by Ines Johnson
Gwin teetered as she crashed into Lady Constance. Constance put her hands out and then around Gwin until she was steady. Gwin was so starved for affection that she had the urge to collapse inside the woman’s arms.
But she didn’t. She straightened her spine and plastered on her Hostess smile. Though she considered Constance a friend, this was not a conversation she wanted to have with the woman.
“I’m so sorry, Gwin,” said Constance.
“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
“Did I hear you say you were looking for Lancelot?”
Gwin froze. How much of the conversation between herself and her mother had Constance heard? Gwin decided it didn’t matter what Constance had heard. She knew where to find Lance.
“I opened a ley line for him not fifteen minutes ago.”
“Where did he go?” Gwin asked.
“France.”
Gwin looked over her shoulder. Her mother hadn’t followed her down the stairs and was no longer at the top.
Good.
Because Gwin was going to do something her mother would certainly disapprove of. She was leaving behind her duty. She was following her heart. She would go to France, find Lance, and continue what she started in the infirmary.
11
The ley line to Champagne opened in the wine cellar of the manse. This particular ley line doorway wasn’t built on a church or place of religious significance like most places where ley energies covered. Still, this home was hallowed ground.
The manse was once the home of Joseph of Arimathea, the uncle of the prophet Jesus. Arimethea’s wife was Mary Magdalene, one of the most powerful witches the world had ever known.
Arthur, the first of his name, had married the daughter of Joseph and Mary. They raised their children in this home, including their grandson, Hugues de Paganis, also known as Hugo de Payens, the founder of the Knights Templar.
The house had been empty for nearly a year. The last tenant, an elderly witch who had looked after the place, had been drained of her power and left to die by Merlin when he’d gone on his rampage.
Just the thought of the wizard made Lance ill. What his poor Gwin had had to endure, bearing his touch for decades
No. He promised himself he’d never think of that. The problem was now that he’d tasted her lips, Lance couldn’t not think of her.
It had seemed it was new to her, their kiss. Touching her lips to another, being held in an embrace. Had that bastard hurt her during their intimate moments?
Lance clenched his fists so hard he heard his bones splinter.
Wait. No. That wasn’t bone. It was a floorboard. Someone was upstairs in the house.
Lance pulled his brooch from his shirt. He didn't unleash his sword as he stepped carefully up the stairs. Peeking into the entryway, he spotted a dozen Templars.
The men wore the modern white tunic with a red cross over the chest of the new world order. The crosses had hooks at the edges, unlike the original Templars whose crosses were two, simple straight lines. These men had clean-shaven faces, emoji hair, and in one case cowboy boots. Their appearance told Lance that these men were more modern than moral standard-bearers as the order called for. Half of them looked like comic con rejects while the other half looked like ninja warrior wannabes.
They were all human. The dangerous kind of human. They’d drunk the Kool-Aid of a zealot. That made them think they were heroes and righteous of a bad flavor.
A spindly man stepped forward. He looked no thicker than a sword. He reminded Lance of the allergy-prone scientist back in the infirmary. That must be Simon Accolon's father, Malegant. Lance doubted the man could lift a sword himself, which was likely why he got amateurs to do his dirty work.
Before he could decide what move to make, Lance felt a sharp point at his back. His shoulders slumped. Not out of resignation. Out of embarrassment that a toy soldier had snuck up and got the drop on him.
Lance slipped the brooch containing his sword onto his thumb and placed his hands up in the air in mock surrender.
“One of the knights of Camelot?” said the nasally voice behind him. “They said you all were tough, but I caught you on my first night out.”
The man sounded pleased with his prowess. Lance decided to let the kid believe he was in control for a while longer. With a shove, the Templar pushed Lance out of the door and into the awareness of the dozen men. The men stood in the library surrounded by ancient books lining wall to wall shelves. They'd taken a moment to light the fire, which was the only illumination in the room.
The other toy soldiers all immediately drew their swords. Lance was lucky they observed the sword fighting tradition of the original knights. If they used guns, like modern soldiers, bullets would’ve riddled the entire room with their nervous fingers.
“Look what I found, my lord,” said the baby Templar.
Lance bit the inside of his mouth. The Templars who remained were not of noble lineage. They didn’t deserve the honorific of lord, especially with the direction of their moral endeavors of killing harmless witches.
“Malegant, I presume,” said Lance.
The man’s smile was reminiscent of a cartoon villain. He just needed to twirl his greasy mustache. “I see my reputation precedes me.”
“Actually, it’s your son who gave me a description. He’s being held captive in Camelot, by the way. I’m surprised you haven’t mounted a rescue effort.”
Malegant shrugged. “He chose his mom in the divorce. So, it serves him right.”
Lance felt a momentary pang for the scientist. His own father would never have lifted a finger to save him either. Even when the sword chose him, his father couldn’t bring himself to claim Lance.
In Lance’s current predicament, the raised swords around him glinted in the lamplight. Lance remained calm and still. A rescue would be welcome, but not necessary. As long as he kept himself calm and alert, Lance would find a way out of this. It was just a dozen inept humans playing with sharp sticks.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” said Lance.
