skirts.
The bell over the shop rang while I continued to admire myself. I knew it couldn't be Minerva back after only twenty minutes. It must be another person from town or a lost tourist. I turned to greet the newcomer with a smile. But my grin fell, my nose twitched, and I felt the beginnings of a migraine.
Through the doorway walked Erwen Reilly. I'd recognize that red hair anywhere. She wore a Versace top over designer jeans. She was no longer in kitten heels, but Louboutin shoes, this year's collection. And apparently, she still wore that same nauseating perfume.
I clutched at my stomach as she came nearer. I looked down at myself in the medieval garb. Her eyes connected with mine and I felt thirteen again, entirely vulnerable in my bare feet without a New York or European label on my back. At least I was wearing underwear this time.
"Hi," she said smiling brightly.
I blinked. I'd heard that many people changed after high school, some even became decent human beings. Could the impossible have happened? Had Erwen Reilly grown to become human?
"I'm hoping you can help me," she said. "The Visitor's Center is closed for lunch, like we're in some backwater town in the American Bible belt."
Her nose crinkled. She brought her elbows in as though the dust in the place might contaminate her. Nope. Didn't sound like she'd changed a bit.
"I have an appointment with a Ms. Gallahan. She sounded pretty senile on the phone. You wouldn't happen to be her? Would you?"
"No," I managed to bite out.
Erwen looked me over, taking in the peasant skirt, long sleeves, and headdress.
"These aren't my real clothes." I went to pull up the skirt to reveal my jeans. Only to remember they were back in the dressing room.
"Oh my god, we're being flashed," said the woman beside Erwen. I recognized her as Ruith Doyle, Erwen's longtime partner in mean-girl crime. "I don't want to see elderly cellulite."
"No, no." I dropped my skirt. How was this happening again? These girls came my way and I ended up showing them my ass. Literally. Well, at least they didn't recognize me. I hadn't reminded them of my name.
Gwin stepped out of the dressing room. "Loren? What's going on?"
Crap.
Chapter Five
I'd always sworn to myself that if ever I came face to face with these girls again I'd be in designer clothes and on the arm of a billionaire. But that wasn't my luck. Instead, I was out in the middle of nowhere Britain, dressed in a medieval gown like some cosplayer, and there were no rich men around.
Why hadn't they come to Greece last month when I'd been on billionaire playboy Tresor Mohandis' yacht? I'd been hanging out in the Royal Olympic Hotel's penthouse with Nia and the Greek gods wearing boutique wares from exclusive shops. I'd been hanging with the world's most powerful superheroes, saving humanity just a couple of weeks ago.
But no, my school nemeses had to do a drive-by when I'd been demoted to an errand girl.
It had been over ten years since last I saw these girls. After falling on my ass one week and losing my friend the next, I had decided I was no longer staying. That was likely when my bad girl persona was born.
I began mouthing off to teachers. By mouthing off I meant demonstrating my superior intellect and wit. Though I was thirteen, I'd been raised by two highly educated individuals and was operating at a college freshman academic level. Plus, I'd been around the world and seen that the so-called facts in the history books were nothing but propaganda and lies. But my history teacher simply sent me to detention in the library with the offensive textbook.
I insisted on playing sounds of the safari in my dorm room at night. I swore with a straight face that the elephants' honking mating call was the only way I could get to sleep. After having my fifth roommate transfer, they left me to bunk by myself in a small room near the attic.
It was in chemistry class that I finally found my out. The idiots had the stupid idea to give adolescents potassium chlorate to scientifically investigate. I knew that if the chemical mixed with certain food products an explosive reaction could occur. Luckily, I'd been sneaking food out of the lunchroom for some time.
A few grams of the chemical, a handful of gummy bears, mixed with a blast of gas from the Bunsen burner, with the ox
ygen collar up a little too high, and boom. I blew the windows out -after landing on my ass again. I was out on my rear by lunchtime.
My time at the school had been epic. I knew no one would ever forget Loren Van Ass. And now I was facing the music. At least I was standing on my feet to face Erwen and Ruith and not looking up at them from down on my backside.
I couldn't slink away out of the shop. Gwin had just outed me. I knew that at any moment all the memories would flood back into Erwen and Ruith's mind and I'd be a laughing stock again. Well, I'd simply have to face this head on. Hell, I'd faced off against the deranged Titan Cronus and survived. I could handle this.
