by Sandy James
The fact Artair could know her thoughts so easily and so well was destroying any peace of mind she’d tried to grasp after her disgraceful display of anxiety.
She still couldn’t believe she’d thrown up in front of everyone. That might have been her typical response to stress when she was a child, but thanks to her Aunt Kay’s coaxing and soothing, she’d learned to control herself better over the years. If she was truly destined to be some sort of superhero, she probably shouldn’t be vomiting at the first sign of danger. Superman never blew chunks when he saw Lex Luther. Batman didn’t cringe with fear when he faced the Joker. No, those heroes all had courage to spare.
Wishing for a moment Megan didn’t look so damned composed, Rebecca asked, “Who’s driving the van now?”
“It’s enchanted,” Sparks replied. “It mostly drives itself, but I imagine Beagan or Dolan is putting it away. They’re a couple of caretakers who keep an eye on things. Nice guys. Kinda short. They sneak around a bunch, but…” She shrugged. “Thanks to them, stuff that needs doing gets done. The laundry. The cooking. You want something—” She pointed to her temple. “—just think about it, and they’ll make sure you get it.”
“I don’t have to ask them?” Rebecca asked, not entirely sure she understood. “You mean, I just think I want lobster for dinner, and, voila, I get it?” She glanced down at her dress. “If I want new clothes, I can find one of the caretakers and he’ll get me some? I figured I’d just go home and pack up my—”
“You are home, lass,” Artair interrupted. “You won’t be going back. Ever.”
Rebecca wanted to throw something heavy at his arrogant Scottish head. He didn’t understand how much some of her things meant to her or he wouldn’t expect her to abandon all of it, to just walk away from her life. Her awards, her pictures, the finger paintings her students had given her.
My students! They needed her. She needed them. “But I have to go back. What about my kindergarteners?”
“They shall have to manage without you,” Artair said with a shrug of casual dismissal. “You have more important duties now.”
Easy for him to say. He hadn’t been a substitute for two years until a teaching position came open. He wasn’t the one the other teachers would be gossiping about, nor was he the one who would miss those kids she loved so much. “That’s not fair. I’m supposed to walk away and give up everything I love? My house? My car? My friends? Just like that? Stop being Rebecca Massee and start being some—some—Amazon?”
“Aye.”
She looked around for something to throw.
“Let’s get back to the caretakers giving us anything we want,” Megan said, rubbing her palms together. “All we have to do is think about something?”
“Wish and you shall receive,” Sparks replied with a nod. “At least within reason. And there’s no need to hunt the little guys down. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen either of them more than a dozen times in all the years I’ve been doing this. Of course, they’re changelings. You know, shape-shifters. So I might’ve been looking right at them and never known it. Watch for rabbits. That’s what they like to be most of the time.”
“Beagan and Dolan?” Rebecca asked, hoping she had the names right and trying to ponder how people could turn into rabbits.
“Aye,” Artair replied. “Beagan and Dolan. You just ask them if you require anything, but I don’t think lobster is required.”
Gods, goddesses, demigods. Now shape-shifting servants. Things just kept getting more and more complicated. “What is this place?” she asked Artair, trying to focus on what she could see.
“A home where we can all enjoy a wee respite from malevolence.” The gates closed behind them with a resounding clank. “’Tis always spring in Avalon. You won’t find a place more beautiful.”
The moonlight dimmed as the group headed toward a thick grove of trees. It all but disappeared when they walked under the canopy of leaves. Artair took the lead, taking long, purposeful strides as Sparks and Megan fell in behind. With a resigned sigh, Rebecca joined their ranks, hoping she didn’t rub up against any poison ivy or step on something sharp. They weaved their way through the maze of low-hanging branches and undergrowth. After several minutes of beating a path, the number of trees began to thin, the moonlight returned, and a large camp came into sight.
She hadn’t formed any pictures in her head about what her new home would look like. She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or disappointed. Rustic was the only word that came to mind.
I’m giving up a three-bedroom Cape Cod for this?
