Royal, page 2
“Oh.” Droppelheimer released her. “Good.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie.
“I agree. Screw the politics and shit. We’re not letting this ruin Julie’s wedding,” Bianca snapped. “Don’t worry, girlfriend. We’ll cook up a plan to make your day as perfect as you dreamed of.”
Despite the cold fury in her blood, Julie couldn’t help smiling. She could nearly smell the aroma of the earth after rain. It had been only a few hours since she’d kissed her fiancé goodbye, but she already missed him.
Snap out of it! Hat yelled. We have a war to win.
Julie jumped. “Thanks, everyone. Let’s focus on what this means for us right now. The council will need to convene to hear this news. I’ll also revise the speech I planned for the press conference this evening.”
“The press conference.” Bianca raised her head. “That could get really nasty. We’ll try to keep a lid on the news about Mordred, but it’s going to be nearly impossible to avoid leaks. Paras will be hysterical. There could even be secret agents from the Mordred cult attending the conference to see what we’re up to, and who knows what they might do?”
“It was dangerous before we knew Mordred is at large,” Kaplan agreed. “It’ll be more dangerous now. We’ll need tighter security arrangements, Hartshorn.”
Bianca nodded. “Absolutely, sir.”
“Major Hartshorn and I will meet with Tactical Command and ensure that Her Royal Highness and everyone else will be safe at the conference,” Droppelheimer announced. “We’ll take care of her, Jack.”
“I’ll be there in person,” Kaplan snarled.
“The full might of the OPMA will protect me, Jack,” Julie pointed out. “Besides, I can shoot fireballs from my hands, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m pretty sure I’ll be good without a seven-foot weretiger beside me.”
“There’s another reason I should be there. To remind paras that you have the OPMA behind you as Crown Princess,” Kaplan pointed out.
Julie smiled. Worrywart.
Hat snickered.
“Thanks, Jack. That makes sense,” Julie told him.
“I’ll meet with the trolls from IT in the meantime,” Kaplan added. “They might have answers for how Mordred could have escaped. We’d better seal the breach in the prison realm, if there is one, before any more of those sons-and-daughters-of-bitches escape.”
“Okay.” Julie nodded. “That sounds like a good immediate plan. I’ll take Sir Bedivere to the Eternal Palace and tell Moth…I mean, tell the queen what’s going on. She’ll be in touch with further orders.”
“Excellent.” Kaplan waved a hand. “Why are we all standing around? Dismissed!”
Bedivere was quiet as he and Julie stepped out of the squat five-story building that contained the Para-Military Agency’s New York City headquarters. Julie held an umbrella over his head since frigid rain dripped from the slate-gray sky. She could only hope it was a nicer day in Avalon.
“You okay, Bedivere?” Julie asked. “We’re all rattled by the news, but you actually fought Mordred.”
Bedivere’s brow wrinkled. “I fear for both our worlds, Your Highness. More for this one than ours.”
“Why?” Julie asked. “Earth’s screwed up already. I’d think Avalon has more to lose in comparison.”
Bedivere gazed at the NYHQ as they approached the parking garage. Paras in different-colored uniforms hustled across the damp lawns, clutching umbrellas or spreading their wings above their heads. A faun held an umbrella for a werewolf, who flashed him a grateful smile, displaying fangs. A huge dragon, scales sparkling with rain, plodded across the grass, sheltering three elves under its belly.
“Perhaps,” Bedivere murmured, “but do you know why we keep our existence secret from most of humanity, Your Highness? Do you know why Arthur created Avalon and moved us there instead of overrunning Earth?”
“Because humans are screwed-up assholes sometimes?” Julie guessed.
Bedivere chuckled. “That is part of the reason, but there is a larger one. Paranormals went into hiding to protect themselves from certain humans, but also to protect humans from certain paranormals.”
“Like Mordred,” Julie guessed.
They entered the garage. Rain droned on the roof in contrast with the echo of their footsteps on the polished concrete.
