Inevitable (The Curse of Avalon Book 2)

by Sariah Skye

  “No. Definitely not.” Rhys was disdainful, regarding the knight with obvious absurdity.

  “Enough!” Mathias roared, finally reaching the edge of his control. “Is she okay? You said she was? How do you know, and where is she!?”

  “Camelot.” Rhys’s expression was blank.

  Lachlan breathed a sigh of relief. “You think she’s there? That she made it?”

  “I have little doubt, however…that doesn’t mean she’s safe,” Rhys said, tone ominous.

  “And…what does that mean?” I demanded, my tone controlled.

  “Arthur was a venerable and just ruler when I knew him,” Mathias said. “Although, that was many years ago. Are you saying something has changed, Merlin?”

  “That’s ludicrous! If Ava is in Camelot, Arthur will take fantastic care of her!” Lachlan protested, obviously offended at the accusation.

  Rhys cocked a brow. “I’ve lived in limbo for some time, between realms. I saw a lot of things. Your precious Arthur, dear Lancelot, has some…secrets.”

  “Secrets?” Xander echoed. “What kind?”

  “Let’s just say…” Rhys carefully considered his words, twirling a finger around a long lock of his wavy brown hair coyly.

  “He’s a lunatic!” Morgaine shouted, sneering. “Arthur has never cared about anyone but himself!”

  Rhys snorted. “Sounds familiar? Runs in the family, does it?”

  “Rhys!” I scolded loudly. Later I would recall that in all my research on the void web, several trees and legends linked Morgaine and Arthur together as either half, or full brother and sister, but that didn’t matter right now.

  “Okay. Okay. Ava’s magic holds the key in opening up the portal to Camelot, you know this already,” Rhys glowered at Lachlan. “What you don’t know, is Arthur wishes to use that magic to unleash his army.”

  “Army? Why?” I immediately responded.

  “On who?” Mathias chimed in.

  Rhys expression was flat. “Everyone.”

  “That’s a lie! He’d never—” Lachlan began to charge at Rhys. It was futile because Rhys flicked a hand, rendering him immobile.

  “Here’s the kicker. Without magic from myself, or Morgaine’s spell to release Camelot it’ll be quite difficult to do so on his end. But…not impossible, with Avalon.”

  “What would it do to her?” I asked, panicked.

  Rhys sighed slowly, before continuing. He dared to look at the guys, and then me. He bit his lip nervously.

  “It will kill her!” Morgaine responded for him.

  Her words chilled me to the bone. “Can you open the portal again? Can we go in after her?”

  “We can’t go in, but if Morgaine would be so kind to help me, we might be able to get her back, if she hasn’t roamed too far. I assume that part of the Round Table is still in Arthur’s castle; that’s probably where she ended up. You know the Round Table was magical, always ready to accommodate anywhere from five to five hundred knights. There was always a seat for you at the table.”

  “That’s quite a fucking table,” Xander snorted.

  “It’s true,” Lachlan agreed. “But—Arthur would never kill her. He knows how much she means to me.”

  “How does he know about her? Haven’t you been stuck here for hundreds of years?” Mathias asked.

  “Because…sometimes the bond between the two worlds weakens, and sometimes I can talk to Arthur. It’s the only connection I have to home…” Lachlan said, hanging his head in shame. “I should have—”

  “No. Enough regrets. What exactly would we have to do?” I asked Rhys.

  “Oh, if it works—and it’s a big if—it might be quite painful. I don’t think it’ll kill you, but…let’s just say portal magic is tricky, and if it misbehaves well…you’ll find yourself wishing for the respite of the grave,” Rhys replied. “Your poor bear managed to get in the way of it, and I was weakened. Imagine how it’d be for you now, and I’m at full strength.”

  I balled up my fists at my sides, looking at each of the guys who nodded in turn. “Well, whatever we gotta do—let’s do it. Let’s get our girl back.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I found myself collapsed on a cold, solid-stone floor. I shivered, my tank top and jeans offering me little in the way of comfort or warmth.

