Fierce Lessons (Ghosts & Demons Series Book 3) (5 page)

I saw her ahead of me, a white apparition whose eyes shone like lights when she looked back my way. I swam. She walked.

As I came up for air again in the dark, I bashed my left horn into the rock ceiling. The ghost had led me past the lake and into another tunnel.

I felt the horn first. It was undamaged and just as pointy. As my palm brushed the rock above me, I found I’d scarred its face with the tip of the horn.

When I looked back, I couldn’t see the torches. The way forward was more blackness. I took a quick breath and pushed straight down, I could see my guide ahead of me, beckoning.

When I came back up for another breath, I had to press my nose to the ceiling to keep the black water out of my mouth. I gulped as much air as I could, unsure how much longer my next breath would have to last.

The doubt struck then. I could go forward and maybe drown. If I went back, I’d give up any hope of walking around in public and having a normal life. The war was one thing. Horns this sharp in a battle with demons might even be an asset. But for me, personally, would there be any point to winning the war? If we won, was there a little house with a white picket fence at the end of the struggle?

I thought of the wounded soldiers who had returned from Iraq with fewer limbs than they went to war with. Many of those men and women came home to a country that had no job or use for them. Fighting for survival and ideals and the soldier next to you is common. Having a solid future after the war is done? Less so.

I pushed on. I didn’t think it was all for vanity then. I thought I was risking my life for a better future. That’s how I found Lesson 162: Ideas can change quickly if you keep an open mind and if the evidence is overwhelming. And if you die a little in the learning.

I took one last gulp of air into my lungs and dove after the ghost, hurrying each stroke, burning through oxygen in the hope of getting to our destination faster.

I’m a good swimmer.

The tunnel stretched out and, with only the glowing vision of the misty wistful ahead of me, I eventually began to panic. My lungs burned and all I wanted to do was breathe. If you can’t breathe, all the little priorities rearrange themselves in an instant. You don’t care if you ever see Bali or Bermuda. You’re okay with poverty and even Donald Trump is less annoying. All you want to do is breathe.

My lungs ached.

I could feel pressure behind my eyes.

My air ran out.

I wondered if I had a secret demon power to breathe underwater. Maybe that was the point of this ordeal.

Uh…nope.

Finally, clawing at the water, I began to drown.
 

I remember the panic as I went up, searching for an air pocket. I couldn’t find one. The water came in and burned my nose and forced itself in. I hadn’t realized how
invasive
drowning is. I got weaker and more helpless as I searched for the air pocket I was sure must be there.

It wasn’t there.

Toward the end, I had a light feeling in my chest that climbed up into my head. The euphoria of oxygen deprivation hit and I was relieved to surrender to the cold dark.

The last regret that floated through my mind was that I had died for nothing. No. Worse than nothing. I died for vanity at the hands of idiots, like Joan Rivers.

7

I
awoke in a large green room, propped against a tall, twisted skein of many tree roots. The floor was carpeted in deep moss and dotted with large flat rocks that appeared to be arranged in circles. They reminded me of the concentric pads that filled the Keep’s central courtyard.

The roots of trees broke through the chamber’s earthen roof like long snakes that stretched across the ceiling and down into the dark lake at the end of the room. Lanterns of varying sizes hung from the roots. They seemed to cast as many shadows as they did light.

Each lantern looked like it contained a swarm of fireflies, impossibly bright for their size. The light moved like a fast lava lamp, alive and agitated. Shadows slipped back and forth over me. The chamber was everything you’d expect from a mysterious Magical hiding out under the Keep, I suppose, but a trip to Home Depot and hiring an electrician to fix the lighting seemed more practical to me.

My throat and chest were sore and my head ached but otherwise I seemed fairly fine for a dead woman. I coughed for a long time.

“Half-demon girl! Be calm and be well. You are safe, for now.” It was the deep voice of a man, rich and crackling with the experience of many years. His voice echoed throughout the chamber but I was sure he stood somewhere behind me.

“If you’re the sorcerer I’m looking for, could you make your dramatic entrance now? I need to talk to you. I need something…also, I’ll need some scuba gear to get back the way I came.”