“Like Mordred,” Bedivere agreed. “He strongly disagreed with Arthur’s decision. It was the one point on which they always contended, even when Mordred was in Arthur’s court as his trusted nephew and a knight of the Round Table. Mordred believed humans were incapable of order and civilization without the use of magic, and he also believed they were unworthy of wielding magic. His solution was that humankind should be conquered and enslaved by paranormals.”
Julie shuddered.
“If Mordred wins this war, paranormals will not be alone in their suffering,” Bedivere murmured.
“He won’t win.” Julie fished for her car keys.
Bedivere sighed. “I hope you’re right, Your Highness.” His tone was hollow. “For all our sakes.”
CHAPTER TWO
The garage at the NYHQ was fuller than usual. Every parking bay was occupied as Julie and Bedivere strolled to her spot. Three pegasi munched on the contents of their nosebags, still harnessed to a chariot that sported cherubic wings. A gigantic mortar and pestle hovered six feet off the ground, equipped with headlights, blinkers, and a plate reading S3XY BABA. Above Julie’s head, several magic carpets were tethered to rings near the ceiling. Two squabbled, fabric thumping as they knocked each other around.
In the row in which Julie always parked, two goats popped their heads over a stall door, bleating and grinding their teeth. Julie pulled out her phone and snapped a pic to send to Taylor, along with a row of red hearts.
Miss you.
Her parking spot was next to a stall that housed an eight-legged gray stallion who could fly, but Julie’s car still managed to stand out.
The 1971 Mustang Mach 1 shone in her parking bay, all smooth pewter lines with black accents, her long nose and flat back hinting at tremendous speed. Even when Genevieve was parked, Julie got the impression of motion, as though the Mustang’s soul raced even when the car stood still.
“Hey, Gennie.” She trailed her fingers over the hood and unlocked the door. In the moment that she was alone in the driver’s seat before Bedivere opened the passenger door, she whispered, “Take it easy today, okay? Bedivere’s a bit rattled.”
Although Julie hadn’t yet inserted the key, Genevieve’s gauges twitched in response.
Bedivere slid in and shut the door. “My! I haven’t been in a horseless carriage in decades.”
Julie cringed, but to her relief, Genevieve did not take offense at being called a horseless carriage. She tossed Hat onto his perch on the dash and showed Bedivere how to buckle his seat belt, then pulled out of the parking garage, resisting the urge to spin the tires. Long black streaks on the concrete near the parking stall said that Julie seldom resisted. She piloted the Mustang off the campus, waving at the dwarf guarding the gate. As they rolled through, three more guards approached in blue uniforms, holding automatic rifles.
Wow. Julie’s gut twisted as she turned Genevieve into the suburbs of Staten Island that surrounded the NYHQ. That...that’s a first. I’ve never seen anyone other than good old Fred on guard at this gate.
Shit’s getting real, Hat summarized.
Julie considered the multiple battles she’d been involved in over the past couple of years. Shit was real before this, thanks.
She glanced at Bedivere. The old fae’s hand rested limply in his lap as he stared sightlessly through the window. The wonders of the modern human world seemed lost on him.
“You need to eat or anything?” Julie asked helplessly.
Bedivere managed a faint smile. “Do you have any stores in New York City in which I can get a dead mouse, still warm?”
Julie didn’t gag, but it was close. “Uh, nope.”
“Then it’s quite all right, Your Highness. Thank you. I’ll eat at the palace’s cafeteria,” Bedivere told her.
Julie made a mental note never to order from the cafeteria again, ever. They turned onto the interstate, and Julie put her foot down without thinking about it. The gas pedal pushed back, and Genevieve let out an indignant purr. Her needle didn’t stray from the line marked 30.
It took an age to rumble over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, which normally flashed by in seconds at speeds that left angry cops in the dust. Julie flexed her fingers on the wheel and glanced at Sir Bedivere. He’d stopped shaking.
Don’t pity him, Hat suggested. He’s tougher than he looks. Always has been. How do you think a one-armed knight became one of the Round Table’s greatest legends?
Good point. Julie inhaled. “Sir, I need to ask you more about what you saw in that warlock’s mind.”
Bedivere glanced at her. “I...I’m sure you do, Your Highness.”
“You say you saw Mordred in the flesh in a recent memory, but where?” Julie asked.