"Yes," I said with my chest puffed up and my head high. "It's me."
"Oh good," said Erwen. "You're Ms. Gallahan."
"No." My shoulders deflated around the tightening in my chest. They had to remember me. I'd been epic. "I'm Loren. Loren Van…" But I couldn't bring myself to say it.
Erwen turned her head away from me to look over her shoulder. "I told you," she stage-whispered to Ruith. "Senile."
"I'm Ms. Gallahan," said Gwin, stepping up beside me.
Erwen and Ruith turned and appraised Gwin. In unison, their gazes flicked down to the floor and did a quick scan of the woman before them. Gwin was dressed in the same medieval garb as me. But it worked for her lithe, catwalk-ready body.
By the time their gazes reached Gwin's face, there was a slight light in each woman's eyes. Gwin's style choices had been picked apart, but I could tell that the verdict given by Erwen and Ruith wasn't the label of tragic. The cool assessment on their faces read to me that they thought they could wear the look better.
What the hell? I was wearing the same style. Just in a different color.
"You must be Ms. Reilly." Gwin stepped forward and reached out her hand. When Erwen came forward and took Gwin's hand, Gwin's shoulders tensed. There was a slight intake of breath. Her gaze went to Erwen's necklace.
It was only a flicker, but I saw a cloud pass over Gwin's face. Erwen saw it too. The corner of her mouth ticked up in what I could only describe as a sinister grin. She reminded me of a predator that watched as its prey saw that it was cornered.
Gwin stepped back. She placed that hand that she'd taken back from Erwen behind her back. She was standing slightly in front of me so I saw her clench and unclench her fist. But standing before the two outsiders, Gwin morphed into hostess mode.
She plastered a fake smile on her face and spoke in the dulcet tones of a travel guide. "You're here for the tour of the Arthurian Legends?"
"No," said Erwen, the sneer still in place as she faced off against Gwin. "We're here to excavate at Caerleon castle."
Behind her back, Gwin's fisted her fingers once more. But the serene smile stayed in place for Erwen. "I'm sorry. There must be some misunderstanding. Caerleon castle is deemed historical. There's no digging allowed on the property. In fact, there's no one allowed physically on the property. It's not structurally sound."
"We're not digging. I'm a geophysicist. That means I look for signals underground without turning a rock." Erwen's tone was laced with condescension as she toyed with the vibrant, azurite stone at her neck.
I winced as I watched her. Gwin did too. That's when I recognized what it was— a bluestone.
When I was a kid I'd wanted to go to Stonehenge, but my mother wouldn't allow it. She'd given lame excuses about crowds and bad weather and allergies. After she'd passed away, my father took me there. Before we'd even gotten out of the car, I'd started throwing up. The same thing had happened when we were in South Africa at another stone monument.
Both Stonehenge in Wiltshire, and the stone monument in Johannesburg, and the Drombeg Circle in Ireland weren't just celestial markers minding the longest and shortest days of the year. They were places humans used to ward off witches and sacrifice them. At each of those places were bluestones.
The stones were rare, but they were an anathema to witches, our own personal form of kryptonite. And now I realized that's why I'd always felt off around Erwen. She'd always worn that necklace, meaning she'd always been radioactive.
"My colleague here is an osteoarchaeologist," Erwen was saying.
"It means I study ancient bones," said Ruith, her tone an echo of the lofty airs Erwen put on.
"Study them for what?" asked Morgan, coming up behind us.
Morgan had chosen the Prada skirt and blazer with an alligator pump. She looked every bit the hip, stylish professional. We were the same size. Never had I ever wanted to raid someone's closet as I did now. But this wasn't the time to ask to borrow her blouse.
"In addition to the possible Arthurian connection," said Erwen, "there are rumors that there were witch trials here in the past. We're trying to determine if that was true and if there were any witches buried here."
The polite smile stayed plastered on Gwin's face. Morgan glared, clearly she would lose at any poker game. My expression was blank confusion. I played a convincing ditz from time to time. But this wasn't one of those times. I had no idea what Erwen was on about.
"Ladies," said Gwin, a trickle of laughter in her voice. "You're scientists. Surely you don't believe in the existence of witches? Tell me, did you see the Loch Ness Monster on your way here?"
But Erwen would not be swayed by Gwin's attempts at humor. Though she and Gwin were the same height, Erwen managed to look down her nose at Gwin.
