Gods of Merlin Read online

  He let go of the scimitar, but instead of dropping from his hand to the floor, the heavy metal rose in the air. Golden-Hainey straightened. The scimitar repositioning itself. The blade hung in the air ready to swing and cut off Hainey’s head.

  “This short man who I inhabit means something to you, Gwenhwyfar. Maybe you’ll learn to listen if I demonstrate how little power you command. I am sorry to do this, but I need you to see.”

  “Sorry?”

  “First I will show you a taste of what I can do.” Waving his hand in the air with flair, he snapped his fingers.

  I charged at Golden-Hainey. “Wait!”

  The world shifted. Everything around me changed—from a boring classroom to crystal blue sky. Air blew up the cliff I found myself standing upon. The chill hit me. I gasped and stumbled, nearly tumbling off the hundred-foot-high ridge and going flying into blue-green waters below. Golden-Hainey caught me before I could fall. All around me, white stucco houses with unearthly bright blue domes went up a tiered hill. Tiny cobblestone roads connected the houses. Steep stairs wound around the small island town. Water completely surrounded green land.

  “This can’t be happening.” I shoved at the golden-eyed physics teacher. “What have you done?”

  Golden-Hainey smiled slowly.

  I turned and began to run. Suddenly, my feet seemed to freeze. I sank into the red dirt ground. I tried to move but my body refused.

  Golden-Hainey sauntered to where I stood paralyzed. He waved a hand as if he were a tour guide. “This is Santorini Island. In Greece. I am close to home.”

  On the ground, I struggled against the invisible hand holding me in place. “Did you drug me? Am I hallucinating?” I pinched myself as if that would wake me up from hard narcotics.

  “No, I simply wanted to show you what is out there. You’ve led a very small sort of life, Eowlyn Patience, but that is all about to change.” Golden-Hainey snapped his fingers.

  What now? I groaned.

  The world shifted again from white and blue to an eerily spectacular brilliant green.

  My stomach roiled as if I’d gone through a skull-crushing roller coaster. I dropped to the ground on all fours, panting. “What do you want?”

  “We are at Glastonbury Tor. Legend says King Arthur fought his last battle against his son here.” Golden-Hainey rubbed his beard. “It is not as beautiful as the crisp blue of the Mediterranean, but this is where you, Eowlyn Patience, will be going on my behalf.”

  A stone tower of imposing brown sprouted out at the top of a grassy hill. Mist hovered above the land like a breathing creature. Off in the distance, on one side, waves hit brown cliffs. On the other side, rolling hills broken up by green flatlands stretched out. A small town with a steeple stood in the distance.

  I rose up on my knees, sucking in the cleanest air I’d even breathed. “I’m not doing anything for you. I want to go home.”

  “We must all serve our purpose.”

  My fists clenched. I stared out over green hills. “What do you want from me?”

  “You are my Gwenhwyfar,” he said. “Or how do you say her name in your time? Guinevere.”

  I stood, wanting to run but knowing it would do no good. Because I was not in reality. I was in a dream. I played along. “Wasn’t Guinevere King Arthur’s wife? I’m a little young. I belong to no one.”

  “I did not come seeking a wife. Love is the reason we are in this mess. I have chosen you to be my champion, my right hand. You will go where I cannot.”

  I growled in disbelief. “What makes you think I would do anything for you?”

  Golden-Hainey’s eyes glowed as he considered me. Power radiated from his gaze. The power burned so bright, like the sun, that I would be burned if I looked too long. Then, golden eyes blinked. The light dimmed and I could breathe again.

  Golden-Hainey peered at me. I went to my knees on the ground.

  He touched my cheek. “You will do it, Eowlyn Patience, because you crave what I do. You would do anything to leave this small life behind. You would do anything for a bit of power.” His thumb traced the line of my jaw. “Seize the day, my champion. Or find out what it means to defy me.”

  Golden-Hainey snapped his fingers.

  The world shifted back into my classroom. My insides twisted and my palms slammed down on Hainey’s desk to keep myself from falling to the ground.

  Hainey stood at the other end of the desk.

