Evan could work without pause, and not realize he’d been gone for hours. There were things he definitely avoided talking about. His sister for one. Mention of her tended to make him clam up, or change the subject quickly. True, he was as gorgeous as he could be, but that wasn’t always enough. It hadn’t been with Archie.
Evan opened the door for Archie, who entered. It was a jolt to see him again, as though her old world had intruded on the new. Dressed with his usual carelessness he appeared almost slovenly next to Evan’s neat white polo shirt and black jeans. Sofie stood to greet him and smiled warmly. “You’re here early, Archie.”
“Yes. The dig was rained out, so we finished early. Then the Met wanted me to start as soon as I could, so I thought ‘why not?’”
“Was the apartment ready for you?” The apartment they were to have shared together.
“Yes, but I can’t keep it. I can’t afford it.”
He glared at Evan, who promptly disappeared into the kitchen with a brief, “I’ll leave you on your own.”
“It’s a surprise to see you here.” Archie looked around, exaggeratedly taking in the large room. His gaze rested on the sleeping platform, where the bed was prominently on display. The room Sofie used was behind it, and the door could have easily led to a closet or a bathroom, if the viewer didn’t know better.
“What’s surprising about it?”
“Your Evan’s a felon, isn’t he? And he works for the CIA. I didn’t know they paid that well.” His sneer curled his upper lip.
“He has some money of his own.” Sofie found she didn’t want to discuss Evan with Archie. It seemed an intrusion of his privacy, and, in a way she couldn’t explain, hers too.
“What made you take up with him? Why, Sofie, why?” The sneer disappeared, to be replaced by a hangdog look. Sofie preferred the sneer.
“You made it bloody difficult for me to do anything else.” Without knowing why, Sofie tossed a cushion over the Crowley book. “What got into you, taking up with Gwynnie like that?”
“I don’t know.” For a brief moment Sofie saw the real Archie – the big, handsome archaeologist, the man who loved his job and loved his playtime, the man she’d fallen for five years ago. Then it was replaced, overlaid, by this new Archie, the one she felt she didn’t know. “She was willing, game even. If you hadn’t wanted to join in, you might have just said so, instead of storming off like that. We could have talked it over, couldn’t we?” He paused. “We always could in the past.”
“Yes, but you made that impossible.”
“Had you met this Evan chap before?”
“Not before that day.”
The sneer came back. “And a one night stand seemed a good idea. At least I knew Gwynnie! We’re two of a kind, Sofie. We should try again. Perhaps we can have some fun this time.”
“Piss off, Archie.”
It was at that point that Evan chose to return. He carried a loaded tray into the room, and carefully deposited it on the coffee table before he turned to face Archie. “However we met, whatever we are now, is none of your business, Hamilton. You have no rights over Sofie any more.” He turned to Sofie, his face a total mask, nothing to be read. “Have you finished your discussion?”
“Not quite. Sit down, Archie.”
Archie looked around and found a chair, one that was rarely used. The leather creaked when he lowered his frame into it, but the seat was sturdy enough, and held. Evan sat next to Sofie and handed Archie a cup of coffee, indicating he should help himself to cream. Archie took the cream and several spoons of sugar. He hadn’t changed that much, then.
He’d had to put down the bag he carried. As though he’d only just remembered, he picked it up again and handed it to Sofie. “Some things you forgot.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t think she’d forgotten much, but she supposed it was nice of him to bring them. “So are you fixed here now?”
“I start on Monday. They’ll spend a week or two letting me get the hang of the place. They want me to do a couple of summer digs – otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed. I’m going to dig over an old plantation in the South next season.”
He continued to chat about his new job. Sofie watched and sipped her coffee, wondering what was missing. It took her a little time to work it out.
Enthusiasm. Archie entirely lacked the quality that had made him so loveable and so endearing before. It was how he’d drawn her to him in the first place, his enthusiasm for the subject they shared, and his love of discovery. It had gone. Archie described his new job carefully, but showed no preference for one duty over another, one job over another. It was as though a highly efficient automaton had taken over where love had died.
Sofie sat still, hardly able to bear the words she heard. The man before her was a parody of Archie. At least she knew she had made the right decision to leave him. This Archie was unknown to her, and not one she wanted to get to know. He couldn’t leave soon enough for her.
*
This man had taken his Sofie, and he would pay for it. Not now, but he wouldn’t have her for long. Archie was determined on it. Now he’d seen them together, the man’s arm curled loosely over the back of the sofa, covering her with a protective presence, Archie knew he wanted her back, if only to humiliate her and drive her away.
No, he wouldn’t drive her away. He’d keep her, or kill her.
In New York Archie had made sense of some things. What he was, who he was, and why he was here. In England all his thoughts had been of vengeance and power. He’d met his mother, been drawn to her and she had known him at once, even in this new body. Now he knew where he belonged. Why he was here. Archie and Mordred had become one. The expertise and knowledge of this new world had merged into Mordred’s dark, vengeful nature. He had one person to thank for his transformation, and she wasn’t in this room.
He remembered why he had come. Why he had really come. “Sofie, I need to ask you something,” he said, remembering to avert his eyes slightly as though he was ashamed of what he was about to ask her. “I’m sorry about this. The thing is, it was in the report, and they want it back.”
