Chapter 2
“Ghosts and Ghouls Terrorize City!” Billy read the newspaper headline as he jogged toward his house. With swirling snow dancing all around, he halted a few steps before reaching the front porch and made a slow turn, scanning the deserted two-lane street and each nearby yard. With a few inches of snow painting the neighborhood white, spotting one of the dark hairy “ghouls” would be easier than it had been last night when several prowled the area.
These “Caitiff,” as his father had called them, were the ugliest men he had ever seen. Earlier, when he viewed them from afar in the second circle of Hades, they had been hideous enough. Closer encounters proved that they smelled worse than they looked.
As his gaze passed by a rainwater drain at the side of the street, he noticed a dark splotch covering a bare spot on the pavement, the spilled blood of one of those freaks. His father had nailed it with his AR15, but the bullet in its chest only scared the apelike beast away. Now, gooey fluids lay in a black puddle that even snow wouldn’t touch.
With no sign of new predators lurking, Billy scrambled up the snow-covered porch steps, unlocked the knob and deadbolt with separate keys, and breezed inside. The draft kicked up an envelope on the floor and carried it to the stairwell to the left.
After refastening the locks, he kicked off his boots and unzipped his thick jacket, revealing a navy blue “West Virginia” sweatshirt that overlapped his jeans’ waistband. He checked the pistol in the jacket’s inner pocket. Still secure. With a quick swipe, he snatched up the envelope and read the handwritten name on the front—Jared Bannister, Personal.
He turned it over. Sealed. No return address anywhere. Someone must have stuck it through the mail slot while he was at the Foleys’ house. He squinted at the handwriting. With its elegant swirls, it seemed familiar, but who would drop off a message for his father? Dad was still home, so why wouldn’t the delivery person knock on the door to make sure he got it?
He put the envelope in his back pocket and scanned the front page of the paper. A photo caught his attention, one of the “ghouls,” a thin, hairy man with vampire-like fangs overlapping his bottom lip. He glanced up from the paper. He couldn’t read while walking, at least not for a few more days. With the newly rebuilt house still unfamiliar, he had to check where he was going to keep from banging into anything. He nodded at the configuration—stairs in front on the left, foyer and kitchen straight ahead, family room to the right.
Shivering as he strolled past the family room, he slowed to look at the fireplace. The flames had dwindled to a few finger-tall orange tongues. Still glancing at the paper every few seconds, he ambled into the room and across the morning glow radiating through the front window. He grabbed the fireplace poker and, after rekindling the flames with a quick stir, studied the crackling logs, now not much more than ashen heaps. He’d have to get more wood soon, but the stack outside was still green and damp, much harder to ignite, especially without his fire breathing ability.
He passed his tongue along the roof of his mouth. No scales. No evidence of the dragon trait that had both hurt and helped him over the past couple of years. He looked at the ring on his index finger. A white gem mounted in the center stared back at him, the symbol he wore that proved what he had been and what he was now. He curled his fingers into a fist. It was all good. Being fully human was worth it.
Monique bolted into the family room and grabbed his hand. “Play checkers with me!” she shouted, her black mop of hair bouncing with her child-sized leaps.
Billy dropped the poker, scooped her up with one arm, and hustled her away from the window. Someone had opened the blinds. With daylight streaming in, it wasn’t safe for her to be there. Faking a smile, he slowed his pace as he quick-marched toward the back of the house. “But we played fifteen times last night! Aren’t you tired of it yet?”
With an impish grin lifting her lovely Asian features, Monique shook her head. “You’re ahead eight to seven. I need to catch up.”
Billy set her down and mussed her hair. “Get Stacey or Beck to play. They’re upstairs with Mom. Or maybe Larry will play with you. I fixed his transmitter. He should be good to go.”
Monique pouted. “Larry’s no fun. I never win.”
“Yeah. Supercomputers are like that. All brains and no compassion.”
She locked her arms tightly across her chest, covering her green sweatshirt. “I wish Red would come home. She would play with me.”
“Dad’s supposed to hear from Walter or Ashley this morning. Maybe they’ll give us an update on when Karen’s coming home.”
Monique clapped her hands. “Good!”
He followed Monique back to the stairs. When she had scampered out of sight to the upper floor, he marched back to the family room window and snapped the blinds closed. He’d have to remember to talk to the girls about security again. Until every Caitiff was dead, no children were safe.
