by Sandy James
All the walls were covered with papers. Maps. Genealogies. Pictures. Rebecca moved to the closest collage to see what Helen had been collecting.
“Are you sure this stuff belongs to Helen?” Megan asked as she scanned another of the walls.
“Positive,” Sparks replied. “I can feel her like she’s standing right next to me.”
Rebecca closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind to see if Earth could sense another Earth. She breathed deeply, searching for anything that might help. A scent. The remnants of a movement or a memory.
She felt nothing, which was surely a disappointment to Sparks and Artair. Helen should have been connected to Rebecca in some way.
If she was still alive. “Sparks, she isn’t—I mean—you can still sense her, right?”
Sparks shook her head, still staring at the papers on the wall. “I haven’t sensed her in just about forever. But she’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d know.” She pinched one of the lists. “What do you think she was working on?”
Megan stepped up to a second wall, equally covered with a sundry of information. “Some of these are really old. There’s a newspaper article here from 1952.”
“That would be when we all left Avalon for a while,” Sparks said.
Artair picked up a dusty book that rested on the end table. “Helen always read. I don’t think I ever saw her without a book.”
“What is it?” Rebecca asked, moving to his side.
He held the old tome up.
She read the title aloud. “‘Greek and Roman Mythology.’ Looks really old.”
“Aye.” Dust rose from the cover when he opened it and turned the first yellowed pages. “’Twas published in 1892.”
“Will you look at this?” Megan motioned for them to join her and Sparks.
Artair put the book down and followed Rebecca over.
The list of Ancients covered almost the entire upper half of the wall. Helen had tacked twine leading from one name to another in a sort of chain. Best Rebecca could tell was that she was tying together gods and goddesses that shared blood ties.
Every one of the chains eventually led to one place. But all that remained of the common tie was a faded patch on the garish wallpaper where something had once been pinned.
Whatever key Helen had discovered in her extensive research was missing.
Before Rebecca could ask what Sparks thought might have been in that spot, a window shattered, and a sing-song growl of a revenant echoed through the empty room.
Sparks moved first, pulling a dagger from her boot and moving to the window. Artair followed close behind.
About to move to flank them, Rebecca whirled to find another revenant lumbering its way through the door. With a gasp, she jerked her weapon free. Artair had made it clear that this wasn’t going to be a battle. If they faced revenants, both she and Megan were supposed to put distance between them and the enemy. But it was hard to get away when an obese female zombie the size of a small barn blocked the escape route.
“Rebs?”
“Yeah, Megan?”
“You go high, I’ll go low.” Megan charged the revenant, leveling a brutal kick to its knee.
The sound of bone cracking was followed by the revenant’s shriek as it took a stumbling step back. Then it lowered its head, snarled and surged forward.
Rebecca hesitated—a mistake since the zombie moved fast for such a large dead person. It got to Megan and buried the fingers it still had left in her hair, giving the red tresses a vicious yank.
Raising her dirk high, Rebecca charged. She’d stab the revenant in the eye, a trick Sparks had taught her but she’d never been sure she could do. But she’d try anything to help her sister.
Turned out she could, but the sickening sound the blade made as it passed through the eyeball and into the bone would haunt her for a good long while. Jerking the weapon back, she let it clatter to the floor.
The revenant dropped Megan, who twisted away and scrambled across the dusty floor out of the zombie’s reach. Mouth wide open, the creature grabbed Rebecca’s arm, preparing to take a bite.
Somehow, Sparks got between them. “Not my girl, you don’t!”
The zombie wrapped its beefy arms around Sparks and tried to sink its rotting teeth into her shoulder.
“Oh, hell no.” Dropping to her knees, Sparks deftly escaped the revenant’s grasp. Rolling to her side, she got to her feet and kicked her attacker hard in the stomach. She gripped her dagger in both hands and thrust it into the zombie’s heart.
The revenant shrieked and lumbered backward, clutching at the weapon Sparks left in its chest.
