“Do you really believe Jon and I can defeat the dev – uh, your brother?” Richie tried to cover his faux pas, but there was nothing wrong with Morganna’s hearing.

Stifling a smile at his slip, for this was no laughing matter and she shouldn’t be smiling, Morganna answered, “he can never truly be vanquished. You are Catholic; surely you must know this to be true.”

Richie smiled wryly. “No I did not know ‘this to be true’,” he said. “And don’t call me ‘Shirley’.” At Morganna’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Never mind. Stupid human joke. What’s the point then of all this?” He climbed a few stairs and cursed loudly. “I’m sorry; I have to rest for a minute.” He leaned heavily against the wall and clutched his sides as each breath sent shards of pain through his lungs.

“Richard, your color,” Morganna said, concerned. “It is not good.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Well, the sensations aren’t at all good, either.” He groaned and rubbed lightly at his ribs. “Shit, I’ll bet they’re broken,” he said. “I’ve been battered and bruised a lot in my day and this feels completely different. Sucky different.”

Morganna stood before him and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. She gently separated the sides of his shirt and pushed them aside. The bruising on his ribcage made her wince. She put very gentle, baby’s breath pressure on one of the bruises, and Richie moaned pitifully.

“Oh merciful Heavens,” she said. “This won’t do at all.” Her gaze followed the same path her fingers had taken, and Richie felt the heat of her gaze more acutely than the burning pain of his broken ribs. “I don’t know when my brother will try again but we do not have the luxury of letting you heal on your own.” She raised her head to meet his eyes. “If you can make it upstairs and lie down, I can help you. Heal you.”

“Like Jon’s cut?”

“Yes,” Morganna confirmed. “I must warn you, however, and apologize in advance, but you will feel a brilliant rush of heated pain before it heals. Knitting flesh just itches. Knitting bones hurt like, well,” she chuckled, “like the devil.”

Richie nodded slowly. “As long as the pain goes away and I can help finish this thing.” He pushed back from the wall, and his chest bumped Morganna’s. She jumped back as if she were burned. Richie didn’t notice, as the pain from the movement made his vision swim. “And you still haven’t answered my question,” he said.

Confused, Morganna tilted her head at him. “And of what question do you speak, child?”

“What’s the point of all of this if we can’t possibly win?”

Morganna smiled. “I did not say you could not win; I merely said my brother could not be vanquished. Let us just get you upstairs and into bed.” She blushed at Richie’s raised eyebrows and devastating smile.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with a wild streak,” he teased.

“Child, you are in no shape to entertain such thoughts,” Morganna scolded.

Richie just laughed. “My brain is not what’s hurtin’ Anna, darlin’.” He let a little drawl tinge his voice and Morganna was annoyed to find her heart tripping in her chest.

“Come, Richard,” she said. “I promise, I will explain it all to you as you heal.”

“Will you tell me about Accolon too?” Richie asked. At Morganna’s startled look, Richie continued. “You said ‘Steady, Accolon’ when those creature things were getting ready to attack. I saw a portrait of someone by that name hanging over a suit of armor in Nimue’s weird room.”

“His portrait still hangs?” Morganna asked, her mouth running dry.

“I don’t know about ‘still’,” he said, “but yes, it’s there. Who is he?”

Their slow progress had finally brought them to Richie’s door. “He was my one greatest love, and my one greatest heartache,” she said softly. Morganna opened the door and helped Richie to the bed.

He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and let out a heavy sigh. “And I remind you of him?” he asked quietly.

“Aye you do,” she confirmed. “No more talk for you.” She leaned in to push his shirt off of his shoulders. She pulled the tails gently out from under his butt, and dropped it on the floor. “Lie down now, and let me take care of you.”

“You keep takin’ my clothes off and talkin’ all dirty to me, and I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

Morganna blushed and smiled. “Save your strength,” she said. “You are going to need it.”

Richie settled as best he could on the soft mattress. “How long will the healing take?” he asked through gritted teeth as the razor sharp pain of breathing intensified with the shift in angle.

“Not long, but it will feel like an eternity.” She looked down at him, at the naked fear and trust in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I can be.” Richie closed his eyes.

Morganna took a deep breath and pressed her hands hard into Richie’s sides, making him yelp. He kept his hands fisted at his sides, and fought a wave of nausea. Morganna started to murmur soft words, and palpated her fingers along his ribs.

Richie’s jaw clenched as the pain seared through him. Though he tried to be stoic, he couldn’t help but cry out again as her fingers hit an obvious fracture. Sweat popped along his brow and his legs stiffened. “Tell me,” he pleaded. “About your brother. Why can’t we beat him?”

“You can beat him,” Morganna insisted. “You just cannot kill him.” She took in Richie’s pain and couldn’t stand watching his agony. She stopped what she was doing, and Richie relaxed on the bed.

“I still feel some pain,” Richie said, before he could stop himself.

“I am not done,” Morganna said. She stroked the earring in her lobe several times, making it glow a soft white. She put her hands on Richie again, and began a different incantation.

This time, when Richie felt the pain, it was more of a warm glow than a burning ache. He was able to stay still and started to concentrate on the words Morganna was saying. When he heard “take thy pain unto me” he protested. Morganna ignored him, speaking faster. In moments, Richie’s pain was gone. He watched as Morganna’s stance wavered, and felt her touch lighten. She was weakening.

“Anna?” Richie said, tentatively. “The pain is gone. But what are you doing? What have you done? Are you alright?”

Morganna dropped her hands from Richie’s body, and sunk to the floor. “Give me a moment, child. Let me gather my strength.” She raised a hand to stop him from coming to her. “Just a moment.” She lay her head down and closed her eyes.

Richie sat quietly for a minute, just staring at Morganna. He slowly sat up, testing his motion and awed to find he had no residual pain. He sat on the floor next to Morganna and rubbed slow circles on her back. After a few minutes of slow, shallow breathing, Morganna sat up. “You were lucky your injuries were not more severe,” she said, touching his ribs again. “You did indeed have several broken ribs. It would have been no hard thing for any of those splintered bones to pierce your heart.”

Richie gently took up her hand and brought it to her lips. “Why did you do that?” he asked softly, kissing her knuckles. “Why did you subject yourself to the pain? It made you so weak. You could have been seriously...”

“No, I couldn’t have,” Morganna interrupted, gently extricating her hand from his. “I recited the incantation for two reasons. First, to be perfectly candid, your pain was causing me distress.” She smiled at Richie’s surprise. “Yes, child, your pain bothers me. I care about what happens to you.”

“Anna,” Richie said softly. “I’m not a child. What was the second reason?”

“To illustrate my point better than any words would. In your healing there was good and bad. Both are sides of the same plane. You cannot have one without the other. It is why you cannot kill my brother. You cannot rid the world of bad, for it would harm the good.”

“Why not? Why can’t everything just be good?” Richie asked.

“How would we know what good is without knowing evil?” Morganna looked at him warmly. “How would we know the smile of a child is good, if we did not know the maniacal grin of a child molester to be evil? If we did not know what actions were evil, would we know what actions were good? Can good even exist without evil?”

Richie shook his head. “Of course good can exist without evil. Look at remote cultures. They don’t have the same problems we do.”

“No, but they have their own. They may not have murders, but do they not starve? We could argue this until the end of time, but the answer would not change. Good and Evil are yin and yang. They are a man and his shadow. One is invisible at times, but it always present. This is the reason why you cannot destroy my brother. You can defeat him, but he will never truly be destroyed.”

“Yeah, well, your reason sucks,” Richie said petulantly. He looked at Morganna with tenderness. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He reached out for her again, but she stood up to avoid his touch.

She nodded. “Yes, as Fiona has said, we heal quickly. Are YOU alright?”

“I don’t feel any pain, but I’m not sure I’m alright. This is a lot to take in. And what did Merlin mean by arming me? And what about Accolon?”

Morganna dusted off her hands and turned toward the bathroom. As she turned, her clothing transformed back into the long dress she had been wearing before the battle. Her hair, released from its braid, flowed down her back in a cascade of dark curls. Halfway, she stopped and turned back to Richie.

“The battle with my brother will not be against creatures similar to those you have just destroyed,” she began. “The foes you will face will be devastatingly difficult to fight. You must be armed to defend not only your life, but Jon’s. Much the same way we learned of Jon’s weapon, so shall we learn of yours. Once its identity is revealed to the Elders, we will be made aware. Then we can fetch the instrument of your salvation.”

“And yours?” Richie asked.

“My own life is of no consequence. You and your friend are the important ones.”

“Of no consequence? But – ”

Morganna cut him off. “In the history of the universe, the Fey have played important, but small roles. It is Humankind that is critical. In the grand scheme of things, my life, or Fiona’s for that matter, means little. We would gladly sacrifice them so that you may succeed, and Lucifer be thwarted.”

Richie was shocked. “So you would die for this?”

Morganna nodded. “Of course. It is our lot in this existence to be where we are needed. To perform our duties to the fullest extent of our power, magical and otherwise. If that includes perishing so that a race may be saved, who are we to deny our destiny?” She shook her head when Richie continued to protest. “Richard, there is nothing to be argued. The Fates have determined my destiny. They set me on this path a lifetime ago.” She turned back toward the bathroom, and took a tentative step. “Come with me, Richard,” Morganna commanded softly.

Richie stood and followed Morganna into the bathroom, where she had filled the sink basin with water. As he watched, she passed her hand over the smooth, clear surface, and watched it cloud over.

“No crystal ball?” he asked wryly.

“I could fetch one if you prefer, but this works equally well.”

“Seriously?”

“I am always serious,” Morganna said.

“Pity,” Richie murmured under his breath. Using his normal speaking voice, he asked, “So what are you going to show me?”

“I will show you Accolon.”

Richie watched as Morganna closed her eyes. He saw her lips move as she murmured an incantation, but he couldn’t make out her words. Soon, the water in the wide basin began to cloud over.

“What the hell?” Richie said under his breath. Though nothing should surprise him after the day he had survived, he was still shocked to see images form just under the surface of the water. “Who are they?” he asked when he saw two figures sitting on a dais.