Billy strode into the kitchen and laid the newspaper on the table in front of his father. “Same kind of freaks we got last night,” he said, tapping a finger on the photo. He then pulled out the envelope and propped it on the newspaper so that Jared Bannister faced his father. “This was in the foyer,” Billy said.
His father set down a steaming cup of coffee and tilted the envelope. With a Glock in a shoulder holster wrapped around his broad, sweater-clad chest and a scoped rifle leaning against the wall behind him, he seemed ready for a war.
His reddish-brown eyebrows dipped low. “This is Irene’s handwriting.”
Billy nodded. That made sense. Bonnie’s mother would have familiar handwriting. It was a lot like Bonnie’s.
His father flipped open the folded contents and read out loud. “A dark knight is coming quickly. The old plans are again in effect.” His brow suddenly furrowed, and a familiar spark flashed in his eyes.
“A dark knight?” Billy repeated. “But the slayers are gone.”
His father stared at the words, saying nothing.
After a few seconds, Billy added, “Aren’t they?”
“Devin’s henchman, Palin, is gone, but …” He folded the note and handed it to Billy. “Please burn this for me.”
Billy took the page and wadded it up. “What did she mean by the old plans?”
“I think I know, but I’m not certain.” As he looked at Billy, he stroked his chin. “Did you speak to your mother before you came in here?”
Billy sat in one of the seven empty chairs that surrounded the oval table and shook his head. His mother had asked him to check on Walter’s sister, Shelly, while her parents were out of town, heading for Montana to meet with Walter. Everything was fine, of course. Shelly was too old to be a target of the Caitiff. Still, she was planning to come over to spend the night, just in case. “I didn’t look for Mom when I got back.” He squeezed the wad of paper in his fist. “Why?”
“The presence of a slayer is always bad news.” His father leaned back and looked into the hallway, then slid his chair closer. “But there is more bad news.”
Billy tightened his jaw and gazed into his father’s deep brown eyes. “Okay. I’m ready. I think.”
His father spun a cell phone on the table. “Remember Walter mentioning the Methuselah girl, the Oracle of Fire?”
“Yeah. Sapphira. He told me a lot more about her later.”
“Well, she called while you were out. She said …” He paused. Letting out a sigh, he turned and looked out the window, seeming to drift away into his thoughts.
Billy resisted the urge to drum his fingers. No sense in making Dad hurry. After so many centuries as a human, a few extra minutes to come up with exactly the right words probably seemed like nothing to him. Besides, if Sapphira called, she and the others were probably fine.
He followed his father’s gaze. Outside, the mountains of West Virginia created a wintry backdrop, with bare trees poking through blankets of white. Snow had come early this year, forcing everyone to stay cooped up inside, another reason to feel antsy. With long-dead relatives suddenly showing up at people’s doorsteps and hairy beasts chasing children through the streets, who wouldn’t be scared spitless?
A knock sounded at the door. Billy sprang to his feet and withdrew his gun. His father snatched the rifle from the wall, and they hustled together toward the front of the house. Billy took his usual position five steps up the stairwell and shouted into the bedrooms above. “Mom! Girls! Warning protocol!” He braced his pistol in both hands and aimed at the door. Now would have been a great time for his danger-sensing ability, but no use wishing for that to return. “Is it one of the ghouls?”
His father looked out the peephole. “Neither ghost nor ghoul!” He flung the door open, allowing a tall, gray-haired man and a teenaged girl to shuffle in, then closed it to ward off the snow that followed in their wake.
Bundled in heavy, ankle-length coats, the visitors brushed off thin layers of snow. The girl pulled down a hood, revealing light brown braids with blond highlights. “I apologize for my abrupt arrival,” the man said in a dignified British accent as he shook more snow from his gray hair.
“Sir Patrick!” Billy stuffed the gun into his pocket and rushed to the door, extending his hand. “It’s great to see you!”
Patrick enfolded Billy in a tight embrace. “A mere handshake is insufficient, dear William.”
Billy relished Patrick’s strong, lanky arms. The hug felt like one of Professor Hamilton’s—warm, hearty, and genuine. To have the late professor stroll through the door would have been even better, but since that was no longer possible, Sir Patrick would do.
