The Reluctant Amazon (Alliance of the Amazons) (9 page)

After the wave of nausea subsided, she turned back, hoping to
return before anyone noticed she’d left. She collided with Sparks.

“Sorry.” She backed up a few paces, a bit chagrined that the
older Amazon hadn’t even budged an inch when Rebecca had plowed into her.

“That was brave.” Sparks handed her a peppermint, and then she
fished a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, tapped one out and lit it with
her thumb. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well…” Rebecca inclined her head back to the trees.
“It’s not brave to almost barf when you’re afraid.”

“It’s brave to do something that terrifies you to keep someone
you care about safe. You and Megan are sisters now, aren’t you?”

Rebecca nodded without hesitation. She and Megan were like
night and day, sweet and sour. Just like real sisters—different, yet still so
much alike.

“You proved it on that tower.” Sparks drew a deep pull from her
cigarette and blew the smoke out in a slim stream. “I might be wrong about you.
You just might make an Amazon yet.”

“Gee, thanks. I think.”

“Let’s see how you do when I shoot you.”

“Excuse me?” Rebecca screeched.

“Artair’s getting a gun. I’m gonna shoot you both a few times
so you won’t be afraid of bullets.” Sparks smirked. “I almost peed my pants the
first time my Guardian aimed a revolver at me.”

“You’re insane. I’m not going to let you shoot me.”

But Rebecca did. Though Artair had to spend a good ten minutes
bellowing at her to get her to stand still. After listening to his badgering,
death would be easier to take than another agonizing lecture.

She and Megan stood holding hands while Sparks loaded and aimed
Megan’s pistol. Rebecca tried to draw on Megan’s strength, but her sister’s
normal cockiness had vanished.

“What do Indians always say? Oh, yeah. ‘Today is a good day to
die,’” Megan said with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, well… I don’t think
any
day’s a good day to die. But it appears I don’t have a choice.” Rebecca threw a
glower at Artair. “Isn’t Sparks supposed to be Guardian? I don’t think our
Guardian should murder us.”

“Would you feel better if Artie killed us?”

Rebecca squeezed Megan’s hand, sending the strength of their
connection to her sister. “Let’s just consider this our swan song as Amazons.
You know—going out in a blaze of glory.” She started to hum the Jon Bon Jovi
song of the same title.

Megan chuckled, regaining her aplomb.

“Ready?” Sparks asked, shifting her aim between her two
targets. “Who gets it first? Shoulder or chest? Either of you have a
preference?”

“Shoot the gun,” Artair barked. “Keeping them waiting is worse
than the deed.”

Rebecca gave Megan’s hand another squeeze and closed her eyes.
The first crack of gunfire made them fly back open.

The shot hit Megan in the chest. She jerked as she stumbled
back. Rebecca waited for blood to soak her shirt, but it never did.

Megan brushed her hands over her breasts. “You missed!” Then
her fingers found the hole in her T-shirt. Reaching up under the shirt, she
poked her finger out of the bullet hole. “I guess you
didn’t
miss.” She whipped her shirt over her head. A large red welt
was forming on her tanned chest, but the bullet hadn’t penetrated her skin.
“Holy shit.”

The second shot reverberated in the air before Rebecca could
even prepare herself. Her shoulder hurt as if someone had just given her an
extraordinarily strong poke with a bony finger. “Damn! That smarts!” Running her
hand over her shoulder, a finger slipped in a hole. The bullet fell from the
shirt onto the grass. Rebecca picked up the small piece of hot metal.

Sparks came striding over, looking horribly pleased with
herself. “Told you. Bullets can’t pierce your skin. They sting like a son of a
bitch and leave some nasty bruises, but only blades and arrows can truly hurt
you. Oh, and revenants.” She pulled the collar of her shirt aside to show a scar
where her neck met her shoulder that appeared to have been made by a row of
jagged teeth.

Rebecca stared at the scar, glanced back at the bullet and was
grateful she’d eaten a light lunch. “It’s so small.”

“The scar?” Sparks asked, crooking her neck and turning to try
to look at her own shoulder. She reminded Rebecca of a cat trying to chase its
own tail.

Artair came over to stand next to Rebecca. She resisted the
urge to lean on him for support, moral and physical.

“No. The bullet.” Pinching it between her index finger and
thumb, Rebecca held it up for them to see. “How can something so tiny cause so
much damage?”