  He blinked—golden eyes gone. Brown eyes gave me a confused look. “Eowlyn—”

  The scimitar swung. Before I could do more than gape, the blade struck Hainey’s front. It sank deep into him just below his sternum. A rib snapped like a twig as the curved sword sliced through it. I cried out, putting my hand to my mouth. Droplets of blood hit clean white floors. He fell back into his chair.

  Hainey’s eyes burned gold again. His hand reached out.

  I made a small mewling sound, but my arm moved on its own, and my palm slid over his, accepting the offering. Instead of the touch burning me, warmth radiated from his skin. It filled up the insides of my belly. My entire being, from bone to tiny cell, sang. What is wrong with you?

  Through a mouthful of blood, Golden-Hainey said, “Pull out the blade. Do you have the strength, girl, to help this vessel before it dies?”

  4

  The Letter

  Before it dies. I ground my teeth. “Hainey is a he, not an it.”

  I marched up to the bleeding Hainey and eased the scimitar out slowly. Blood seeping from Hainey’s mouth receded. The liquid moved backwards. Blood sucked back in on his chest. Everything that had spilled out went back in as I retracted the blade. Golden eyes gone, Hainey took a deep breath. He touched his chest frantically. His hand met completely healed, completely intact skin. The only indication of the wound lay in his torn shirt.

  Tears leaked from the corners of his brown eyes and streaked down his cheek. “Eowlyn, what happened?”

  Before I could answer, brown eyes glowed gold again. Golden-Hainey straightened. “Best he sleeps for a bit.”

  “Sleep? Is that what you call it? You stole his body. He is going to freak when he wakes up.”

  Golden-Hainey laughed. “You mortals have great resilience and a shockingly amazing ability to lie to yourself. His mind cannot handle such an aberration so it will find a way to explain it. He will wake thinking it was all a bad dream.”

  I held up the scimitar. The blade remained soaked with Hainey’s blood. I held it out to him. “Here. Get rid of it.”

  “It is yours, champion. Consider it my gift. You will need it.”

  I swung the heavy, adult-sized blade. “Great gift. Very inconspicuous.”

  Golden-Hainey touched the scimitar. It shrank until it could have passed for a macabre letter opener. “There,” he said. “Now, go. I believe your bus is ready.”

  I stuffed the letter opener into my jeans pocket and hefted my backpack. “Someone must have slipped me some heavy drugs. I must be daydreaming or sleepwalking.”

  Golden-Hainey chuckled. “You’ll know what comes next when it knocks on your door.”

  “I don’t open the door to strangers.”

  “You will.”

  Every instinct urged me to run. I forced myself to walk. Reaching the door, I turned around and glared at the possessed Hainey. “You don’t know me, crazy whatever-you-are.”

  Golden eyes crinkled. His lips curved into a slow smile. “I am your…friend.”

  Sweat dampened my back. Hard years had taught me—enemies settled at cutting you down, but friends liked to make you bleed.

  The knock came in the form of an owl. A short man with a round face and even rounder birdlike glasses stood wearing a blue delivery-guy uniform and a baseball cap at the front door. His blue uniform had an owl emblem on its pocket. The delivery man held up a heavy envelope from the other side of the peephole. As soon as I opened the door, he thrust a touchpad at me and once I’d signed, he handed me a thick envelope made of expensive parchment.
I expected the deliveryman to take off, but he remained at the door.

  “I’m to wait for an answer,” he said, glancing at the envelope.

  “Sorry.” I touched my head. “I got home from school with a terrible headache. I’m still a little woozy.”

  “I’m just doing my job.” The driver nodded, tapping his foot. “If you don’t mind, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  I cleared my throat. “Sure, sure.” The back of the letter had an old-fashioned wax seal stamped with the letters APA. Alcoholics Present Anonymous? Anteaters Poison Anonymous? Annoyingly Panicked Anonymous?

  “Miss,” the driver prompted.

  I opened the seal. Inside, on a lighter shade of parchment, it read, Welcome to Avalon Preparatory Academy. You are cordially invited for admittance to our school. We would love to have you join us…

  Blah. Blah. Blah.

  great and historic institution…

  Blah. Blah. Blah.

  to the school of studying regular and irregular magics.

