by Candace Sams
Rather than lurch forward, to see who she’d contacted in such an odd meeting place, he stealthily moved toward the pair. His skin began to tingle. He suddenly knew what, if not who, he was dealing with.
There was another immortal exceedingly close to Jean. That was the source of the other male voice.
She couldn’t yet pick up on the situation. As new as she was to immortality, Jean’s senses hadn’t yet attuned to the supernatural nature of other immortals. No one knew why, but it usually took a year or more for that intuitive power to kick in.
Fear for her safety made him move even more cunningly. If this stranger was a rogue—on a mission to kill what they referred to as government assassins—Gart knew that his barging forward might frighten that interloper into harming Jean.
So far, the voices were calm if very low. He wasn’t yet close enough to hear what was being said, but would be soon. If that other guy hadn’t sensed his presence yet, he would within seconds.
Eventually, he had no choice. He had to move in and quickly.
Making himself as hidden as a man of his size could, he came at the couple from a right angle; up a more slanting slope but steadily forward. When he got to the top, he stood there ruing the fact that he hadn’t brought his sword, and furious that he’d need to do so on his own land. He was on the other male’s left flank. Because she faced this unknown intruder, Jean saw him first, smiled and beckoned him forward.
The man turning to face him was, indeed, an immortal. The telltale electric sensation was almost overwhelming, but Jean had no clue. Oddly, the other man didn’t seem perturbed about his having snuck up on them. The guy probably knew he’d been near, very early on.
Suddenly, another strange sensation washed over Gart. It wafted through his mind and drifted into his entire being. The feeling was something quite foreign to him. He felt as though somebody had just dowsed him in fairy glamor. That was the only way he had to describe the odd sensation. His skin tingled and there was a thread-like current in the air. He quickly shook it off so he could face what might be a very real threat.
The other man was of indeterminate age. He could have been fifty or more, there wasn’t any real way of knowing. The fellow had long, flowing white hair—as white as the feathery mane of the Gypsy Vanner standing beneath a nearby tree. This older man’s face was hidden by an equally white, flowing beard that drifted down his chest. He had bright blue eyes that gazed on him as though the fellow knew everything he needed to. This trespasser had no fear in him. None whatsoever. Gart was sure he’d never sensed such self-assurance. He felt it the same way he felt the rays of the sun on his back.
“Mr. Bloodnight,” Jean merrily began, “let me introduce you to—”
“Jon Merdwyn,” the man announces as he congenially stuck out his hand.
Gart reached out, but gently grabbed Jean by the upper right arm and pushed her behind him. He ignored the hand offered to him. The older fellow simply dropped his arm. Whatever Jean might have thought about his pulling her away, she said nothing.
“Who are you and why are you on my land?” Gart angrily blurted.
Jean gasped, presumably at his rudeness.
“Don’t mind your host’s lack of manners, my dear,” the older man said. “Garrett Bloodnight, as he calls himself these days, knows I’m an immortal. Whereas…you do not. He’s frightened on your behalf. He doesn’t know why I’m here.” He turned his gaze to Gart. “Does that correctly sum up the situation?”
“Who are you? Why are you on my land?” Gart angrily repeated.
“I was riding,” he explained as he motioned toward his horse. “I know the property is registered as yours, but presumed you wouldn’t mind.”
Gart narrowed his eyes. “You need to leave. Now!”
“My good fellow, I have no intention of harming you or Jean. I simply saw her watching me, and rode up to introduce myself. I am not armed.”
“I am!” Gart claimed as he quickly reached down and pulled a knife from the inside barrel of his left boot. It wasn’t his weapon of choice, but that’s all he had on him. He normally used it to cut rope or for some other farm chore, but it was his only source of defense at that moment.
“Gart,” Jean shouted, “what are you doing? He’s not harming anyone even if he is an immortal.”
He slightly turned his head to address her, his eyes remained on the other fellow. “Leave. Now. Consider this the first of the lessons we’d have begun tomorrow, Jean.”