“We took an earlier flight,” Patrick said, pulling back from Billy, “and my cell phone battery needs recharging, so I was unable to call.” He shifted to Billy’s father, and the two embraced for a brief moment before Patrick touched the girl’s head with a gloved hand. “Of course, Shiloh needs no introduction.”
Offering a friendly nod, Billy smiled at her. With those shining blue eyes, she looked so much like Bonnie her smile in return made his heart ache. He reached for her coat. “Here. Let me get that for you.”
As she let the sleeves slide down her arms, Shiloh spoke in an accent that mimicked her father’s. “Thank you so much. You’re such a gentleman.”
A flush warmed Billy’s cheeks. As he hung Shiloh’s coat in a side closet, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She smoothed out the red blazer over her white, button-down blouse. With new jeans and walking shoes, she really looked sharp.
While Jared took Patrick’s coat, Billy looked out the window at the side of the door. “Sir Barlow’s out there.”
“He is, indeed,” Patrick said, reaching for the doorknob. “He was engaged in a conversation with the cab driver before we stopped. They were in the midst of exchanging war stories, so we left the two of them to collect the luggage.”
As soon as he opened the door, a burly man with a thick mustache barreled in, carrying a lengthy box over his shoulder. Dressed in a red woolen sweater and thick knee britches that held a sword and scabbard at his hip, Sir Barlow set his gaze on Billy, his eyes twinkling. “I believe your expression here is, ‘Santa Claus is coming to town.’ But I’ll wager he and his hoofed transports never carried packages such as this.”
Billy leaned over to look outside again. A taxi cab lurched ahead, its tires sliding in the snow briefly before it roared away. Everything seemed clear. After hauling three suitcases in from the porch and sliding them next to the closet, he turned and shouted upstairs. “Mom! It’s okay! Sirs Patrick and Barlow are here, and Shiloh, too!”
There was no reply.
“If your mother followed emergency protocol,” his father said, “she took the girls down the back stairway to the computer room.” He walked to an intercom unit on the wall and pressed three buttons. When the speaker beeped, he leaned toward it. “Everything’s okay, Marilyn. We have some special guests. Want to come out and meet us by the fireplace?”
“In a minute,” came the scratchy reply. “Monique fell and scraped her knee. I’m patching her up.”
Billy lifted the box off Barlow’s shoulder and hurried with it to the family room. As he laid it on a coffee table in front of the fireplace, the lid shifted and fell to the side. A beautiful sword lay on top of a blanket of crinkled white paper.
He grasped the hilt. He knew this sword, the replica of Excalibur he had used in training before he pulled the authentic one from the stone. Although only several months had passed since he last gripped this hilt, it now seemed like years. So much had happened since that day.
Raising the point toward the ceiling, he gazed at the etching of two dragons on the silvery blade and the ancient runes that bordered them near each edge. As he recalled the day he first learned the meaning of the odd letters, Professor Hamilton’s voice echoed in his mind. “This one says, roughly speaking, ‘May the Lady’s purity never depart from the one found worthy to draw the sword.’”
Billy smiled. Leave it to Morgan to claim the purity label. She was so full of herself she probably pulled a muscle patting herself on the back. Still, the phrase was appropriate. In his mind, the Lady would always be Bonnie. No one could dispute her purity.
“I see that you have discovered your gift.”
Billy spun around. Sir Patrick strode in, a wide smile on his face. Although his eyes seemed young and fresh, his gait revealed a much older man. Obviously his many years as a full-fledged human were catching up with him, yet with a wool sweater fitting snugly over his trim waist, he still displayed a youthful frame.
Patrick sat on the sofa’s middle cushion and patted the one on his right. “Please, William. Sit, and I will tell you why I have brought this sword.”
While Billy took a seat, his father, Sir Barlow, and Shiloh walked in. His father, still carrying the rifle, snapped open the blinds. “Better to let them see us with our weapons, at least until Marilyn and the girls come in.”
“Indeed,” Barlow said. “When it comes to those scoundrels, many a parent in my day used nightmarish legends to frighten children into submission.” He lowered his voice to an ominous tone. “If you fail to obey me, young man, I shall give you over to Caitiff, and they will use your hair for a wig, your teeth for a necklace, and your eyeballs as fish bait!”
Billy laughed. “Did you ever use that threat yourself?”
“No, William. I was never blessed with a wife or children.” Barlow sat on the floor near the hearth and prodded the fire with the poker. “But if I were to protect a child from the Caitiff, I think this rod could come in handy, especially when used in the proper place.”