There were several small cabins and one rather large building that was probably some kind of mess hall. Off to one side sat an enormous area much like a sand court people used for volleyball games. Glancing to the other side of the compound, she gawked at a large tower constructed of enormous logs. Just the sight of it brought a painful memory bubbling back to the surface.
Her boss had wanted to encourage teamwork amongst the teaching staff, so he’d sent all the teachers to a day camp where they scaled what the guide called a “victory tower.” Climbing ropes was the only way up and rappelling a vertical wall the only way down. Deathly afraid of heights her whole life, Rebecca had fretted through the whole horrifying exercise. Now, it appeared history would repeat itself, and she would disgrace herself on this tower just as she had on that damned victory tower.
She looked at the three people who would share this camp with her. Sparks and Megan stood yards away, thick as thieves and deep in conversation. That bond was already unbreakable. Fire and Fire. She could actually feel the strengthening camaraderie between them.
Exactly where did she fit in?
Watching Artair, she hoped for some kind of reassurance but wasn’t sure why she needed his comfort so much. Her fears slipped out of her mouth before she could censor herself. “I’m not an Amazon.” She glanced back to the tower. “I can’t do this.”
“Aye, lass. You can.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Nay, Becca. I do understand. ’Tis you who needs to get a grip on your fears. You wouldn’t have been called if you couldn’t do the job.”
“But—”
He shook his head as he put a strong hand on her shoulder. “Give it time. I ken ’tis much to gather in all at once.”
With a heavy sigh, she nodded, thinking the man was acting bi-polar. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. It was enough to make her want to scream, which she almost did when he startled her by yelling at the other women.
“Sparks! Megan! Get your arses over here!”
As the women jogged back to them, he started the tour. With a sweep of his arm, he gestured to the cabins. “Each of you shall have a cabin to yourself. You may sleep there, but you will spend most of your time there,” he inclined his head toward the sandpit, “and there.” His nod at the tower made Rebecca’s stomach start to churn again. “You’ll take your meals in the mess hall, which we also use for classes. You’ll learn history. Geography. Mythology.”
“There aren’t any showers in the cabins,” Sparks grumbled. “The shower room’s behind the mess hall. You’d think we’d at least get our own damn showers. I finally quit wishing for them years ago.” She shrugged.
Rebecca glanced down at her destroyed wedding dress, realized her boobs were about to pop out again, and jerked the bodice up. “I’ll have to get some clothes. Kinda hard to learn to fight zombies in this.”
Artair stared right at her chest.
She flushed warm in response.
“’Twould be a might skimpy,” he said. “Mayhaps it would distract a few revenants.”
“I thought you said revenants were dead. You know, zombies.”
“Aye, they’re dead. And they’d have to be not to take notice of your charms.”
Her face was on fire.
“New clothes will be in yer cabin. Each warrior’s provided for by her goddess. Becca, your goddess is Rhiannon. She is—”
“She is
here to see her Sentinel and her new warrior,” a feminine voice purred with a proper British accent from behind Artair.
He whirled around and thumped his right fist against the left side of his chest over his heart in some kind of salute.
Glancing toward the voice, Rebecca gasped. An incredibly tall, graceful woman with strawberry-blond hair that fell in long, loose curls past her tiny waist stood before them. Her beauty and regal bearing took Rebecca’s breath away, making her even more conscious of just how pathetically disheveled she was. As if her looks could ever compete with a goddess.
Large green eyes that seemed to shine set off a slender, oval face with creamy white skin. She was garbed in a medieval-style gown of gold satin with long, flowing sleeves trimmed in red fox fur. Her elegant skirt draped the ground like a wedding dress with a short train.
The goddess reached out to caress Artair’s broad shoulder and Rebecca had to swallow a flash of jealousy. Rhiannon’s gaze shifted from Artair to Rebecca as her hand slid across Artair’s chest to rest on his other shoulder, pausing only a moment to touch the silver broach pinned to the plaid covering his heart.
“Becca,” he said, “this is Rhiannon, the Earth Amazon’s goddess.”
Rhiannon’s shining eyes framed by long, brown lashes regarded her new Amazon. “I bid you welcome, Rebecca Massee. You, my dear, are my newest warrior, and this is your new home. Your aunt, my priestess Kaylista, sends her best and promises to care for your pet.”
