by Keri Arthur
“Which clarifies absolutely everything.”
She lightly slapped my thigh. “I’ll definitely have to sit you down and give you geography lessons.”
“Why? It’s not like it will matter, now or later.”
She tsked. “A good queen should always know the history and geography of the lands she rules.”
“Even if I am destined to claim Elysian, it’s not like the throne will ever be mine.”
“That’s not the point.”
It actually was. Even if Darkside managed to destroy Layton’s protections, they would never erase the entire royal line. The Blackbirds wouldn’t allow it. They’d fight for the crown’s existence, even if human royalty now wore that crown rather than witch.
And while there were undoubtedly plenty of witches who’d love to see the reemergence of witch rule, there were just as many who’d fight to keep the status quo—mostly those whose businesses and wealth were very much tied in with the current system.
“When did you realize the ring wasn’t the real one?” I asked eventually.
“When it didn’t react to you.”
I glanced at her. “Which might have just meant you were wrong and that I’m not the heir.”
“Hardly, when Vivienne all but declared it as truth.”
Meaning that whole convergence thing, no doubt. “Then how are we going to find the real ring, especially if the Blackbirds took the current one from Uhtric’s hand?”
“I suspect Mryddin might be able to answer that one.”
“Why? Hasn’t he been in hibernation since the time of the first Witch King?”
“I believed so, but perhaps this is one of those very rare occasions when I’m wrong.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I did leave after Uhtric re-caged Darkside, remember, and all these intrigues certainly have Mryddin’s feel. Plus, Vivienne did say it was time for him to stir again.”
“What if he doesn’t have the answers we need?”
“Let’s cross one bridge at a time, darling girl.”
I snorted softly but nevertheless switched my full attention back to road. By the time we neared Carlisle, dawn had fully risen, and the day looked gray and ugly. Mo directed me off the M6 and through a number of streets until we reached a small café on the outskirts of the main town center.
I stopped out front and climbed out. Luc pulled up beside us; after storing his helmet, he glanced up at the café’s sign. “Coffee Climax? Seriously?”
Mo chuckled. “Mary does have a bent sense of humor, although there are plenty who would attest to her coffee being as close as you’ll get to an orgasm without having sex.”
I locked the Focus and followed Mo across to the café’s bright blue door. “I take it she’s a witch?”
Mo nodded. “She specializes in sexual dysfunction, be it male or female, though her café is real enough. It pays to diversify in this day and age.”
She rapped on the door. The noise echoed, suggesting emptiness, but a few seconds later, a sharp voice said, “Who the hell is it?”
“Me, you old fool. Who else would it be at this hour?”
“Not my customers, that’s for sure. They know better. Why the hell are you knocking? You’ve been cleared to enter at any time.”
“I have people with me, Mary. I wanted to give you time to put clothes on.”
“Ha! They prudes, are they?”
“No, but this is a business visit, not pleasure.”
“Well, fine. I’ll get dressed. Come in and help yourself to coffee.”
“We need breakfast, not just coffee.”
“You always push it, Moscelyne. Just as well I fucking like you.”
Mo chuckled and pressed her hand against the door, just above the heavy, medieval-looking lock. Power stirred, and bright sparks ran across Mo’s fingers for several seconds. With a loud click, the door opened.
The room beyond was quaint—stone walls, low ceilings, heavy beams. A small inglenook dominated the rear wall; to the right of this was an open wooden door that led into a kitchen. A rickety old staircase stood on the other side. Along the wall to our right was a servery counter, a cake fridge filled with mouthwatering delights, and a surprisingly large and modern coffee machine.
We followed Mo through the room and entered the kitchen. It was also surprisingly modern, with lots of stainless steel benches and appliances. A tall, willowy woman with vivid purple hair tied into a messy bun stood in front of the stove, flipping eggs and frying bacon. She was wearing a loose, translucent kaftan that revealed fleeting glimpses of flesh with every movement. Mary’s idea of being dressed was as left of center as she seemed to be.
Mo strode over and dropped a kiss onto an offered cheek. “You look younger every time I see you.”
Mary snorted and slapped at Mo’s arm with the egg flipper. “I’m already cooking you breakfast—what else are you damn well after?”
“Advice.”
“Ha. You’re never just after advice.” She glanced over her shoulder. Though she looked to be in her mid-forties, the fine lines around her eyes and the crepey neck skin suggested she was at least ten if not twenty years older than that. “Who are these two?”
“My granddaughter, Gwen, and Lucas Durant.”
“Her beau?” She looked him up and down. “Worthy of her, I’d say. Looks to have some stamina in him, which is what you always want in a keeper.”
I bit my bottom lip to stop a laugh escaping. I didn’t dare look at Luc, though I had no doubt there was some eye-rolling happening, at the very least.
“You’d better sit down,” she continued, this time waving the egg flipper somewhere off to our right. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
“Shall I ready the tea and coffee?” Mo asked.
“Well, you ain’t here for your good looks now, are you?”