“King Arthur and his wife, the Lady Guinevere,” Morganna answered. “I am by the Lady’s feet.”

“They’re real people? Not just myths? Holy shit.” Richie peered into the sink then back at Morganna. “You look the same there. You haven’t aged a day!”

“I have aged more than a lifetime since living that particular memory,” Anna corrected, a wistful and sad look in her eyes.

As they watched, Accolon strode into the hall, walking toward the dais, away from their vision. Richie saw the man’s long dark hair curl slightly at the ends, and could hear his leather boots ringing out against the stone floor. “Sound?” Richie asked, his voice getting quiet. “The sink gets sound?”

“Child, you are trying my patience. Do you wish to know of Accolon or not?”

Chastised, Richie turned his attention back to the water. As Accolon walked, his cloak billowed out behind him, revealing a glimpse of a golden sword with a jeweled hilt secured in a scabbard at his waist. He watched as Morganna, the Morganna in the vision, fairly swooned at Accolon’s presence. He also saw a possessive look in the Lady’s eyes. He shifted his glance to Anna, who had the barest hint of a scowl on her face.

“I apologize Richard,” she said finally, catching his sidelong glance. “Memories of Accolon bring out my worst.”

Richie smirked. “I have a few memories of my own I’d much rather not relive, so I thank you for sharing yours.” He reached out for her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away.

He watched the sink with interest, waiting for a glimpse of the man who caused Morganna such pain. When he finally saw the knight’s face, Richie’s own paled. “That’s me,” he whispered. “Well, me twenty years ago, but still me. Holy fuck.”

In the moment before he dropped Morganna’s hand another scene flashed in the water. This was of a creamy white shoulder behind a strong broad back. “Sweet hell!” he yelled, pulling the plug on the sink. He looked at Morganna. “No wonder you ‘care about what happens to me’.” He shook his head and shouldered his way out of the room. “No wonder you think this is your destiny,” he called over his shoulder. “I remind you of him, you say. No shit! We’re THE SAME FUCKING PERSON!”

“You are worlds different, dear Richard,” she murmured under her breath, so as not to be heard. A bit louder she said, “I agree, there is some similarity in your appearance,” as she followed Richie into the bedroom, “and it is what made me realize that my destiny has already been mapped out.” She watched as he grabbed his shirt off the bed and shrugged into it, holding the sides closed.

“SOME similarity?” he bellowed. “Unbelievable.” He stalked to the door and flung it open. After taking two steps out of the room, he whirled around. “Wait a minute, this is MY fucking room. YOU go!” He narrowed his eyes. “And stay gone. No invisible shrinking fairy shit from you.” He shook his head and stepped back, giving Morganna room to pass. “SOME similarity?” he muttered again, anger turning his voice hard. “Jesus, it was like looking at a fucking home movie!”

Morganna tilted her head at Richie and asked, "I don't understand. What is a home movie?"

“I’m not explaining that one, and don’t change the subject!" he growled, running his fingers through already rumpled hair. "Go ask your damned sister."

“Richard,” Morganna said, approaching him, her voice soft and firm. “I swear to you, I did not register the resemblance until my sister pointed it out to me. Accolon is my past. A memory. You are the here and now. I did not mean for that memory to surface.”

Richie, seething by the door, was shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it did. Clearly Accolon was important to you in the past. And what am I, your future? I don’t think so.” He looked down at Morganna, and saw the honesty etched in her face. He sighed, and his posture relaxed. “Look, Morganna, this is just... I have to have some time to wrap my head around this shit, you know? I mean, hell, I don’t even know what I mean. Just go, alright? Thank you for fixing my ribs, and for warning me that I have to find some weapon or another, but right now, I need you to go.”

“I will honor your wish,” Morganna answered. “But know this. I cannot allow a personal matter to interfere with your destiny.”

Richie correctly read between the lines. “Oh no. Do not fuck with my head. I will figure a way to put this away for now, don’t you worry.”

Morganna nodded. “Aye you will have to. You have until morn.”

Jon and Richie barely had time to blink and then they were looking at the wide expanse of Jon’s backyard. Fiona stumbled slightly, falling against Jon. He threw his left arm around her shoulders and steadied her by pulling her tightly against his side.

“Are you okay?” The question came at her from three directions.

“I’m fine,” she assured them. “One of Lucie’s flunkies got lucky with one o’ his blows. I’m only a little light headed. It will soon pass.”

Morganna nodded in agreement of her sister’s assessment, and when Jon looked as if he was going to argue, she reminded him, “My sister and I are fast healers. Have no fear, child. These minor scrapes and bruises will be gone in no time.”

“It’s your wounds we should be worried about,” Fiona said softly as she looked up at Jon. There was something in the air between them, and for once she wasn’t frightened by it.

“I for one would kill for a shower,” Richie said, wincing. He hissed when he took a step toward the house.

“That sounds heavenly,” Fiona agreed and pulled away from Jon to start marching up the hill toward the house.

“Do fairies take showers?” Jon asked teasingly as he fell into step beside her, shortening his stride to match hers, and dragging Excalibur behind him. It was almost as if Jon didn't even notice the sword was there.

Morganna scoffed and looked at Richie. “Your brother enjoys flirting with danger, doesn’t he?”

Realizing she meant Jon’s use of the prohibited word, Richie laughed. “Yeah, he can’t seem to help himself, and I’ve been known to take a walk on the wild side myself.” His grin turned into a groan as he took a deep breath. “We were speaking of showers...I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”

Morganna’s laughter trilled across the yard. “You are a naughty one, Richard.”

“Every chance I get, Anna. Every chance I get,” he agreed. His color dropped as a wave of pain swept over him. His step faltered as they made their way across the lawn.

“Lean on me,” Morganna said. “Do not let your stubborn male pride keep you from allowing me to help you.” She cast a worried glance at his face, which was ashen and clammy. “How much pain are you in?”

“Enough that I’m glad David isn’t here to make me laugh,” he said dryly. He wound a long arm around Morganna’s shoulders and leaned cautiously on her.

“Richard,” Morganna said, squeezing his hip gently. “I can support more of your weight than that.” At his doubtful glare she added, “You must try to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Richie answered, and proved it by leaning his whole weight on her. He had to admit, he did feel better without having to keep himself upright. “There, you happy now?”

“No,” Morganna retorted, as they crossed the threshold of the back door. “I will not be happy until this whole business is done and you are safe.”



Jon headed straight for his bathroom letting Fiona follow him up the stairs. Once they reached his bedroom, he noticed the color riding high on her cheeks as he turned to cross the room to the bathroom, pausing long enough to lay Excalibur on his dresser. Jon felt the loss of the sword almost immediately upon laying it down. Realizing he actually missed the weight of the sword in his hand, he frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure what had embarrassed her and decided not to ask. “Would you like to use the shower down the hall?” he asked instead. He might seriously want to spend all night making love to her, but he had no intention of giving up his shower to her, and he was sure she wouldn’t want to share it. He turned to face her and found her right on his heels.

Her small hand rose to softly stroke the welt on his cheek. “Does it hurt very badly?” Her voice was soft and sympathetic.

He shook his head. “Not too bad.” Jon found it hard to believe that she was actually caressing his cheek. He stood as still as a statue, afraid of spooking her into running like a frightened animal.

“Are you sure?” Her voice had dropped to just a slight rasp. “I know that Anna said magic wasn’t needed to heal your other injuries, but it can be done, if you’re in pain. I would not care to see you in pain. I...”

Gently, he laid a finger across her lips to stop her rambling. “Fee, I’m fine. Really. But, thank you for caring.”

“I shouldna care so much,” she grumbled.

Her frown was adorable and he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss the tip of her nose, but when he bent his knees and moved in close to her, Fiona looked up at him. The kiss landed on her lips. They were softer than he remembered, and when she didn’t move away, but instead moved closer to him, Jon wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss.

He held her tightly, afraid that at any moment she’d disappear like she’d done before. There were still a million questions that he wanted answers to, but that would come later. Later, once he’d finally satisfied his hunger for her. She was so tiny and appeared so delicate, but he knew better. He’d seen her face down her enemy, seen her stand strong to protect him and Richie. She and her sister had stood shoulder to shoulder, just like he and Richie had done all these years. Together, the two of them had fought back their brother’s minions and then managed to escape with their two charges safe and sound, if a little worse for wear.

“You aren’t gonna ‘blink’ out on me, are ya?” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her skin.

With her eyes closed against the sensations he was creating, she shook her head. “Not this time. I couldna leave you now, if I tried.”

He smiled at the slightest hint of the Emerald Isle that danced off her tongue. The Irish only came out when she was mad, or apparently extremely turned on. Almost reverently, his hand cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb back and forth, smiling at how her long eyelashes tickled the tip of the digit with each stroke. He bent his head to sip from her lips again. She tasted of cinnamon, and smelled like the forest. He longed to see the swirling green of her eyes. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Her eyes blinked open at the command, but she took a step back. “I canna do this. Not yet. Not until I tell you something.”

Jon reached for her. “Tell me what?”

She shook her head, not allowing him to pull her back into his arms. “I’ve never done this afore.” She wasn’t entirely innocent. She knew where this was going, had felt the proof of his desire as it had burned against her abdomen, but she’d always refused to follow in her sister’s footsteps. Fiona had vowed to never let a man lead her down that same path. She’d been sure that if she never allowed a man that power over her, then she would never feel the sting of betrayal like Morganna had. Never almost lose her essence for a man, but if ever there was a man worth losing her essence over, it was this one. “I don’t know what to do,” she said softly, looking down at the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Jon grinned down at her, “I’ve done this a few times, and I have some idea.” He couldn’t help but tease her. It had never mattered to him if his lover was untouched or not, but now, for some reason, it meant the world to him. He was extremely pleased that he would be her first. He threaded his fingers through her long hair and nibbled lightly on her neck. Only moments ago, he’d been unable to resist the urge to just take her, to pound into her, but now, he was able to rein in the animal side of him, not wanting to hurt or scare her.

“I’m not completely innocent,” she told him. “I know the mechanics. I just don’t have any hands on experience.”

