Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  “Hey. I like your kippers,” Glen called from behind.

  Mercy stopped and turned around. “My what?”

  “Your,” he was motioning in the direction of her lower body, “kippers”.

  “Glen, I don’t have any kippers on me and you couldn’t possibly be hungry enough to hallucinate me dripping in herring.”

  “Herring?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

  “I’m talking about the pants you’re wearing with all the pockets. Aren’t they called kippers?”

  She shook her head, turned around and started back down the stairs. “They’re called pants, Glen. But thank you. I’m pleased you like them.”

  Glen looked at Gunnar who couldn’t hold his laughter in another second. “Kippers?”

  “Like you’re an expert on women’s clothing?”

  “Well…” Gun started.

  “Shut it, old man,” Glen trotted down the stairs behind Dr. Renaux.

  The three joined Torn and Raif who had already commandeered a round table with two features to its credit. It was in a corner near an exit, always a favorite of Black Swan knights. And, if you were on the side of the table with your back to the room, it had a marvelous view of the morning sun rising over the Black Sea.

  Mercy sat looking and sounding cheerful. “Hmmm. Nice view. So what looks good?”

  “Good Bulgarian food?” mumbled Raif.

  Torn smirked at him and turned his attention to Mercy. “They’ve got that thin’ where they smash bread, milk, and cheese up with sugar and butter. Looks disgustin’, but we were told before you came down that kids love it.”

  “Popara,” she said.

  “Forgot you’ve been ‘round this part of the world. We should be askin’ you what to get.”

  “Well they’ve got these things that are sort of like grilled breakfast sandwiches. Brioche meets minced meat and eggs and cheese. In any combination you like.”

  “Sold,” Glen said. “I’ll take three.”

  “I’ll just have some more of that negarche cake,” Gun added. “With coffee.”

  “Breakfast of champions.” Mercy smiled at him in mock approval.

  “Exactly,” replied Gun. He offered Mercy a high five either not realizing that she was being sarcastic or not caring. Without missing a beat she gave him a high five and rattled her coffee cup, hoping to get the attention of a waiter.

  “Hey,” she said, then followed that with something in Bulgarian.

  “You have to tell us what you said. We can’t be responsible for you if we don’t know what you’re saying to people.”

  “Why not?” She tipped her chin and asked the question playfully.

  “Because,” Torn began, “if, for instance, you were to say, ‘in exactly ten minutes my friends will be openin’ fire on passersby on the coastline walkway below’, then we would need to prepare for bein overrun with hotel security, local police, and perhaps the Bulgarian military as well. If you said, ‘Show me the way to the Ladies’, then we could relax. Except for Glen, who will be accompanyin’ you as far as is seemly.”

  “I see your point. But how would you know if I was telling the truth about what I said? What if I made up something outrageous, but told you that I requested cheese bread?”

  “Because Black Swan knights are highly trained in matters of communication. We’re practically livin’ lie detectors.”

  “I see. Very well then. I said, ‘We’re not tourists, you know. And you’re burning daylight!’”

  Torn thumped the table and grinned. “And that, gentlemen, is the truth.”

  Raif looked down his nose at her. “You said ‘burning daylight’?”

  Mercy looked around. “Did anybody hear that? It sounded like a voice coming from nearby.”

  Torn chuckled softly and clapped Raif on the shoulder.

  When everyone had been served some sort of morning caffeinated beverage, Mercy took a few sips of coffee, listened to the easy banter between team mates, and when it grew quiet for a minute, put voice to the question that had been on her mind.

  “If you, as knights I mean, are so great at reading people, I’d like you to give me your impression of Professor Yanov and Minister Igvanotof.”

  Gunnar spoke up. “Yanov is cheesy and Igahblahblah needs to get laid. Badly.”

  Mercy chuckled. “Anybody else? Anything useful?”

  “What’s your concern? Your reason for askin’?”