Shiloh sat on a plush recliner that faced the sofa, while Billy’s father chose a space on the floor near Barlow. “I saw one of the ghouls down the street,” he said, patting the rifle he kept at his side. “He was close to a neighbor’s window, so I couldn’t get a shot at him.”
“Firearms will be of no lasting value.” Patrick nodded at the sword in Billy’s hand. “We should rely on the more tried-and-true method of relieving those villains of their heads.”
Sir Barlow jabbed the air with the red-hot poker. “Slicing and dicing villains is preferred by knights two to one over shooting them with balls of lead.”
Billy grinned at Barlow’s antics. Ever since the gallant knight escaped from his centuries-long imprisonment in the candlestone, he relished every opportunity to use modern idioms, even when they sounded hokey. He was especially fond of using “the cat’s pajamas,” though he never seemed to understand what it really meant.
Billy lifted the sword a bit higher. “This was Prof’s. Where did you get it?”
Patrick withdrew an envelope from his coat’s inner pocket and showed it to Billy. “Charles left his will in the possession of the Circle of Knights. During the months between his locating you here in West Virginia and your subsequent journey to England, he altered his will and stored everything he left to you in this box. Most of his possessions went to his daughter, Elizabeth, of course, but I think you will find some valuable treasures in here.”
As heat surged through his ears, Billy rubbed the blade with his thumb. “He left this to me?”
“Who is more worthy?” Patrick removed the crinkled paper from the box, revealing spiral notebooks of various colors stacked haphazardly throughout.
“Some items,” Patrick continued, “were on his person or at his lodging when he passed away.” He lifted a gold chain from underneath one of the notebooks. An old-fashioned pocket watch dangled at its end, slowly twisting. As a jewel on its back plate caught the rays of the sun in each rotation, it sparkled. “You were likely far too busy to notice that this lay on the ground where Charles fell in battle. Fortunately, Sir Barlow’s eyes were keen enough to spot it.”
He laid the watch in Billy’s hand and draped the chain over his arm. Billy placed the sword across his and Patrick’s laps and closed his fingers around the watch. It fit perfectly in his palm. As his throat clamped shut, he couldn’t bear to look at Shiloh. He would think of Bonnie again and how much they both loved Prof, and he’d cry for sure.
“And these,” Patrick said, lifting one of the small spiral notebooks, “are journals. Charles was faithful to record his daily activities, including his efforts in finding you and your adventures together thereafter.” He placed the notebook in Billy’s other hand. “I perused his collection and gathered the ones that related to you.” The aging knight gazed into Billy’s eyes. “They are yours now.”
Billy stared at the notebook’s cover and imagined where the professor’s hands had touched the worn edges. A chill crawled along his skin. Now the wise old teacher could speak to him once again, even from Heaven.
A loud thump shook the door.
Sir Barlow shot to his feet, a hand on the hilt of his sword. “That was not a friendly knock.”
A window shattered. A long howl sounded from outside.
Billy and his father stood as one, Billy lifting the sword as he rose. Drawing his own sword, Sir Barlow rushed to the doorway. Billy kept pace. A hairy arm reached through a jagged hole in the glass next to the door and unlocked the knob.
As it released the deadbolt, Sir Barlow set his foot against the door. With a lightning-fast swipe, he slashed through the creature’s wrist. Black fluid spewed from the arm as it jerked back through the hole. Its hand splashed in a puddle and wriggled like a decapitated snake.
Barlow tried to refasten the deadbolt, but the door flew open and knocked him to the side. A thin, hairy man in a dirty loincloth burst in, grasping his bleeding stub of an arm. As ten more crowded in behind him, each one snarling through long, pointed fangs, he raised a club and lunged toward Billy.
Billy swung the sword at the lead Caitiff and whacked its head off. So much for barging in with a club.
“Catch!” Barlow yelled. He flung his sword to Jared, lowered his shoulder, and plowed into the pack from behind, steamrolling them with his hefty body. As they toppled forward, Billy and his father severed heads and limbs until only one Caitiff remained alive, quivering as he lay on the floor in a widening puddle of thick, dark blood.
Jared pressed his sword’s point against the Caitiff’s throat. “Tell me, foul beast. Why did you come here?”
The dirty-faced creature trembled violently and let out a plaintive howl.