  The world was still spinning, and colorful spots shrouded my vision, as I groggily pushed myself up at the waist and tried to push down the overwhelming nausea churning in my stomach. The sensation of being upright was too much, and my arms slackened as I crashed back onto the floor.

  I groaned. “What the fuck was that?” I had no idea Lachlan’s floor was so hard; I thought wood was a little softer than this. “Guys? Dad?”

  My voice echoed, bouncing off walls that sounded faraway. “What the—?” That wasn’t possible, my father’s little shack in the woods wouldn’t be big enough for an echo, surely. I ground my fists against my eyes, hoping to regain my vision. Blinking a few times, I gasped—I was sorry I had.

  I wasn’t in Lachlan’s shack at all, but tumbled haphazardly in the center of a large, dark, medieval style room, beside a large, light-colored wooden table; a little like the one my father had in his kitchen. It was perfectly round, but the side closest to me was jagged on the edge.

  Aside from the table, the room was straight out of the movies with tall stone walls, enormous bookshelves, and a fireplace made of rock on the furthest wall. Orange embers glowed and popped, indicating a fire had been allowed to go out. Tan colored maps, with yellowed edges were nailed with thick stakes into the walls.

  Now, the big question. How the fuck did I get here!? Last I remember, I was chewing out Lachlan, and leaning against the table. I was admiring the uniqueness of it, and then I was blinded. I felt like I was falling for a couple of seconds…and here I am. Wherever “here” is. Maybe my dad had more secret compartments to his house? That had to be it. I just took a tumble through an unknown trap door and fell into another part of the basement. That crazy bastard. Emphasis on “bastard,” as he wasn’t my favorite person right now. How could he have hidden that little fact about Morgaine? That she was in his goddamned house, being held captive? And Excalibur wasn’t really taken from him along the shores of Scotland. Which complicated things further.

  Now we had Morgaine, but now what to do with her? And really, did I want to kill her? I was pissed at her, hated her even…but death? Perhaps there was a nice, humane way to just lock her up, and let her live out the rest of her natural lifespan. In a dungeon. Next to hell.

  Yeah. Now, to find my way back upstairs to dole out her punishment. If Morgaine was subdued, we didn’t have to worry about her monopolizing the magic of Avalon and creating any more incubi. Or sacrificing innocent supes on altars for whatever reasons she had to do so, and maybe the guys and I could get on with our lives. Whatever those lives may be; everything had changed. For me, especially. I am a totally different person than I was four weeks ago. I wasn’t sure exactly who that person was, but I was learning.

  One thing I learned? I wasn’t as invisible as I thought. And that was golden.

  Now to get out of here.

  I glanced around me, there didn’t seem to be any stairs, but a large, wooden door was a few steps away from me. Surely beyond that had to be stairs—right?

  Shivering, I slowly got to my feet, pausing momentarily to let my rolling stomach calm. I rubbed out the goosebumps on each arm with the opposite hands. There was no knob or lever, just a large beam of wood across that I attempted to push, but I didn’t have enough strength to budge it. “Mathias!” I called loudly. He’d have no trouble with it.

  Noisy footsteps echoed from outside, followed by hushed voices. Hushed, unfamiliar voices. I felt a sudden sense of sickening terror, and I backed away.

  “Are you sure that’s what you heard?” An authoritative voice asked. It wasn’t deep like Xander’s dulcet tones or comforting like Trystan’s accent. It was commanding, with a sense of…foreboding.
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  “Yes, milord. Coming from the war room. A handmaiden reported a bright light, and a crash,” another, younger-sounding male voice replied.

  “Excellent. That’ll be all. I’ll take care of this myself, but fetch Percival and Bedivere, if you would.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  I gasped, as the footsteps grew closer. I realized then, somehow, I was no longer in my father’s house. Dorothy, I don’t think you’re in Kansas anymore, I thought, feeling dire.

  There was a bump against the wall, and a jiggle of metal from outside indicated the door was being opened. Panicked, I glanced around, looking for a place to hide, but the room—the “War Room” as the other voice called it—was completely open and bare besides the table in the center. Just as the hinges of the door began to squeal, I dove under the table, calling for the my magic inside, hoping it wouldn’t betray me. It came easy for me, and I felt my skin tingle as my invisible shield was hopefully erected.