“It goes in small,” Megan said, “but…coming out is a mess.” She
shrugged in nonchalance that Rebecca knew Fire didn’t feel. “It’s why I stopped
being a cop.”

“A cop? You were a cop?” Her eyes had to be as big as saucers.
Artair and Sparks didn’t seem to be suffering the same surprise.

Megan nodded. “For a couple of years.”

For the first time since she’d met Megan, Rebecca caught
something close to vulnerability. Perhaps having a friend taking potshots at you
with your own gun could cause some maudlin reflections.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rebecca asked.

“No.” Megan dropped her chin. “Maybe a little.”

Sparks pulled out two cigarettes. Handing one to Megan, Sparks
shot a small flame from her thumb. Megan leaned in to light her cigarette before
Sparks touched the end of her own to the fire. “Then talk.”

“Some stupid kid got caught holding up a convenience store. I
told Jimmy not to…” The cigarette Megan cradled between her fingers shook just
enough to betray her feelings. “My partner was a hotheaded jerk. He wouldn’t
listen to me.” She flicked some ashes on the ground. “Two shots to the chest.
The kid was dead before he hit the ground. I turned in my badge the next day… I
don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“So I’ve got a kindergarten teacher and a cop.” Sparks took a
pull on her cigarette then blew the smoke out.

Rebecca coughed and fanned the air with her hand to clear the
haze.

Sparks gave her a lopsided grin. “Smoke bother you?”

“Would it matter?”

“No.” Sparks chuckled before she coughed a couple of times. A
few long moments passed before she confessed, “I was a flapper.”

Rebecca laughed before she could stop herself.

A small burst of red fireworks shot from the top of Sparks’s
head.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “I’m just… A flapper? An
honest-to-God
flapper?
”

“Twenty-three skidoo.” Sparks smirked. “I even did a little
bootlegging.”

It was Megan’s turn to laugh. “Well, how about that. Did you
know Al Capone?”

“Spilled some gin on him once. He was nice about it. Though
most of the time, he was a mean son of a bitch. I can’t tell you how many of my
friends were scared to death of him. But then I got the call. Artair here,” she
nodded at the Sentinel, “came walking in the speakeasy with Helen at his side
and hauled me out. Can you believe it? And he was wearing that same damn kilt
and sword. He scared the piss out of the worst of the worst.” She chuckled
again. “A couple of the guys thought he was taking me when I didn’t want to go,
and the Celt had to bang a few heads together. How many did you put on the
floor?”

“I cannot remember.”

“Trust me. It was more than a handful. Then he introduced me to
Helen and brought me here.”

Rebecca waited for Sparks to say more, but the well of words
had run dry. At least she was opening up. Since the night Sparks had seen Artair
kiss her, her mentor seemed angry. The only mention she’d ever made of the event
was when she was trying to tweak Artair’s temper.

Artair.
If he went to get Sparks,
that made him—

Damn, he had to be over a hundred years old. But he was so
handsome, he didn’t even appear to have hit forty yet. Just how old was the
Sentinel?

And how old was Sparks? A flapper? That meant that she was at
least—

Good God.
How old did Amazons live
to be, assuming they didn’t get killed by some demig or revenant?

Rebecca’s mind swam. She glanced at Megan who, as usual, seemed
to be taking the whole thing in stride.

She turned her mind to weightier thoughts. “How will we
know?”

Sparks arched an eyebrow. “Know? Know what?”

“When it’s time to fight. How will we know when the bad guy is
making his move?”

“Because people start to disappear.” Sparks’s expression grew
tight, hard. “And then people start to die. Lots of people.”

Megan’s asked, “Why disappear first?”

Artair was the one to answer. “Demigs need followers. They
brainwash eager people, gullible people, to be priests and priestesses. The
demig trains some of them to be necromancers, to control the dead. People who
don’t bow to them are killed and become revenants.”

Sparks nodded. “Some demigs—hell, even some gods and
goddesses—only think of humans in terms of controlling them. The one who
controls the most wins the game. For this round. Some of the Ancients wouldn’t
mind if they snapped their fingers and every person on the face of the Earth
died. They wanna create new dimensions, harness new powers, cure themselves of
their boredom. Some like the thrill of having people follow them.” She sighed.
“They’ve never come after us before.”

“Seriously?” Megan asked.