He laughed. I expected a little old man in a pointy hat and flowing robes. Instead, the man who stepped into view was tall, unbent, and dressed in a black Armani suit. Long white hair flowed from under a bowler hat. A black mask hid his face. A Batman or Spider-Man mask would have been fun and unexpected. This mask was a smooth black shell.

The Magical bowed deeply. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Iowa, Castrator of Demons. Welcome to my home. I’ve been expecting you.”

“How’d I end up here?”

“The Lady of the Lake brought you to me.”

“I nearly died!”

“Technically, I believe you did die.”

I wanted to protest but judging by how I felt, that seemed logical. My brain was fuzzy, slowly cranking up to speed. “That’s disturbing. I don’t remember a loving figure beckoning me into the light or anything. Just that ghost pulling me into a trap. If I’m one of the good guys, how come all I remember is things going black? A glimpse of Elsewhere that was happy and hopeful would have been nice.”

The Magical shrugged. “Life and death are…well…the distinctions are murky in the places between worlds. Are you feeling better?”

“Compared to drowning, sure.”

“Forgive me. We have not been properly introduced and, since the Lady of the Lake is a terrible conversationalist, proper introductions fall to me. I am Myrddin Emrys.”

He extended a gloved hand and we shook. I wondered if he was blind under the mask. I couldn’t figure out how he could see.
 

He drew himself to his full height, apparently waiting for me to speak. Finally, he said, “You don’t recognize my name, do you?”

“No, sorry. It’s uh…pretty?”

He sighed. “It’s not your fault. Education being what it is, history is relegated to history. If you did know anything about me, undoubtedly the details would be wrong. As always, the legend grows bigger than the man. You may know me by another name.”

“See, this is the dramatic entrance I was talking about. Lay it on me. I’ve had a hard day what with dying and all.” He was beginning to piss me off dragging it out like this.

“I’d heard you were quite saucy and droll.” He chuckled as he sat on a flat stone beside me, elbows on knees. In a conspiratorial tone, the sorcerer said, “My more popular persona is that of Merlin Ambrosius.”

“You’re a powerful sorcerer named Merlin?”

“Yes, my dear, of course. I am
the
Merlin you’ve heard about.”

“Bullshit. Sir.”

The mask did not muffle his amusement. He roared with laughter, rocking back and forth. “Oh, you are a pill!”

“Maybe it’s the oxygen deprivation talking but, shouldn’t you be dead a hundred times over by now?”

He grew still, suddenly sober. “Many times over than that, I’m sure.”

“But,
Merlin
? Really? No Magical should claim that name.”

“If he isn’t me, then, yes, I agree. But think of it! You know me from Arthurian legends. Kings, swords, magic, love, epic tales of heroism. Now look around you and it begins to make sense, doesn’t it? I’ve found myself new friends and new enemies in a new Camelot. You yourself are a knight in shining armor by times, are you not? Look around. You’re in the dungeon of a keep! Everything in your life is preposterous by modern standards. When I tell you I’m Merlin, why not just go with it?”

He had me there. No sense nitpicking about swallowing one insane story when you’ve already signed up for a five course meal of crazy.

“I’m here because I’d rather not have horns. I wish this was Hogwarts and you were Dumbledore, but…can you help me ditch the horns, or at least use a glamor spell so no one knows they are there?”

He laughed again, but politely this time, taking his damn time. He tapped my forearm. “You and I have more in common than you might think. Forgive the indelicacy of the term, but I’m a half-breed, too. I am a
cambion
.”

“What’s that?”

“I am the son of a human and an incubus. I derive my magical abilities from the one who sired me. My mother raised me, but
cambion
literally means,
child of a demon.
Just like you, hm?”

“Twins,” I said. “You said you’ve been expecting me. For how long?”

He made a seesaw gesture with one gloved hand. “Like Death, Time is a relative concept, too. It would seem a long time to you.”

“Are you a mind reader like Fawn or — ”

“No. I’m simply not a fool. You’re a pretty young girl who has been transformed into a monster in the eyes of her peers. Though, if I may, Iowa, I have seen many monsters in my lifetime. You are the most comely of the lot.”

“Have you been talking to Rory? You sound like him.”