“Oh, you can have all the ‘hands on experience’ you want tonight,” he murmured against the skin revealed by the deep V of her shirt. He traced the edge of the material with his tongue, making her shiver. “Go ahead,” he prompted, “touch me, wherever you want. Please.”

She heard the pleading tone in that last word, and it struck some chord inside her. In her mind, Fiona knew that his powers, his voice, had no real power over the Fey, but it could certainly affect her as a woman. And yet, she hesitated, her hands still clenched into fists at her side.

He felt her hesitation and stopped his exploration of the warm scented skin of her cleavage to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know where to start,” she answered with a shrug. He was like a buffet of rich and extravagant foods laid out before a starving person. Where did you begin? On his strong and wide shoulders, or the bulging muscles of his upper arms? On his rock hard abs, or the ridge of steel even now pressing against the zipper of his jeans?

With a voice husky with desire, he growled, “Start wherever ya want, but for fuck’s sake just start.”

Tentatively, her hands moved up, hovering briefly over taunt pecs. Jon held his breath waiting for that first innocent touch of her hands, knowing it would be worth it.

Fiona still hesitated, but for a different reason. As much as she wanted to touch him right now, she wanted bare skin more. With the mere thought, both of their clothes vanished. Jon’s breath left his lungs in a hiss, when that first innocent touch was against hot bare skin. He didn’t even take the time to wonder about their sudden nudity. He’d already learned that strange things tended to happen with this woman around. He groaned as her hands coasted over the muscles of his chest, pausing to circle his nipples with the tips of her curious fingers.

“Just my hands?” she asked, her voice breathless.

Jon knew what she was asking. “For fuck’s sake no, in fact I’m begging here.” It was taking everything he had to remain motionless while she explored him.

His breath left his lungs in a whoosh of air when she leaned forward to circle one nipple with her tongue. Then, he couldn’t contain the moan when she sucked lightly at the hardened nub of flesh. Her small hands moved down to his waist and around to smooth across his back, then as her bravery grew, down to his ass.

He couldn’t contain himself any longer, and roughly thrust his hands into her hair, pulling her head back so that he could once again drink from her lips. “I don’t know how much more I can take,” he whispered against her lips, right before his mouth took hers. While their tongues tangled, he held her head still with his hands fisted in her hair, one over each ear.

Her hands continued their exploration of his body. Smoothing muscles that bunched and relaxed under her ministrations. She marveled at the smoothness of his skin in places, and the roughness of hair in others. There was a leashed power about him that she could feel in every inch she caressed.

Jon tried to tell himself that he needed to slow down, to take his time, but the little sounds she made in the back of her throat, the way she moved her body against his, and her small hands on him made that impossible. “I need you,” his voice was little more than a growl.

“I canna breathe,” she gasped. “My knees are shaking, and I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much...if you’re lucky,” he groaned against her neck. Quickly, he bent and scooped her up in his arms, then stalked to the bed.

Knowing he was controlling his passion, she was amazed at the tenderness he used when he laid her on the bed. He stood over her and flashed her that little boy grin she’d seen so many times. “I’ll make sure you don’t regret this.”

“I already do,” she murmured as she reached for him. “You’ll be the death of me. I know it. You willna be able to help it, but you will betray me. I’ve never known a man that was true.”

“I won’t betray you,” he denied, his voice full of conviction. “But, we’ll talk about that in the morning.” He moved to lie beside her.

Fiona stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet his eyes. He lay with his chest against her arm, with his head propped in his hand. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel the power in his blue eyes as his gaze came to rest on her face.

“Fee, look at me.” His free hand coasted down the length of her body, just the tips of his fingers barely touching her.

Green eyes drifted up to meet blue. “Make me forget that you’ll eventually betray me,” she whispered.

Jon frowned down at her, but decided that he could show her better with actions than he could ever make her see with words. He bent his head to once again kiss her deeply, letting his fingers pluck lightly at her nipples, before he cupped her full breast in his hand. He smiled against her lips; that certainly didn’t feel like an almost two thousand year old breast.

“Should I still be touching you?” she asked when he pulled his lips from hers to nibble gently on her neck.

“Yes, please,” he said to the hollow of her throat, his tongue dipping into the notch there. He jerked back to look at her in surprise when her small hand wrapped around his cock.

Her eyes clouded with confusion. “Was that wrong?”

“Oh, God no,” he groaned unable to keep from thrusting into her small hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Fairly certain,” he almost whimpered. He moved his free hand to wrap around hers, gently guiding her into a rhythm, showing her how to stroke him. When his hand moved away it was to cup her, one long finger stroking through the curls and moving up and down the crease, before slipping past to move back and forth across her clit.

She squirmed against him, her hips pushing up against his hand. It was when his finger slid inside her that she blinked up at him and said, “That’s not how I was told this was done.”

“Whaddya mean?” he managed to ask, feeling her readiness on his finger.

“It wasna your finger that I was told should go there.”

“I’ve always been a rule breaker,” he teased, trying to regain some semblance of control. He moved his hand away from her to brace his weight as he covered her smaller body with his own.

“Okay, now this seems more like what I was told,” she whispered, looking up at him.

“Really?” Slowly, he pressed into her, but stopped when he felt the resistance of the barrier that proclaimed her untouched by any other man. “This may hurt a little.”

“I know,” she answered. She could feel him holding back, keeping himself in check.

He braced himself on one arm and moved his left hand to her hip to steady her. Fiona couldn’t wait any longer. Her mother had explained all of this to her, and she knew Jon was trying to spare her the pain. Quickly, before she could think too hard about it, she thrust her hips upward.

Before he could stop her, Jon felt her push upward and felt the barrier break, even as she gasped slightly from the pain and stiffened in his arms. “Shhhhh,” he whispered, stroking her hair tenderly. “The painful part is all over now. I promise. Nothing now but pleasure.”

Fiona was entirely sure that he was lying to her. Then he started to move inside her. Slowly the pleasure she’d been feeling before his penetration returned, and she started to move with him. Pushing upward with her hips to meet his downward plunges. The air was filled with their gasps and moans. Jon slipped one hand between their bodies to stroke her clit with one finger.

“Jon?” She was very unsure of the feelings washing over her and clutched his upper arms tightly.

“It’s okay, Fee,” he assured her. “I’ll catch you.”

And when the pleasure lifted her up, up, and up, until she was surely higher than the clouds, she was sure that he would catch her when she fell back to earth.

Jon felt her tighten around him and her toes curling against the hair roughened skin of his calves, and finally allowed himself free rein. He thrust into her several more times before he joined her in the sky, murmuring her name as he soared with her.

"What IS that?" Jon asked, instinctively stepping in front of Richie. On the horizon, a cloud of dust had formed. It was quickly moving across the field toward them. Within minutes, they could hear the sound of chattering growing stronger as the dust approached. The voices in the cloud were hissing, whispering dreadful, hateful things that combined into a drone that made them cold.

"No, man," Richie said, easing back so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend. "I think the question is probably ‘WHO is that’. Don't you hear the voices?"

"Is that what that noise is?" Jon asked. "What are they saying?"

"You do not want to know," Fiona advised. "It is better if you do not hear them clearly; it will protect your sanity."

"They’re, what, casting spells against us?" Richie asked, not believing the words that had escaped his lips.

"Of a sort," Morganna answered. "Your magic should protect you from their verbal attacks," she continued. "It’s the physical attack you must protect yourself from."

Richie turned to ask just what the hell she was talking about, and found Anna and Fiona dressed in a completely different fashion than they were a moment ago. Both women had their hair braided elaborately and tied up with leather circlets around their foreheads. They now wore supple leather boots with sturdy soles, heavy broadcloth tunics with steel wrist protectors around each wrist, and thick, drab trousers tucked into their boots. Wide leather belts encircled their waists and long swords hung to the ground, tucked into leather scabbards.

Gone were the beguiling smiles and sparkling eyes of the fey. In their place were the scowls and hardened eyes of the warrior.

"Talk to me, Fee," Jon said. "What the hell is going on?" He was flexing his grip around the hilt of the sword, and shifting his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"This is your second test," Fiona answered stepping up beside Jon and drawing her own blade. "Lucie has sent a welcoming party."

"What are you doing woman?!" Jon yelled, looking her up and down. "I know you don’t think you’re going to fight. Get behind me for God’s sake."

Morganna spared a smile for Jon as she stepped up next to Richie, sword at the ready. "Child, we have fought more battles than you both have bedded women. Do not let these creatures get behind you," she warned. "Lucie fights dirty. Once they have you blind-sided, they will not hesitate to swarm like ants to honey." She chanced a glance across Richie and met Jon’s eyes. "Be concerned only with protecting yourself. Fiona and I can fend for ourselves, and Lucie has had many opportunities to kill us and has let them pass by . If nothing else, you must protect the sword. Do not let it fall into their hands."

In a heartbeat, the clamoring chatter noise was deafening, and the cloud of dust surrounded them.

"Hold fast!" Morganna shouted. "Wait for them to attack first!"

"Attack?" Richie asked. "Holy shit."

"There isn’t a damned thing holy about this," Fiona retorted. "Try to make your way to the Ring. We can make good our escape from there."

Jon felt someone pull at the sword in his hand. "Hey!" he yelled, pulling back.

"Hold fast!" Morganna warned again. "It is the sword they seek to capture!"

"Over my dead body," Jon said. He held the sword up across his body like a worthy combatant, his muscles flexing from the strain of holding it aloft.

"That is their preference, mortal" Fiona hissed. "Lower that weapon, novice, before you kill us all."

The dust settled as suddenly as it engulfed them, and the foursome found themselves loosely surrounded by fifteen average-sized men of indeterminate age. They looked as though they could be bankers or store clerks; husbands or fathers. The only thing that gave them away as not-quite-human was their flat, red eyes.

Fiona and Morganna shifted position so their backs were against those of their charges. "Remember, do not let them attack from behind," Fiona said.

"What the hell is this?" Jon asked nervously, as they stared at Lucie’s men.

One of the men called out, "Give us the sword neophyte, and your women will live."

Jon narrowed his eyes at the speaker. "You will not take this sword from me, Bluto," Jon said, making a connection between the large man before him and the cartoon bully. "And you will not hurt these women." I hope, he added silently.

