by Sandy James
“Why couldn’t we sense you?” Megan asked. “It was Seior, wasn’t it?”
Sarita nodded. “Seior and Helen.”
“That bitch!” Rebecca slapped her hand against the headboard. “Like she hasn’t caused us enough trouble lately! She was trying to catch me?” She took a couple of breaths before her brows knit. “Wait. She’d know the difference. Once she saw you, she’d know she had the wrong Amazon.”
Sarita let the whole story spill out about her capture and the time she’d spent in Ian’s castle. While she held back some of the more personal aspects, her sisters—and probably the men—had to know something had happened between her and Ian. They’d be stupid not to figure it out.
“So I have no idea what happened to Ian after you called me back to Avalon,” she said, completing the tale. “Helen was pretty pissed he helped me get away, but I don’t think she’ll kill him. At least not yet. Maybe he’ll give up his stupid vendetta.”
“Nay. He’s a Scot,” Artair replied. “If he wants me dead, he willnae give up. Ever. If he needs Helen to get his vengeance, he’ll find a way to get back in her good graces.”
Rebecca frowned at her husband. “What I don’t get is why he thinks you helped his clan murder him. Do you remember your people burning someone at the stake for being a warlock?”
“Nay. My clan wasn’t capable of that. Aye, people were a mite superstitious of strange things back then, but cry someone a warlock?” He gave his head a shake. “Had to be another clan, perhaps one we feuded with.” His gaze moved to Sarita. “He never gave you his last name or the name of his clan?”
“No.”
“What color was his plaid? Perhaps if you describe it to me—”
“It was pure black. No tartan. Sorry, Artair.” Trying to think back to the things Sile had let slip whenever she’d been able to get the woman to drop her guard, she found nothing that could help Artair—except perhaps Sile herself. “The servants were as old as Ian.”
“Pardon?” Artair asked.
“The servants. They talked about Ian being laird. They remembered him being there from his own time. They haunt the castle.”
“Were they loyal to Helen?” Artair asked.
“Not one bit. They tried to protect me from her. Their loyalty was to Ian.” He’d helped her escape. That thought brought a smile to Sarita’s face. He’d valued her more than Helen. “Maybe I can get back there and talk to them.”
A needle in a haystack. There was no way she could find her way back to the castle, because she’d never known where it was to begin with. Her sisters and the men hadn’t managed to find it when they’d searched Scotland, either.
Since no one responded, they must have thought her idea was inane.
“Helen probably punished them anyway,” she finally said.
“Oh, good God.” Johann interrupted them all. His fingers flew over his tablet.
“What’s wrong?” Moving back to her husband’s side, Megan looked at his screen.
“She’s at it again. I can’t fucking believe it.”
When everyone tried to crowd around him, he tapped a few more commands to the screen then turned it so they could see.
Since Sarita was so damned short, she couldn’t get a glimpse. “Hey. Down in front.”
With a chuckle, Gina grabbed her arm and pulled her forward.
Once settled in front of Air, Sarita focused on the image. Her gasp was echoed by her sisters.
Helen stood on the stage of the enormous glass church the Children of Earth had built—the headquarters of the entire cult. Amazing how animated she could be in front of a crowd, weaving her spell with passionate words and emphatic gestures. Still beautiful despite her age, she was a commanding presence who drew people to her.
The sanctuary was packed, people standing shoulder to shoulder, staring up at her with a reverence that made Sarita nauseous. The news stations scrolled commentary, estimating how many COEs were loyal to Helen and listing some of her noteworthy followers.
Her voice filtered through the tinny speakers of the computer. “I have seen the future. We have enemies. Four women who want me dead!”
The crowd replied with a growing rumble of anger and disbelief.
With a triumphant smile, Helen pressed on. “And now, with the powers I possess, the powers your love strengthens in me, I can give you their names. We will hunt them to the ends of the Earth. We must find these women and destroy them before they destroy us!”