She gasped again in response.
“Don’t you ever leave the castle again without a weapon! Or a phone. Do you hear me?”
“Ben said that a phone won’t work up—”
“I said…go!” Gart bellowed.
She hesitated only an instant before turning and hurrying away. In that split second, before she retreated as he’d commanded, he felt her anger as if it was a hammer being pounded into the back of his skull.
Jon Merdwyn slowly shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that, Garrett. Rudeness is not the mark of a gentleman.”
“If you don’t start talking,” Gart asserted, as he lifted the blade higher, “you’ll see worse behavior. Count on it!”
“I told you. I’m unarmed. As to why I’m here, I’m simply staying in the area for a time,” Merdwyn claimed. “As to who I really am, I doubt very much that POSI superiors would appreciate your having pulled a knife on me, my lad!” He snorted. “POSI! Who, by all the stars in the firmament, ever tagged the organization with that ridiculous name? It’s absurd. As old as I am, I still don’t know who officially did it. Then again, no one wants to take credit for such a travesty.”
Gart wasn’t letting his guard down simply because an immortal knew that information. Everyone in the UK knew about the regulatory agency that was charged with watching all immortals. That didn’t make this man safe.
“I’ve never heard of you,” Gart loudly announced.
“Ask David Harrington, Bloodnight. He knows precisely who I am though I’m sure his orders are to keep his mouth inexorably closed on matters concerning my existence.”
Gart slightly raised his knife higher. “Why is that?”
Merdwyn sighed heavily and pointed at the weapon Gart now held. “For the last time. I am not armed. Besides, do you really think that eight-inch blade will make any difference?”
“Let me dig out your heart with it and we’ll see!”
Merdwyn pointed toward the trail Jean had taken. “That girl may not forgive you. Not only did you frighten her for no reason, you upbraided her in front of a total stranger. I reiterate…your exceedingly boorish, paranoid behavior is not that of a gentleman. You’re behaving more like a brute, which is certainly not your reputation.”
“Last time! Who the hell are you?”
“I told you. I am Jon Merdwyn. That is my name. At least, it’s my name these days. Call the London office if you want more information, though they’re very unlikely to provide it. For the present, I will tell you no more. You wouldn’t be inclined to believe me in your current mood.”
“Why didn’t home office tell me you were in the vicinity? Since when does an immortal trespass on another’s territory without announcing his presence?” Gart shook his head in denial. “If you’re going to lie, I’m not obliged to listen.”
Merdwyn slowly shook his head. “Dear me! I’d hoped to get off on a better footing.” He shook his head. “As you wish, I’ll leave. Forgive me for having intruded. As to this land being your property…these old hills have secrets you can’t imagine. They were here before you or anyone else staked them with survey markers. You might have legal authority, but this part of the landscape is not and never will be yours or anyone else’s.” He turned to go, then looked back over his left shoulder. “Call David. He’ll tell you enough to know that I’m legit. I wouldn’t have hurt Jean, nor you. Though you could use a good trouncing for the way you treated that girl—”
“You said something about leaving?”
The other man bowed his head, then made his way to his mount. Gart watched until the fellow rode down the hillside and out of sight.
Only when he was sure the immortal trespasser was gone, did he bolt back down the same trail Jean would had taken.
He ran at top speed and didn’t stop until he got to the gray stone foyer of the castle.
He stood panting as Anna Gast trotted toward him.
“What happened?” she quickly asked. “Jean’s in a fury. She said you almost killed someone on the hill—”
“Where is she?”
“She’s in her room, and she’s bolted the door.”
Gart glanced upward, toward the rooms upstairs, but decided to deal with his careless trainee later. “Follow me, Mrs. Gast. I’m calling home office. I’d like you to be present. As my claviger, I think you should be.”
“Absolutely!”
He marched into his study, waited for Mrs. Gast to come in, then firmly closed the door behind them both.