The large man laughed. "Boy, there is nothing you can do to stop us."

He advanced, and Jon stepped back, bumping Fiona. "Fuck," he said under his breath. "Fuck, fuck fuck."

Richie had his fists balled at his sides and was flitting his eyes among the men closest to him. He was muttering under his breath something that sounded like a prayer.

"Steady Accolon," Morganna murmured.

"Who?" Richie asked.

Morganna was saved from answering by an attack from all sides. All fifteen combatants surged forward. They each had roles to play. Four were tasked with testing the mettle of the mortals, and stepped up into their faces. They had seconds who stood behind them, waiting in eerie silence.

The remaining seven attackers drew short blades from their waists, and advanced. The women tried to draw them away from Jon and Richie, swinging their swords at them and drawing their attack. Occasionally, when given an opening, Fiona would slash her arm through the air sending any demons in their path flying through the air, as the foursome tried to slowly make their way toward the Ring. The clang of steel on steel was distracting for Jon and Richie, and they saw Morganna stagger back from one of the blows. She righted herself before she could careen into a tree and sent a nearly visible wave of angry white magic toward the attacking demon.

"Morganna!" Richie called out, distracted for a moment. That was all it took for the closest man to land a round-house kick to Richie’s abdomen. "Oof!" he wheezed as the breath was knocked from his lungs and his vision blurred. Morganna touched the earring she had taken from Richie and he felt the air rush back in, and his eyesight cleared. One of Lucie’s armed men took advantage of her distraction to skirt Morganna and take a run at Jon, sword raised.

"Dammit, Rich, are you alright?" Jon shouted, swinging his sword at the blade-wielder, connecting with a mighty ring. "Jesus," he muttered. The impact was so great, Jon thought he would lose control of the weapon. He redoubled his grip on the hilt, grasping it in both hands. He swung again at the assailant and again met his steel. This time the impact didn’t threaten to knock the veneers off his smile.

"Fine," he wheezed, standing back upright. He stepped up and jabbed the attacker in the face, bloodying his nose. "Fuck you," Richie said to him as the enemy fell to the ground, stunned. With a satisfied grin, Richie whirled on another attacker, aiming a punch for the man’s chin. The man was ready for him, however, and ducked while one of his brethren leapt on Richie’s back and started to strangle him. Gagging, Richie clawed at his attacker’s arm, but the man was fiercely strong.

"Jon!" Richie croaked, drawing his friend’s attention.

Jon moved slowly backwards until he was behind Richie and his attacker. By swinging the sword, he kept the rest of Lucie’s men at bay. Stepping up behind the man clinging to Richie’s neck, he brought the hilt of the sword down on the back of his head with a sickening crunch. The man groaned and slithered to the ground and disappeared entirely.

"What the fuck?" Jon asked, spinning around. His sword swung with him, and he slashed the fast-approaching dull-eyed monster neatly in half. He too, disappeared. Now there were thirteen attackers, and they were starting to show fear in their otherwise dead eyes.

"What is happening?" Jon asked. "Ow! FUCK!" One of the men had managed to find an opening, and sliced into Jon’s bicep. "You fucking CUT me!" he shouted, and swung the sword again, connecting with the man’s neck. He disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Seeing that a frontal attack wasn’t working, Lucie’s men regrouped. Two of their number continued to fight the fey, their swordsmanship an even match for the females’. The remainder of them neatly separated Richie from Jon.

"Shit," Richie whispered. "What the fuck do I do now?" he asked, dread coloring his voice. One of the men facing Richie had a sword. He knew there was no way he'd be able to best this man, not without a weapon. The attacker was too strong, and too fast.

Richie flashed on a memory of Morganna and Fiona trying to explain their siren powers, and decided, "Hell, it can’t be any worse than dyin’," and cleared his throat.

Everybody was kung-fu fighting
Those cats were fast as lightning

"Rich, man, what the fuck?" Jon asked. He noticed that the enemy,as one, held up for a minute, and cocked their heads. It was a synchronous motion, almost like it was choreographed.

In fact it was a little bit fright’ning
But they fought with expert timing

Richie tentatively swung a punch at the closest red-eyed demon and the man went down. "Jon?"

"Right behind you, brother." He took the next lines.

They were funky Jersey men from a funky Jersey town
They were chopping them up and they were chopping them down

They sung together while they fought. Lucie’s men got a fair number of shots in, and Jon’s arm was still bleeding, but they were winning.

Slowly.

It's an ancient Chinese art and everybody knew their part
From a feint into a slip, and kicking from the hip

The fey stepped up while the brothers sang.

Everybody was kung-fu fighting
Those cats were fast as lightning
In fact it was a little bit fright’ning
But they fought with expert timing

They fought bravely, slaying Lucie’s minions as they stood sluggishly transfixed by Jon and Richie’s singing. As each blade sunk into its target, the demon disappeared in a cloud of dust.

There was funky Jonny B and the big ol’ King of Swing
He said here comes the big boss, lets get it on
We took a bow and made a stand, started swinging with the hand
The sudden motion made me skip now we're into a brand new trip

When the last demon had dissolved, the four took stock. Jon still had the sword, though his left arm was still oozing blood. He had a large welt on one cheekbone and his ribs were sore from some of the punches and kicks that landed.

Richie had managed to avoid the blades, but took quite a beating. His eyes were both blackened, and he had a split lip. His knuckles were torn up from the fight, and he thought for sure at least three teeth were loose. "Man, I feel like shit," he moaned.

"You look it, brother," Jon said. "How’s your hands?"

Richie flexed his fingers. "Still working. How’s your arm?"

Jon looked at the slash across his Superman. "Damn," he said, wincing at the burning pain. "I always liked that tattoo."

"Here," Morganna said, sheathing her sword. "Let me see." She examined the wound and touched her marked forearm to his shoulder. Almost instantly, Jon felt the burning subside and watched in awe as his skin knitted back together, seamlessly.

"Amazing," he said. "Can you fix the rest of it?"

Morganna shook her head. "The rest is not so bad that it requires magic to heal."

Richie stepped up and took Morganna’s shoulders in his hands. "Are you alright?" He searched her face, wincing at the smudges of blood and dirt on her cheeks. Some of the blood was hers, some of it not. He tentatively swiped a gentle finger across the earring, his earring, that was glinting up at him. "You saved me," he said reverently. "Why didn't you use your magic to keep you from getting hurt?"

Morganna took Richie's hand gently and lowered it from her head. "It doesn't work that way," she answered. "It is complicated, but I cannot just fashion a shield around myself. Perhaps when I am through with my training, but for now, I must rely on my other skills."

"You and Fiona fought so well," Richie said.

She nodded. "Aye. Fiona and I are seasoned warriors," she said softly. "It will take more than a handful of Lucie’s lesser demons to best us." She looked at her sister who nodded.

"My sister speaks the truth," Fiona said. She stepped up to Jon and gently touched his cheek. "You fought bravely," she said softy. "You wielded Excalibur as if it were forged for your hand."

Jon looked her over from the top of her head to her feet. Although, she didn't have a hair out of place, she had an angry red knot on her left temple. The right sleeve of her shirt was ripped at the shoulder, and there was a dark bruise already forming on her right jaw. He wanted to take her in his arms and squeeze her tightly, but he knew she wouldn't welcome that kind of attention. He shook his head to dispel those tender thoughts. "I don’t know what happened," he said. "It just felt right. I can’t explain it."

"You have bonded," a deep, masculine voice answered.

The foursome whirled around to find a visage of Merlin hovering over the lake. They could see the clouds through the hologram-like vision, and almost laughed when a bird flew through his nose. Jon stepped forward. "Bonded?"

"Yes," Merlin said. "Now it is yours and you are its." The image sighed. "You must rest, and you must arm the older one. You will not have such an easy time with the next wave." Merlin disappeared.

"Easy?" Jon scoffed.

"Older?" Richie chuffed.

Jon chuckled. "Yeah, man, older." He slung an arm around his friend’s shoulder. "I’m glad you’re not dead."

Richie turned to hug his friend, slapping him hard on the back. "Me too. Back atcha, bro. C’mon, let’s go home."

"Amen to that, my brother, amen to that."

The foursome cast one last wary glance around the once again pristine countryside, and approached the ring. They stepped inside and disappeared.



Deep, deep in a place that the sun’s rays never touched, Lucifer seethed. "He has bonded with the damned SWORD!" he bellowed. "CENTURION!"

The sword slid up, an inch at a time, until finally the stone released it with an almost audible sigh. Jon shifted his grip on the handle and held it up over his head for a moment before bringing it down to his side. The hum of current had not subsided with the sword’s release, but grown stronger. Now there was a steady pulse through the silver and steel, a pulse that regulated to Jon’s own heartbeat.

“Jon?” Richie asked tentatively. “You okay man?”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Holy shit, Rich. I can feel the sword’s fucking heartbeat. How the hell does a piece of steel have a heartbeat?” He looked at wonder at the weapon in his hand. “I have fucking Excalibur in my hands.”

~ ~ ~

Merlin jerked from his tablets and tomes with a start. “They have done it,” he said. After looking around him to make sure he was alone, Merlin crossed the room and stood in front of a painting of Camelot. After a few moments, the painting began to shimmer. The vibrant colors of Arthur’s flags and gardens faded, and in its place was a prophecy.

The Prophecy.

And now the first condition was neatly crossed out. “It begins,” Merlin said softly, fear widening his eyes for the first time in centuries.

~ ~ ~

Elsewhere, someplace bleak and sulfurous, Lucie grinned evilly. “And so it begins.” He began to make preparations.

~ ~ ~

Richie smiled. “Yeah you do have fucking Excalibur in your hands.” He reached for the sword, and Jon reluctantly let his friend take it. The moment the silver left his grip, Jon no longer felt the pulse of the steel, and felt strangely bereft. “It doesn’t feel like anything special to me,” Richie said. “I got more of a feeling when I was looking at the armor over there. Still,” he sliced the air in front of him dramatically, “this is pretty hot shit.” He handed the sword back to Jon.

“So, now what do we do, Nimue?” Jon said, turning around. The hall was empty. He turned back to Richie. “Where the hell did she go?”