“Want what back?” There was genuine puzzlement in her tone.
He looked at her, and wondered anew what he had ever seen in that stick-thin figure, that wiry, twisting hair. Gwyneth had been soft and buxom, a body to sink into. He almost regretted leaving her behind. “That whistle. The one I gave you on your last day. English Heritage wants it back. I’m sorry.”
Her brow cleared. “No problem. I’ll go and get it.”
“Thanks.”
There was an awkward silence as Sofie left and climbed the stairs to the sleeping platform. To Archie’s surprise, she crossed the open area and went through a door. From what he could see there was a room beyond. He’d thought that door led to a closet. Wasn’t she sleeping with the bastard, then?
Glancing at Howell, he saw the man was watching him. He could read nothing in that dark gaze, even though he groped for a link. His new skill was still in its early stages, but with someone this close, he ought to be able to read his mind. There seemed to be a hard barrier before him, barring his way, just like those machines outside that had barred his entry until he’d petitioned to be allowed into the inner sanctum.
The Mordred in him remembered. Arthur had always been like that, barring his own son from his inmost council. Not something he intended to continue. It would be a pleasure to kill Howell, pure pleasure. But not yet.
“You’re not sleeping with her?” Nothing like asking straight out.
Howell raised a black eyebrow. “I’d say that was none of your business, wouldn’t you?”
Nothing to be learned. On the whole, Archie couldn’t believe a man wouldn’t use any woman who came his way, and he didn’t think Howell was so different. The man had the stance of a predator, and the still attitude of a hunting cat. Sure, he’d taken Sofie.
Sofie came back, clattering down the open staircase without thinking, a sure sign of how used she�
�d got to this place. “I’m sorry, Archie, I can’t find it.”
He shrugged, pasting a careless expression on to his face. “No hurry. I said I’d post it back to them when I found it, but your problems were more important. Just drop it off at the Met when you find it, will you?”
She nodded. “You’re all right? I still want to be your friend, Sofie, and I wouldn’t be that if I didn’t notice that look of worry on your face. And you’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”
Sofie shrugged, but Howell turned his attention to her immediately, an open look of concern that did something to Archie’s insides. Jealousy twisted his gut. He might not want her any more, but no one else should have her. He’d made her his, and once his, she was his for all time.
“You didn’t say anything,” Howell said, accusingly. “You shouldn’t let me get so involved with my work. I’ll make sure you eat.” Then the bastard leaned forward and twisted one of her curls around his filthy finger.
When they turned back to him Archie was careful to keep blandly smiling. They would pay, but not now. “I should go. I’m keeping you two from something.”
“No, no, Archie. Finish your coffee.”
It would choke him. “That’s all right. I’ve always been more of a tea man, anyway.” He stood up, feeling stifled. He had to get out of there. “Just drop the whistle off when you find it.” He turned at the door. “Do I just let the door go behind me?”
“Yes. It’s getting in you’ll find hard.”
Maybe it would, if he used conventional methods
Out in the street Archie took a few deep breaths before setting out for the subway.
*
Bull’s Art Gallery was in the middle of the fashionable and expensive Upper East Side, conveniently close to the Metropolitan Museum. Any patrons wishing for artwork of their own after feasting on the glories inside could indulge here. At a price. Artists vied for a showing at Bull’s.
Archie wasn’t there to display his art. He lived here now, with the proprietress, and her daughter, the lovely Anna. Anna was tall, impossibly thin, and wore her shiny black hair in a bob, just touching her chin. She was all angles, sharp hipbones projecting through the tight, black skirt of the designer suit she wore. Her smile was slight, but Archie knew it was all he would get. “Is she in?”
“Go through. She’s in the office.” Anna stayed out front, watching the few patrons taking their time with the cool abstracts that were today’s offerings. Archie glanced at them, but his taste had never been for the ultra-modern. He passed through a door into the office.
Mrs. Bull sat behind a large desk, clear of papers, except for one tray, and the latest Apple notebook to one side. It was switched on and open, but it didn’t look as though she was using it. The smile she gave Archie when he entered was more than she usually showed to any of her clients, however much money they had just spent.
“Good morning, my son. Did you get it?”
Archie shrugged. “Not today. She couldn’t find it, but she’ll drop it off at the museum when she finds it.”
The smile turned to a frown. “We need that whistle. We can’t call for the sword if we don’t have it.”
Mrs. Bull was an older version of her daughter. She’d had only the minimum cosmetic surgery. People didn’t want to buy their art from a girl, she’d told Archie, they wanted a woman of substance. The substance was kept in check by vigorous dieting, until the body had gained an unnatural thinness, and her head looked too big for her body. Not that Archie would have dreamed of telling her. Her black hair clung like a helmet to the angular bones of her head.
“And we need the sword. What makes you think it’s not close to the whistle? I could always apply for an extension to the dig. I think they’d give it.”