“Holy shit,” Megan said. “She can’t be talking about us. Can she?”
Gina raked her fingers through her spiked hair as the highlights slowly changed to red—the color of her anger. “She’s exposing the whole world to magicks if she does. She’s not that stupid.”
“Bring these women to me and you will be rewarded,” Helen promised. “Greatly rewarded.”
The cheers of her followers echoed through the temple until their voices joined in a chant. Helen. Helen. Helen.
“We are so screwed,” Megan said, her gaze darting to each of the Amazons.
Everyone starting talking at once. Everyone except Artair. He continued to stare at the screen, grabbing it when Johann tried to turn it back. “Wait.”
The anguish in that one word caught Sarita by surprise.
Since Rebecca edged closer to her husband, she had to have sensed it as well. “Artair? What’s wrong?”
“But his hand is nae crippled.” Artair looked lost, confused. “It cannae be him.”
“Artair! Talk to me!” Rebecca insisted.
Instead of answering his wife, he whirled to Sarita. His green eyes suddenly seemed so familiar that seeing them sent a shudder ripping through her. They bored holes straight to her soul.
“What was the name of the castle?” he demanded in a near roar.
“Dorcha àite. Sile called it dorcha àite,” Sarita replied. His plea could mean only one thing. “You remember, don’t you? You remember Ian now.”
“Aye.” Artair gave a ragged sigh and took his wife’s hand in his. “The servant—her name was Sile? She was married to Old Ewan?”
Rebecca laced her fingers through his. “You remember him now?”
“I didnae know him as Ian. I—” He choked on whatever he was going to say as he swallowed hard.
Artair had always been a pillar of strength in Sarita’s eyes—as solid as a block of marble. In all the times he’d led the Amazons into battle, he’d never once backed away, nor had he ever been anything but totally in control. Nothing could rattle Artair MacKay.
Until now.
“Who is he?” Sarita dreaded the answer enough to want to run from her own cabin. “Who’s Ian?”
Artair pointed at the screen.
“I don’t—”
“Look!”
Sarita stared at Helen, anger rising from deep inside her as she thought about what the goddess had done to hurt so many people. “It’s Helen. I hate her too.”
“Nay.” His finger moved to point out the man standing just behind Helen.
Because he wore reflective sunglasses and his hair had been cut short, he didn’t look familiar. That, and his profile was to the camera. He’d slicked back his hair with gel, making it a dark reddish-brown. It wasn’t until he turned to face the camera that recognition dawned on her. “Ian. Oh, my goddess, it’s Ian.”
“His name isnae Ian.” Artair’s voice was a shaky whisper. “His name is Darian—Darian MacKay. He’s my brother, returned from the dead.”
Chapter Eleven
“But—but—your brother didn’t burn at the stake! Ian can’t be Darian. He can’t.” Sarita’s mind reeled. “We all know the story of how you became Sentinel. You begged Rhiannon to save his life.”
She’d heard the tale from Rebecca so many
times, it was drilled into her mind. Darian MacKay perished in the infamous Battle of Culloden Moor, where he’d fought and died at Artair’s side. Artair had been so grief-stricken, he’d called out to Rhiannon, pledging his fealty to her so she’d resurrect his younger brother. As was the custom with any man who became Sentinel, Artair should have disappeared from the world, having been erased from the minds of anyone who’d known him—including his brother and his clan. Rhiannon should have seen to that task.
If Ian was truly Darian MacKay, how could Artair have been responsible for his clan burning him to death after condemning him as a warlock?
Neither Ian nor the MacKay clan should have remembered Artair existed.
Johann interrupted her thoughts as he brushed back a lock of his blond hair that had fallen over his eyes. “If that’s your brother, Artair, what in the hell is he doing helping Helen?”
Megan threw her husband a scorching frown. “One question at a time, Joeman. Okay? My head’s already spinning. I can’t imagine how Artie’s feeling right now.”