  Mercy looked at Torn. “Just wanted to hear another perspective. Igvanotof…”, she looked at Gun pointedly when she said it, “might have just been having a bad day. Or a bad life. Or there might be some other reason why he was behaving cold at best and hostile at worst.”

  “Look around,” Glen said. “The dining room is deserted. We might not be tourists, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t love it if we were.”

  Mercy looked at Glen for a minute and slowly started to smile. “So. You’re a boy wonder, Glendennon Catch.”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly. No.” He looked over at Gun. “But I do have more than two brain cells to rub together.”

  Gun gaped. “I’ll slap you down, boy.”

  “Punchline perfect. Gun. Can I have a ba-DA-bump?”

  Mercy cut in to steer the kiddos back on topic. “You’re saying that if The Order exercises its power to shut this down, closes the site, gag order on everybody who knows, millions of tourist dollars remain forever floating just out of reach in the Minister’s imagination. So he has good reason to be displeased with us.”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

  She sat looking solemn while she considered that. “No wonder they thought I needed an ‘escort’.” She put the word ‘escort’ in air quotes. “Are you armed? Just curious.”

  Torn smiled his killer Irish smile. “Beautiful lady. Black Swan knights are always armed. Even when we’re no’ carryin’ weapons.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but any related question fled her mind because their food arrived just then. When the waiter had delivered everything satisfactorily and retreated to the place where waiters go and cannot be accessed by patrons, Torn said, “There’s no’ a need to worry for your safety. Nothin’ will be happenin’ to you. Or even us for that matter. Think about it. If they wiped us all out mysteriously, there’d be fifty investigators here within hours. If they wiped us out straightforward-like, there’d be an army here within days.

  “Either way it would no’ be a smart choice and, although BlahBlah seems an unhappy man, he does no’ strike me as a stupid man.”

  “Okay, well, thank you for the analysis. That helps me know how to deal with him.”

  Half an hour later they met Professor Yanov and Minister Igvanotof at the entrance to the hotel. Yanov left his car and walked over to greet them with a smile while Igvanotof sat in the vehicle and stared straight ahead. Yanov suggested the two Order vehicles follow them to the site.

  Mercy waited with a sullen Raif and a silent Gun while Torn and Glen brought the cars around from the garage.

  Raif eyed her surreptitiously the entire time, thinking that archeologists are supposed to be old men who resemble the bones that fascinate them. Not fresh and freckle-faced beauties with hair that blazes under direct sunlight. They’re not supposed to wear bright yellow sweaters over their khaki pants and hiking boots. And they’re really not supposed to carry backpacks made of shiny evening gown material.

  Every time he thought he’d looked enough and tried to drag his eyes away, something new drew his interest. Lost in thought staring at the swelling curves under the sunny sweater, he was caught off guard when she suddenly turned toward him in what seemed to him like a blaze of glory. The way her hair had swept off her shoulder caused his eyes to go there and get stuck.

  “What?!?” She challenged him with a piercing look.

  He brought his eyes level with her and blinked, then shook his head and looked away.

  �
�Here they are,” said Gunnar.

  Mercy threw Raif one last reprimanding look before letting Gunnar guide her to the car.

  Sitting in the back seat, it was impossible for Raif to fold his long legs so that he didn’t encroach on Mercy’s half of the space. Whenever a bump would bring his knee in contact with hers, she made a show of jerking away, sometimes harrumphing as well just to punctuate her revulsion at the idea of touching. The fact was that a car full of four people didn’t reduce the awkward feeling of intimacy that was created by being trapped in a small space with a man who smelled a little like heavenly cologne, a little like a summer night breeze, and a lot like his own uniquely masculine scent. Her body was hyperaware of the proximity and seemed to have its own agenda regarding Rafael Nightsong.

  They traveled on a cliff side mountainous road that curved in and out offering occasional picturesque views of the sea below. All in all it took only fifteen minutes to get there, even with the extremely slow speeds. They came to a stop in a small graveled car park carved, or blasted rather, from the mountainside in front of a monastery built many centuries before there were cars or a need to park them. The parking lot wasn’t deserted, as she’d expected. There was a port-a-potty and six or seven vehicles already parked and deserted before their little caravan pulled in.