“De Payens was the founder of the Knights Templar. He laid the foundation for what our organization would become. We have every right to be here. It’s you who are trespassing.”
"This was his grandparents’ home," said Lance. "Joseph of Arimathea and the witch Mary Magdalene.”
The swords lowered incrementally as the play knights looked around at each other. Confusion, disbelief, and wonder colored their faces in the low light. Except Malegant, whose face showed fury and indignation.
"Oh?" drooled Lance. "You didn't tell them?"
“That’s blasphemy.” The spittle collected at the corners of Malegant’s mouth, settling on his pointy mustache. “More lies by you devils who dared to steal God’s glory.”
Templars believed magical kind stole their powers. Eve and the devil and the apple and such. The apple in the story being the source of magic. There was some truth to the made-up version. But no snake. No Adam either. Just a lost, hungry human girl in a realm of magic.
Lance kept his explanations to himself. He was more interested in Malegant’s explanation of his doings. Lance had done the hero-villain thing enough that he knew if he kept quiet, the bad guy would spill his dastardly plan.
"This is what the Knights of Camelot do with their lies and their trickery. It's why the Templars were formed, to combat the magic that had broken loose on God's creatures. For centuries, magic has plagued God-fearing servants. Your spells have toppled crowns, crippled the church, and cursed armies. Your treachery even worked its way into our ranks, all the way to our last Grand Master. But now, in this day, we will reverse your curse on our order.”
As villain speeches went, Lance was having trouble following the diatribe. The last Grand Master of the Templars? “Do you mean Jacques de Molay?”
“Of course you would know the name of the traitor,” said Malegant. “He was one of your kind.”
; The Templars had been founded by the son of a witch, but its ranks were populated by devout humans. Those with magical blood became knights. Once again, Malegant had all of his facts wrong.
By the time the Templars’ demise began, the order had long since broken with Camelot. It had come under the thumb of the church and crown.
“The wizard, de Molay, revealed himself and placed a curse on the Templars that fateful night of Friday the 13th. Many believed the curse was on the king and pope. It may have been as well. But the main curse was on the Templars. Hundreds of Templars were arrested across France. And while hundreds were jailed, burned, and killed, still hundreds of bodies were missing. Did you never wonder what happened to them?”
“No,” said Lance. “It’s the twenty-first century. They’re dead.”
“Not dead. Sleeping.”
Okay. Lance decided to upgrade this guy from villain to lunatic.
“Before the massacre, some of the Templars got away. There were rumors that they got word of de Molay’s treachery and went into hiding.”
It still made no sense to Lance. Even if some got away, it was still hundreds of years later. None of those men would have survived. Perhaps Malegant was talking about their descendants? Somehow, Lance doubted it.
“Legend has it they were cursed by de Molay and turned to stone.”
“Uh huh,” Lance nodded slowly, looking around at the pointed blades. He was no longer paying mind to Malegant and his insane ideas. He was plotting his inevitable escape. He kept talking only to humor the man. “You think Templars were turned to stone?”
“They were cursed. But now it’s time for the Stone Templars to rejoin the new world order. I just need to find them. I believe the records were kept in one of the Grand Master’s residences.”
“You can’t turn people to stone.” He didn’t think?
Now it was Malegant who nodded as though he were humoring Lance. "Just like you can't pull a steel sword out of stone. Or shove a blade into a pen or a brooch. Or travel across space and time through magical doors."
Okay. He had him there. But those were magical objects, not beings. There was a clear, living, and breathing difference.
“Magic transforms you. Only God has that power, and you stole it. It’s my job to return it. Starting with returning the lives you stole. I just need a little magic to reverse the spell. I wish I had a full-blooded witch or wizard instead of a half-blood bastard like you.”
The calm and cool that Lance had collected fell away. “I really don’t like that word.”
Malegant shrugged. “It’s what you are, isn’t it? Sir Lancelot, son of a noble knight and a whore.”
Lance knew he should take a deep breath and reach for reason. Twelve untried novices were dangerous in their unpredictability and potential for chaos. But that word was his button. That and Gwin. And the Gwin-button had already been pressed earlier. So, he had nothing to grasp onto.
Lance pushed on his brooch and unleashed his sword.
Twelve points aimed at him. Lance didn't want to kill the men. They all likely had corporate or dead-end jobs to get back to on Monday. Templars were once brought up in the order. Not like these late-in-life converts who wanted to play adventure on the weekends.
Still, their swords were sharp and pointing at him. And just as he expected, they didn’t come at him one or two at a time in an orderly fashion. They all lifted their heels to charge, wanting to pop their sword-fighting cherry. They’d do as much damage to each other as they would do to him with their eager lack of a plan. This would not end well for any of them.
Except Malegant who tactically moved out of range.
This was going to be a bloodbath and not one Gwin could heal him from. He'd run into battle to get away from the temptation of her. Now, the only way he'd see her again would be a miracle.
A Bible flew off one of the shelves, through the air, and thumped on one of the Templar’s heads. Then another good book. Then another, each making perfect aim at a Templar’s forehead.
Lance would’ve thought maybe God was on his side. Apparently, She was. As if pulled by magic, his gaze lifted, and there she was.