“Not to mention that the Amazons were just outted by that bitch,” Gina added.
Helen was the least of Sarita’s worries, no matter how much her announcement had plunged the magical world into turmoil. Sarita could only think of the man she loved.
She wanted to scream in frustration. Both Ian and Artair had to feel so hurt and betrayed. It was clear there was one person—one goddess—to blame for the mess. “This is all Rhiannon’s fault. It had to be her.”
Rebecca faced Sarita. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Megan and Gina nodded.
Only Zach shook his head. “Well, I’m not getting it. So maybe one of you ladies wants to explain to me how we moved from Helen being back to Ian being Artair’s brother to this all being Rhiannon’s fault?”
Zach’s defense wasn’t a surprise. A lover of the legend of King Arthur, he looked at the Lady of the Lake through starry eyes.
But the pieces fell into place in Sarita’s mind. “Rhiannon saved Ian’s life.”
Artair growled low in his throat. “His name is Darian.”
While she wanted to argue with him that the man she knew was Ian, now wasn’t the time or place. Bigger battles needed to be fought. Ian had probably shortened his name for a number of reasons, least of which had to be to keep Artair in the dark.
“Fine,” she said. “Rhiannon saved Darian just like Rebecca told us, and she sent him back to his clan.”
“He shouldnae have remembered me,” Artair insisted. “He’d died there on that bloody battlefield. I watched the English pig cut him down. I should’ve stopped him. I was his brother—his laird. I should’ve protected him. He was just a boy with a crippled hand.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and ran his hand over his face. “’Tis why I called to Rhiannon. She was to send him back to our clan. Alive and well.”
“But your clan burned him at the stake after calling him a warlock. Why would they do something like that?”
Rebecca took up the mantle. “Think about it. A man comes back from a battle where almost every other Scot died? That would be more than enough to start gossip.”
“His hand...” Artair said. “His crippled hand.”
“It’s not crippled,” Sarita couldn’t help but point out.
“Nae more. He has a normal hand when he’d been a cripple—another reason to accuse him of witchcraft,” Artair added. “That had to be Rhiannon’s doing. She could fix the deformity.”
“Oh, good God.” Zach splayed his hand through his short, brown hair. “They’d think he used black magicks to heal himself, wouldn’t they? That long ago... They’d freak out over something like that.”
“Rhiannon!” Artair bellowed. “Rhiannon, get your arse down here!” His volume made the cabin’s windows rattle.
With a scoff, Johann shook his head. “She won’t come, especially when you scream at her like that. She’ll know you’re pissed and stay a million miles away until you’ve calmed down.”
“I shall never calm down. She murdered my brother! I gave my life to her service to save him, only for him to be murdered! All because of her!” A noise that reminded Sarita of a wounded animal bubbled up from inside him. He hurried out of the cabin, Rebecca close on his heels.
Tears stung Sarita’s eyes. She wanted to cry for Artair, for the anguish he was feeling. She wanted to cry for Ian and all he’d needlessly suffered. And she wanted to cry for herself—because she’d never be able to help fix this.
Now that Ian’d put his trust back in Helen, there would be no way for her to get to him and explain about what had happened so long ago—how it wasn’t Artair’s fault. Not only was Ian never going to forgive Artair, he wanted his brother dead. The brothers would never be able to mend that kind of rift—not from Ian’s point of view. If he couldn’t come to terms with what had happened and lose his hatred for his older brother, he could never come to Avalon.
Come to Avalon?
How the hell could she think about bringing Ian to her home? He couldn’t be a part of her life. The man was helping Helen—along with the rest of the idiots who followed her. Yes, he’d helped Sarita escape, but who knew what reasons he’d had to aid her? Perhaps he had a covert agenda—one that neither she nor Helen understood.
The man was nothing if not an enigma.