  When the car came to a stop, Mercy was the first one out. Whether that was because of eagerness to get to her work or her eagerness to get away from the discomfort of Raif’s nearness was irrelevant. She wanted out. Right away.

  Mercy strode quickly toward the lead vehicle from which Professor Yanov and Minister Igvanotof were emerging. The side nearest her was the driver’s, which was preferential since that meant she would encounter Yanov first.

  He flashed his ready grin as he stood up straight and closed the car door. “It’s a fine morning for mysteries. Is it not?”

  She smiled in return. “Indeed it is and I couldn’t be more ready.”

  “This way then.” He gestured for her to accompany him.

  As if she hadn’t done her homework, Yanov proceeded to explain that the site, perched high above the town of Sozopol, was what remained of the fifth century monastery. Relics found under the altar had been moved to the National Museum. So there wasn’t much left to see.

  “Where are the remains of interest?”

  Yanov grinned. “Come this way.”

  He was walking toward the edge of the cliff where there appeared to be nothing but a guard rail so flimsy it wouldn’t stop a determined bicycle, and a few men standing around, ostensibly for the purpose of guarding the site.

  When they reached the edge of the cliff, she could see that scaffolding had been built on the mountainside with supports driven deep into the rock. It was a good thing she wasn’t afraid of heights.

  They’d created a catwalk path to the cave entrance.

  Yanov spoke to everyone in their little group. “Safety first.” He grabbed a helmet off a bench and strapped it on. “No admittance without helmets. There is nothing to worry you, but the caves are classified as unstable because there is occasional seismic activity.”

  “How in the world was this found to begin with?” Mercy asked while the knights were choosing helmets that fit and putting them on.

  “Oh. It’s an interesting story. For some years, probably centuries, scrub trees have grown here and there on the cliff side. A few months ago a small earthquake loosened some of the rock and the trees fell away into the sea, which made the caves visible from the sea.

  “Two boys, teenagers, were fishing together in a row boat and noticed. I don’t know how or why word of that spread to the Ministry of Antiquities or what exactly led them to fund further investigation.” He turned to Minister Igvanotof. “Do you know?”

  The Minister shrugged and looked away as if that was an actual answer to the question.

  In turn, Yanov shrugged and smiled at Dr. Renaux, then continued. “When the skeletons were discovered, the site was shut down immediately. I suppose someone working in the Department of Antiquities contacted your organization? I don’t know. All I know is that authority changed hands within hours and I was sworn to secrecy.

  “Very strange. Huh?” Mercy agreed that if she had been in his position she would think the whole thing more than strange. “I know you brought some of your own equipment. These men,” he waved toward the men standing by the guard rail, “are here to carry what you need.”

  “Thank you. Let me see what we have first and then decide.”

  “Very good. With your permission I will lead the way.”

  “Right behind you.” Mercy turned and looked over her four escorts, ostensibly to indicate that she was forging ahead.

  She heard laughter behind her and turned to see Torn looking at Gunnar. It wouldn’t take a human lie detector to guess that Gun was afraid of heights. She reached past Torn with a glare, grabbed Gun’s wrist and pulled him forward so that he was next to her on the mountain side. Hopefully his psyche would accept the fake security of having a cliff on one side and Mercy on the other.

  She leaned into him and whispered, “Okay?”

  It was far too cool for the telltale sweat she saw trailing from Gun’s temple. He nodded. In a stronger voice she said, “Gunnar. Please take my hand so that the heights don’t make me feel unsteady.”

  She didn’t wait for his agreement, but grabbed onto his bear paw of a hand and squeezed. The look he gave her fell somewhere between gratitude and adoration.

  Raif quietly watched her extraordinary display of empathy and kindness and castigated himself for being the world’s worst judge of character. She couldn’t possibly be more different than he’d originally thought when he’d first seen her at the great speed dating fuckup.