Megan rose. “That’s it. This ends now.” Grabbing her .357 from her holster, she hurried back to the zombie, put the muzzle under its chin and pulled the trigger.
Brain matter splattered the ceiling, raining down on the Amazons.
“Pull my hair, you rotting bitch, and that’s what happens.” Megan swiped her sleeve across her dirty forehead.
Rebecca closed her eyes, trying to ignore the feel of the cold slime that now decorated her face and hands. Then remembering the second revenant, she glanced over to Artair.
He said something in Gaelic, leaned out the broken window and spit. Then he strode back to the women, took one look at the dead-again zombie and chuckled. “A gun that size might just come in handy after all, Megan.”
“What happened to your revenant?” Megan asked, wiping more of the macabre splatter from her face.
Rebecca swallowed the sour bile rising in her throat, wishing Freya would pop them right back to Avalon—specifically to the shower room.
“Dispatched,” he said without elaboration.
“Everyone in one piece?” Sparks asked, checking both new Amazons over from head to toe. “Damn, but you’re both covered in revenant brains.”
Rebecca groaned and tried to shake off the tissue that clung to her hands.
“We should go,” Artair said. “There’s nothing else to do here.” He pulled a handkerchief and held it out to Rebecca.
Megan grabbed it and started wiping her cheek. “Thanks, Artie.”
“Freya!” Sparks shouted. “We’re ready to head home.”
Chapter Twelve
Rebecca walked into her cabin, sweaty from her run, to find Megan sitting at the computer, torturing the new Sentinel again.
Fire glanced over her shoulder, giving her an enormous smile. Megan’s enjoyment washed over Rebecca, infecting her with the desire to make more mischief for the poor guy. “Hiya, sis.”
Rebecca chuckled. “Back atcha.” She nodded at the computer monitor. “Tell Johann that ‘Megan’ sends her best wishes.”
“Did you hear that, Joeman?” Megan said into the microphone. “Megan said ‘hi.’”
“You’re driving me insane, Rebecca,” Johann grumbled. “You’re not at all like the goddesses describe you. More Fire than Earth.”
“Maybe you’re a bad judge of character. Maybe you just bring out the worst in me, Joeman.”
“Johann. How many times do I have to tell you? My name is Johann.”
“Whatever. What do you want now? We’re busy Amazons. No time for chit-chat.”
The man growled in response, sounding as if he’d been taking lessons from Artair. “I should switch to Megan’s computer. At least she follows her Sentinel’s instructions.”
“Like I keep telling you,” Megan scolded, “Artie’s our Sentinel.” She glanced back to Rebecca who gave a curt nod in reply. “What do you want, Joeman? We’ve got training.”
“The implants should be there by now. Artair or the changelings need to get them injected so we can calibrate the settings,” Johann replied, not rising to the bait.
Rebecca felt Megan’s disappointment. They would eventually have to straighten out the mistaken identity, but she was as angry as Megan that Artair was being replaced. He’d never come out and told them why, and all she could guess was that Rhiannon had other plans for him—plans Rebecca didn’t wan
t to think about. Plans that took him away from the Amazons.
From her.
Patting Megan on the shoulder to give tacit permission for their charade to go on, she left Fire to her conversation and sat on her bed.
After jerking her damp shirt over her head, she reached for the chocolate Kisses waiting on her pillow. Beagan and Dolan weren’t nearly as bashful as they had been when she’d first arrived at Avalon. She found them in her cabin from time to time, and they seemed to have conquered their shyness. They no longer scurried away whenever they saw her. She also found out they had a penchant for chocolate-chip cookies. As a result, the proper ingredients turned up whenever she found time to slip into the kitchen, and the cookies always disappeared from the plate like any left out for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.
She picked up a Kiss, unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. Savoring the candy like fine wine, she hummed her approval.
The chair squeaked as Megan leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can just forget it, Joeman.”