"All women have a connection to nature," said Erwen. "The moon rules our menstruation. The tide pulls at the chemical composition of our bodies. The seasons change our moods."
Wow, that sounded poetic. My blank expression slipped to admire the thought. But only for a moment.
"There are some women who stole more than their fair share of that connection from Mother Nature," Erwen continued. "What do you think was in that apple that Eve ate? The serpent has been playing us since the beginning."
Okay, now she was veering into Lala Land. Was she serious with that Eve and the devil diatribe? She had on Louboutins and this is what she was doing with her life? What a waste.
"Well," said Gwin, "I can assure you that no witches were buried on these grounds."
That was the truth. The people of Camelot burned their dead so that the magic would disperse back into the ground and rejoin the ley line. Or they transferred it to another person, which was rare.
"Listen, ladies," said Gwin. "Let me change my clothes, and I'll show you around." Then she turned, corralling us back into the dressing rooms.
We made our way into the back leaving Erwen and Ruith to look around the store with disdain all over their overly-made-up faces. Although that shade of blue on Erwen would so compliment my skin tone. Morgan's yank on my arm brought me out of my reverie. The three of us crammed into a single dressing room as Morgan faced her sister.
"You invited witch hunters here? Arthur's gonna have a cow."
"On the phone, they said they were scientists researching the legends," said Gwin. "I thought it would be good for tourism."
"Can we back up a second?" I asked. "There are witch hunters?"
"We've always been hunted," said Morgan. "By religious zealots, power-hungry rulers, and now cable television."
"Those women are priestesses," said Gwin.
"Not just any kind of priestess," said Morgan. "They're Banduri."
"What's a Banduri Priestess?" I asked.
"An order of Druid Priestesses," said Morgan. "In ancient times, they were revered for their intellect and their mastery of the sciences and the stars, as well as their alchemical and medicinal knowledge. Their backstory is much like the Amazonians in the Wonder Woman comics. The Banduri were fabled to have come from an island near the Loir River. The Celts were so impressed with their beauty and their brains that the Banduri took up leadership roles in the society. Until Rome invaded."
"The Romans eradicated all forms of Druid life in favor of their gods," said Gwin as she finished shimmying out of the store's dress and reached for the gown she'd
come in with.
"So why are the Banduri so venomous against witches?"
"It's just like the redhead said, they believe witchcraft started when Eve ate of the Tree of Knowledge," said Morgan. Unlike her sister, Morgan didn't change clothes. In fact, she ripped the price tag off her garment. "The Banduri believe the tree is how we got our powers and that we effectively stole it from nature."
"I haven't heard about one of their kind coming around in hundreds of years," said Gwin as she smoothed her dress down. "We believe that it was the Banduri who built Stonehenge. Ms. Reilly had a bluestone. Did you see it?"
"See it?" said Morgan. "I felt it like a kick to the gut."
"Yeah, she's had it since she was a teenager," I said.
Erwen Reilly, a high priestess? I shouldn't be surprised. She certainly put on airs like she was above everyone else.
"You know that woman?" asked Morgan.
"She was the resident mean girl at my boarding school. She's evil incarnate. Can we turn her into a toad?"
Morgan cocked her head in consideration.
"No," said Gwin. "We can't let on that we have any powers. Or that witches, wizards, and the Arthurian knights are real. You now that."
"Priestesses travel in packs," said Morgan. "We see two but there are more where they came from. They're like women's lib on crack-laced estrogen. I'll go ahead to the castle and warn Arthur."
Morgan stepped out of the dressing room and headed to an exit at the back of the shop. In the Prada skirt and blazer, mind you. I unzipped the cotehardie and stepped out of the dress. It had lost its luster after Erwen's gaze had dismissed it. I stepped back into my jeans and t-shirt.
"We have to appear as normal and as boring and as drab as possible," said Gwin.
I grimaced as I followed her out of the dressing area. Normal? Boring? Drab? Those were all the polar opposites of my personality.
Chapter Six
Caerleon was once a Roman stronghold. From as far back as time was told, Caerleon had been a settlement of farmers. It was filled with grasslands, hills, and patches of scrubs excellent for grazing. Somewhere before 100 A.D., it became a base for a Roman legion. The fortress was built on the end of a low ridge at Lodge Hill and stretched down to the River Usk, which produced a natural defense above the floodplain near the mouth of the river to allow supply to come via the sea.