Bedivere stared out the window. “In the prison realm.”
“What? How did the warlocks get in there without being drained of their magic?” Julie squawked. “How—”
“Please.” Bedivere raised his hand. “I couldn’t have guessed the answers only an hour ago. Now, I have learned things I wish I hadn’t. They weigh on my heart, Your Highness. I have seen many sad things in my many thousands of years. Those are some of the saddest.”
Julie swallowed. Her mouth was dry as they cruised toward Manhattan, Genevieve still obediently puttering along below the speed limit. “Thanks for being concerned, Sir Bedivere, but I’m not asking out of curiosity. I need to know for the safety of all paras.”
Bedivere gazed at her.
“I’m going to be queen someday,” Julie told him softly. “Hopefully, a long time from now, but Mother has been weak for decades. If we’re going to get the paranormal world through this, I need to be by her side, helping her, and not only as the head of the council. I’m the Crown Princess. I have a lot of responsibility.” Her hands tightened on the wheel. “Give me the information I need to keep our people safe.”
Bedivere’s lip twitched. “I’ve seen that look in a fae’s eyes before, Your Highness.”
Julie raised an eyebrow, questioning.
“Arthur was even younger than you are when he took the throne as high king of the Lunar Fae.” Bedivere chuckled. “He had the same fire and determination to rule in his own right instead of allowing a regent to stand in for him. Very well, Your Highness. I will tell you everything.”
Julie didn’t know what to do with the weight of the compliment. She brushed a hand over her pixie-cut dark hair and managed a smile. “You say you saw into the prison realm.”
Bedivere’s smile vanished. He stared through the windshield, but he wasn’t looking at the drizzly day or the traffic. Horns blared around them. Genevieve politely allowed a sedan to merge ahead of her, and Julie gritted her teeth.
Never thought I’d see the day that Genevieve is more patient than I am, she grumbled.
Hat scoffed. That’s not hard.
“It was a wasteland.” Bedivere spoke softly, his voice husky and distant. “Yet I can hardly bestow the title on that place. ‘Wasteland’ implies that there was land. I’ve walked the dwarven deserts. I’ve wandered through the endless, murky Mistwood. I’ve visited the Matahari Elves in Earth’s driest places. Never have I seen a place so lifeless and gray.”
Julie steered Genevieve toward Central Park as she listened.
“I saw no color,” Bedivere went on. “The sky, if it was a sky, was draped in a thick, clinging fog that made the horizon invisible. It was difficult to tell what was solid and what was air. In the warlock’s mind, I saw that the ground, too, was insubstantial. It looked like gray sand, but it stirred and drifted like fine dust, mingling with the fog.”
“Wow, Sir Bedivere. What did you do, study storytelling at Uther and Ygraine’s court?” Julie joked.
Bedivere shrugged. “It was an elective. I took it and skipped heraldry.” He managed a faint grin. “The most appallingly dull subject ever.”
Julie sobered. “The realm sounds terrifying.”
“I haven’t told you the half of it.” Bedivere’s grin perished. “The landscape was flat and featureless, if it was a landscape, except for what I at first took to be rock formations. They were as gray as the rest of this world, jutting from the sand, most between four and six feet tall at a guess. As the warlock, who was walking across the sand, drew closer to the nearest one, however, I saw that the formation had a shape. It had limbs and a face.” Bedivere shivered. “Eyes.”
Dread curdled in Julie’s stomach, and she forced herself to focus on the road. Genevieve’s wipers flip-flopped to punctuate Bedivere’s words.
“I thought it was a statue,” Bedivere whispered, “but it was not. I knew its face, though I had not beheld it since the end of the Pendragon Wars. It was one of Mordred’s knights, an Aether Elf, grimacing in terror. No artist could have persuaded stone into a likeness so close. There was no doubt in my mind that I was looking at the knight himself, whom we banished to the prison realm thousands of years ago.”
“He’d been turned to stone?” Julie whispered.
“I don’t know if it was stone, Your Highness, or what remains of a magical being when he is robbed of his magic. I don’t believe he was dead, but he had no life left in him.” Bedivere’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “That was only the beginning of what shocked me.”