  I stopped my quick scan of the letter at the last sentence. My head jerked up to glare at the driver. “I’m supposed to answer this? Is this a joke?”

  “I only get paid to deliver the letter and wait for a reply.” The driver shivered in his uniform. “Look, kid—it’s cold out here. What’s it going to be?”

  Regular and irregular magics. I crumpled the letter with a scowl. “No, crazy town. Absolutely no.” I added for effect, “No.”

  The driver nodded. He tapped on his touchpad. “Yes—”

  “No, it’s not!”

  The driver clicked off the touchpad. He thrust a slim white envelope in my hand. “I’m to deliver this to you if you answer yes, and am I glad to have it off my hands.” He hurried off, tipping his baseball cap and calling over his shoulder, “Have a great day, miss.”

  I debated tackling him for the touchpad but as if he’d read my mind, the driver ran off. It’s not worth the bother. The whole thing is crazy. As crazy as the bad dream I had of stabbing Hainey during my fifteen-minute nap on the couch. My hand went up to my forehead. It wasn’t hot, but I never ever took naps. I shut the door, still holding the weird letter.

  The letter suddenly went hot and started smoking. I yelped and let it go. The envelope let out steam as its sealing flap flipped open with a hiss. The envelope landed on the floor, and its contents spilled out.

  No wonder the deliveryman had been keen to get rid of the possible bomb. I picked up a white card that had fallen out to find it was a plane ticket. The flight departed later today from Boston Logan Airport to London Gatwick. I glanced around the Gladwells’ quaint house. Odds and ends lay here and there in the living room. Colorful knickknacks, family pictures of several children, and mismatched furniture gave color to the living room. On a mantel overflowing with gargoyle collectibles, the clock read four thirty. No one would be home until closer to six. Inside the cheerful clutter, I couldn’t distract myself from the fact I was still alone.

  Another knock sounded at the door. It turned into a pounding. This time I didn’t open it. Then, the door flung open on its own. A burly youngish man stood at the door. “Eowlyn Patience. I am your driver. Come with me. We should leave.”

  A certain narrowness in his gaze had me taking a step back. I said, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  The youngish man smiled. His forehead changed and stuck out like a Neanderthal. Teeth elongated and protruded from his mouth. The half man, half beast grinned. He took out a knife from inside his coat and stepped into the house. He charged, knife in hand ready for a gutting. He said, “I was hoping you would say that—”

  “Me too,” a voice said from behind the half beast.

  A sword arched through the air in the doorway. It cut off the half beast’s head. Blood sprayed all over the floor as the headless body crumpled and collapsed.

  What. The. I gaped at the floor unable to believe my eyes. “W-What?”

  A gorgeous underwear-model of a man in a black suit cleaned his sword with a tissue. He threw the bloodied rag on top of the half man, half beast. I tensed as he reached inside his coat pocket, but he only took out a clipboard and black sunglasses. He put the sunglasses on. “Eowlyn Patience?”

  A little dumbstruck, I nodded at the beautiful killer with blood on his face.

  “Pretty name.” He smiled wistfully. “I once knew an Eowlyn.”

  The comment knocked me out of my trance. “No one has ever heard of the name Eowlyn.”

  He shrugged. “Surprise. Now, you have met me.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “What do you want?”

  He gave me an amused smile. “I will be your driver today. Don’t forget to grab your bags. We should leave now before you have any more visitors.”

  When he spoke, something about the tenor of his voice made my mind yearn to agree and please him. Please him. I shook my head. Not ever happening. I pointed to the corpse on the floor. “I am not going anywhere with you, serial killer. Beautiful or not.”

  Blinding white teeth flashed. “You think I’m beautiful?”

  “Like a serial killer,” I deadpanned. “Did you miss that part?”

  Underwear-model shrugged. “As flattered as I am, let me be clear—I just saved your life. More hunters will be coming.” He tucked a pencil behind his ear and the clipboard under his elbow. Stepping to the side, he pointed at an idling black luxury sedan. “I’ll be waiting in the car. For when you change your mind.”

  BOOM.

