by Sandy James
He chuckled and gave Rebecca’s hand a squeeze, encouraging her to be included in their teasing as if she’d understand their inside joke.
She didn’t squeeze back.
“You’re nae that old,” he said. “I’ve many a year on you and feel the pinch of age as well.”
Sparks dropped her hands to her sides and splayed her fingers several times as she bent her knees, muttering to herself. “I’m way outta practice. Been using the stupid lighter too much.” She took a deep breath.
“You can do this,” Artair encouraged. “’Tis nae been that long. Focus, Frida.”
Sparks’s eyes shot fire.
Rebecca could actually feel Sparks’s annoyance, as if in some way she shared it.
“I told you,” Sparks said, “never to call me that, Arthur.”
He just chuckled. “Anger’s your trigger. Yer mad at me. Use it.”
Cynically brushing aside the odd connection she seemed to have to Sparks’s emotions, Rebecca tired of the little dog and pony show they were putting on for her benefit. “Well? What’s supposed to happen? I’m sure not seeing anything that—”
A spark appeared inside Sparks’s enclosed palms. As she slowly pulled her hands apart, the fireball grew at a steady pace. Within a few moments, Sparks cradled a ball of pure fire the size of a softball. The flames twisted and turned, burning white hot, but never leaving the woman’s control nor scorching her skin.
Sparks smirked and lovingly caressed the sphere. “Sweet. I wasn’t sure I could still do it. Too outta practice, I figured.”
“A nice one, Sparks,” Artair said with a nod. “A true beauty.”
Even though she could feel Sparks’s satisfaction, Rebecca blinked against the image, not wanting to believe what was in front of her. She shook her head. “No. No. I—I don’t know how you’re doing that. It’s a trick, right?”
Sparks slammed her palms together with a loud clap, extinguishing the fireball and leaving behind a cloud of smoke. “I’m about to leave you for the revenants.”
“It’s not pyrotechnics?” A stupid question, but her mind simply couldn’t absorb all she’d seen.
Sparks shot a glare. “Just watch and learn.” She closed her eyes and crouched to the ground.
A glow began to build around Sparks, a light that flared so bright, it hurt Rebecca’s eyes. Sparks seemed to be getting smaller. And smaller still. The aura morphed into a bright red, and Rebecca tucked her arm around her head, figuring the fireworks Sparks used might be getting ready to detonate. But there was never a flash, nor was there the pop of an explosion.
Slowly peeking out from under her arm, she couldn’t believe what was right in front of her. Where Sparks had crouched, a hawk now stood. The gorgeous bird’s chest was white, the wing and tail feathers a brilliant red. Shrieking once—a loud piercing sound—the hawk spread its wings and flapped, raising dust from the ground.
Artair dropped Rebecca’s hand and held out his arm. The hawk took to the air, circled around their heads a few times, and then came to land gracefully on his forearm.
“Your talons need trimming, Sparks. Yer scratching my arm. ’Tis a shame we don’t need you to scout for an enemy.” He winked at Rebecca. “Or perhaps you can find a wee mouse for a snack.”
The bird shrieked again, the cry sounding so much like a human laugh, Rebecca nervously looked around for Sparks.
“Where did she go?” She scanned the surroundings for any kind of evidence of the trick Sparks might have used to affect the switch.
The bird flapped its wings, fluffed its tail feathers and shrieked again.
“You will nae find anything, lass. The hawk is Sparks. Come and see,” he coaxed, holding his arm out toward her.
The bird’s eyes followed Rebecca.
Flapping its enormous wings, the hawk took to flight again, swooping over her head, making her duck to miss being hit. After a few passes, it landed on top of the van. An aura immediately surrounded the bird. She forced herself to watch. The red hawk grew and the light built to a crescendo as the bird changed back into Sparks.
“No.” Rebecca blindly reached out, not knowing what she was groping to find, suddenly so frightened she wanted to scream.
Artair’s hand encased hers, holding it in a steadying grip. His warm body standing close to her side gave her some comfort. “’Twill be fine, sweeting,” he said in that rich brogue.