With efficiency—born of anger and fear on Jean’s behalf—he dialed London and waited to be put through to David Harrington’s office. Before the call completed, he pushed the intercom button on the office phone so that his claviger could hear the entire conversation. As luck would have it, David Harrington picked up on the other end.
“Gart, old boy! What news from that part of the—”
“David…I’ve got the speaker on so Mrs. Gast can hear,” he succinctly advised. “Who the hell is Jon Merdwyn, what’s he doing in this part of England, and why wasn’t I told he was near? He came on my land unannounced, and I almost pulled his head off with my bare hands!”
“Good Lord, Gart! Do calm down.”
“Answer me!”
A heavy, beleaguered sigh sounded over the intercom before David spoke again. Gart and his claviger moved closer to each other.
“Jon Merdwyn,” David began, “is a very old immortal with ties to the highest authority. I can tell you nothing more except to say that he is with the agency and he has carte blanche as to his movements.”
“Why? And how could you, of all people, know so little about one of our agents?”
“Because, old boy, on the rare occasion that I asked about him, I was told what I’m about to tell you…he has special privileges, don’t ask questions unless you want to feel the full weight of Her Majesty’s anger. If he wants you to know his business, it’s his choice to tell you.”
“That’s insane! Why hasn’t his identity been made public, just like any other immortal?”
“That’s Her Majesty’s discretion. Do I have to spell it out?”
“I need the man’s image digitally sent.”
“That’s not happening. In the first place, I don’t have it. No one I know does. In the second place, we don’t operate that way simply because you have your knickers up your bum!”
Gart balled his hands into fists. “How do I verify who he is?”
“If he says he’s Jon Merdwyn, I’d believe him if I were you. I can’t think of any reason on the face of this earth that someone would want to steal that man’s identity.”
“David…I know the images of registered immortals are carefully controlled if they’re sent by the government. I know you want as few photos of us as possible circulated…even though every damned teenager with a phone posts them every single day! I know that, by promising as much control over privacy as you can, more immortals might be convinced to come in and register. I get all that. I really do. But I need to know who this man is, and I need to know now! So…can I get his photo, or do I need to go the village, have people track him, take his picture, and post it on the fucking internet so I can see what the hell happens? If anyone out there knows him, they’ll say so, or the trolls and hacks will never stop until they find out. That’s the choice I’m left with!”
“That’s intimidation, and I don’t take kindly to your tone, Garrett! I cannot help it that the law requires immortals to have their photos eventually published. That’s the public’s right to know. If normal people choose to spend their time stalking our agents, it cannot be helped. As far as POSI goes, we don’t send out pictures of any immortal, not until those photos are released in the newest registries. Period. Subsection 1365, Article 91-B of the uniform code of the Paranormal Office for the Surveillance of Immortals…I suggest you reacquaint yourself with the statute!”
Gart turned to Mrs. Gast, his hands flailed out in desperation.
In turn, she patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to calm him.
He took a deep breath and dove further into the subject. “David…are you telling me that this Merdwyn character doesn’t have to follow the law? Is that what you’re saying? Because if he was acting lawfully, I’d have seen his photo in the registries at some point. I’d have most certainly remembered him.”
“Old boy, that’s precisely what I’m telling you! And I reiterate…I don’t know why the man has privileges! I do not ask! I like my current situation far too well to risk it on delving into subjects that have categorically been deemed off limits. You might want to drop the subject. Here and now.”
Mrs. Gast shook her head. “Bureaucracies are what they are. Let me try,” she quietly offered as she stepped closer to the phone. “Uh…Mr. Harrington…Anna Gast here.”
“Ah! Finally! A voice of reason! And someone who won’t remind me of my hemorrhoids…an unfortunate part of being a human with this agency, no doubt. At any rate…how are you, Mrs. Gast?”
“Just fine, sir. Settling into my new role as claviger quite nicely.”
“That’s splendid,” David responded.
“How’s the weather there, Mr. Harrington?”