  The door swung open, and a rather modest man stepped in. At first glance he was about Bash’s height, but much slighter, body wise. His hair was long, and sandy blond and hung in smooth plaits over his shoulders. He had a short, full beard that almost made him friendly looking if it weren’t for the eyes. His dark, black eyes were a sharp contrast to the rest of his pale coloring, and severe nose. A thick, heavy, red-velvet cloak was fastened at his throat with a large blue jewel that rested in an intricate, gold broach; and a golden crown sat on his forehead and around his head. His dark brown pants, black boots with a gentle, flat heel, and bleached white, stiff shirt were immaculate. The dull steel of a sword rested in a sheath at his waist; it was out of place with his fancy clothing as the hilt was incredibly plain. He carried himself with regality; that and the crown indicated he was someone very important. And someone who instantly made my skin crawl.

  I fought off shudders as the man rested his fists on the sides of his waist. His eyes smoothly scanned the room, skimming over the table. They hesitated for a quickest of seconds as they eyed the “empty” space under the table.

  “Daughter of Lancelot, show yourself.” It wasn’t a request, but a command. I bit my lip to resist uttering a trademark nervous smart-ass remark in return.

  I was relieved at least that my magic was working. But, that relief was short-lived because he knew who I was.

  “You have no enemies here, milady. Your father was my greatest ally. I am Arthur, Once and Future King,” he said, voice unwavering.

  Arthur? Creep-factor aside…wasn’t he a good guy? I’ve never met a king before, perhaps it was just an uneasy feeling around any king or person of power. I’d always been nervous around teachers, bosses, anyone in a place of authority; perhaps that was it. My father never mentioned anything bad about him, and history as far as I knew, didn’t have anything but benevolence attributed to him.

  “You know, I dealt with your father’s tricks for many years. I could always swindle him into showing himself, but I’m afraid they came with a bit of embarrassment. Please, let us omit the intrigues, and just appear to me,” Arthur—Mother-frackin’ King Arthur! —requested patiently.

  Not wanting to learn what those embarrassments might be, I sighed quietly, and emerged from under the table. I brushed myself off—the floor was surprisingly dirty for a King’s room, and I dropped my shield. The buzzing stopped, and I was obvious to him.

  Arthur gave a smile. “Well now. That was not so bad, no?”

  I shrugged gently. “That remains to be seen.”

  He grinned wider. “Ah, you have your father’s quick tongue. I’d expect no less.” He eyed me head to toe, gaze wavering slightly as they roved over my breasts. I guessed King Arthur was a man like any other, king or not.

  “It’s rude to stare at your best friend’s kid’s boobs, ya know,” I snarked, through my apprehension.

  Arthur tipped his head back and let out a peal of laughter. “Yes, just like him indeed! Identical in face—Lancelot always had rather feminine features, yes?” He flashed a disconcerting wink.

  “Umm…or I have mannish ones?” More nervous snark.

  Arthur chuckled. “No, I do not think so. A handsome fellow, he was. Is. Tell me, how is the old man doing?”

  “Well, I think. Except for the beating I’m going to give him once I get home. Tell me, King Arthur, how the hell can I get home, huh?” I raised my hands, spinning slowly, indicating the surroundings. “This is your home, right? Somehow? I don’t even know how the fuck this is possible. Aren’t you supposed to be in another realm? Is this a castle then!?” My head began to ache with all my questions and disbelief. My legs wobbled, and I attempted to sit, but I realized that this was no normal table. “And why the hell do you not have chairs? Don’t you ever sit?”

  Arthur laughed. “Oh, you are a treasure! My Round Table provides for the needs of whomever sits at its side. A chair if needed. A map. Or it expands for more people. Such a wonderful piece of unique magic.” Arthur traipsed nonchalantly closer to the table. He gazed down on it affectionately, swiping a hand over its shiny wood. “We don’t need a chair right now,” he said after a moment’s silence, eyeing me with sinister inquisitiveness. My magic deep inside buzzed like mad.

  I raised a brow. “Why not? It’d be nice to sit and chat. Whatever happened, I’m feeling a bit…groggy. I could use a rest.”