All she could do was shake her head.
Sitting on the top of the van, Sparks panted as if she’d just run a race. “Sorry, Artair. I couldn’t hold it long. Outta practice.”
“How did you—” Rebecca couldn’t finish the question. She didn’t want to believe them, but it appeared she had no choice. She had entered The Twilight Zone. “Will I be able to do that?”
Artair squeezed her hand again. “Nay. ’Tis not one of your powers. Sparks is Fire. Yer Earth. Those powers are granted by different goddesses.”
Rebecca stared at him, not wanting to let her mind process the word goddesses.
“I’m getting too old for this shit.” Sparks scooted over to the edge of the roof. “Artair, get your Scottish arse over here and get me down.”
Rebecca kept herself glued to his side, but she let him take his hand away long enough to lift Sparks off the van and set her on her feet. He reached out to enfold Rebecca’s hand with his own as soon as he turned Sparks loose.
Sparks popped a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans and tapped one out. Fishing a silver Zippo from another pocket, she flipped open the top and flicked the little wheel, but the lighter refused to spark. She tried a couple more times with no success. “Damn it. Outta lighter fluid.” She slid the Zippo back into her pocket and snapped her fingers, producing a small flame that burned brightly on the end of her thumb. Shoving the cigarette between her lips, she pushed the end into the blaze, inhaled deeply, and then tucked her thumb into her palm. The fire disappeared.
Rebecca dropped Artair’s hand and took several steps back from her captors. Staring at Sparks with an open mouth, she found the courage to ask what she’d been thinking. “What are you?”
With an acerbic chuckle, Sparks shook her head. “Not me.” She took a long drag on her cigarette before slowly blowing out the smoke in one thin white stream. “The question, little girl, isn’t what am I. The question is what are we?”
Chapter Four
“We are Amazons. We’re warriors for the greater good,” Sparks said in a clear voice that didn’t sound at all like a woman who’d been drinking heavily. Little else would explain such a ludicrous statement.
“I’m not an Amazon,” Rebecca said with a shake of her head. “Geez, Louise. Aren’t Amazons supposed to be tall? I’m five foot six, not six foot six.” She glanced over to Artair. “They’re athletic, not clumsy like me. And—and they hate men, and I’m not a—”
“Hey!” Sparks strode toward Rebecca and pointed at her with the cigarette pinched between her fingers. “Watch your mouth, ’cause if you say what I think you were gonna say, I’ll knock your teeth out. You’ve been watching way too many B movies, little girl.” Throwing her cigarette butt to the ground, she smashed it into the grass with the toe of her combat boot. “Amazons are—well, we…” She fixed her gaze on Artair. He gave a brisk nod.
“Lass, yer one of four women born to be guardians of the greater good. You are—”
“I’m not—”
“Cease!” Artair’s shout forced Rebecca to take a cautious step back. He took one forward. “If ye donae let me finish what I wish to say, I shall shake you ’til your teeth rattle.” He put his hands on his hips, dropped his chin and scowled down at her with an intensity that told her he meant exactly what he said.
Like she’d ever let a bully intimidate her. On the other hand… Then Sparks’s faith and trust in Artair MacKay were there, a small flutter in the pit of Rebecca’s stomach. She returned his drill sergeant gaze with a curt nod. Let him tell his loony story.
“Four gifted
women are born into each generation. Not all generations are needed, and they live as mortals, never knowing what might’ve been their destiny. The new four are only called when some evil upsets the balance between the humans and the divine—when humans are endangered. Some Ancients don’t care if humanity is enslaved or destroyed, but some do.” His eyes never left hers as if trying to judge her acceptance or rejection of all he had to say.
“If Sparks is an Amazon, why do you need me?”
“Because I lost a sister. Maria’s dead,” Sparks said, her voice betraying a note of vulnerability for the first time. “Not that there was much left of her to bury.”
“What happened to her?”
