by Linsey Hall
“Do you like that?”
“It’s all right. Not all demons are evil.”
I glanced at him, remembering how he’d saved me. “No. Maybe not.”
We arrived at the museum thirty minutes later, and I led the way to Dr. Garriso’s office in the back. I’d never actually been here before, but I’d gotten to know Dr. Garriso over the last few months. He’d helped Cass with a few problems, and I was hopeful he’d help me, too.
“Come in, come in.” He opened the back door to the museum. Dr. Garriso was a small man, about seventy, and always sported the tweed coats that made him look like he should be hanging out in the drawing room of some country house in England.
We followed him down the sterile, cold hallway to his office, which immediately transported me to another world. An English country house, in fact. The narrow space was done up like the library in one of those fancy old houses. Bookshelves lined every wall and were stuffed full of leather-bound books that were far older than anyone in the room. It smelled of paper and leather, which was just about the best scent I could imagine.
Colorful Tiffany lamps cast a warm glow on the leather chairs and small wooden tables crowded into the space.
Dr. Garriso’s office was a wonderland.
“Have a seat.” Dr. Garriso gestured to the far end of the room where two plush chairs sat under the window. A smaller wooden chair was pulled up beside the two. “I’ve just put the kettle on.”
I followed Roarke to the chairs. He took the small one, leaving the nicer ones for me and Dr. Garriso, who followed us with a tea tray. He set it on the little table between the chairs, then handed out the cups.
I grinned at Roarke, who delicately cradled the china in his massive hands. He looked like a bull in a china shop, determined not to break anything.
“How can I be of assistance?” Dr. Garriso asked.
I set the tea aside, hoping Dr. Garriso didn’t notice that I hadn’t drunk any. It really wasn’t my thing. I’d try to force down a couple sips in a minute to not be rude.
I dug into my pocket where I’d written Gwenhwyfar’s name on a piece of paper, then handed it to him. “We found a sarcophagus with that name carved on it.”
He squinted down, his spectacles reflecting the low glow of the lamps. He made a tutting sound, then said, “This name looks very familiar. One moment.”
He stood and hurried to the far wall, then climbed a narrow ladder and pulled down a few small books. As he walked back, he’d already started reading them.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “As I thought. Gwenhwyfar is the old Welsh spelling of Guinevere.” His bright gaze lifted and met my own. “You’ve found the grave of Queen Guinevere.”
“As in, King Arthur and Merlin?” I asked. And oh, that was no coincidence at all. First we find the demon at Merlin’s Cave, now at Guinevere’s grave?
I met Roarke’s gaze. He knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Exactly,” Dr. Garriso said.
“I guess the names do sound almost the same,” I said.
“Yes. Many cultures in Britain have myths and stories about Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin. They are popular figures.”
“Were they real?”
Dr. Garriso shrugged. “In some form, yes, I think. However, there are so many stories and myths that no one knows the truth of them.”
“So, is Arthur buried there as well? Or Lancelot?”
“I do not know,” Dr. Garriso said. “No one knows. There are several places they are purported to be buried. There are so many stories about those figures that it’s as if they lived a dozen lives.”
“Do you know anything about a magical charm that Guinevere might have owned?” I asked. “A pendant she wore around her neck that may have been a concealment charm?”
Dr. Garriso’s eyes brightened, and a grin stretched across his face. I’d never seen him look so excited. “Oh! Did you find one at her grave?”
“Yes. There was one draped around her skeleton’s neck.” Guilt streaked through me, though I hadn’t been the one to push off the lid of her sarcophagus. It’d been the demon. But still, I hated the damage caused to her grave.
“Well, I’ll be.” Dr. Garriso’s eyes took on a distant cast, as if he were reliving a memory. Or a story.
“What do you know?” Roarke asked.
His gaze met ours, pleased as punch. “There are many stories about Queen Guinevere. According to who you ask, be it the Britons or the Picts or the nineteenth century Romanticists, in almost all cases, she is a pawn. She has agency, yes, but not as much as she deserved. As anyone deserves. More often than not, she was used as a plot device to further the stories of the male characters, like Arthur or Mordred or Lancelot. In many cases, she meets a dire end. I never liked those stories. She was in an impossible situation most of the time, given too little credit and too little agency.”
“But there’s another story, isn’t there?” I could see it in his eyes. There was a story he treasured above the others.
“Yes.” Dr. Garriso nodded. “In one story, written by an unknown author many centuries ago, Guinevere took her fate into her own hands. She saw how those around her tried to use her, so she commissioned Merlin to create the strongest concealment charm ever known. She took the charm and ran, becoming master of her own fate. She appeared occasionally thereafter, but only on her terms. The rest of the time, she lived the life she pleased, hidden from those who would use her.”
Oh, I liked this Queen Guinevere. I liked her a lot. And first chance I had, I’d be visiting her grave to repair the damage. Maybe I could even get her to come to life and have a chat.
That probably qualified as abusing my powers, right?
“You said the author was unknown?” I asked.