Rebecca blinked a couple of times, trying to absorb what the goddess said. She had a horrible notion that she was being judged. Feeling nothing short of inadequate, she wanted to run and hide in one of the cabins. Instead, she squared her shoulders, smoothed her hand over her tattered dress and raised her chin. “Thank you. I’m sorry I don’t know etiquette when addressing a goddess. I should probably curtsey or something.”
Rhiannon glanced down at Rebecca’s clothing, her hand still casually draped over Artair’s shoulder. “I fear that your dress will fall away should you dare try. Nay, you need not curtsey. You are an Amazon. You are Earth. You bow to no one.”
“What should I call you?” Rebecca asked. “My lady? Your highness?”
Sparks chuckled and elbowed Megan. “Get ready for it,” she whispered, just loud enough for Rebecca to catch. “Here comes the spiel.”
A smile crossed Rhiannon’s lips, and she drew her hand away from Artair. Her divine chin lifted with a haughty air. “I’m called by many, many names. Goddess of the Isle. Divine Queen. The Lady of the Lake. Guardian of Excalibur. Patroness of the great King Arthur. Protectorate of Avalon. I prefer Rhiannon. You may address me as such.”
“Yet, I call her ‘Mischief,’” another feminine voice with a slight Scandinavian inflection called from behind Megan. “A fitting name for someone who seems to court trouble so readily.”
This was another goddess—no other explanation would suffice for the beauty of the woman who had spoken. Blond hair so light it appeared white flowed from the tall woman in a cascade of curls that reached her hips. Her dress was of a similar style as Rhiannon’s, but was made of sky-blue velvet and trimmed in silver fur. She strode to the center of their circle and let her gaze fall on each face, one by one.
Sparks was having a hard time standing still. Small flicks of fire sprang from her fingertips. “Freya, I’m glad to see you.”
The goddesses nodded at Sparks. “And I am happy to see you looking so well, Frida. You have grown more beautiful with age, as a good Fire should.”
More bits of flame popped from Sparks’s hands as gray smoke rose from the crown of her head. “Thank you.”
Artair swept his hand out to Freya. “Megan, this is Freya, the Norse goddess who endows Fire Amazons with their powers.”
Freya stepped up to Megan. “I bid you welcome, Megan Feuer. You follow a long line of strong warriors, the strongest of all Amazons. I have waited patiently for you to be called.”
“I’ll be the best you’ve had,” came Megan’s cocky reply.
A laugh escaped Freya’s lips, sounding like the tinkling of bells.
“You are worthy to be called Fire. Aye, you shall be my best ever. You were born to be.” The goddess smiled at Megan. “Aye, you will be magnificent.”
Freya moved to Rebecca, and that urge to flee ran roughshod again. Stubbornly standing her ground, her knees had to be knocking loud enough for all of them to hear.
“Ah, yes. Rebecca Massee. You are truly an Earth, no doubt of that.” Freya’s gaze moved from Rebecca’s head to her feet. “Such fragile women.”
“I’m not fragile.” Rebecca held her chin up.
Rhiannon kept silent, and Rebecca couldn’t help but think her goddess should come to her defense. Instead, it was the Sentinel who rose to the challenge.
“She isn’t fragile, Freya. ’Tis been a verra difficult day, and the lass has handled herself well. She saved Megan’s life.”
“Yep,” Megan added. “She sure did.”
“Thank you, Megan,” Rebecca whispered.
She threw Artair a grateful smile, even if he’d exaggerated her achievement. Warmth washed through her when he smiled in return.
“Ah, my Sentinel. I—” Freya began.
“He is my Sentinel.” Rhiannon’s words were punctuated by the rustling of leaves despite an obvious lack of wind.
“Does he not train all the Amazons, including my Fire?” Freya gave her skirts an angry swish. “Your selfishness knows no limits, and our Sentinel suffers for it.”
“I created the Amazons, and I choose and give my benevolence to the men who train them.”