~ ~ ~

On shore, Nimue joined Fiona and Morganna. “The fair one has done it; he has released Excalibur. It is bonding to him now, may even have already done so. Only one other time have I seen a man bond with the sword so quickly.”

“I told you he was the one,” Fiona said smugly. “Now, where are they?”

Nimue laughed. “Why, still in the castle of course! If they must be bright enough to match wits with your brother, they surely can find their way out of an enchanted underwater castle.”

Morganna smiled in amusement, but Fiona was not pleased. “Let us help them,” she said.

“No,” Nimue answered. She gathered stones from the water’s edge and formed them into a circle on the ground. “We will sit,” she blinked and luxurious divans shimmered into existence out of thin air. “And we will wait.”

~ ~ ~

“She’s gone?” Richie spun around in a full circle on the table. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. Shrugging, he hopped down from the altar. “Guess we have to find our own way out.”

“Of a magic castle that’s sitting at the bottom of a lake,” Jon said wryly. “Sure, piece of cake.” Jon hopped down, off the table, careful not to bang the sword. “What the hell do I do with this thing?”

“I dunno,” Richie answered. “Stick it through your belt loop or something.”

Jon chuckled, but did just that, neatly slicing the loop from his jeans. “Well?” he said to Richie. “Any other bright ideas?”

“Yeah,” he answered, laughing. “Don’t give that thing back to me. If it’s that sharp, I’m liable to hurt myself!”

They left the great room and walked back down the hall to the approximate spot where they had appeared. They stood there and waited, but nothing happened. An enormous oaken door loomed before them, damp around the edges.

“No way in HELL I wanna open that door, bro,” Richie said. “We’ll drown for sure.”

“You’re probably right.” Jon thought for a moment. “Let’s look around. It’s a frickin’ castle; there’s got to be a tower or turret or a dungeon or something.”

“What good is that going to do us?” Richie asked.

“How the hell do I know?” Jon retorted. “Would you rather do that or hang around here and wait. Maybe there’s some sort of hallway or tunnel or something.”

“Alright, alright,” Richie said.

The two men searched the expansive ground floor for over an hour, searching for stairs, but didn’t find any. They also didn’t find any windows other than the stained glass ones in the massive great room. As they stood staring at the windows Richie gave voice to a question that was bothering Jon.

“If we’re really at the bottom of the lake,” he asked, “where is the sunlight coming from?”

“Fuck! That’s what was strange about this room.”

Richie looked at him askance. “THAT is what you focused in on? Not the portraits of King Arthur and his Knights? Not the army of armor? Not that knife through the big freaking table?” He shook his head. “Your brain is fucked up.”

“Been hanging around with you too long,” Jon quipped, smiling.

The men approached the window, and stopped directly beneath it. There was no way in hell they’d be able to reach it – not unless they could somehow build a ladder – and like the massive oak door, they didn’t really want to open it. “Well now what?” Richie asked.

Jon shrugged and crossed to the altar. He hopped up to sit on it, and placed the sword next to him. Maybe it was instinct, but he could feel a sense of urgency, a sort of warning, and he didn't want to let it get too far from him.“I haven’t got a clue.”

“Suppose Fee and Anna are here somewhere, watching and laughing?” Richie asked, hopping up next to his friend.

Jon’s eyes lit up. “Couldn’t hurt to ask.” He stood up on the table and cupped his hands around his mouth. “HEY, FAAAAAAAAAAIRIEEEEEES!” he bellowed, his call echoing through the chamber.

Richie burst out laughing. “If that doesn’t piss off Fiona enough to get her to pop in, then she isn’t here. I’m out of ideas. But why would Nimue leave us here? And why aren’t the girls wondering where the hell we are?”

The two men sat there side by side, staring at the stained glass window. They would have sworn that there was sunlight streaming in through the glass. Finally, unable to stand it any more, Jon hopped down, pulling the sword after him as naturally as if he’d been doing it his whole life. There was a certain grace and simplicity of motion to his movements. As if he was fully aware of the length and weight of the sword, and was therefore able to keep it from bumping against the stone floor or the marble altar. Jon was no longer simply himself; the sword had become almost an extension of his arm.

“Rich, where IS the sunlight coming from? Suppose it’s some sort of magic?”

“I suppose it could be,” he said. He looked at Jon. The arm holding the sword was flexed with its weight and the sword appeared to have a subtle glow about it. “Your sword is glowing too, kinda like the window.”

Jon looked at the sword, then at the window, and back at Richie. “Holy shit, look at that. Do you suppose this sword is magic, too?”

“Wouldn’t it have to be?”

“To penetrate this marble slab, it’d have to be. Huh.” He held it in front of his face. “Magic. Maybe we can magic ourselves out of here. We supposedly have powers, too, remember.”

“Shit, I forgot.” He smiled and looped an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “Hello, there Siren. Wanna lure me into temptation with your golden throat?”

“Fuck you,” Jon said, laughing and shaking off his friend’s arm. “Maybe that’s the trick to getting out of here. Use our – ugh – powers to help us?”

“But didn’t the girls say that we can’t use our powers for our own benefit?” He flexed his fingers. “You’re already losing your hair, but I really don’t want to fuck up my hands.”

“Focus, asshole,” Jon said. “Look at it this way. We don’t get our asses out of here, we don’t get to save the world. I’d say this counts as unselfish use, wouldn’t you? They meant we can’t use it to get laid or something.”

“Jon, man, we’ve been using our voices for YEARS to get laid,” he chuckled.

Jon had to laugh at that. “Yeah, ya got me there, but we didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Alright,” Richie said, standing up. He put his hands out, as if bracing for a fall. “We’re magic. We use our voices to do what, sing us out of here?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“So what, we make shit up?”

Jon thought for a minute than laughed. “Nah, bro; we gotta know some song about getting out of something.” He thought for a moment, and started to sing. “Show me the way to go home…”

Richie laughed. “Nice,” he said. “I’m tired and I wanna go to bed.”

The sword in Jon’s hand started to glow a little more, and he could feel the hum grow stronger in his hand. “I think we’re on the right track here, man,” Jon said.

Richie smiled widely, but it didn’t last. “That’s great, bro, but will the sword’s magic take me too?”

Jon gripped Richie’s forearm. “Not sure, but I sure as hell will. You ready?” Richie nodded.

They joined their voices together, in the timeless, perfect harmony they had always enjoyed.

“Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I wanna go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it went straight to my head
Where ever I may go
On land, or sea, or snow
You can always hear me
Singing this song
Show me the way to go home.”

As the song progressed, the sword glowed brighter, pulsed stronger. Jon felt a pull. “Keep singing,” he said. They looped through the song again. The sword led them through the great room, down the hall and to the massive door. The third time through the song, the sword touched the giant brass ring mounted to the middle of the door, then dropped quickly to the floor.

~ ~ ~

On shore, Nimue closed her eyes for a moment. “They have embraced their destiny,” she said softly. “They have used the power of their voices and the magic in the sword to find their way to the ring.”

Fiona and Morganna looked at each other, then at Nimue. “They did?” Fiona asked, incredulous.

Nimue nodded and smiled. “It won’t be long now before they figure out how to get out.” She stood and shook out imaginary wrinkles in her robe. “Tell them congratulations and good luck.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Morganna demanded.

With a saucy smile, she raised her arms slightly from her sides, and Nimue disappeared.

“Merciful Heavens, I thought she’d never leave!” a masculine voice rang out from behind Fiona and Morganna, startling them.

“Merlin,” Morganna said, “what brings you here, and why would you not show yourself with Nimue present?”

“I have spent enough time with that witch to last me a thousand eternities.” He told them in a few brief sentences about being tricked by Nimue and held against his will in her enchanted castle. She had fancied herself in love with the wizard and wanted nothing more than to make him love her. When she discovered that magic cannot sway the true nature of emotion, she reluctantly gave up her prize.

The sisters shared a look and Morganna’s eyes widened when she saw the laughter nearly spilling from her sister’s mouth. Thankfully, Morganna thought, Merlin did not notice the younger fey’s disrespect.

“I have come with a warning for your charges,” Merlin continued. “I felt the emergence of Excalibur. You know if I felt it, he felt it too. He will not let it go unchallenged.”

~ ~ ~

“Okay,” Jon said. “This is the way out. Now what?” He looked down at the floor. “Holy shit, look at that!” They were standing in a perfect ring of stones.

“Now,” Richie said, pursing his lips and tapping them with a long, slender finger. “A little Animals perhaps?”

Jon chuckled and shook his head. “You got it, brother.”

They cleared their throats and sang together:

“We gotta get out of this place
If it’s the last thing we ever do
We gotta get out of this place
‘Cause man, there’s a better life for me and you.”

They suddenly found themselves standing on shore, quite dry, looking into the startled faces of their guardians. Looming behind them was a large man, regarding them curiously.

“You have done well, mortals,” Merlin said, pulling himself up to his full, impressive height. “You have passed the first test.” He looked behind the men and immediately took a step backwards. “Now it is time to pass the second." He looked directly at Jon then. "Know this, while your bond with Excalibur is still new, guard well your soul. Control the sword; don't let it control you.” In the blink of an eye he disappeared.

“What the hell?” Jon asked, turning around to see what Merlin had been looking at.

Jon reached blindly behind him, pulling Richie around so they were both looking at the same thing.

“Oh shit,” they said.

“You can open your eyes now, children.” Morganna’s voice rang with laughter.

It had only been two seconds ago that Fiona had told them that they might want to close their eyes to make this easier. Had something gone wrong?

Jon opened his eyes only to see Richie stumble, even as he wobbled on his own feet. Suddenly, it was as if the air around him rose up to steady him. With a glance and a raised eyebrow in Richie’s direction, a nod from his friend confirmed he had felt the same thing. Jon realized then that Fiona’s hands were raised in their direction. He was sure she had done that. But how?

The scenery was beautiful, almost an unbelievably bright shade of green. Lush trees surrounded them and a sparkling lake lay to their right.

“Where are we?” Richie asked the question that had been in Jon’s head.