“Forget what?” Rebecca rolled the foil wrapper into a small ball.
“Techno-geek here wants to inject us with some kind of doohickey. I don’t want any of his stupid gadgets floating around in me.”
“It’s not a stupid gadget. It’s a microchip,” the face in the monitor insisted. “A small tracking device.”
Megan scoffed. “What are we? Endangered pumas? You’re not banding Fire’s leg next time she turns into a hawk.”
“Why do we need them?” Rebecca asked, picking up a clean shirt from the bed and donning it before she stepped behind Megan. “I want a good reason for us to become your guinea pigs.”
Johann would surely attribute her temerity to her being Fire. “Because I want to be able to find you at all times,” he answered. “I’m going to bring all my equipment when we get out there next week. I’ll get things calibrated better then, but—I just think it’s best if we get the implants in now.”
“You know something,” Rebecca said. “There’s something you’re not telling us.”
The new Sentinel’s face flushed.
“You better never play poker with me, Johann,” Rebecca scolded.
“Why?”
“Because I can read your face like a damn book and I’ll take every single dollar you bring to the table. Out with it.”
Johann took a long moment before he spoke. “The goddesses are…concerned. They want to ratchet up our technology because whoever we’re facing has already—” His lips drew to a thin line. “They hacked my system. They got some information about all of you before I could shut them out. Mostly about you, Rebecca.” The embarrassment was clear—so obvious on his face, she figured he should put on a dunce cap and be done with it.
“What kind of information about me?” Megan asked, assuming her ruse once again.
“Medical records and personal data mostly, but not much else. I blocked them as soon as I got the alert they snuck in.”
Megan narrowed her eyes. “How in the hell did you get our medical records?”
“The goddesses have me keep all sorts of information about the Amazons. They only hacked Rebecca’s, though.”
“Oh, well,” she scoffed, “doesn’t that give me tons of confidence in having you put a fucking piece of technology under my skin?”
“I screwed up. Okay?” His face flushed a deeper shade of crimson all the way to his ears. “I underestimated the enemy. We thought—no, I thought—I had them hands down in technology. But they’ve got some heavy-duty help if they cracked my network. Trust me. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Rebecca patted Megan’s shoulder, wondering if she was making the same connection. Her nod answered the unasked question.
“I had the same problem with thinking we were facing something easy,” Rebecca said, still pretending to be Fire. “First revenant attack, I tried to shoot one of them.” She shrugged. “Didn’t know a bullet wouldn’t drop one.”
Megan chuckled. “And I tried to bring one down with a pool cue across the back. All right, Joeman. We understand. We’ll get those things stuck in us.”
“Things?” Artair asked, his silent entrance causing both Amazons to jump. “What silly things?”
Johann answered. “The tracking devices. Did you get them, MacKay?”
“Aye.” Artair strode over to push Megan’s chair out of his way. He scowled at the fledgling Sentinel. “But I don’t trust them. ’Tis not natural. The lasses always know how to find each other. They don’t need some piece of metal jammed under their hides.”
Johann threw an equally intimidating scowl that made Rebecca think that the man might just be Sentinel material after all.
But he wasn’t Artair.
“Two Amazons are still missing, MacKay. Sparks can’t find Trishna or Helen.” Johann’s words came as a chilling reminder. The thought hung in the air, clearly affecting everyone.
“Aye,” Artair said with a nod. “We shall try your way. ’Tis right to change with the times. Our enemies have adapted, so must we. Some of us are just having more trouble doing so than others.”
Johann’s reply came as a conciliatory surprise. “But the old ways have value too. Guns. Tasers. They’ve got no effect on revenants, and it takes a blessed arrow to drop a demig. I was hoping you’d help me improve my sword skills. I want to be able to lop one of their damned heads off with one swing. My sword keeps getting stuck in their necks.”
Artair nodded. He stepped away from the computer and put a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Lass, did you still wish to practice with your bow again?”