Mo’s lips twitched, but she nevertheless grabbed the softly whistling kettle and poured the water into the waiting teapot. I turned and saw a small table tucked into the corner of the room. The bench seat surrounding two sides of it barely looked big enough to fit Luc and me, let alone Mo. There was one kitchen chair, so at least the four of us weren’t squeezing in together.
I scooted in behind Luc while Mo brought over the drinks, cutlery, and plates. Mary dished everything onto a platter, then sashayed over and placed it on the table.
“I ain’t dishing it up, so help yourselves.” She plonked down on the chair and led by example. Around a mouthful of food, she added, “Now, what’s this about you needing information?”
Mo piled bacon and a couple of eggs onto her plate, then handed me the tongs. “I need to know what the situation is with Mryddin.”
Mary pursed her lips. “His cave is closed for conservation works. There’ve been some rockfalls of late.”
“Natural or magic based?”
“Bit of both, I believe.”
“Do you think Mryddin is stirring?”
“Possibly only in his sleep. His locks remained engaged.” She picked up the teapot and filled the cups. “What’s this all about?”
Mo grimaced. “The sword on King’s Island has been drawn.”
“Not by anyone friendly, I’m taking it?”
“No.”
“Well, fuck.”
She leaned back in her chair; the kaftan tightened across her chest, revealing pert breasts unchained by a bra. A woman not afraid to flaunt what she had—a woman after my own heart, I thought with a smile. Luc caught my eye when I offered him the tongs and then wiggled one finger back and forth between Mary and me. Suggesting, I suspected, that the two of us were as bad as each other. Or that I’d be her in a few years time.
I didn’t mind either.
“What are we going to do about it?” Mary continued. “Other than talk to the old grump—if he deigns to grace us with his presence, that is.”
“Right now, we need to chase down Uhtric’s ring—”
“I don’t think his ring would be worth finding these days—not consider
ing how long he’s been in the ground,” she said, a devilish glint in her blue eyes.
I just about choked on my bacon. Mo tsked softly. “Mind out of the gutter, Mary. This is serious.”
Her amusement fell away. “How serious?”
“End of the world, main gate into Darkside opening serious.”
“Well, fuck. There goes my plan to spend summer in Paris.”
“You’ve been there before.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
“It hasn’t changed that much.” Mo scooped up a last bit of bacon and then leaned back with a contented sigh. “Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything on the grapevine about the coronation ring, have you?”
“There were some undefined whisperings about Windermere Lake a week ago, but I suspect you already know about that. If his mob don’t have the ring”—she pointed with her chin at Luc—“then there’s two options—Mryddin or the arcane.”
“Was Mryddin active after Uhtric’s death?”
“I believe so. He also woke after Aldred’s victory.”
“Do you know why?”
Mary shook her head. “I was on the point of passing.”
“Damn.” Mo picked up her teacup and took a drink. “Any idea how best to find the coronation ring, then?”
Mary pursed her lips. “I’ll ask the ancient ones tonight, but I can’t make any promises. They’ve been very uncommunicative of late—no doubt because of what you said about Darkside and the sword.”
“Let me know either way,” Mo said. “And use the alternative channel—it’s safer at the moment.”
Mary nodded. “If Elysian’s been claimed, what’s the king currently doing?”
“We’re not entirely sure the sword on King’s Island is Elysian—that’s why I want to talk to Mryddin.”
“You think he’s done a switcheroo?”
“Possibly.”
Mary frowned. “He wouldn’t have done it without a good reason.”
“I know.”
Mary glanced at her watch. “You’d best be getting along, then. It’s a bit of a scramble to get to the cave, and the tide will be coming in again soon.”
She immediately rose and walked away. A woman who didn’t dither and who had no time for those who did, I suspected.
I grabbed my last bit of bacon and munched on it as I followed the two older women out of the kitchen.
“If you do manage to wake the old bastard,” Mary said. “Remind him he owes me a drink and that I expect him to pay up.”
Mo laughed. “I wouldn’t. He was never one to honor his debts.”
Mary opened the door and ushered us out. The devilish glint was back in her eyes. “It depends entirely on the debts and whether the payment was monetary or physical.”
Mo shook her head. “I’ll never understand your attraction to the man, Mary.”
“Looks are a poor second place to bed prowess, as you well know.”
Mo laughed again. “We’ll talk later tonight.”
“After midnight. The ancients get antsy if I wake them too early.” Mary’s gaze fell on me. “I see your strength in her, Moscelyne, and damn, she’s going to need it.”
“Everyone will if we’re to survive what’s coming.” Mo’s tone was grim. “But more so those of us who’ll be on the front line.”
“Wasn’t it ever so?” Mary sighed and slammed the door shut.
“Well, that was an interesting experience,” Luc muttered. “I gather she’s another mage?”
“No,” Mo said. “She’s what I call a soul soldier—a soul destined to be reborn into a new body in times of great darkness, be it a Darkside, human, or witch-based catastrophe.”
“Is she only ever reborn in times of need?” I asked. “Or is it a continuous cycle?”
Like Luc and me, I wanted to add, but thought better of it. He still really hadn’t accepted the possibility, and I wasn’t about to say anything that might jeopardize our recent agreement.