When they’d closed their eyes they had been standing inside the ring of flowers in his backyard. “Obviously, we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” Jon’s dry tone made Richie chuckle.

“Toto?” Morganna asked.

Fiona shook her head at the men. “Never mind, Sister. I’ll have to explain it later.”

Morganna was getting quite accustomed to all the ‘explain it later’s and shrugged at this latest one as well.

It was Fiona that answered them as she started walking toward the water on their right. “We’re at The Lake. Nimue will already know we’re here.”

Morganna followed her sister leaving the men to follow, knowing they would, even if only out of simple curiosity.

As the men followed in the wake of the fairies, Richie whispered softly to Jon. “Nimue? The Lake?”

Jon merely shrugged. “Don’t know. Nothing else’s gonna surprise me anymore. But, I can tell you this, if Anna calls us children one more time I may just refuse to do another damned thing.”

Richie laughed loudly, causing both Anna and Fiona to look back at them. “Why am I not surprised?” It had bothered Richie as well, but he’d never admit it now. It would be much more fun to tease Jon over the annoyance.

When they reached the edge of The Lake, a large circle in the center began to roil and bubble as if the water were boiling. The circle began to move toward them on the shore, slowly coming closer.

“What the fuck?” Jon and Richie asked in unison.

“Nimue,” Fiona answered, disgust in her voice, “She just loves to make a dramatic entrance.”

Richie smacked his forehead. “Of course!” Jon looking at him with raised eyebrows had him continuing. “The Lake? C’mon Jonny, even you aren’t that dense.”

“Fuck off, Rich,” Jon growled, then his eyes widened as a beautiful woman began to rise from the water.

With long flowing blond tresses that fell to her waist and the most beautiful blue eyes, Nimue rose from the water completely dry. “Why have you come here?” Her voice rang with a slight echo. She had the imperious nature of a queen.

Fiona took a step forward. “Cut the crap, Nim. Why else would we have come here, but for Excalibur?”

“You won’t be able to take it, not on your own.” The blonde’s eyes came to rest on Richie and Jon. “Who are they?”

“They are the chosen ones. The ‘brothers’,” Fiona answered quickly. “One of them should be able to wield the sword.”

“They’ll have to be able to pull it from the stone first,” Nimue told them.

Morganna had been silent as long as she could. “The stone? You put it in a stone?”

“It worked with Clarent, why not Excalibur?” Nimue was indignant. No one ever questioned her.

“But, to be able to pull Clarent from the stone was a test for Arthur, to prove he was the chosen King. Why would you put Excalibur in a stone?” Fiona demanded.

Nimue put her hands on her hips and glared at the sisters. “Only a chosen one will be able to pull it from the stone. No one would be able to wield it with a boulder on the end of it. It was to keep the sword safe.”

“Is the sword not at your castle?” Morganna asked softly.

“Yes, of course it is, in the main hall.”

“How would anyone have gotten to it then?” Fiona was getting frustrated, soon her Irish would be showing. “Besides, Excalibur would reject anyone but a chosen one.”

“No, Sister,” Morganna softly corrected, “first the sword would corrupt, then reject and destroy.”

“Yes,” Nimue agreed, “so much power would overtake anyone but the one chosen to wield the weapon. No other being must even touch it.”

Jon was getting angry. Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he stepped forward. “Can we get this damn show on the road, please? I’ve got a business to get back to, and a life to lead. I’d like this shit over with as soon as possible.”

Nimue leveled a gaze on him that should have frozen him in place, then looked back at the sisters. “There’s no way HE is the chosen one, not with that attitude.” Then her gaze went to Richie. “Unless you are the one filled with light.”

Richie laughed with derision. “No, I’m the one filled with darkness. Haunted by personal demons and all that.” He motioned at Jon. “He’s definitely the ‘one filled with light’.”

Lady Nimue groaned and rolled her eyes. “We’re all done for.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Nim, you are being melodramatic. He is a perfectly suitable chosen one.”

Jon bristled at being spoken about like he wasn’t there. “’Perfectly suitable’? Doesn’t look like you have a whole lot of choices there, fairy.”

Fiona continued speaking as if Jon’s outburst hadn’t happened. “How will we know if he is the true wielder of the sword?”

Nim smiled. “It will be obvious if he is not the chosen one.” She looked at Jon. “Come,” she said. “You may bring your acolyte if you wish,” she motioned at Richie then turned her back, “but the fey must remain behind.”

As they approached the water’s edge, Richie spoke up. “Uh, how are we supposed to – ” Nimue waved her arm, and the men found themselves in a large stone room. “Never mind,” he said, reeling a little from the transportation.

“How are we supposed to get back?” Richie asked Jon under his breath.

“If he is the chosen one,” Nimue countered, “the answer will present itself. Please, accompany me.” She turned and led them down a long hallway. The walls were draped in tapestries woven in intricate designs.

Richie stopped Jon with a hand to his chest. “Look at that,” he said, pointing at one of the wall-hangings. On it was depicted a great battle. In the forefront, two shapes, one tall and dark, one slightly shorter and light stood side-by-side, swords drawn. All around them, broken and battered bodies were strewn. A large red figure loomed, waiting to attack. Off to one side, two tiny specks of light hovered.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” Richie asked.

“Yeah, man, it sure is.” Jon leaned in closer, but the threads didn’t form the figure’s face.

“Please, do not linger,” Nimue chastised, coming back up the hall. “Ah, I see you have found the Fates’ weaving of Excalibur.”

“The Fates?” Jon was almost afraid to ask.

“Yes,” Nimue answered. “The Fates. They have Always Been. In ancient times, it was thought that The Fates were three sisters born to shape the lives of mankind. In truth, no being, mortal or no, has been able to identify exactly when they Came To Be.” She shrugged one elegant, slender shoulder. “They have had different names throughout Time; you probably know them as Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos.”

Jon frowned. “The spinner, the weaver, and the cutter, right?”

Nimue nodded. “Very good, mortal. Yes. Lachesis sang the song of the things that were, Clotho of those that are, and Atropos of the things that are to be. This,” she indicated the weaving, “was presented to me when I took possession of Excalibur. The Fates believed I should have the entire saga before tying my future to this bit of steel.”

“But isn’t that all just a myth?” Richie asked.

“Child,” Nimue answered softly. “Given all that you have seen, all you have come to know, do you not yet know that all myth, human myth is based on truth?”

Richie opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it when he saw the bottom left-hand corner of the tapestry. After scrutinizing the picture, he turned to Nimue. “Bullshit,” he said. Nimue just raised an eyebrow. “This is bullshit,” he said, motioning to the weaving.

Jon looked at what Richie was pointing out. There were the same dark and light figures, but they were struck down. The red figure was proportionally larger than in the other scene, and held a sword in each hand. The two specs of light were now dark marks next to the fallen forms.

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head. “Rich, man, this is just a decoration.” He looked at Nimue. “There is no way this is our future.”

“All the good and evil that befalls you is woven into your destiny and cannot be altered,” Nimue said, unmoved by the men’s reactions. “The Fates foresaw Zeus’ falling out with Thetis, and Apollo’s eventual birth. They wove the story of the hero Meleager’s demise.”

“I control my own fate,” Jon insisted. “I am in charge of my own destiny. I will not let some rug dictate the outcome of my life.”

She shook her head. “All the good and evil that befalls you is woven into your destiny and cannot be altered,” she said again.

“Bullshit,” Richie repeated.

Nimue laughed a high, tittering sound. “You are both very amusing, but time does not stand still, even for great philosophical debates such as this. Come,” she said. “Follow me.” Her tone said she would stand for no refusal.

Jon and Richie gaped at the hall they were led to. “Damn,” Richie said. “And I thought your place was over-ostentatious.”

Jon chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t wanna hear you make fun of my place anymore.”

The hall had soaring ceilings, at least a hundred feet high. Gigantic steel candelabra were suspended by thick chains, their ends disappearing into the wall to some hidden chamber behind. The walls were lined with torches set into iron holders, aligned perfectly a foot above head-height, and spaced precisely three paces apart. The walls on either side of the entry were adorned with paintings, hung exactly between pairs of torches. There had to be more than fifty paintings on each side of the room.

Richie was enthralled by a row of suits of armor standing at proud attention under the paintings along one wall. He was running a gentle hand along the steel. “Look at this, man,” he said to Jon. “You can hardly feel the seams. This is amazing.” He lifted the face shield on the nearest helmet, and it slid soundlessly up and down. “Amazing,” he said again.

The third suit of armor he came to had an ornate ‘A’ embossed on the breastplate. When Richie touched it, he was surprised to find it warm. As he traced the lines and whirls of the letter, his mind’s eye showed him snatches of knights in the heat of battle, and he could almost hear the swords clanging. Shaking off the vision, he turned to find Nimue watching him.

“That armor once belonged to one of Arthur’s knights,” she said.

“Which one?” Richie asked, turning back to it, not even finding her statement incredulous. Of course it belonged to Arthur’s Knight. “Who’s name started with ‘A’? I don’t remember a knight with that initial.”

Nimue smiled. “History often only speaks of Lancelot and Galahad,” she said. “But another man, Accolon, had nearly as much to do with the fall of Camelot as anyone. Yet his name is not mentioned in any of the tomes.” She nodded to the painting that hung over the armor. “There he is,” she said, passing a hand close to the armor. It glowed softly for a moment, illuminating the portrait before fading again to gray.

“Accolon,” Richie said, gazing at the portrait and trying the name on his tongue. After a few moments, he turned and saw Jon standing in the center of the room, staring at what could only be described as an altar.

Along the far wall of the chamber, raised on a dais, was a stone table. The top was a solid twelve-inch slab of smoothest marble. It sat atop giant boulders, and directly overhead, a wide stained-glass window allowed colored, dappled light to play over it. Exactly in the center of the table was a sword hilt.

“Holy shit,” Richie said, coming to stand beside Jon.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Jon said, unable to tear his eyes away from the sword. Its handle was two feet high and at least three inches around, and made of solid silver. It had intricate carving along the hilt, which extended eighteen inches on either side of the handle. With the light hitting it, the sword seemed to glow from within, and in that moment, Jon believed every single thing Fiona and Morganna had told him. All shreds of doubt were wiped from his mind.