“Mayhap your memory fails you,” Freya replied. “I was at your side on the Salisbury Plain as you mourned the death of your King Arthur—as were Ix Chel and Ganga. The four of us banded together to create this group of warriors. Had you acted alone, there would be no fighting force. A lone woman could never defeat the evils these women face. Earth cannot stand without Water, Fire and Air to complete the corners.”
Rhiannon dismissed her with a flip of her wrist. “’Tis hard to remember something that happened so long ago.”
“Almost as hard as it is for you to share any of the glory in the achievements. One day, Rhiannon, you will need the help of the other patron goddesses. Perhaps you should take more care not to tread upon their toes.”
“I am the strongest of the Ancients. There is nothing I cannot handle on my own.”
Megan leaned closer to Sparks and Rebecca. “Do they fight like that a lot?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sparks replied. “No matter what, stay the hell out of their feud.”
Freya glanced to Artair, and her lips formed a smile that made Rebecca feel another pinch of jealousy. “Artair MacKay.” The goddess placed a palm on his muscular upper arm and squeezed. “You are looking fit.”
Artair struck the left side of his chest with his right fist again. “Thank you, kindly, m’lady. You’re looking fit yourself.”
Rhiannon’s eyes flashed red before quickly returning to green. The branches began to whip furiously, as if the trees were fighting each other in some bizarre slapfest. The ground trembled beneath their feet. “Artair MacKay is of Earth, Freya. Not Fire. He merely trains your warriors with my consent. He doesn’t bed them, nor does he bed their goddess.”
Freya flashed a haughty smile as she sidled up next to Artair. “I hear that lately he beds no woman.” She ran a finger over Artair’s chest. “Nor does he bed any goddess. Including his own.”
Megan meowed and shaped her hand like a claw which set Sparks to laughing loud and long. Neither goddess seemed amused as they turned to glower at them. Megan clenched her gnarled hand into a fist, coughed into it and stopped mewling. Their humor and rapport infected Rebecca. She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.
“I wonder if he’d like to be the meat in that goddess sandwich. A divine ménage à trois,” Sparks whispered at Megan, setting them both to giggling again.
Artair scowled the
m back into a state closely resembling composure.
For the first time since she’d met him, Artair seemed to be at a loss as to how to handle a situation. His gaze caught hers, pleading with her to help him. Her brain scrambled to find some way to extract Artair from all the heavenly attention without offending the goddesses. Were they omnipotent?
Damn, that would really suck.
“Artair?” she asked.
He arched an eyebrow.
“I think my hand’s broken.”
Artair practically pushed the two goddesses out of the way to get to her, his face so full of concern, it caused her heart to skip a quick beat. “Which one, lass?”
She held up her swollen right hand. “Rick had a really hard nose.” She hadn’t realized just how much her knuckles hurt until that moment. Perhaps her pain had been muted by the extended endorphin rush she’d experienced the better part of the day. Now, her hand throbbed.
“A wee bit rigid, aye?” He winked at her. “From the look of the lad’s nose when we left, I think you might’ve corrected that problem. Appeared to be much softer after you rearranged it.”
She couldn’t help but smile, and his laugh hung in the air as he tenderly took her hand into his.
How could a man so strong—one who could wield a sword the way she’d seen him fighting in Condemned—also be so infinitely gentle? She tried not to flinch as he ran his calloused fingers over the back of her hand, tracing each small bone with a fingertip before he slowly flexed each of her fingers.
“’Tis nae broken, Becca. Best put some ice on it to help with the swelling.” He turned back to the goddesses. “If you’ll excuse us, m’ladies, I must help my new charge with her injury.”
Rhiannon stared at Rebecca long enough to make her feel uncomfortable, while Freya appeared amused at the turn of events as she smiled and hummed to herself, flipping her white-blond hair over her shoulder. The Earth goddess finally gave them a curt nod. “You are excused to tend to her.”
As they walked away, Rebecca glanced over her shoulder several times, wondering what the goddesses were discussing with Megan and Sparks. When the tree branches started whipping about again, she decided she really didn’t want to know. “I don’t think Rhiannon likes me. She’s upset.”