“She only ever enters new flesh as needed, and it is ever her destiny to die on the battlefield.” Mo gestured at Luc’s motorbike. “Climb aboard your steed, Blackbird. We need to get moving.”
He obeyed. I offered Mo the car keys. “I take it you want to drive?”
She nodded and opened the car. “It’ll be easier if I do, given I know the way and you don’t.”
I waited until she’d reversed out of the parking spot and we were on our way again before asking, “So if Mary isn’t a mage, what are her powers? Besides being able to talk to the dead.”
“Not just any dead,” Mo said. “But the ancient druidic council. Or the six masters of mayhem, as we like to call them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“They had a nasty habit of stirring up trouble to justify their own existence.” She shook her head. “We butted heads many a time with them.”
“‘We’ being you and Mary?”
“And Mryddin, Dyddy, and any other soul soldiers who happen to be around in that century.”
“Dyddy?”
“Gwendydd.” She glanced at me. “You were named after her, you know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was named after Gwenhwyfar?”
“Your mother never knew about Gwenhwyfar or that you were her soul reborn. Hell, I didn’t realize it for far too many years.” She neatly avoided an idiot in a van who stopped for no good reason that I could see. “She found an ancient tome about Dyddy’s exploits and declared her first daughter would be named Gwen. She was eight at the time.”
“Why on earth was she thinking about children when she was eight?” I wasn’t even thinking about them now, and I was nearly thirty.
“She was always determined to have kids young,” Mo said, with soft regret. “I often wonder now if she knew her life would not be a long one.”
I didn’t say anything. The only clear memories I had of my mother were of her dying in the hospital after the car crash that had already taken my father’s life. Which was sad, I supposed, but not unexpected given I’d only been three.
“Aside from spirit talking,” Mo continued, “Mary’s a strong spell caster.”
“I’m not entirely sure the ability to raise limp dicks will be much help when we’re battling Darkside.”
Mo laughed. “She can do more than that, trust me.”
“I would hope so.” I studied the long row of red-brick terraces that lined either side of the street for a minute. “Is she the only soul soldier born into this timeline?”
“They generally work in pairs, at the very least, but we don’t have a lot of contact until trouble rises.” Mo shrugged. “They have to hide their presence because Darkside hunts them down.”
“How would they even know a soul soldier from a regular reincarnation?”
“It’s all about the aura and smell—Tartarus hounds are specifically trained to hunt them.”
“What is a Tartarus hound? Or don’t I want to know?”
Her lips twitched. “Probably the latter, but given they’ll undoubtedly be unleashed before all this has ended, they’re basically the mythic hellhound. Only bigger.”
“Well, isn’t that something to look forward to?” And I couldn’t help wondering how many other nightmare creatures I’d learn about before this fight was over. “What kills them?”
Nex and Vita obviously would, but on the off chance I couldn’t access their power, it’d be handy to know.
“Anything sharp and silver.”
“Note to self—start collecting all things sharp and silver.”
“No need—there’s a cache of demon-killing weapons hidden in the King’s Tower.”
I frowned. “Where? I didn’t see it when we were down there.”
“Well, it’d hardly be hidden if you could see it, would it?”
We were approaching another bridge, and my breath caught in my throat. Nothing happened, of course, but it was nevertheless a relief once we were on the other side.
“Does the fact Darkside hunts soul soldiers down mean they can’t be reborn into the same century?” Then, before she could answer, I added, “I guess it does, thanks to the whole ‘having to grow up before you can fight’ problem.”
“Actually, soul soldiers are born into the bodies of the freshly dead and inherit whatever personality and magical abilities their meat case has.”
“Meat case? That’s seriously gross.”
“But nothing more than the truth once the original soul has left.”
“What happened to the real Mary? And what’s the current version’s actual name? Or were they never born human in the first place?”
“Mary had an allergic reaction and passed before medical help could get to her.” Mo flicked on the blinker and turned onto the road leading to North Glasgow and Edinburgh. “Soul soldiers are chosen from those who made a vast difference to the lives around them. I believe she was christened Kwyn.”
“What did she do to become a soul soldier?”
“From the little she’s said, I think she led her people to victory against greater odds after their king and his generals had fallen.”
“Handy to have in a fight, then.”
“Yes, though sword fighting is not a part of her skill set in this generation.”
“Given how few people actually train to use a sword these days, that’s hardly surprising.”
“No, although they generally do choose the best available meat case at the time of their rebirth.”
“And now I have an image of a celestial supermarket where the newly dead are displayed, all with little tags nominating their strengths and weaknesses.”
Mo’s mouth twitched. “It’s probably not that far from the truth.”
I snorted and fell silent. It took nearly two hours to get to Whithorn, though the cave itself was accessed from a park area that was basically in the middle of a farming community a few miles out of town. I climbed out of the car and stretched the kinks from my body. Once Luc had arrived, we headed off down a muddy path that skirted around the farm buildings and headed into a thick wood. The closer we got to the sea, the sharper and colder the wind got. A pebbly beach soon came into view; it was quite pretty even though the sea looked gray and cold.
The crunch of our footsteps echoed across the stillness, but we’d barely taken five steps when Nex pulsed.