But he’d made his choice. He’d taken her love and brushed it aside, holding his need for revenge closer than her heart.
“Sarita?” Megan’s voice brought her back to reality.
“I’m sorry, what were you—”
“You’re the only one who knows Darian as he is now, and you’re the only one who’s seen Helen since she was with Sekhmet.”
“And?”
“What is there between them? Why would she keep him close after he helped you escape?”
A question Sarita had been asking herself from the moment she saw him. He’d hovered behind Helen, dressed in his black suit, wearing Ray-Bans as though he were the newest member of the Men in Black crew.
He’s the enemy. Don’t forget that.
Funny, but her heart didn’t seem to care.
“Seior can do strange things to a person. Even make them ally with someone as evil as Helen,” she said. “At least that’s what we were all taught. Ian wants revenge. Desperately. He hates Artair with a passion that we can’t imagine.”
“But Artair’s his brother,” Johann pointed out. “Hell, he shouldn’t remember him, let alone hate him.”
“He blames Artair for the clan killing him.”
“I think I know why,” Zach said.
Everyone turned to him.
“If I’m right—”
“Which you usually are,” Gina said with wifely pride, the highlights in her spiked hair shifting from the angry red to purple—her color for love.
Zach smiled, a grin of affection for his wife that sent a stab of envy through Sarita. “Rhiannon didn’t do her job,” he said. “Knowing her the way I do, I’d guess she forgot one important detail. She probably thought she was doing Artair a huge favor by fixing his brother’s hand. But I’ll bet she was so wrapped up in being benevolent, she forgot to wipe Darian’s memory when she took Artair out of the memories of the rest of the clan.”
“Oh, goddess.” Sarita closed her eyes, following Zach’s train of thought to a logical conclusion. “He not only would have come back to the clan alive and with a new hand, but they’d think he was babbling about a guy none of them had heard of before.” Opening her eyes, she glanced to Gina.
“He suffered so much, Gina.”
“I know. I’m sorry, sis.”
“They’d think he was schizophrenic or something,” Megan added. “Wasn’t Culloden Moor in 1740-something?”
“1746,” Johann replied without looking
up as he tapped more commands against his touch screen.
“People of that era could’ve easily thought someone who had signs of mental illness—like talking about a person who never existed—were possessed.” Megan pressed her point home.
Sarita wanted nothing more at that moment than to run to Ian, to take him into her arms and soothe away his hurt. Yet she couldn’t. He was back in league with Helen, and her job now was to figure out that bitch’s plans and stop them both before people got hurt.
Had Helen brainwashed him? Had she used Seior to wipe Sarita from his memory? What if he had no choice, if she’d taken his free will? Her skill with black magicks had earned her thousands of followers in the blink of an eye. She could easily force Ian to do her bidding.
“So he’s with Helen, and she’s after the Amazons,” Zach said, turning the topic. “Again. Why not put her people on the attack as well? Makes perfect sense.”
Sarita nodded. “Anytime we leave Avalon to hunt down some demon, we’ll be targets. Wouldn’t surprise me if she turns quite a few of them loose, like she did Marbas, just to get us out in the open. Then she’ll sick the Children of the Earth on us.”
“Makes sense,” Megan added. “I bet my bottom dollar she’s got more on her plate than that.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” The outburst came from Johann as he slapped the back of his knuckles against his screen. “I can’t believe she’d have the balls to do it. The patron goddesses will want her head on a platter.”
Megan sidled up closer. “What are you talking about, Joeman?”
“She did more than just exposed the Amazons.” After a few more taps, he turned his gadget for everyone to see again. “You all need to hear this.”
As usual, Sarita couldn’t see. Once she moved closer, she wished she hadn’t bothered.
An enormous screen had been pulled down behind Helen, and a projector shone its light against it. Helen was using a laser pointer, the red dot it produced hovering as she named each face on the screen behind her. The familiar names made the bile rise in the back of Sarita’s throat.