“Most of the baddies give us wide berth. Until now.” Sparks
took a long drag on her cigarette before exhaling with a small cough. “Maria is
dead. Someone got to her. I can’t find Trishna or Helen. I know they’re alive,
but I can’t protect them if I can’t locate them. Damn right, they’re coming
after us. We’ll have to be on constant guard.”

“And you’ll be ready,” Artair added.

Since Artair had led her away from her wedding, Rebecca had
been repeatedly wrestled to the ground, bashed with a sword, thrown down a wall,
almost strangled by a zombie, and shot.

How much worse could it get?

Chapter Eight

Rebecca threw herself belly-down on the bunk. She
didn’t care if Artair shouted at her about lying down while the sun was still
up. Every muscle in her body ached.

Damn, has it really been three
weeks?
Twenty days. She’d been so busy, she might have lost track
somewhere. Maybe she needed to start tallying hash marks on one of the cabin
walls like some prisoner locked up for a long stint at Alcatraz. At least Sparks
wasn’t shooting at her anymore.

Thanks to Beagan and Dolan, Rebecca didn’t want for anything.
Fresh workout clothes always appeared at the foot of her bed each evening. A
bottle of liniment showed up after particularly horrid workout sessions. A
handful of Hershey’s Kisses waited on her pillow right before she went to sleep.
The changelings also made sure her hurricane lamp was lit every night because
Artair wouldn’t allow them to use electricity, claiming it would make the
Amazons soft.

She’d quickly fallen in love with the two changelings. They
never failed to leave behind things she might not have needed but truly desired.
Her favorite lilac soap. Well-broken-in flannel sheets. Slippers shaped like
Tweety Bird. Cherry Coke.

Wanting to thank them, she would pick wildflowers, make small
bouquets or weave them into crowns, and leave them on her pillow. She wasn’t
sure how they felt about the gifts, but her offerings were always gone whenever
she returned, usually replaced with more Kisses. Yet, their faces remained a
mystery. She did, however, see two brown rabbits hopping around the Avalon
compound quite often.

A few days into their training, Megan had asked why in the hell
they lived in rustic cabins with no amenities when they were supposed to be
superheroes who were being taken care of by powerful goddesses. Artair hadn’t
even blinked before he backed Megan up against a tree and proceeded to bellow at
her until it made both Sparks and Rebecca cringe. After that, Megan had enjoyed
hours of moving heavy rocks from one end of the compound to another.

That night, Sparks had sat the new Amazons down for a long
talk. She’d told them how Artair had trained soldiers just about forever. Good
men. Fantastic warriors. Yet his Amazons were beyond compare. To him, discipline
was every bit as important as skill. Yes, the goddesses provided for their basic
needs, but their Sentinel wouldn’t allow the deities to pamper any Amazon.
Coddling would get them killed. He was trying to make them formidable fighters,
and to do so, the goddesses gave him a free hand.

Sparks also told them he was so much more than any other
Sentinel who came before. The Sentinel was the one to “clean up” after any
supernatural happenings—like a revenant fight. Past Sentinels would come in
after the battle and do their voodoo to cleanse the witnesses of memories they
wouldn’t want anyway.

Not Artair. Where the Amazons went, he led the way. He never
hesitated to put himself between a charge and a foe. Appreciating his
dedication, neither Rebecca nor Megan questioned his methods again.

With a groan, Rebecca rolled to her back. Sitting up she yanked
off her shoes and socks before flopping back on the bed. Was there a single
muscle in her body that didn’t ache or a single inch of skin that wasn’t
bruised?
No wonder.
After breakfast came a long run,
several miles at least. The run was followed by weapons training or hand-to-hand
combat with Artair, Sparks or Megan throwing her on the grass or in the sand
with pathetic frequency. She just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. Her feet
were too slow, her instincts poor. Megan, much to Rebecca’s shame, threw Sparks
on her ass after the first week. The new Fire hadn’t taken down Artair yet, but
she drew closer every day.

This afternoon, for the first time, Rebecca had actually
mastered a hip throw that dropped Sparks. Sparks had congratulated her as
Rebecca helped her back to her feet. High fives were exchanged by all the
Amazons, but their celebrating only sent Artair into a drill sergeant rage.
After roaring at her for being the slowest progressing Amazon he’d ever taught,
he’d challenged her to a match. Twenty seconds later, he had her on her back,
straddling her waist as he pinned her arms over her head.