A melancholy smile bowed Sparks’s lips. “My Maria? She was an Amazon to the bitter end. She jumped from the fifth floor instead of letting the revenants catch her. When she died, we lost our Guardian, and we can’t find my other two sisters.” Her expression changed, her lips thinning to a grim line. “Those revenants didn’t just stumble upon Maria. No, someone sent them—someone who’s fucking evil and wants to wipe out my generation. You better be ready, little girl, ’cause we think you and your sisters are next on the kill-at-all-costs list. Your generation was called as reinforcements for my sisters and me, which means you’ve got bull’s-eyes on your backs. Untrained, you’re dead. Trained, you’ve got a chance. Four Amazons have a chance. One is nothing but a sitting duck, especially when we don’t know who’s behind this mess.”
Fearing the shaking the big man had threatened, but being the kind of woman who never simply took a person’s word for anything, Rebecca let another question slip. “Who are the Ancients?”
“All the gods and goddesses.” Sparks pulled the Zippo out of her pocket, flipped it open and tried to light it. Once again, the lighter refused to cooperate, so Sparks resorted to incessantly opening and closing the silver top.
Artair frowned, clearly not appreciating the compulsion.
“Gods and goddesses. Right.” Rebecca sarcastically drew out the last word. Artair glowered at her, and Rebecca could almost hear the clatter of her teeth. “Fine, fine. Which gods and goddesses? Greek? Roman? Hell, we learned so much mythology in lit class, I can’t keep them all straight.”
“Celtic, Greek, Norse, Mayan, Hindi and many, many more.” Sparks’s answer only made Rebecca more confused.
“More? What do you mean more?”
“Each culture has its own deities,” Artair explained, “but each culture only brings one piece to the puzzle. It takes all pieces to make the picture. Absolute power is given to none, divided among all.”
“I don’t understand. You mean Zeus is real, but so is Thor? And they all…exist?” Rebecca hated the trembling timbre of her voice. These people were serious, and their conviction in their bizarre beliefs became downright terrifying. “That doesn’t… That can’t… How can they all be real?”
“’Tis the way of things, Becca.” Artair put a hand on her shoulder. “I know ’tis a bit bewildering and nae a wee bit easy to understand. But you need to accept what we say.”
Rebecca rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, trying to work out the dull ache that had haunted her since this disaster of a day began. It felt like a week had passed since she’d walked away from that church. “Hera? Aphrodite? Athena? Artemis? All real? And how about the Mayan god they built that funny pyramid for? We learned about him in world civ. What was his name?” She snapped her fingers, trying to reach back to recall a class she hadn’t liked all that much but now wished she had paid better attention to. “Cuckoo or Caca or—”
“Best be wary, lass. Kukulcan wouldn’t like to be called ‘poo.’ He has a wee problem controlling his temper, and you don’t want to be on his bad side. The last Amazon who offended him grew a tail.”
Sparks laughed, but Rebecca couldn’t find any humor in the notion of a god with real power cruelly toying with someone. Not that she believed any of this nonsense.
Did she?
“And what about Isis and Demeter and—and Hercules.” Rebecca was rambling, running out of names to throw at them so she could keep the need to mentally process all they were saying at bay.
Sparks seemed to take offense to the last name, wrinkling her nose as if she had smelled a skunk. “Hercules was a mortal. A demig at best. I could kick his ass. Wish I’d had the chance.”
“A demig?” Between Artair’s accent and the funny words they both used, these people were hard to understand.
“A demigod,” Sparks explained. “Not an Ancient, just a second-class deity thirsting for the power to be a god, to make humans his slaves. We call them demigs because we don’t want to use the term god whenever we talk about their sorry asses. They cause us the most trouble. A demig probably got you called up to the majors.”
“They’re really all real?” Rebecca’s voice barely rose above a whisper.
Artair nodded. “Aye, Becca. Each and every one.”
She didn’t want to believe any of it. Sparks hadn’t thrown fire or shape-shifted into a hawk. This whole situation was just a nightmare. “So are Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy real too?” She didn’t even attempt to hide her sarcasm. “I’d hate to think I wasted all that time getting those plates of cookies ready and hiding my teeth under my pillow if they weren’t really coming to my house.”