12
Gwin pulled more energy from the ley line and sent a third and fourth book flying. A thick tome thumped one of the men on his head, a scroll hit the back of another man’s head. They both fell forward, knocked out cold.
That was four down. But there were still eight standing against Lance. However, the flying books had spooked the men, and they’d all lowered their swords as they whipped their heads left and right, trying to suss out where the danger was coming from.
She sent another thick book flying across the room.
Gwin’s magic set off chasing the man around until it whacked him on the bottom and then across the head, sending him asleep along with the other four men.
The rest of the men looked around frantically at the ancient religious symbols about the room. By the fear on their faces, it was certain they believed judgment was upon them.
“It’s a witch,” said the man who’d backed away from all the fighting. His lanky frame resembled the young Simon Accolon who still slept in the infirmary back at the castle.
Lance's gaze found hers through the crack in the door. When it did, his sword lowered also. His once fierce expression turned horror-stricken at the sight of her. His chest heaved as though he'd been punched in his gut because he had.
“Double bubble toil and trouble. Come out or I’ll poke your knight like a bubble.”
With a nod from Malegant, the man who’d punched Lance in the gut turned his sword on Lance’s neck. Gwin’s life flashed before her eyes with the glint of that blade at Lance’s neck.
Doubled over, Lance shook his head at her from where he spotted her in her hiding place in the ley line doorway. Go home, his eyes communicated with her. Save yourself.
Like hell, she would. Gwin stepped out of her hiding spot. She put her hands up. She could still perform spells with her hands raised. It was only the blade at Lance’s throat that kept her magic at bay.
“Get the abomination,” said Malegant. “I’ll need her magic to break the spell once we find the Stone Templars.”
Lance stepped up to the blade, turning to place his body between hers and the rest of the men. His voice was filled with a menace she didn’t know he was capable of. “You’ll touch her over my dead body.”
The big man dressed in a modern take on Templar garb shrugged “Fine by me.”
Gwin saw red when blood pricked at Lance’s neck just beside his bobbing Adam’s apple. The skin broke, and her palms flared.
“Ah ah ah,” tsked Accolon’s father.
Gwin glared up at the man. There were still six Templars standing. Lady Gwin had never hurt another living soul, outside of the book thumping a moment ago. But seeing harm being inflicted on the man she loved pushed a button in her.
That was the last thing she thought as the big man flew up and against the wall. The hard crack was sickening. She was certain she’d broken something with the force of her magic. She didn’t care. Hostess Gwin had left the building. Get along to go along Gwin was nowhere to be found.
Her attention turned to the man coming toward her with a sword raised. She’d never had anyone approach her with aggression in her entire life. Other than her husband. But he always launched foul words, not a fist or sword.
The magic she had employed to lift and toss the big man had taken a lot from her. She reached down, pulling more energy from the abundant ley energy running under the ancient house. She raised her hands to ward off her next attacker, only to have warm blood splatter across her palms.
Lance’s blade struck down the advancing Templar. Lance’s gaze connected with hers. His blue eyes blazed with fury. Gwin shrank back from the rage that curled his lips.
She blinked, trying to wipe the sight of Lance’s malice from her view. When she opened her eyes again, Lance had turned from her. His sword made figure eights, slicing the torsos
of two more men before she could even catch her breath.
There was nothing for her to do but watch. He’d drawn all attention from her to him. With the last four men standing, Lance moved easily, disarming the men who outnumbered him. None of them outmanned him.
A loud crash sounded from behind her when the last of the four men fell. She felt heat at her back. Gwin turned into a blaze that lit the room. Somehow, the fire had escaped the confines of the fireplace.
She saw how. Malegant held vintage bottles of wine in his two palms. He must’ve grabbed them from the cellar. Gwin felt a moment of anger that he’d destroy the priceless vintages.
Lance backed his body toward Gwin, offering her protection as fire engulfed the room and blocked them from the cellar doorway and the ley line. They looked up to see Malegant and a couple of the bruised Templars exiting the room.
“I thought we needed the witch,” said the big Templar, who Gwin had launched against the wall.
“Leave her,” said Malegant. “I’ll get another by the time we find the Stone Templars.”
The door slammed behind the escaping Templars. Gwin heard something heavy fall down on the other side. With both exits blocked or up in flames, there was no way out.
She couldn’t extinguish the fire without water nearby. She could use her magic to send the fire somewhere, but there was no exit. They were trapped. But they were together.
Lance pulled her to him. She went willingly. If it was going to end, this was the way she wanted to go, in his arms. But he wasn’t pulling her into his arms.
Lance took Gwin’s hand and tugged her to the far side of the room. He wasn’t gazing lovingly into her eyes. He was looking up.
There was a high window. He tossed his sword up. The blade hit the glass and the window smashed, raining down shards of glass. Once again, Lance used his body to shield hers from the downpour.
Lance straightened and lifted Gwin in his arms. He hefted her up. She reached up, grasping the windowsill with her fingertips. Gwin lifted herself up and over the window. It was a long way down. Far enough that she could hurt herself if she didn’t land well. A second later, Lance joined her as flames moved to follow.