While under him was a place she desperately wanted to be, she
couldn’t enjoy it with all the company surrounding them. As he knelt over her
where he’d dropped her to the grass, growling at what he probably thought was
her continuing ineptitude, all she could think about was how handsome he
was.

“You’re an idiot,” she grumbled to herself. The more time she
spent around the Sentinel, the worse her fascination became. Images constantly
bombarded her. Artair wielding his sword as a warrior of old. Artair pressing
his body intimately against her back as he tried to show her the way to balance
a heavy weapon or shoot a bow. Artair standing with his hands settled on her
hips, helping her learn a proper martial arts stance. Who would have thought
learning to kill zombies could be so damned erotic?

His masculine scent. That perfect body looking as good in
workout clothes as it did in his kilt. And that kiss. That all-consuming,
toe-curling kiss.

Closing her eyes, Rebecca tried unsuccessfully to drown out her
troubling thoughts. No matter how much she felt for him, no matter how much
deeper she knew those feelings could go, Artair wasn’t a possibility. She
counted the reasons she should stop wanting him.

One.
He was the Amazon Sentinel and
had been forbidden to become involved with a charge.

Two.
The goddess Rhiannon had more
than a casual interest in him and would punish them both should Rebecca act on
her attraction.

“Three, he’s way too good-looking for me,” she whispered.

“Who’s too good-looking for you?”

Rebecca sat up with a start, finding Megan standing right
inside the door and smiling as though she’d shot a score of arrows through a
bull’s eye.

“Never mind.” She hauled her weary body off the bunk.

“I’d get up too, if I were you, Rebs. You don’t want Artie
finding you lying around when it’s still light out. He’ll chew your ass. And
tell me, who’s too good-looking? We’re sisters now. We’re supposed to share
everything.” Her blue eyes grew wide. “You mean Artie, don’t you?” She slapped
her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course. Who else could you be
talking about?”

Waving her hand in dismissal, Rebecca set about tidying her
bed. She wanted to tidy herself as well, but there wasn’t a mirror in the whole
damned compound. After nightly showers, she simply brushed the unruly blond hair
then plaited it into a braid. The only time her hair was unbound was during a
shower. She hadn’t bothered to wish for make-up and had stopped thinking about
mirrors when her first few wishes to have one had gone unfulfilled. It seemed
that seeing for herself how ragged she must look was one request Beagan and
Dolan could not grant.

Megan plopped down on the bunk. “Artie was pissed you didn’t
even nudge him an inch during hand-to-hand. Sparks thinks he’ll probably add
some miles to our run.”

“I’m sorry, Megan. I tried. I really tried. I might as well be
trying to move this cabin for all the good I’m doing.” After pulling her
grass-stained shirt over her head, she folded it and laid it on the bed before
grabbing the clean one the changelings had left for her. She put two of the
toffees they’d left behind on the dirty shirt, hoping they knew she didn’t have
time to do anything else today.

“I see how hard you’re trying, so no need to apologize. Sparks
says you’re getting better. Artie’s yet to dish out anything we can’t take. I’m
not positive, but I think we did five miles yesterday, and we weren’t even that
winded. Shit, before you know it, we’ll be triathletes.” She fell back on the
bed and stared at the ceiling. “When do you think we’ll fight revenants again?
Sparks thinks it’ll be soon. I’m itching to have a go at them. Especially now
that I’m stronger. That bar fight was a blast.”

“I’m not ready to see them again,” Rebecca replied. “The smell
alone is enough to make me sick.”

Megan’s laugh filled the cabin. “They do smell pretty rotten,
don’t they? Sparks thinks we should round up some threes if we can find any and
practice on them. You know, behead them. Run a sword through them. Learn to
knock out enough brains with a bow and arrow to drop them. We need to get our
hands dirty. Sparks says that if they’re threes, they don’t fight back too hard,
and they don’t scream much.”

Rebecca couldn’t stop the shudder at the idea of running a
sword through anyone, even if the person was already dead. And what if they
did
scream? Shit, she couldn’t even boil live
lobsters without crying. “I hope Sparks is wrong.”

“Sparks thinks it’ll help you get, you know, tougher.” Megan
sat up and locked gazes with Rebecca. “I know this stuff isn’t easy for
you.”

“To say the least.”

“I can help. We could practice in our free time. Sparks said
she’d help too.”

Rebecca snorted a laugh then realized how rude she’d sounded.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the idea of free time.
We’ve still got our run, and Artair’s probably going to make us move rocks
again.”