“Oh, yes. Please.” Rebecca hurried to grab her favorite weapon from where it leaned with a quiver of arrows against the wall and followed him out of the cabin, leaving Megan to tease the new Sentinel in peace and quiet.
* * *
He was too close for her to breathe.
Artair’s arms held her back pressed hard against his chest. His masculine, woodsy scent filled her nostrils, making her heart tap out a frantic rhythm. Rebecca tried to keep her mind on the target wired to a large bale of straw, but the arrows littering the ground and sticking out of the bale at odd angles proved she wasn’t succeeding.
“Concentrate,” Artair said in that rich voice that always rolled through her like a surge of comfort. “Ye can do this, Becca mine.” The endearment sent an excited shiver up her spine. “Again.” That word echoed in her dreams.
“I’m trying. I’m just not very good at this.” She wasn’t talented at anything except causing random earthquakes and bringing vines out of the ground to confound her sparring partner from time to time. What good was it to be able to sense when other people had stood on a patch of grass or dirt? She’d hoped she could master the bow—especially the bow because of Amazon history.
“’Tis an Amazon’s greatest weapon. A demig or rogue Ancient can only be felled by a goddess-blessed arrow.”
“I know, I know. You’ve told me a thousand times. I just can’t seem to get the hang of it.” A frustrated sigh slipped from her lips.
“Again.” Artair pulled her a little closer. She could feel his muscles tense and heard his sharp intake of breath.
The attraction remained too strong for either to deny, but she reminded herself nothing could ever come from it. Rhiannon had forbidden it, threatening to take Artair away sooner should she hear of them fraternizing. The goddess would probably have a hissy fit seeing Rebecca in his arms even though he was helping her learn.
“Close your eyes, lass.”
“What?” She tried to glance over her shoulder, but Artair dropped his chin on top of her head, holding her still.
“Close your eyes.”
She looked at the target. “How can I aim with my eyes closed?”
“You’ve been trying to shoot with yer eyes, nae your heart.”
“Oh, come on. You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“Do you trust me?” His whispered words fell warm on her ear.
She didn’t even have to think about her answer. “With my life.”
“Then close your eyes.”
Rebecca obeyed.
* * *
Artair smiled at her acquiescence. Damn, how she pleased him. He didn’t really need to hold her so close simply to show her how to aim. He’d already taught her the mechanics—the intimate instruction was unnecessary. Chiding himself for his unquenchable need to have her near, to keep her in his arms, he tried to turn his thoughts back to his job.
But she still smelled like lilacs. Her skin was hot from the late-afternoon sun. He could almost hear the beat of her heart, and surely she felt the rough rhythm of his own against her back.
“Artair? My eyes are closed. Now what?”
“Picture the target. Can you see it in your mind?”
She nodded, bumping his chin.
Artair helped her ease back the taut shooting string, and then he found the strength to step away from her. “Open your eyes and shoot.”
The arrow whizzed toward the target, piercing the center.
Lowering the bow, Rebecca smiled. “I did it. I really did it.”
“Aye, you did. Now do it again.”
Rebecca hit the target four more times, clustering the arrows in the center until their fletchings fanned out like the tail feathers of a bird.
“Again.”
“Is that your favorite word?” Rebecca reached over her shoulder to her quiver. Her hand came back empty. “Sorry. Out of arrows.”
“Then fetch the ones from the target.” Pointing to the arrows protruding from the grass, he added, “Or perhaps you can pick up the dozen that are on the ground.” He chuckled at the scowl she threw his way. Still, she headed toward the target, doing as he asked.
Artair turned to the changeling who had hopped to the Sentinel’s feet and shifted from the small, brown rabbit to his more customary state. “You have a message, Beagan?”
Beagan nodded. “The goddesses wish to speak to you and your charges.”
Artair didn’t want to frighten his friend. He reined in his unease. “When?”
“A few moments from now in the courtyard.”
“Did they tell you why?”