“Do you know the great responsibility you will bear once you extract the sword?” Nimue asked softly, floating up behind the men. “This sword has the power to rule kingdoms or destroy them. It can save you or kill you. When it bonds to you, if you are indeed the chosen one, you will be powerful, but not indestructible. That kind of power, that feeling of invincibility, is nearly as perilous as the war in which you are about to engage.”

She touched Jon’s sleeve and he turned to look at the beautiful nymph. “You must be sure you are willing to take on the responsibility of the sword,” she said. “Once you have claimed it, once it has claimed you, there is no turning back.”

“There was no turning back the minute Fiona blinked into my life,” Jon said. “There was no turning back the minute that those two fairies…”

“Fey,” Richie interrupted.

“Fey,” Jon admitted, “told us about what they called our destiny.” He shook his head. “I can’t say I’m completely ready for it, but I can honestly say I don’t have any choice. I’m pretty fond of my life and the people in it – I will do whatever it takes to protect that.”

Nimue considered Jon for long minutes, weighing his words. “I believe you mean what you say,” she said. “Come then. Come and draw the sword from the stone. Come and begin on the path to your destiny.”

Jon looked at Nimue, then at Richie, then took a step toward the altar.


Meanwhile, on shore, Fiona and Morganna were pacing back and forth. “In the name of all that is holy what is TAKING them so long?” Morganna stopped every few paces to gaze out over the lake.

“I’m sure Nimue will take care of them,” Fiona said, trying to convince herself as much as her sister. “But by the Maker’s toes, I wish they would hurry UP.”


Jon approached the altar, eyes squinted against the colored light. He stepped onto the dais and circled the heavy table. He stretched his arm as far as it would go, but it would not reach to the center. He looked at Nimue who had an amused expression on her face, but said nothing. Jon circled the table then squatted down to look at the underside. He ducked under to put his hand on the nearly 30 inches of edged steel that stuck out from the table, and tried to move it. The bolt of pain that shot up his hand made him yelp and jump back.

“Damn!” he cursed, shaking his hand. “The sword just shocked me!” He looked at Nimue again, who gave only an elegant shrug by way of answer.

Jon continued circling the table, not finding any angle from which he could reach the sword. Sighing, he placed his hands on the table top, which was about waist-high, and hoisted himself up in one fluid motion. He stood and took the three steps that brought him to the center of the table. He squatted to put his hands on the handle, positioning them as he would on a baseball bat.

The surge of power that leapt from the sword to Jon’s hands and up his body threatened to topple him from the table. He gritted his teeth and tightened his muscles, and held on. He could feel fingers of power probing his heart, his mind, and his soul. Apparently satisfied, the surge feeling subsided replaced by a gentle humming.

“You alright, bro?” Richie asked. He had climbed up onto the table, and was peering into his friend’s face. His hand was raised, ready to push Jon away from the sword if necessary.

“Yeah, man,” Jon answered softly. “It’s just, it’s weird. It feels like the sword is connected to an outlet and I’m getting a low, steady stream of electricity through me. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels strange as shit.”

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’m going to try to pull it out,” Jon said. He braced himself and pulled, testing the stone’s hold on the steel. It didn’t budge. Instead, it sent a zing of fire up Jon’s arms to his shoulders. He didn’t relent. “Oh no you don’t,” he muttered under his breath. “I will have you. I believe that it is my duty and my destiny.” He shifted his grip on the sword’s handle until he was gripping it like a butter churn. He got in close to the sword, and used the strength in his legs to start to lever the sword upwards.

Alec was a spy of sorts these days, watching and waiting for something, anything out of the ordinary. This latest development with Jon and Richie certainly could be considered that. No sooner did the thought form in his mind did the doorbell ring. Alec chuckled to himself, surprised his guest bothered with the human formality. He opened the door to what appeared to be a young man who couldn’t be more than thirty years old. His t-shirt was drawn tight across well-defined muscles and tucked into equally tight jeans. Battered black cowboy boots poked out from the legs of his jeans. The man’s eyes were an unusual shade of amber, bringing to mind the smoldering coals left over after a barbecue. His scent brought that to mind as well. Thick light brown hair flowed around his shoulders, and a smirk painted his lips.

“You have some news for me?” the visitor asked, his voice at once both soothing and irritating.

“Perhaps,” Alec answered.

“It involves your friends,” he sneered at that last word.

“Perhaps,” Alec answered again.

“Do not trifle with me. Your misguided loyalty is annoying, Longinus.” He swept past Alec and made himself at home in the living room.

“They are leaving the country unexpectedly,” Alec explained, ignoring the use of his true name. “I don’t know if it is relevant.”

“It must be,” the visitor said. “They are among the plausible families, and the timing is right – it is nearly midsummer.”

Alec didn’t have to ask what his visitor meant. He knew that the other man had been tracking hundreds families for years, searching for the right ones. He had suspected these two families for generations, and had arranged for Alec to become involved with them. Over the years, the assignment went from an albatross around his neck to a blessing. He had never known such friendship as he had with these two. He was reluctant to believe now that these men were the ones his visitor had been searching for, for he knew the fate that awaited them.

“Centurian!” the visitor shouted, getting Alec’s attention. “I do not like to be ignored,” he growled, his eyes seeming to glow with anger.

“My apologies,” Alec answered, putting his right hand over his heart and making a shallow mocking bow.

“You have done me a great service once,” Alec’s guest intoned, “and I require your services again.”

The man’s words brought back a flash of memory.

The Centurian was in charge of one hundred men. Rome was nearly a thousand years old, and was now an Imperial State; no longer the Republic he had grown to love. This was his fourth Life, and at this point in history, his most important Life.

The assignment was simple: accompany King Herod’s palace guards to the site of a crucifixion and stand guard over the remains. Not a taxing duty but he was commanded by Herod himself. One of the doomed had an extensive following and Longinus’ job was to keep those followers at bay.

He had a second assignment, one that superseded that of Herod. He was to ensure that the man fated for Death, the one with the followers, truly did die. Further, he was to provide his master with a sampling of the condemned man’s blood.

The day was dreary and dark, and a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. For several hours he stood guard while throngs of people alternately shied away from him in fear, or sneered openly at him. All were weeping at the feet of the one they had called Christ. The mourners’ tears were matched by those of the heavens, and all day a steady drizzle had fallen. When the largest crowd of followers, their wails of bereavement loud and tortured, dropped as one to their knees, the ground shook. It lasted for only a moment, but there was no doubt in the Centurian’s mind that it was related to the dead man.

Dying man.

Dying, not dead, for he spoke! The rains ceased, the clouds parted briefly, and he muttered something. Something that sounded like, “forgive them, for they know not what they do.” In that moment, Longinus knew that his second assignment was given out of fear and loathing, not out of any sense of righteousness. Still, he knew first hand that the dark prince was not one to be ignored, and no matter the penalty paid on Earth by his current corporeal body, that which would befall his soul would be a thousand-times-thousand times worse. Still, if he lingered long enough in the duties of the first job, the natural conclusion would take care of those of the second. Most of the second. There was still the matter of the blood.

As the meager sun started to dip in the sky the crowd became anxious. They all knew the custom of the region; no prisoner was left to hang alive overnight. Should Nature not take its course, a soldier, in this case Longinus himself, would be tasked with dispatching the captive. One way or the other, the dark prince’s orders would be carried out.

Finally, as dusk approached, the man slumped fully, appearing to be embraced by the arms of eternal rest. His head, encircled by thorns and caked with blood and dirt, fell forward until his chin was pressed firmly against his chest. Herod ordered that before the man could be taken down, the guards must be sure he was dead. Longinus knew the only way to fulfill both his orders was to pierce the man’s side with his lance.

As he did so, he ignored the gasps of horror from the remaining mourners, the man’s mother and another woman. A moan slipped from the man’s mouth as the blood trickled down over the soldiers’ fingers. Before he could withdraw the weapon from the man’s side, Longinus heard a voice. A man’s voice. Out of place for the only people now in attendance were women.

“What have you done?” the voice murmured.

Longinus tried to find the source of the voice, but could not. As he once again readied himself to pull the spear from the dead man, the voice spoke again. “You shall take his place, walking the earth for all eternity. You shall not know the rewards of heaven, nor the rest of Death. If you repent, an angel will be sent to dispatch you with the same weapon you now wield.”

A burst of adrenaline gave him the strength to wrench the lance free and he whirled, shouting, “Who speaks?” He was met with no answers, just the tear-stained faces of the two women who loved this man most.

The blood-stained lance was turned over to a gleeful master as fulfillment of the promise.

He had had several Lives since then, feeding the myth that Legionnaire and Centurian Gaius Cassius Longinus was doomed to walk the earth for all eternity for the grave sin he committed. In truth, he had been doomed to that fate long before those words were spoken by an angry and vengeful God.

These memories flashed behind his eyes in a blink, and brought a surge of resentment for his visitor.

Lucifer’s voice permeated the fog of remembrance. “It is time to once more serve me.” He reached into the satchel that was strapped across his chest and drew out an object wrapped in cloth. With great, careful deliberation, he unwrapped the spearhead, still stained with the blood of an eon ago. “This time, the reward will be great.”

“How great?” Alec said softly, knowing this being wasn’t called the prince of lies for nothing.

Lucie chuckled. “Most men would kill for what you have – for immortality. You however long for death. How strange...but it will be granted to you if you are successful in your task.”

Alec couldn’t hold back the gasp of surprise. “What is it you wish me to do?”

“Whatever it is that is needed. And I will tolerate no failures, Centurian. Fail me in this, and you shall never see the Spear again. I will have it destroyed, and you will be sentenced to forever walk the Earth.”

Lucifer vanished with a flash of light and a whiff of sulfur. “Showoff,” Alec muttered. He sat hard on the couch to contemplate this latest task. More than anything on the Earth, he wanted to die. Wanted to finally be at rest. After two thousand years, he wanted to be free. But to do that, he would have to betray two men he thought of as friends.

Could he do it?

Morganna pursed her lips and tapped them with a slender finger. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, that makes perfect sense given the prophecy.”

“Prophecy?” Jon asked. The fairies ignored him.