  Smoke came out of the middle of a cluster of trees. The driver’s phone rang. He accepted the call. “They’ve found us,” a frantic voice said. “We are escaping through a back way out of the trees. Be warned—the Ragnar mansion has been overwhelmed by gargoyles. They will be coming your way.”

  The call went dead.

  I leaned over the decapitated thing in my living room and tried to peer out at the open door while not willing to leave the house. “What was that? It sounded like a war zone. What’s going on at the Ragnars? I know them.”

  The driver gave me a calm look. He pointed to the half beast. “More like him are attacking Ragnar Manor right now. A lot more. They will be heading to you next. We should leave now.”

  I glanced down at my feet, at the blood pooling on the floor, and took a step back. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m not going to put you over my shoulder, girl.” The driver strode to the black sedan. He slid over the sedan’s front hood and opened the driver’s side door. “If you don’t go, they will destroy this charming little house and you along with it.”

  The Gladwells’ little house stood on a big, serene parcel of land with no one else in sight. The ground shook. In a few seconds, a roar of what sounded like a fleet of engines came from outside. I tiptoed around the dead man in my living room, trying not to have a panic attack, and ran to the door. Black SUVs rumbled through a path in the trees. A Range Rover sped past the house. Many more black SUVs followed.

  SUVs sped out of the trees and didn’t slow. The ones at the front headed in the same direction as the Range Rover. Others rushed straight at the Gladwells’ house. Their windows rolled down. A hand stuck out and lobbed a small ball.

  The black sedan’s passenger door opened. The driver shouted, “Fireball!”

  The ball pitched wildly. It hit a covered deck extending out the side of the Gladwells’ little house and exploded on impact. Fire blazed out. The black SUV sped toward us.

  The driver extended his hand, and I found myself being tugged forward as if pulled by an invisible hand. “Get in or die.”

  Still, I resisted. This isn’t happening. You’re dreaming.

  The driver made a frustrated sound. “They are here. Will you let this place burn for you?”

  No. A shard of despair stabbed me. Deep down I wasn’t surprised. Trouble followed where I went. It was why I’d been in and out of so many homes. Nothing I did turned out right. All my actions came from what school counselors had labeled as “questionabl
e choices.”

  The hand with the fireball stuck out of the SUV window again.

  “Now!” the driver yelled.

  The Gladwells deserved better. Before I lost my nerve, I ran and slid into the passenger seat. The driver slammed on the accelerator just as one of the black SUVs pulled up behind us. We sped off. To my surprise, the black SUV stalled, staying in the rearview mirror.

  “This baby’s a racehorse,” the driver said proudly. “Those country tractors won’t be able to keep up.”

  Without answering, I grabbed the driver’s phone that lay on the console and messaged 911 to the Gladwell house. Black cars chased us all the way to the main road. Between traffic and the driver’s erratic driving, weaving this way and that, we evaded the SUVs. By the time we found our way to the highway, they were out of sight. A green sign for the airport appeared in front of us.

  The driver gloated. “See, you’re safe. We’re almost there—”

  A loud thump sounded on the roof. The car shook and we swerved around in the lane. Other cars honked and zigzagged in response.

  I yelled, “What are you doing?”

  The roof of the car sank in as if something heavy sat on it. An upside-down giant, shadowy dragon’s head with glowing red eyes swooped down on the front windshield. The head began beating at the glass.

  “It’s a shadow dragon,” the driver said. “There’s no way to get rid of them with regular magic.” He weaved the car sharply.

  My head banged hard against the window. Clutching it, I yelled, “What does that even mean?”

  “Regular magic is potions and small spells and such. Irregular magic happens to be powerful raw stuff. Very few of us can control it. We need special charms, like power rings or necklaces, to focus our magic.”

  My fingers dug into the seat as the car bounced and threatened to overturn. “Do we have a power ring to focus our magic?”

  “No.”

  The shadow dragon screeched and banged its head on the front windshield. Glass trembled and threatened to give. The roof caved in as the dragon beat the top. I hunched in my seat and took a slow breath. “We’re going to die being trash compacted in a tin can. Stop talking. Do something.”