Pushing the sword, Jared cut into the Caitiff’s flesh. “I heard one of your kind speak just last night. I know you can talk.”
The Caitiff raised a finger and pointed at Shiloh. She stood near the fireplace next to Patrick, firmly embraced in his arms. “We saw the girl,” it squeaked. “We wanted the girl.”
Jared glanced at Shiloh, then back at the Caitiff. “She is just one. Why did so many of you attack? And why are all of you in a little town like Castlewood?”
The creature tugged nervously at his loincloth. His fangs dragged so heavily against his mouth, his lips began to bleed. “She has the scent … the scent of the circles. I must … I must take her.”
The Caitiff pushed his body up with his hands, but Jared slammed his shoe against his skinny chest, pinning him. “Why are you in Castlewood?” he yelled. “Answer me!”
“Let me stand.” The Caitiff pointed at one of his fellow attackers. “And I will show you something.”
Jared moved his foot away, but kept his sword close to the creature’s throat. “Very well.”
The Caitiff struggled to his feet and pushed his fingers into the loincloth of the dead body next to him. He withdrew a flattened scroll, about six inches long and tied in the middle by rough twine.
Jared snatched it away and handed it to Billy.
After ripping off the twine, Billy unrolled the dirty, wrinkled page. Odd lettering had been scrawled in a single line from one end to the other. “I have no clue what this says.”
Sir Barlow leaned over his shoulder. “The script is from my era, but my reading skills were quite poor in those days.”
Jared took the note and looked it over. “Hmmm … It says, ‘The devilish witch carries the odor of Hades. Take her, and you will be set free from your wretched state.’”
“Hades?” Shiloh said. “Well, I was certainly there long enough, but I hope I don’t still smell like that place.”
“True.” Jared crushed the note in his fist. “But you’re not the only one who has been in Hades. If the slayer is looking for Bonnie, these stupid beasts wouldn’t know—”
The Caitiff screamed and pushed Jared to the side. “I must have her!” He lunged at Shiloh but stopped in mid-leap. The end of a poker protruded from his back, its red barb partially blackened by the Caitiff’s blood.
Patrick held the other end, his face twisting in rage as he lifted the beast farther off the ground. “Nothing from the bowels of Hell will ever touch my daughter again!” He threw the poker, sending the Caitiff sprawling backward.
Barlow hacked its head off, then turned away as the stench of its fluids joined that of the others littering the floor. “Phew! We will need more than Lysol to rid the carpet of this foul odor!”
Jared nudged the Caitiff’s body with his foot. “They were already dead with regard to their lives on Earth. If the legends are accurate, when the dead residents of Hades die again in that realm, their bodies and fluids will disintegrate, and their souls will pass to the Lake of Fire.”
“I hope it happens before Mom comes in here,” Billy said, holding his nose.
Jared nodded toward the rear of the house. “With all the commotion, she probably stayed in the computer room.”
“Then let’s go there. This place reeks.”
After cleaning his sword, stowing it with the journals, and picking up the box, Billy and his father led the others through a hallway to the back of the house. Jared pushed a key into a dooknob but didn’t turn it. “Son, I need to tell you the bad news before we enter.” He let out a long sigh and glanced at each person in turn. A low hum reverberating from within the door made the air feel heavy, even prickly.
Billy shuddered. Something was wrong … very wrong.
Finally, his father spoke in a near whisper. “As I told you, Sapphira called earlier. Karen, our valiant little warrior, died in the battle against the Nephilim. According to Sapphira, Karen literally saved the entire planet.”
A painful lump lodged in Billy’s throat. He imagined the cute redhead and her freckled face the day he first met her on a wintry mountain. Her voice played in his mind. “So,” she had said, snow flecking her fiery-red bangs, “I’m supposed to believe that you’re a dragon? Human and dragon in one body?”
Billy let a tear drip from each eye, unashamed. He hadn’t merely lost a fellow warrior; he had lost a sister whom he had grown to love dearly.
He scanned the others. Tears passed down Shiloh’s cheeks as well as Patrick’s. Barlow’s eyes glistened, and he shook his head sadly. “We will all miss that feisty lass. She was a corker.”
“Your mother knows about Karen,” Jared said to Billy as he turned the knob, “but your sisters don’t. We will tell them in due time.”