“Smashing, actually. The rain has finally stopped.”
When Gart leaned forward to speak, his claviger waved him off.
“Sir, if you’re able, perhaps you could describe Jon Merdwyn for us?” she amicably suggested. “We really do need to be sure this man is who he says he is. It’s rather a shock to find out that one of our immortals is a top secret.”
“Yes, he is a very protected undercover operative for many reasons I don’t even care to understand. However, as to your more tactful request, I am allowed to tell you what I recall.”
Gart snarled, but Mrs. Gast gestured for him to be silent.
“The man was only in the London office once whilst I was on duty?” David advised. “That was some time ago. When he came into the building, I only got a few moments to see the fellow. Then, I was ushered into an office and told to stay there until he left.”
Gart lost all patience. “For the love of—”
David cleared his throat, thus interrupting Gart’s outburst. He began a quick rundown of vital statistics. “He’s older than either of you, though I couldn’t give you an accurate age range. Back then, he sported long white hair, and a rather thick white beard. He had blue eyes and a somewhat wizened expression. He didn’t seem the remotest bit dangerous.”
“Go on,” Mrs. Gast urged, “can you recall anything else?”
“I’d go so far as to call him lanky. The fellow spoke very briefly to someone in the hallway, right before I was scurried off like an unwanted rodent. Others have said, despite his rather inoffensive appearance, that the man is quite deadly on assignment. As to what kind of missions he’s given, I don’t know. But he does have Her Majesty’s trust. I have no documentation to back that, but my gut tells me it’s true.”
“Why is he here?” Gart impatiently continued.
“That, my dear boy, is up to him to tell you. The way I see it, I’ve already said too much. Just understand that the man may go wherever he pleases. If he’s in your part of the world, however, I would not consider his presence coincidental.”
“Who’s his claviger?”
“Gart…I don’t know if he even has one…and don’t you dare go off on me again!” David quickly added. “You’ve heard all I know of the man. If you anger him, and he starts making calls, you could find yourself in what used
to be referred to as a sticky wicket!”
“He was on my land without telling me, David! It’s not done. Not ever!”
“Pull up your big boy knickers and deal with it! Now…is there anything else?”
“Just one more question,” Gart announced. “It’s not much to go on, but the guy was riding a horse. Would you happen to know anything about the breed he prefers?”
“If he favors them at all, he’s among thousands of Her Majesty’s subjects.”
Gart was pulling at straws. He knew it, but he’d had to try. He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“I’ll say this one last time, Gart. Jon Merdwyn goes when and where he damned well pleases. If you don’t want to be called to London on a charge of insubordination…drop this…now!” David warned.
“Insubordination?” Gart shouted.
“Thanks so much for all the help,” Mrs. Gast tactfully added before punching the button to end the call. Then she turned to face Gart. “Well, that clears that up.”
“What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with this information? Apparently, in the eyes of the law, some of us are a bit more equal than others!”
“Mr. Bloodnight, please calm down. You need to go upstairs and speak with Jean. She didn’t like being treated…as she put it… ‘like a child’.”
“If this Jon Merdwyn fellow isn’t who he says he is, I probably saved her damned life!” he shot back.
Mrs. Gast simply crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly stared at him.
As he knew the situation, Anna Gast and Jean were now the thickest of friends. If he was to work with either of them, he’d have to reel in rage and replace it with diplomacy. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right, Mrs. Gast. I’ll speak to her. In fact, this entire thing is most assuredly my fault. I’ll apologize. To her and to you.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“I do. I took out my anger on you and David. I’ll send him a contrite message. As to Jean, she didn’t know. I didn’t warn her about such strange events. She’s new to this life, and hasn’t been taught a healthy respect of approaching strangers. She simply came upon some fellow riding and spoke to him. As friendly as she is, that would be normal for her…in her old life. As to the life she has now, she depends on me to teach her. I failed and it could have got her killed. This whole incident is my responsibility,” he slowly repeated.