Flexing her biceps, Megan smiled. “Yeah, but look at these
guns.”

It wasn’t just her arms. Rebecca had noticed all of the changes
in Megan. Over the weeks they’d been training, the woman had grown as sleek and
solid as a panther.

Wondering if she had shed some of the layer of padding she’d
always had on her hips and thighs, Rebecca ran her hands over her hips. The
sweats she wore did seem a bit roomier. She flexed her biceps, wondering if it
was as firm as Megan’s.

“You look great, Rebs. You know, Sparks thinks—”

“Megan?”

“Um?”

“I’m tired of hearing what Sparks thinks. I know you two are
tight, but…enough.”

Megan chuckled. “Fire and Fire. But she’s getting on my nerves
since Artair told the changelings to stop getting her cigarettes. She’s a bitch
when she hasn’t had her nicotine. Hey, wanna go practice hand-to-hand? Maybe I
can help you knock Sparks down again.”

“Yeah, we might as well since—”

She turned to see Artair standing in her cabin, leaning
casually against the doorframe with his arms folded over his broad chest. How in
the hell had he come inside without a single sound?

“Megan,” he ordered, “get yer arse off that bunk and leave, or
you’ll be moving rocks ’til dawn.”

“Sure thing, Artie.” Megan bounced off the bed, grabbed one of
the toffees from the end table and popped it in her mouth.

“Goodbye, Megan,” Artair growled.

She gave Rebecca a goofy wave. “Remember, I’ll work with you
anytime you want.”

“Thanks, sis,” Rebecca replied, causing Artair to arch an
eyebrow. “Well, we are sisters aren’t we?”

“Aye. ’Tis good to know you think so.”

Megan ducked around Artair and out the door.

Artair didn’t come all the way inside, but stood in the doorway
staring at her.

Rebecca felt the heat rising on her cheeks. The man could throw
her into a tizzy without uttering a word.

Her nervousness made her ramble. “Well? What do you want? Do
you have some more trash cans for me to scrub? Want to throw me on my
arse
a few more times? Want to tell me how much I suck
at being a fighter?”

“Lass, I didn’t—”

“Oh, yes, you did,” she interrupted. “Every damn day. I don’t
move fast enough. I can’t learn the takedowns or drop any of you. I can’t hit
the broad side of a barn with my bow. My arrows always end up in the grass or
hitting a tree. I can’t run as fast as Megan and Sparks. What else? What else
can’t
I do?” She choked back her anger, not
wanting to hear any more about her inadequacies.

“You cannot seem to be quiet when you should.” The teasing
smile on his face took the sting out of the words.

“I’m sorry.” She fussed about the room—straightening things
that didn’t need straightening. As she reached out to add a couple more toffees
to the two she left for Beagan and Dolan, Artair’s hand covered hers. She hadn’t
heard him move close and gasped in surprise.

“Are you sorry, Becca?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you sorry you came to Avalon?” There was no compassion in
his voice.

“I’m
not
sorry,” she snapped before
softening her tone. “I miss my students, though. And I miss my friends. I wonder
what they think happened to me.”

“The goddesses worked a bit of their magic. Those who would
miss you are comforted and accept the loss without sadness. Their memories of
you will soon fade away to nothing.”

Rebecca nodded, not horribly reassured by the notion that the
people she’d left behind went on with their lives and would never truly remember
her. Only her Aunt Kay would know Rebecca Massee had ever been a part of the
world.

“I’ve come to offer you help.”

“Help?” Her voice quivered. She could smell him, could feel the
incredible heat of his big hand as it covered hers. His fingers laced through
hers, and he turned her to face him.

“Help. I can train you alone after supper. We can practice
Earth’s powers. ’Tis time you learned them.”

“I thought Rhiannon and Helen were supposed to teach me those.”
The cabin’s temperature was swiftly climbing. He smelled so masculine, so
enticing. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing those incredible forearms.
She wouldn’t look in his eyes, knowing she would be lost if she dared.

“Aye, well, Rhiannon is busy. And Sparks hasn’t been able to
find Helen.”

“She’s still missing?”

His fingers squeezed hers. “She isn’t dead, but Sparks cannae
longer feel her as she can Trishna. Rhiannon can’t find her, either. ’Tis
upsetting. There may be need to fight soon, and you aren’t ready. We need to
move you along quicker.”