“Aye, I don’t know why we didn’t think of it right away,” Fiona said, smacking her forehead. “I feel like a right stupid one.”

“Really? Excalibur?” Richie asked. Despite himself, Richie grew excited. This was going to be a hell of an adventure.

“There’s no time to waste,” Morganna said. “If we’re right, Lucie will figure it out soon himself.”

“But Sister,” Fiona said, “he doesn’t have HIM.” She indicated Jon with a nod of her head.

“True,” Morganna conceded, “but really, how hard would it be for him to manipulate this one into doing what he wanted?”

“Hey,” Jon said, indignant. “Nobody makes me do what I don’t want to do.”

Fiona looked at Jon, then at Morganna, and burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious,” Fiona said. “Even with my meager magic, I can control you. Hell, even withOUT magic, I’d wager I could manipulate you. Women have always had that power over men.”

“But you can’t make people do what isn’t in their nature to do, right?”

Morganna shook her head. “No, child, that’s your human hypnotism. What we do is more... basic than that. More primal. You’ve already experienced it. We, the fey that is, can influence your emotions. We can cloud your minds, alter your memories, change your very nature, albeit temporarily. We don’t like to do any of that, but sometimes it’s unavoidable.”

Richie looked at Morganna thoughtfully. “When do you alter memories?”

She looked at Richie, clearly reluctant to answer, but even more reluctant to lie. “When we’re found out, usually,” she said softly.

“Are you going to do that to us when this is all over?”

“Assuming you survive it, yes.”

“The hell you will,” Jon said.

Fiona touched her sister’s sleeve. “Let’s not worry about that now,” she said. “We have plans to make. We have to concentrate on what we know now, not speculate on what may happen. There will be enough time for that once Lucie gets wind of what’s going on.”

Morganna smiled sadly, looking at Richie. He blinked. He could have sworn she was looking at him with tenderness in her eyes. Shaking his head, he looked at Fiona.

“So, Fee,” Richie said, “what exactly do we know, and what do we need to do?”

“We know that you two are the chosen ones, and we are nearly certain we know that Excalibur is meant for one of you. We don’t know which one, and won’t until we get there. We also don’t know what the other is to use if not Excalibur.”

“Wait, ‘there’?” Jon asked. “Where’s ‘there’?”

Fiona looked at Jon, surprised. “Why, England, silly. Where on Earth do you think the root of Arthurian legend lies?”

“England? We need to pack up and fly to England? For how long?”

“As long as it takes,” Morganna answered. “And you don’t have to fly,” she said. “We could help you get to England much faster than your aeroplanes.”

"As long as it takes?" Richie didn't like the sound of that. "We'll need to handle a few personal things first. I need to make some arrangements for Ava."

Jon spun toward his friend. "You make it sound like we're not coming back."

The axe man laughed at the look on Jon's face. "Damn, bro. What the fuck makes you say that? I just have to talk to Heather. I was supposed to have Ava this weekend. Sounds like you’re the one who thinks we’re not coming back."

"Fuck you," Jon growled, then stormed off muttering about the audacity of friends and the arrogance of fairies that would try to manipulate him.

Fiona felt eyes on her and looked up at chocolate brown orbs. "What?"

Richie rolled his eyes at Fiona. "You say you know him.” He got right up in her face and pointed a finger at her. “IF you knew him, you'd follow him and not let him outta your sight. ’Cause the Jonny I know is two seconds away from doing something... anything... to prove he's the one still in control of his life and this situation."

Green eyes flashing, Fiona straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. Stiffly, she answered, "Quite right," and turned on her heel and stomped off in the direction Jon had taken.

Anna's soft laughter had Richie turning in her direction. "You would be wise not to make an enemy of my sister," she warned softly. Her violet eyes were sparkling and shining.

"Enemy?" his voice had deepened, and he felt as if something unseen was pulling him toward her.

“Aye. Her powers may not be as strong as mine, but I'd wager she could still handle you.”

Richie drew closer to Morganna, remembering the erotic dream he’d had about her that morning. The dream shifted and twisted in his head, and he got a glimpse of Morganna, dressed much as she was today, but looking younger. Her hair was braided and bound, and a delicate blush tinged her cheeks. He saw hands, his hands, reaching to remove the pins from her hair. When he dropped the pins on the dressing table, he caught a glimpse of his visage in the looking glass – or what should have been his visage. The dark-eyed, dark-haired man staring back at him was a stranger yet oddly familiar. The shape of the eyes; the wide smile... His eyes quickly took in the tunic and the scarred scabbard threaded through a belt. What the hell?

The vision fled as quickly as started, and he blinked rapidly to try to clear it from his head. He took another step toward Morganna, his hand lightly trailing over her hair. She tensed but did not step away, and Richie’s fingers slid down her arm. “And what about you?” He asked, his voice husky.

Morganna watched as his eyes darkened, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. She deftly stepped away from Richie’s touch. His touch reminded her of just how long it had been since she had been touched, loved by a man. Her romantic side longed to lean into him, to feel his arms close around her and hold her tight. To taste him and be tasted. The practical side reminded her that he did not need any distractions, and neither did she.

“I believe it goes without saying, child,” she said softly, “that I can handle you just fine.” She raised a hand to the earring he had given her, and as she touched it, Richie felt a feathery touch on his lips and the press of a woman’s form against his body. His thoughts clouded again, and he saw that not-quite-stranger holding Morganna in his arms, kissing her thoroughly. When Morganna dropped her hand, Richie’s thoughts cleared.

“Sweet hell, Anna,” he said softly, searching her eyes. “What are you doing to me?” When he took a step toward her, she vanished.


After checking several rooms without having any luck finding Jon, Fiona stopped in the middle of the hallway on the second floor. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and pulled up an image of Jon in her head. Letting her inner homing sense find his essence, she followed it down the back stairs and out the back door.

He stood just outside the ring of flowers, looking for all the world like he wanted to step inside but afraid of what would happen if he did. She smiled at his back. Maybe, she should explain that his powers couldn't make the ring work, couldn't take him any where without her or Morganna's powers.

Jon's back stiffened, and she knew that he had sensed her presence. "It won't work for you. Won't zap you away to some place beyond your ken," she said softly, her voice gentle.

Slowly, he turned to face her. "What makes you think I want it to?"

"Just a guess." She shrugged delicately. "I know how hard this is for you. You're such a control freak, this has all got to be almost more than you can handle having someone else dictate your actions."

Jon's eyes narrowed on her standing there, looking all sympathetic and understanding, and he took a step toward her. "You do realize that I'm not completely ignorant in this right? I may not be a practicing member of any organized religion, but I do know about free will."

She frowned at him and cocked her head, raising one eyebrow. "Free will?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." He took another step toward her. "I'm sure you look at it as an annoying little concept, but right now, it's looking like my salvation."

"Are ya sayin' what I think yuir sayin'?" she asked, her voice deceptively soft. She'd have gotten away with it, if the Irish wasn't back in her voice.

"Don't play games with me, little fairy," he warned, huskily. Unsure why, she let him get away with the hated name. Maybe because he made it sound like an endearment. Briefly, she wondered who was manipulating whom. "You know as well as I do, that I can refuse to go along with your little plan and walk away now, unscathed."

"No, ya canna," she argued, shaking her head. "The man I ken couldna walk away. Couldna leave his wee ones to die afore their time because of Lucie bringin' 'bout tha End of Days, not when he coulda stopped it. No. The man I ken would do everthin' in his power to make sure his wee ones could live in a world as safe as he could make it."

Jon smiled. She hadn't raised her voice, but she couldn't hide her agitation. The Irish gave her away every time. He took another step toward her and reached out with his right hand. He wanted to know if her cheek was as soft as it looked.

His thumb had barely touched the curve of her cheek on a downward path toward her jaw, when she gasped and took a step back. He followed her, not willing to stop what he'd started. With one fluid move, he brushed her hair back over her shoulder with one hand, while he pulled her closer toward him with the other hand on her waist.

"Wha' do ya think yuir doin', mon?" she demanded huskily, her voice sounding like velvet dragged over stone.

"You mean you don't know?" he asked with a grin, as his lips moved closer toward hers. "Then I must not be doing something right."

Fiona shivered. Not doing something right? If this was wrong, she was more than a little afraid of the correct procedure. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and she was finding it very hard to catch her breath. Then when his lips met hers, she didn't care if she ever took another breath again. Without even trying, he had set her insides on fire. Fiona had closed her eyes at that first touch of lips, but now they opened wide in surprise when his tongue asked for admittance. With both hands on his chest, she pushed with all her might. Jon stumbled back in surprise and swore softly when she disappeared right before his eyes.

His deep chuckle reached her as she sat in miniature form on a tree branch high above his head. "Next time, little fairy," he promised as he started back toward the house. Deep masculine laughter floated back to her on the wind.

On his way back to the house, Jon pulled his cell out of his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Cheryl. His assistant answered on the first ring.

"Cheryl, I need you to clear my schedule for the next three days. I'll be unreachable too. Can you handle that?"

"Sure, Jon. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. If it turns out I need more time, I'll call you."

When Jon hung up the phone, he had no doubts that Cheryl would have no problems handling things while he was out of pocket. Jon wasn't surprised to find Richie on the phone when he found him in the den.

"No, brother. Everything's cool. Jon and I just have an unscheduled trip to make. Something just came up." Richie paused, while the person on the other end of the phone asked him something. "Yeah, we'll call you when we're back in the States. We'll get together then."

Richie said his goodbyes and hung up the phone. "Bet ya forgot about our lunch with Alec."

Jon frowned. "Why would you think I forgot? I was going to call him."

Richie grinned knowingly. "No you weren't. You were going to let Cheryl call him."

"Fuck off, Rich." There was laughter in the statement.


Alec hung up the phone. That was curious, he thought. The guys, Richie especially, wouldn’t normally cancel on a lunch with a friend unless something big was going on. Richie mentioned something about leaving the country, but didn’t offer any details. The trip seemed sort of sudden, and Richie’s reluctance to share details was so unlike him. Usually you couldn’t get him to shut up.

Alec wondered just what in the hell was going on.