“Bah! That old ghost! Still licking his wounds from the last battle. He’s still up in the Arctic contemplating polar bears. No, Rory and I do not talk much these days, though we did for almost a hundred years. I tend to lose track of time. With Rory’s incessant prattling about all the evil in the world, he can make tea time feel like two hundred years.”

“I miss him.”

“Of course,
you
would. He points at the baddies and helps you get going in the right direction when you ride into battle. I am tired of battles. I miss dragons. That was a good time.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Eh. Mostly. Life really was more like
Game of Thrones
in my day. Dragons weren’t everywhere, but we did have a few giant lizards tucked away in a few remote places, guarding treasures. They were good for the occasional flight into a blue sky on a sunny day.”

“I’ll never know for sure how much of you is full of crap, will I, sir?”

“No one ever knows the degree to which others are full of crap, Iowa. But it’s polite to nod when your elders are speaking and pretend you believe it all.”

“Okay.” I gave an exaggerated nod. I usually am more polite to my elders, but drowning had made me cranky and anxious.

“Are you up to standing?” Merlin asked. “I thought we might like to adjourn to my den. It’s more comfortable. I have a rather interesting library and a television. You can rest on the couch if you’d like. Victor also gave me a PS4. The view I get of the world through
Grand Theft Auto V
is all I see of the world these days. When I was very young, I thought I’d be a farmer or a blacksmith. If I were born today — or reborn — I’d be a video game designer. They’re today’s magic makers.”

I stood. My legs didn’t shake too much so I followed Merlin to a set of double doors. The doors slid aside to reveal a large sunken living room. Merlin’s den was dominated by his entertainment center. A chunk of granite sat off in a corner beside the hot tub. The hilt of a sword protruded from it.

As soon as I spotted it, I shouted, “Oh,
come on!
”

“You know the story, of course,” Merlin said. “Everyone does. It’s always interesting to me to see what lasts. So many things don’t even last one measly century. And some of the things that do capture the people’s imagination are quite feeble, really. Who knows why? Joan of Arc lives on in time and story while a million other burned prophets and schizophrenics slip into anonymity and are lost from memory. History is brutal in that way. Everything seems so important while we live, yet so much of what we care about is disposable.”

 
I was sure Merlin was grinning behind his mask, warming to his favorite subject: himself.
 

“What you may not know is, the king I served got the sword for a price. He made me his royal advisor. Before I came up with the sword stuck in the rock trick, I was just another magical mad man running around in the woods, nearly naked and crazed with loneliness. I was a Druid. Talked to trees a lot. No women for years. It was terrible. Much like now, actually.”

“What do you remember best?”

“The lice. For centuries, the only hope to get rid of lice was to mix ash into your soap, but first people had to invent soap. I was miserable for a long time. Then I came up with the sword in the stone deal and life was good…for a while.”

“I see.”

“And now, you come to me looking for a special magic trick.”

“One glamor spell, please. To go.”

“Hm. Well, easy for me to do. Easier to get rid of the appearance of your horns than it was to elude lice. One of Victor’s Magicals could give you a lesser glamor spell that would work for a short while. However, at the stroke of midnight, you’d have no guarantees. Those lovely ebon horns might turn into a pumpkin. You think you know ridicule now? Imagine trying to find a willing swain when you’re the pumpkinhead girl.”

“What’s your price, Merlin? I have no money.”

“Oh, my dear! A man like me has no use for money. Money is for the living and I want to move on from those petty concerns. Besides, Victor Fuentes is the richest man I’ve ever met and he’s not happy at all. No, my price is something you can afford. I’m told killing is something you’re good at. Death is my price.”

“You want me to kill you?”

“Oh, by the gods, yes! If only it were that simple. Let’s have that cup of tea and we can discuss terms. Demons don’t seem to mind the heat or the cold overly much, but you must be uncomfortable in those wet clothes. Hot tea and conversation is the order of the day! I’m sure we can come to an arrangement to rid you of those lovely horns.”

Lesson 163: I told you nothing important is straightforward. Read the fine print before you enter any contract. The old thief was wearing a mask and I
still
wasn’t cynical enough.