Still carrying the box, Billy swiped his sleeve across his face and forced a fake smile as they entered the computer room. A high ceiling and bright lights greeted their eyes, as did his mother sitting at a desk in front of Larry the supercomputer, a collection of metal boxes and glass enclosures covering most of the wall on the left and rising to near the ceiling. Red letters flashed on the largest of five flat monitors on Larry’s outer panel. His stoic voice, more human than mechanical, interrupted the hum of his cooling fans. “Marilyn, an intruder has breached the perimeter. My sensors indicate an unusual odor, suggesting a skunklike presence.”
Marilyn rapped her knuckles on the panel. “It’s just Jared and Billy. Get a clue.”
“Clue collected. Jared and Billy are now registered in my database as skunk apes.”
Three girls—a blonde with Nordic features, a dark-skinned brunette, and Monique—rose from their cross-legged positions on the carpet, abandoning the scattered pieces of a Monopoly game, and followed Marilyn as she shuffled wearily toward the door. Red blotches on her cheeks gave evidence of a recently scrubbed face, and a wide bandage on the side of her neck, partially hidden by her shoulder-length light brown hair, provided a painful reminder that she had recently been the victim of a dog attack. “Jared? Is everything all right?”
“We survived.” Jared took her in his arms, kissed her tenderly, and turned her toward their guests. “Marilyn, I’m sure we have room for everyone, don’t we?”
She smiled. “Of course. The more the merrier.”
Billy felt tears forming again. His mother’s smile was mechanical, pain-streaked. With three frightened girls gathering behind her, the picture seemed more tragic than ever. Karen had been her daughter long enough to become a true part of the family. His mom’s heart ached, but she couldn’t afford to let on to the other girls, not while the Caitiff were still lurking. They were scared enough already.
Patrick bowed. “The merging of Earth and Hades is a rather lame excuse for leaving England, isn’t it?”
“Any excuse will do for friends to come together.” Marilyn waved her hand, fanning her husband. “Did you men wallow in a pig sty?”
Jared wiped a splotch of Caitiff blood from his hand to his shirt. “Those monsters aren’t exactly the cleanest—”
“Alert!” Larry called out. “Incoming message from Ashley.”
Billy hustled to the computer desk, slid into the swivel chair, and looked at the monitor on Larry’s panel. “Can we get her onscreen?”
“The bandwidth allocation from her handheld computer is inadequate for full-motion video. I will bring across still photos as a background for her voice.”
After blinking once, the screen showed a picture of Ashley, her hair blowing back into Walter’s face as he sat behind her. A sword hilt protruded from his back scabbard, the real Excalibur.
Another female sat in the rear, a dragon’s spine between her and Walter. Billy studied her features, long auburn hair and piercing eyes framed by a face much like Ashley’s. Although they had never met, from Walter’s description, she had to be Ashley’s sister Abigail, the former dragon, Roxil.
“Who’s on the console?” Ashley’s voice seemed wind-blown and agitated.
Billy grabbed a headset, slipped it on, and adjusted the microphone in front of his lips. “It’s Billy. Go ahead, Ashley. I have you on headset and external speakers. Mom and Dad, Sirs Patrick and Barlow, Shiloh, and our sisters are here.”
The others gathered behind him and watched the screen. The photo changed, the same scene shifted to one side to show part of a dragon’s wing. Only half of Ashley’s face was visible now. With her dampened brown hair plastered against her cheek, she seemed ready to blow it out of the way. “My mother’s going to try to create a portal to the Bridgelands,” she said. “Arramos did it, so she thinks she can do it, too. Once we go through, I don’t think we can contact you anymore.”
“What’s the hurry?” Billy asked. “I thought you were going to wait for Sir Patrick.”
“Yeah, I know. I sent Larry an e-mail. That’ll explain everything.”
Jared stepped up to the desk. “I already heard from Sapphira. She says the portal at the top of the turbine is still active.”
“True,” Ashley replied, “but that roof was too small to use safely, especially since one of us is a dragon. When you and Billy and Patrick and his knights meet Sapphira in Montana, she can transport you from the turbine.”
“No more time to talk!” a male voice shouted. “See you later, Billy! We’ll— ”
Static drowned out his words, though the monitor still displayed the previous scene, half showing the dragon and half showing Ashley, Walter, and Abigail. Somehow, the blend seemed appropriate.