“Yes. But I suspect that Gwenhwyfar wrote it before she died. If I were her, I wouldn’t be able to resist sharing my cunning plan with the world.”
“Neither would I,” I said. “So she finished out her days at Glastonbury Abbey.”
“If that is where you found her grave, then it appears so. There was a legend that she might have ended up there.”
“She did.”
“Splendid that you found it,” Dr. Garriso said.
“Except for the fact that we lost the concealment charm,” Roarke said.
Dr. Garriso’s face fell. “That is not good.”
“No.” Not only did we lose something that should be in its proper resting place with Guinevere, but it was now concealing a dangerous demon. “We’re hoping to learn more so that we can track down the demon who stole it. He’s using the concealment charm to hide from my…seeker sense.”
I was so excited about Guinevere, and so stressed about the demon, that I almost tripped up and said dragon sense. That would be baaaad.
“Hmmm.” Dr. Garriso frowned.
“We have some clues,” Roarke added. “The demon first visited Merlin’s Cave at Tintagel, then Guinevere’s grave.”
“That’s a trend,” Dr. Garriso said.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“But I’m afraid I know no more.” He stood.
Disappointment surged through me.
“There are many myths and stories about Guinevere and Merlin and all the rest. Read these. You may find something helpful.” Dr. Garriso handed me the books, and I took them, my chest loosening as hope pushed away disappointment.
Some of my problems I solved with my sword. But many others, I solved with books. They might look unassuming, but there were worlds within these pages.
And, I hoped, the answers that we would need.
Chapter Eleven
As Roarke and I hurried out to the car, I called my deirfiúr on my comms charm.
“Nix? Cass? Are you in Magic’s Bend? Can we meet at the shop? I’ve got some books we need to look through.” Normally I’d ask to meet at P & P, but this was during working hours so Nix couldn’t leave the shop.
Roarke glanced at me, surprised. I hadn’t told him I was going to
call them.
“Trust me,” I said to him.
“We’re back. Nothing panned out in New York. I can meet you at the shop,” Nix said.
“I’ll be there,” Cass added.
“See you in fifteen.” I cut the connection and turned to Roarke. “We’re going to need to read these books fast. To do that, we need help.”
“Books are really our best bet?” he asked.
“Quit doubting. Right now, they’re our only bet. We’re working with a trend here—first Merlin’s Cave, then Guinevere’s grave. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something else connected. You have any other ideas?”
“No.”
“Then we’ve got a plan. Anyway, I’m a fast reader. It won’t take long if we all work together.”
“All right.” He climbed into the car.
I could tell from his expression that this wasn’t usually how he did things, but until we had something else to go on, it was our best bet.
It didn’t take long to reach Ancient Magic, but there was no parking when we arrived.
“Drop me off, will you?” I asked.
“Sure.” He pulled over to the side.
I hopped out, then hurried into Ancient Magic while he parked the car. Entering the cluttered, magic-ridden shop always felt like coming home. Nix stood up from where she’d been seated behind the counter, a book in one hand and an apple in the other. She set them down on the counter and hurried around it to me.
“Hey! How’s it—” Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened.
Startled, I glanced behind me to see if we were being robbed. No one was behind me. But then, a robbery wouldn’t surprise Nix. She’d just beat them up and call the cops.
I turned back to her, but before I could ask what her issue was, I caught sight of the familiar blue glow extending out from where I stood. It crawled across the floor, almost reaching our counter.
No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be happening again.
“What the hell is happening?” Nix’s voice was high-pitched.
The room filled with people. They started out blue, but turned corporeal. They were clothed in long dresses and suit coats from another era. Nineteenth century. Behind the counter, an old man with a bushy mustache appeared. An ancient brass register appeared on the counter, squashing Del’s apple.
No, no, no. My hearth thundered in my ears, and my skin chilled to ice.
This was my fault.
I spun, ran out of the shop and across the street to the park on the other side. My mind whirled like a Ferris wheel as I turned and gazed through the shop window.
Everything had disappeared. Nix stood alone amongst our usual clutter of artifacts, her face shocked.
The breath whooshed out of me in relief, and I nearly swayed.
It was gone.
But I’d done that. I’d done that.
Sweat broke out along my skin, my relief short-lived. Holy magic, this was a problem. I was bringing the past back. Bringing the dead back.
“Del!” Roarke’s voice sounded from the other side of the street.
Startled, I glanced up to see him hurrying across the pavement toward me.
“What are you doing over here?”
I glanced around, mind scrambling. “Uh, I thought I saw my neighbor’s dog. He shouldn’t be out.”
Roarke’s gaze searched the street and park behind me. “You find him?”
“No. I must have been mistaken.” I looked at him hopefully.
His brows lowered. “No, you’re up to something.”
“Am not.”
“No, something is off about you. But don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”
That was exactly what I was worried about. “Come on. Let’s head in.”
As we crossed the street, I prayed to magic and every god I wished I believed in that the crazy magic wouldn’t happen again. When we entered the shop, the first thing I noticed was Nix’s squashed apple on the counter. There were a couple of artifacts tumbled to the ground, as well.