“No.” she spoke briskly in a clipped way, as though she had little time left. In fact, she had more than most people. When this body was worn out she would select another and move on, without looking back. Mordred had known her in many guises, many names, but she had always been Morgause inside. His mother. Her name mattered little; about as little as his did. Now he was Archie, freed by that one blast of the silver whistle, the Pipe. But without gaining possession of the instrument he would always be vulnerable. As would she. This time they would succeed. They couldn’t fail. “No, Arthur would never have done that. He was too wily to make it too obvious. We must call Excalibur to us with that whistle. And then destroy it. And then, my son…” she lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. “I have you back. You will have what is yours by right of birth and by right of conquest. I will ensure it.”
Archie smiled, feeling his lips curve up. He would never tire of such simple human sensations. Several hundred years bound bodiless to the earth will do that to a man. “We’ll get it. I’ve been in the apartment, seen how matters stand. They’re trusting in the high tech security they have encircling them.”
Mrs. Bull chuckled, a sound that could chill the unwary. It warmed Archie. “We can get through that as if it doesn’t exist. I love people who feel perfectly safe once they have taken certain elementary precautions. They’re at their most vulnerable when they feel at their safest.”
Archie joined in the laughter. He’d tried his new powers just the other night. He’d try them again tonight, now he was even better. And when they were enhanced, as they would be in a day or so, they would be better still. “What about Sofie?”
Mrs. Bull shrugged her narrow shoulders. Her jacket, carefully padded and tailored, took the shrug in its stride. There wasn’t a wrinkle to show her movements. “She’s nothing. Do what you want with her. But don’t kill her yet, we might need her as a lever against Howell.”
Archie’s lips formed something perilously like a snarl. “Howell! Can we kill him?”
“In a way.” She leaned back in her chair. “We need that whistle first, but I think there’s more to Howell than that. He may be the one I seek – the one with the shade of Arthur sleeping inside him.”
“What makes you say that?” Jealousy sliced through Archie. He hadn’t told her what he’d instinctively recognized. He could have been wrong. He’d recognized Howell as Arthur at the moment of rebirth, when his senses were still confused by the transformation.
“He looks like him, for a start. Yes, I remember what he looks like. But that is deceptive, as we both know. Arthur is asleep until he is woken, and only Arthur knows where to find Excalibur. Your little friend woke you, and a second blast will either bring Arthur to us, or the sword. Either will do, though the sword would be best.”
“And then Arthur will take over where he left off.” And he would be second best again. If Mordred could help it that would never happen. Once that sword was back in his hands he would make sure of it.
“No, he won’t. This time he will see that his best opportunities lie with us.”
“Are you sure of that?” Archie moved towards the kettle. He loved that she had bought a kettle just for him.
“Oh, I’m positive, my dear boy. Remember what you were like when you were revived? Well, that will happen again, and we will be there when it happens. Arthur joins us, or he dies. It’s as simple as that.”
Chapter Nine
Evan worked late into the night, long after Sofie had gone to bed. There was still his regular work to be done, and Cristos had sent him an email earlier in the day. It seemed the Bureau, in its wisdom, no longer considered Sofie at risk. He wondered how Cristos had found out, and what new evidence had shown this.
Cristos had been quiet recently. Evan never trusted him when he was quiet. He would have to go in to the office and find out what was going on. He tapped out a code, and was satisfied to see it absorbed into his model. He could work like this for hours, before realizing it was far too late for him to go to bed. Usually he would go to the gym for an early workout, a habit he’d gotten into in jail. They hadn’t allowed him computers, but before he had gone completely insane, he’d discovered the high he could drive himself to in the gy
m. He no longer needed the high, but the gym had become part of his life.
Another code, another acceptance, but he wasn’t so lucky the third time. The last one was emphatically rejected, nearly crashing the system. Evan sighed, pushing back his chair. Time for coffee.
He was coming back from the kitchen, mug in hand when he heard the scream. Pausing only to balance the cup on a nearby ledge, Evan took the stairs two at a time and threw open the door of Sofie’s room.
She sat bolt upright in bed, completely naked. Her eyes were open, but she stared at him without recognition. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, other than a horrible choking sound. Evan took the two strides that took him to the bed, one arm reaching for her, another fumbling for the switch of the bedside light.
The light came on, cool and clear, showing the blue tinge to Sofie’s lips. No time for gentleness. Could she be choking on something she’d eaten earlier? Evan swept her up into his arms, sheets and all, and made his way to the bathroom, snapping on the light as he went through. He searched his mind for the emergency procedures, knowing he had to get her airway clear, but not knowing how. “Sofie!” She didn’t seem sentient, as though she was still dreaming. The tinge on her lips was increasing, purpling as he watched. Her breath came shorter, as though the last air was about to leave her. It was happening too fast.
Then she sagged in his arms. All her muscles relaxed, and she stopped choking. His heart hammering in his chest Evan turned her face, preparing to give mouth to mouth. He wasn’t sure he could do it right, but he had to try.
Sofie stared at him and he saw that she recognized him. The blue tinge had gone. She was awake.
His first thought was to gather her up into his arms, hold her tight. He never, never wanted that fright again. He felt her begin to shake. Shock. He picked her up and carried her back to the bed, depositing her on the crumpled sheets and then went to the big cupboard and found the extra comforter.
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