Manhattan traffic choked the road ahead, a long line of red taillights blurred by the rain. Julie downshifted. Perched on the dash, Hat was silent.
“In his memory, the warlock turned his head, and I saw how he had avoided being turned into a similar state.” Bedivere swallowed. “A group of others, among them the white warlock who cast the invincibility spell last night, Your Highness, surrounded him. To a man, they wore suits of thick, transparent plastic that covered them from head to toe. Black runes were etched on the inside of each suit, perhaps warding them.
“I had been hearing hissing and clicking and presumed it was the wind or magic eaters lying in wait for their next meal. Instead, I saw that each warlock wore a breathing tank with a tube that ended in a mask on each face.”
Julie frowned. “Like SCUBA gear?”
Bedivere stared at her blankly.
“She means merrow visitation apparatus,” Hat offered.
Julie raised her eyebrows. “I do?”
Bedivere nodded. “It was like that. One could tell that it delivered air to them without exposing them to the magic eaters.”
“Okay, I got you.” Julie bit her lip. “Did you see any?”
“Yes.” Bedivere inhaled. “The white warlock pointed up, and the black warlock, whose mind I occupied, raised his head. Directly above, the fog swirled and rippled with the movements of the magic eaters. They floated like clouds, a formless darkness. I saw no limbs, no tails, no faces or eyes. It was difficult to see where one ended and the other began. Their motions were only a gentle stirring from side to side, like grass blowing in the breeze.”
Julie rubbed the goosebumps on her arms as they neared Central Park. “At what point did you see Mordred?”
“When I had recovered a bit from the shock of what I beheld, I pressed deeper into the warlock’s memories, searching for Mordred. I found the image of him in a memory that was a few hours fresher than the one from before.” Bedivere’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “The warlocks had spread out, searching among the petrified paranormals. Finally, the black warlock was telepathically told that Mordred had been found. He hastened over to the white warlock, who stood next to one of the petrified creatures, and for the first time in many years, I saw the visage of the one who brought terror to both worlds.”
Julie had to remind herself to keep her eyes on the road. “Mordred.”
“Indeed.” Bedivere nodded. “He too was frozen, but his face was not twisted in a scream, nor did he hold his arms up as though he were trying to defend himself from the magic eaters. He stood with his head bowed, arms folded over his chest. He looked like he was waiting.”
“Like he was expecting his followers to rescue him,” Julie whispered.
“When he was alive, his army was small, but it fought with a wholehearted determination that was not natural,” Bedivere told her. “Perhaps he trusted in that. The warlocks knelt before him, and then a warlock dressed in red arrived, pulling a wheeled pallet with a harness over his shoulders. He removed the harness, and he and the white warlock grasped Mordred by the arms and lifted him onto the pallet.”
Julie’s skin crawled. “How did they get him out?”
“It is impolite,” Bedivere chided, “to interrupt a well-told story with questions that will be answered later in the narrative.”
Julie grinned. “Sorry. Listening wasn’t an elective at my high school.”
Bedivere offered a faint smile. “I, too, was eager to see how they escaped the prison realm without releasing the magic eaters into Avalon.”
That possibility had not occurred to Julie, and nausea gripped her belly at the thought.
“Then the red warlock screamed. His cry was muffled by the plastic suit, but his mouth stretched wide. His suit caught on the sharp edge of Mordred’s ossified robe and tore, and the magic eaters came for him.”
Bedivere inhaled shakily. “Their stasis ended. No longer did they float peacefully above the warlocks. They flashed black and purple, with black lightning crackling around their edges. They swirled faster than any living things I have ever seen into a vortex above the warlocks’ heads.”
Julie glanced at Hat, whose crown shivered.
“Then they attacked.” Bedivere clenched his fist on his knee. “They blasted through that hole in the warlock’s suit and swarmed within the plastic, shredding it in seconds. The warlock was consumed with swirling darkness. The other warlocks shrank back and watched as the creatures detached, sated, and drifted like bloated ticks to the firmament, fading back to dark gray. When they were gone, the warlock stood there, his scream frozen forever on his face, reduced to a dull husk consisting only of atoms.”