  “Very well.” Arthur placed a hand down at the edge of the table, and the wood shimmered and contracted before “spitting” out a simple, wooden chair. “I cannot deny the request of a lady, such as yourself.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Lady, I am not, that’s for sure.” I plopped down on the chair, not bothering with pretense. I didn’t actually notice how tired I was until I sat, and it felt good.

  “Oh, come now,” Arthur trilled, putting both hands on the table and letting them support his weight. “Surely your four demon gentlemen would disagree.”

  I smirked. “Actually, probably not.”

  Arthur chuckled lightly. “Then they are fools.”

  “No, they just know me well enough. Ladylike I am not. But…” I said, confused. “How do you know about them?”

  Arthur smiled lecherously. “Oh, I’ve been watching the world for some time. Merlin wasn’t the only magician in my employ, you know. How is that madman anyhow?”

  I shrugged. “We’ve only just met.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course.” Arthur turned on his heels and began strolling about the large room lackadaisically. I watched him carefully as he fingered the edge of a map on the wall, or straightened out a woven tapestry with a coat of arms on it.

  “So…do you know how I got here? And how I can go home? Because, I’m sure this is a lovely castle, but I have a life back home. In Minnesota. Far, far away from here.” I asked carefully.

  Arthur stopped, mid-pace and faced me. With a grin so malevolent it’d put the devil to shame, he said, “Oh, I am sorry my darling Avalon, but you are not going home. Ever.”

  My eyes widened, and I gasped. “But—why?”

  He clasped his gloved hands together. “Because, your magic is just what I need to break the spell on Camelot and bring us back to your world. I have been watching you—all of you, all of humanity—for a long time. Long time. All these senseless wars, the destroying of the Earth. Humanity is in need of its king—it’s true King now more than ever.”

  Yep, he was batshit crazy. “And just what do you think you can do, King?”

  Slowly, digit by digit, he pried off his gloves, folding them delicately, and putting them in a pocket of his cloak. He sauntered over to me, reaching out a finger, and tracing it against the outside of my cheek. I just watched silently, with abject horror. The sneer in his eyes was apparent, and his thin mouth tipped upward in a lewd grin. “Oh, I can do great things, Avalon. Great, monumental things. Starting with unleashing my army.”

  I shuddered, pulling away from him. “What army? Like, a hundred guys? Pretty sure the American army alone could wipe you out without any effort.�
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  Arthur grinned. “Oh no. Try more like a hundred thousand. We’ve been busy here in Camelot during our exile.”

  “Exile? I thought that you—”

  “You thought wrong! It was your world, your Avalonian bitches that trapped us here!” Arthur spat venomously, just inches from my face. “They didn’t understand what we were doing!”

  “Jesus, you’re no better than Morgaine,” I muttered, shaking my head, pulling away from him as far as I could. I began inching my chair backward slowly, wary of his reaction. “Yeah, well…I’m not going to let that happen.”

  He cackled loudly. “Oh Avalon…you aren’t going to be here to stop me!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  He quickly reached out a hand, attempting to snatch me. I kicked the chair backwards, trying to duck. My magic rattled franticly at the back of my mind. I closed my eyes and let it loose.

  Arthur cried out as he was flung by an invisible force—my force—clear across the room. His body hit the stone wall with a loud, stomach-turning smash.

  Breathing heavily, I hunched over trying to catch my breath. “Thank you, magic,” I whispered tentatively, watching him warily when he didn’t move.

  I clenched my eyes shut, praying the revulsion inside would quell when the massive door flung open again.

  Standing up fast, I instinctively called for my stealth-mode, when a woman draped in similar fine clothing entered in a blur.

  “Arthur?” she called hesitantly, her footwear clicking rhythmically against the stone floor as she carefully examined his body. She kicked at him gently, with the toe of her petite shoe underneath a massive, elaborate green dress. “Lady Avalon…please show yourself. Please and quickly, we need to return you home before he awakens!”

  The magic inside, which had been churning loudly, suddenly quieted; a sense of relaxation washed over me. Somehow, the magic trusted her.