  Glen leaned over to Raif and said, “I’m not fond of adventures that begin with warnings about unstable mountains.”

  Raif looked over, smirked, said, “Well, kid. You wanted to be a knight. This is the gig. You get what you get,” then walked off.

  “Hey,” Glen yelled after him. “Thanks for the pep talk.” Raif waved his hand without looking back. Glen started forward. When he passed Igvanotof leaning against a rock wall, he said, “Are you coming?”

  Igvanotof shrugged and never looked directly at Glen.

  Entering the mouth of the cavern, one by one they switched on their head lamps. The chamber with the two skeletons was located about twenty-five feet inside. The stone ceiling was high enough to allow even Gunnar to stand upright, but the chamber where Mercy needed to work was really too small for four knights, one local and an archeologist.

  “For starters, I’m going to need more light and less people,” she said.

  “We had lights powered by generator, but when the inquiry stopped they were removed. “

  Mercy nodded. “How long would it take to get them back again?”

  Yanov pursed his lips. “A day.”

  Mercy heaved a big sigh. “See if you can make it happen in four hours. No gas powered generators. We don’t want to be breathing those fumes in this enclosed space.”

  Yanov stepped out on the catwalk where he could get a signal and make a call.

  “I’m not going to be able to get very far without more light. There’s only so much I can do with these.” Mercy pointed to the headlamps on their helmets. “And it’s pretty much already been done.”

  “What do you want to do?” Glen asked.

  “Go wait outside in the sunshine, I guess, “

  “Good news!” Yanov returned sounding pleased. “We can have more lights here in two hours.”

  They spent the next three hours sitting on the rocks of ruins part way up a mountain overlooking the Black Sea. Some might feel that there are worst ways to spend a morning, but Dr. Renaux was antsy about having a closer look around her assignment and at least three of the four knights felt their time was being wasted babysitting a redhead and two skeletons when they should be on rotation for vampire hunting. So, all in all, the time passed
slowly.

  After a couple of hours, Glen opened the trunk of the equipment car and produced bottled waters for everybody. He made a delivery stop, handing over three bottles to Mercy, Torn, and Gun then turned and headed toward where Raif sat on an outcropping alone.

  Raif had situated himself on a flat rock where he could watch Dr. Renaux surreptitiously without having to listen to the flirting going on with Torn. He hadn’t missed the fact that the two of them had been putting on a mating dance show ever since she’d boarded the plane in New Jersey. It was a wonder that he’d been able to eat while watching the cutesy display the two of them put on at breakfast.

  When he’d tried to join in the conversation, she’d mocked him, turning to Torn with wide eyes and blinking exaggeratedly. Did you hear something? Torn had laughed and winked and encouraged her. Traitor.

  Raif was sure that, later that night, he’d hear Torn sneaking off down the hallway for a clandestine screwing of Dr. Renaux. That is, if it didn’t turn out that her prim rigidity made entry impossible. As much as he wanted to tell himself he didn’t care, he knew he was wishing that he was the one who’d get to find out whether that feminine body felt cold as steel or soft, warm and pliable.

  He was lost in those thoughts when Glen walked up and held up a plastic bottle. “Water?”

  Raif looked up, then reached out to take it. “Thanks.”

  “You always so antisocial?”

  “I’m not antisocial. I’m just not into small talk.”

  “Oh. Small talk. I can see that,” Glen said thoughtfully.

  “Something else?” Raif asked like Glen’s presence was an irritant.

  “No. Just thought I’d try to get to know you better. Since we’re going to be team mates and all.”

  “Not much to know.”

  “I’m betting there is. You strike me as a complicated sort.”

  Raif barked out a belligerent laugh, looked at Glen and shook his head. “You know, kid. I’ve been called a lot of things since I’ve been wearing a Z Team brand on my hindquarters, but ‘complicated’ is a new one.”