Billy clenched his fist and whispered, “Knock ’em dead, buddy!”
“Ashley is no longer within range,” Larry said. “I will show the final photo and print out an e-mail Ashley sent immediately before her call.”
As the printer hummed, Billy stared at the new photo, Ashley and Walter leaning forward, their hair shaded orange in the glow of a stream of fire that spun in a tight cyclone to their left. Thigocia was probably flying in a circle and creating a ring of flames as she attempted to construct the portal. Walter’s face beamed. Ashley’s showed her fierce determination. Abigail’s expression mimicked Ashley’s, her brow low and her lips in a flat line as she held on to Walter.
Billy loosened his fist and slapped his palm lightly on the desk. If only he could go, too. Fighting side by side with Walter again would be awesome.
As if reading his mind, Jared laid a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Adventures await all who follow the narrow path, son. We have plenty to do here.”
Sir Patrick held up the printed page. “I should say so! Ashley’s e-mail is most interesting, indeed!”
“Will you read it out loud?” Billy asked.
“Certainly.” Patrick waved a hand. “Everyone please gather comfortably. The message isn’t overly long, but I’m sure our conversation about it will be considerably longer.”
Billy got up from the computer seat and let Shiloh take his place. He dragged a hardback chair from a worktable and slid it next to his mother. He smiled at her, arching his eyebrows much higher than normal, hoping to get a response.
One corner of her lips twitched upward, but every other line in her face sagged. Billy’s father approached her from behind and rested his hands on her shoulders, gently kneading her muscles. While Monique nestled in her lap, Stacey and Rebecca knelt on the floor at either side, quietly fidgeting. Sir Barlow eyed Sir Patrick as he paced back and forth across the computer room.
Stroking his chin, Patrick read the e-mail. “Dear Billy and whoever else is reading this, here’s what’s going on. Walter might have told you about this creepy old guy who sat with me during the airplane ride to London. Well, he suddenly appeared again when I was being chased up a stairwell from Hades by a giant with a missing leg. Turns out he wasn’t just a creepy old guy. He was Enoch, the prophet from the Bible. Pretty weird, right? Anyway, while Abigail and I went down to get a waffle at the motel room buffet, guess who was refilling the waffle batter. Yup! Enoch, himself! He told us the key to separating Earth and Hades was in another world called Second Eden. He needs every dragon and former dragon to come and help with a war that’s about to start there. He also asked for Billy, Barlow, and the other knights, something about including the heirs and friends of King Arthur in the great battle.”
Patrick looked up at Billy. “Edmund will arrive later, but Newman was not able to accompany me because of obligations with the museum in Scotland. Had I known of the need, I would have insisted. Of course, Fiske and Woodrow are still recovering from broken bones, but I could call upon Standish, if necessary.”
“Sure,” Billy said, nodding. “Is there more in the e-mail?”
“Quite a bit.” He looked down at the page and continued. “I know you’re busy with a bunch of hairy fiends from Hades, but we have bigger problems to worry about. There are at least ten giants called Nephilim roaming around in Montana, and an overzealous genius named Mardon probably still has big plans for them. My theory is that this dragon named Arramos wants to use them in that war I was talking about. So, if we want to do the David and Goliath thing, rid the world of hairy monsters, and save another world with a single stone, let’s all go to this place called the Bridgelands. Enoch says the portals will lead us there, and then someone will guide us from that point on. Call Sapphira and tell her when you can meet her and Gabriel at the top of the mountain in Montana where I used to live. Larry has the GPS coordinates. I hope they’re accurate. My handheld computer is on its last legs battery-wise, so I’m not sure I can trust it. I pray that it lasts long enough to send this message. Anyway, tell Sir Patrick that he should recognize Sapphira and Gabriel. They haven’t changed a bit. I hope to see you soon. Ashley.”
“So we fly to Montana.” Billy stood up. “Can we all fit in Merlin? We have more seats in the new model.”
His mother shook her head. “I have to stay with the girls. They can’t be involved in a war. I can manage without the men for a while.”
Jared reached for his wife’s hand. “I told you that I would never leave you again.”
“Thank you for remembering.” She kissed his knuckles. “You have to go. There’s just no other option.”
Raising a finger for each person, Billy counted. “Okay, so there’s me, Dad, Sir Patrick, Sir Barlow, and …”
“And me!” Shiloh said. “I’m an heir to King Arthur. Well, an adoptive one, anyway.”