“Hey, guys,” Nix’s voice was slightly strained, but she looked mostly normal. “Cass is in the back. I’ll go get her.”
“Will you hang out here?” I asked Roarke. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”
He nodded, his gaze already traveling over the assortment of crazy artifacts cluttered onto the shelves lining the walls. I followed Nix into the tiny back room where I found Cass changing into a new T-shirt.
“I freaking spilled on myself again,” Cass muttered as she tugged the thing over her head.
“That’s not going to seem like a very big problem in a sec,” Nix said as she turned to me. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” Cass asked.
“Keep your voices down,” I hissed. “Roarke is out there. He thinks I’m peeing. And you missed it, Cass. I think I’m manifesting new powers. I’m bringing old places back to life. Bringing people back.”
“What?” Cass’s shocked gaze met mine.
“Yeah,” Nix said. “Our shop used to be the general store that served the factory workers above. Del just strolled in and brought with her this weird blue glow, and out popped a whole bunch of people in old-timey attire. She brought the dead back. She brought the past back.”
“Not good,” Cass said.
No. Bringing the dead back to life was strictly forbidden. That was a very bad power to have, even if they did disappear when I left. With the way my weird deathling powers were changing, maybe next time, they wouldn’t stay gone.
“Why’s it happening?” Nix asked. “Can you control it?”
“You’re going to have to control it,” Cass said.
“I know.” I dragged my hands through my hair. “But I don’t know how. And I don’t know why it’s happening. I mean, I turned into a Phantom when those other Phantoms embraced me. Aethelred said it was a trigger. Maybe something triggered this.”
“Going to the Underworld might do it. That’s a solid trigger, I’d bet.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling the slightest fraction better. At least I had a why. Kinda. “But that still doesn’t explain what the hell I am if I can bring folks back from the dead.”
“A secret,” Cass said. “That’s what you are.”
She was right. And I’d have to learn to control it. What if it happened in a grocery store? Not to mention, sometimes the people I brought back didn’t want me on their turf. Tintagel Castle had been proof of that.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I’ll practice. But first we have to figure out this demon thing and get Roarke off my tail.”
“We’ll help.” Nix glanced at the books that I just now realized were still clutched in my hands. “Those the books you mentioned?”
“Yep.”
“‘Kay, let’s head out there,” Cass said. “Aidan is coming over on his lunch break and bringing pizza.”
My stomach grumbled. I’d nearly forgotten I hadn’t eaten. I followed my deirfiúr out into shop. Roarke was admiring a pair of wicked looking daggers on the shelf.
“Let’s get started,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of clue we’re looking for, but I hope it’s in one of these books.”
Aidan walked through the door carrying two pizza boxes and a six-pack of soda. He grinned and held them up. “Lunch.”
He set the food on a little table against the wall, then approached Roarke, who held out his hand to Aidan.
“Roarke.”
Aidan shook his hand. “Aidan Merrick.”
Roarke inclined his head. “Origin.”
“Warden,” Aidan said, using Roarke’s title in return.
“Let’s eat while Del gives us a run-down,” Nix said. “I need to know what direction I should be looking in.”
“Good plan,” Roarke said.
We scavenged chairs from around the shop and in the back. Nix and I ended up sitting on the counter after having surreptitiously tossed the apple in the trash.
“So here’s the deal.” I told the story of
Merlin’s Cave and Guinevere’s grave while trying to inhale a slice of cheese pizza.
“So he stole a concealment charm created by Merlin,” Aidan said when I finished.
“Yes,” Roarke said.
Aidan shrugged. “That could be your clue right there.”
“What do you mean?” Cass asked.
“For the last two months, Origin Enterprises has been conducting research on the fallibility of concealment charms.” Origin Enterprises was Aidan’s security company.
“Smart,” I said. “Trying to find ways to further protect your stuff.”
His gaze traveled to Cass. “In a sense, though we’ve never worked much with concealment charms. We protect property, primarily.’”
“Three months ago was just about when you met us,” Nix said, her gaze thoughtful.
Aidan nodded. “Once I learned that you three used concealment charms to protect yourselves from the Monster who hunted you, I wanted to make sure that those charms couldn’t be cracked. If they could, he could find you.”
Cass’s face pretty much melted—that was the only way I could describe her expression. To be fair, my heart did the same.
“You were trying to protect us?” she asked.
He reached for her hand. “I hardly think that should come as a surprise.”
“You didn’t tell us, though,” Cass said.
“Let a man have a few secrets.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “But it appears this information might help you.”
“What’d you learn?” Roarke asked.
“Research and Development determined that if you can figure out how the charm was made—either through potions, conjuring, blood magic, or whatever—you might be able to break them. You’d need to know the origin of the magic and what type it was. There are a lot of different ways to make charms. But that information is almost impossible to come by. Mage’s don’t usually advertise how they make their goods, or they’d lose their business. Keeping that in mind, it’s almost impossible to get the information needed to break the charm.”
“If you get the info you need, how do you break the charm?” Cass asked.