Sparks growled, a sound low, deep in her throat. A faint odor of burning firewood wafted on the light breeze. “You Earths drive me fuckin’ nuts. Can’t you just take a person’s word for something?” Some flickers popped from Sparks’s fingertips.
“Look,” Rebecca said, trying to help them understand, “I’ve had the worst damn day of my whole damn life. My fiancé just walked away from me at the altar. I was kidnapped. I—”
“You were nae kid—”
“I’m not finished!” A small, strangely timed aftershock of the earlier earthquake rumbled, the movement taking Rebecca by surprise. She braced her legs to keep from rocking with the unsteady ground. The tremor was short, quick and weak.
Artair remained quiet for a moment, but those green eyes narrowed in clear aggravation. “Go on then and speak, lass. We don’t need another quake from you.”
“I didn’t make that earthquake!” Rebecca stomped her foot, not caring how childish it seemed. Another short aftershock rumbled the ground.
And then it happened. Standing mute, staring into Artair’s eyes, she suddenly believed him, suddenly believed everything he and Sparks had explained.
“No,” slipped from her lips in a breathless whisper.
* * *
Artair had been watching Rebecca carefully, and when the acceptance came upon her, he bore silent witness just as he’d done for so many Amazons before her. Naked terror flashed in her eyes. That was a first.
“Aye, lass. Aye.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his.
Strange. He’d never before felt the need to bolster one of the women. Rebecca clutched his hand as though he’d become the only thing keeping her from drowning.
He almost jerked his hand back in surprise, having never seen vulnerability in an Amazon. They were cocky, downright arrogant, and needed to be trained with a heavy hand the same as the male warriors of his clan. Even the women of clan MacKay had fought with as much intensity as his men, knowing how to handle weapons and disarm opponents. No, there had been nothing soft about the MacKay women—at least the few he even remembered.
Once he’d chosen to be a Sentinel, he’d always treated the Amazons with the same passion he had his warriors, because that was exactly what these women were. Warriors. Improperly trained soldiers died on the battlefield, and being a lass wouldn’t make an opponent ease his attack. If anything, the Amazons had to be tougher than any man for they faced far greater dangers.
But this Amazon was different. How did a man who had taught warriors to fight and kill for three hundred years handle a slip of a woman whose feelings seemed so…delicate?
Artair felt a softening in him that hadn’t occurred in c
enturies, a yearning to protect and soothe. With a tug, he pulled her into his arms and patted her roughly on the back. “’Twill be fine, Becca mine. ’Twill all be fine.”
He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back, trying to ignore the smell of lilacs that seemed to be her essence.
Sparks threw him an incredulous scoff. “What gives, Celt?” She tried to peek between the couple. “Oh. My. God. If I’d have acted like that, you’d have torn me a new one.”
“’Tis nae your concern, Sparks.”
“Nae my concern, eh? Then do you two want some privacy? I can turn my back while you—”
“That’ll be enough of that, Frida,” Artair replied, causing Sparks to narrow her eyes. These new recruits were his to train, and he would choose how to handle them. Sparks could damn well keep her opinions to herself.
“Becca?” he whispered against Rebecca’s ear. “We must find Megan. The lass might need our help.”
Nodding against his chest, she took a step back and broke their embrace. She gazed at the grass, seemingly embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I—I guess. I just don’t…”
“What? What’s the hang-up?” Sparks threw her hands up.
“My aunt,” Rebecca replied, her voice hardly above a squeak. “What—what about my Aunt Kay? She’ll worry when I don’t come home. And my kitten. I just got a kitten a couple of weeks ago. Who’ll take care of her?”
Sparks groaned, pulled the pack of cigarettes from her pocket and tapped it against her palm.
“Your aunt’s fine,” Artair replied. “She… Well, she already knows you’re with us.”
“She does?”
Popping a cigarette out of the pack, Sparks lit it with a flame from her thumb. “Can we tell her all this shit later? ’Cause we need to grab Megan and get the hell outta here. We’re sitting ducks. I can almost smell the revenants now.”
Artair nodded. “She’s right, Becca. I’ll send word to Kaylista to tend your wee kitten.”