“Okay, that’s five.” He turned to his father. “What about Bonnie and her mother? Any chance of finding them?”
He shook his head. “It would take too long to get a message to them. When we were hiding from the slayers, we had ways of communicating, but it often took months, even years, to get our messages across.”
“This is the Internet age, Dad. There’s got to be a faster way.”
“What do you propose, son? Post a coded message on a fantasy blog? Irene wouldn’t know to look there. We have to use the old methods.”
“What methods?”
His father sighed and nodded at Sir Patrick. “It would be better if you explained it since you set up the system.”
Setting a hand on Billy’s back, Patrick spoke in a serious tone. “It is impossible for you to comprehend how secretive we had to be. Over the centuries, the slayer picked us off one by one until only Jared, Irene, and I remained. Even though we exercised extraordinary care, Devin was able to track Irene to Montana and Jared here to West Virginia. Such was his obsession and prowess. Yet, although he knew where I lived, Morgan forbade him from killing me. She wanted me alive to continue her blackmailing schemes.”
“You mean to use Shiloh as a hostiam?” Billy asked.
“Exactly. If a slayer is stalking Irene and Bonnie, any form of communication could well endanger their lives. I think it best if we take this journey without them. Perhaps Enoch will unite us later.”
Billy clenched his fist, imagining Devin’s throat in his grasp. “But could any slayer be as crafty as Devin? Whoever this new slayer is, he’s probably just a wannabe without any experience.”
“Are you sure this is a new slayer?” Patrick asked. “How do you know he isn’t Devin himself?”
“I cracked the candlestone Devin was in. He’s nothing but a bunch of sparkling light now.”
“Yet he survived a similar fate in the past.”
Billy’s heart thumped. Patrick was right. After Devin came out of the candlestone as a weird energy monster, Excalibur sent him away in a swirling cyclone of energy. Somehow Morgan was able to put him into the body of Clefspeare, but who could have reconstituted him this time? “I guess you’re right. Maybe the former dragons really are in big trouble.”
Patrick gave him a grim nod. “I know how to reach Legossi in a safe way, so I will send her a note immediately. I also secured a hiding place for a few other dragons in Europe, so I will ask Larry to store and secure those addresses. Perhaps I can call upon Legossi to warn them for us. Still, there are others we might not be able to contact without compromising security. For them, including Hartanna, I will use our safest form of communication, though it is also the slowest. We have rented post office boxes in every major region of this country as well as in England. I will instruct one of the members of the Circle of Knights to write a letter addressed to each one. They will be sent from various locations, and, of course, the message will be in code using a method we dragons devised long ago.”
“That sounds pretty safe,” Billy said, looking at his father. “How often did you check the box in this region?”
“To us,” his father said, “time was not a major factor. I cannot speak for the other dragons, but I checked mine once each year.”
“Once a year!” Billy moaned. “We can’t wait that long!”
“I wish I could give you better news.” He draped an arm over Billy’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Bonnie’s presence could well cause Irene to check hers sooner, but if she believes Devin is on her trail, she might not come out of hiding at all.”
Swallowing hard, Billy looked up at his father. Still a few inches taller, his protective stance reassured him. It was as if Jared Bannister maintained the power and presence of Clefspeare. “Who will stay to protect Mom and the girls?” Billy asked.
Patrick looked at his watch. “Sir Edmund should arrive before nightfall, but I’m not sure we should wait for him. Marilyn will be safer if all former dragons vacate the premises.”
“Edmund would be the perfect guardian,” Barlow said. “As his captain, I hereby order it.”
Billy pulled free from his father and picked up a phone on the desk. “We’d better let Sapphira know when we’re coming.”
“She has Walter’s cell—speed dial nine,” his father said. “When I was last in Montana in dragon form, I flew over the mountaintop Ashley mentioned. There’s plenty of room to land our plane.”
Billy looked at the phone’s keypad. “What time should I tell her?”
“Probably late morning to midday tomorrow.”
“Can’t we fly all night?” Billy asked. “We can take turns.”
His father shook his head. “We’ll fly as far as we can tonight and finish in the morning. I don’t want to land on that mountain in the dark.”
“Got it.” He punched the numeral nine and raised the phone to his ear. “But if what I hear about Sapphira is true, she could light up that mountain like it was daytime.”