He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) (32 page)

The explosion! She tried to sit up. Her head broke apart into fiery pieces, just like the yacht. With a gasp, she lay carefully down again.

“Not feeling quite the thing?” The voice sounded so far away.

Drew moved her eyes toward the voice down at her feet. Even that much movement hurt. Rhiannon sat smoking a cigarette in a cone of light at the dining table of
The Purgatory
. Drew was on Michael’s boat. She was lying on the sofa that formed the long side of the dining seating.
Her sweater was soggy
,
her slacks were wet
. She was barefoot.

“I’ve been better,” she managed.

“We’ll have a doc check you out when we get to Jamaica. We can fly direct out of Kingston. Faster.”

“Faster for what?”

“Let’s just say you have a whole new career ahead of you. Futures to see, people to meet. And I need to get a sword to Chicago.” She took a drag on her cigarette and blew out a channel of smoke. It swirled in the cone of light. She looked like a painting. Not real. In fact all of this seemed just a little distant as though Drew was watching it all from far away.

“Where are....” she almost said her family. Maybe that wasn’t smart. If Rhiannon were part of the Clan that had attacked Tris and Maggie, Drew wouldn’t want her to know that more Tremaines had been on that boat. “Where are the others?” she amended. She had to be careful here.
Hard, because her brain felt like sludge when her headache wasn’t throbbing at her.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about them.” Rhiannon tittered. “Who were they anyway? Derelict friends of Dowser?”

“I ... I wouldn’t call them derelict,” she said.

“I was lucky you were aft. Or you were.”

Drew tried to think. Hadn’t they all been aft? No. Her father had been at the wheel. Kemble had been crawling up the mast to get a better look with the binoculars. Tris ... Tris had gone below to look for a launch.

Tears welled into her eyes. Could any of them have survived? She wanted to call her power immediately. She had to see them in the future and know they were okay. But she couldn’t. There was the sludgy brain factor. But she also couldn’t let Rhiannon know jack about her family or her abilities. Jeez.
Know jack?
She sounded like Michael.

Michael. He’d been fighting Rhiannon’s thugs. That meant he’d ditched the plan to work for Rhiannon, or maybe she’d ditched him after he found the sword. He wasn’t with her now. Sometime while she’d been out, the connection to Michael had been broken again. She couldn’t feel him at all. Was he dead? Dared she ask? She couldn’t think.

That was dangerous. Better say nothing. She tried to still the panic in her chest.

“You need some water, honey?” Rhiannon got up, tittering again. “Not that you haven’t probably had your fill of water. You look like a drowned rat.” She filled a glass from the sink, her back to Drew, and brought it over. “Drink this.”

Drew managed to lift her head and get up on one elbow
in spite of the splitting pain in her head. She reached for the glass but her hand was shaking. Rhiannon obligingly held it for her. The water tasted good, if a little metallic. She handed back the glass, gasping a little.

“It was the sword that hit us, wasn’t it? Not the lighting.” Even her own voice sounded distant, drowned out by the singing in her ears.

“Oh, it surely was, honey.” Rhiannon looked
jubliant
. “That is one kick-ass Talisman. Of course it can only be used by the most powerful of magicians. But then, that would be me, wouldn’t it? Second to no one but Morgan.”
Her grin was so self-satisfied
,
Drew wanted to smack her
. “She’s going to be the most powerful person in the world, one day. And I’ll be right by her side.” Rhiannon leaned against the sink as
The Purgatory
’s
motors churned on toward Jamaica, and drew another drag on her cigarette. The smoke was cloying in the close room.

“How did the Sword of
Gwenydd
get here?” she asked, to keep Rhiannon talking.

Rhiannon laughed. “That’s a good one. Apparently Queen Elizabeth wanted to get it out of England before the Spanish Armada showed up. So she sent one of her pirates, Sir Francis Drake, to hide it. Then he sailed back to burn the ships in the harbor at Cadiz. Delayed the Armada for a whole year.”

Why hadn’t they come back for the sword? Maybe they had lost the location of the island. Her thoughts were getting muddy. What was clear was that, while her parents believed they were part of the path that would change the world for the better, they weren’t the only ones with magic, and not everyone was apparently so anxious about the “better” part. “This Morgan person just wants power for herself?”

“
Natch
.
And those who serve her, of course.
Like you, potentially, if you’re a good little girl and your power
comes
in handy. Not everybody’s power turns out to be useful.” She frowned for a minute and a shadow of regret crossed her face, and was gone. Had Drew imagined it? “We might even go back for the reluctant Finder. Morgan can keep him in line.”

Hope sent a knot into Drew’s throat. “Michael? He’s alive?”

“Oh, he’s your One, isn’t he? Too bad he only wants his dead wife.” She flipped ash into a cereal bowl on the table. “He was alive with two guys after him, and wounded pretty bad. So who knows? I didn’t have time to track him down. Morgan needs this sword stat. If he’s alive when we get back, we’ll see if he can decide to be useful.”

Drew’s mind was making lazy loops. Michael was alive. But he was hurt. How could she get back to him? Her eyelids had gotten heavy. The singing in her ears was louder. She gasped in a little breath. “You drugged me!”

“But yes.” The titter sounded truly distant now. “Easier all the way around.”

And then Drew couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.

*****

Michael was shaking as he took another stroke. The water wasn’t cold. This was the Caribbean. But he was weaker than he’d thought. Tristram, swimming beside him, had that blank look of the desperately tired. The white arch of the hull was maybe thirty yards now. It was floating lower in the water than when they’d first seen it. The other Tremaine was nowhere in sight. Maybe he’d slipped off into the blue deep.
In which case this was all for nothing.

Stroke, kick,
breathe
. Stroke, kick,
breathe
.
You don’t leave a man who’s down
.
Code of the Force.
He wasn’t Force any longer, but some things never leave you.

Tristram must have some powerful shoulders on him, since he couldn’t be helping himself much with his injured leg. Michael should talk. His thigh had long ago stopped feeling like it was on fire. Now it just felt numb.
Maybe not so good.

Tristram started to lag. Uh-oh. “Turn on your back and float,” Michael yelled.

“You first,” Tristram dunked once then managed to get his forward motion going again.

Michael kept on swimming, but now he kept a wary eye on his partner. When Tris went under again, Michael stopped, gasping, and paddled over sluggishly. He reached under and grabbed an arm. Tristram popped to the surface, struggling against his grip.

“I’m good,” he panted.

“Yeah, well, I need a rest.” Michael rolled over on his back, hauling Tristram over too. They lay there, bobbing on the waves and gasping for maybe a minute.

Tristram righted himself. “Okay. Now I’m good.”

Michael didn’t waste strength answering. They struck out. When they reached the fiberglass hull, it was barely sticking out of the water. Michael heaved himself up on it, by kind of walking up the slope of the mostly submerged keel. There was half a boat under the water. The ragged edge was just visible about twenty feet down. Air must have been trapped in the cabins. It was a miracle it was still floating. Kemble was spread-
eagled,
face down, on the far side. Blood soaked his clothes. Michael plunked down, gasping, and reached a hand to Tristram, who scrambled up the smooth fiberglass, dragging his bad leg.

The hull sank lower. Did they have to all
be
such big guys?

When Tristram saw his brother, he came to life and scrambled over the keel. The shift of weight sent the hull rocking. It sank perceptibly. “Kemble.” His voice almost broke. He sat beside his brother and gently turned him over.

To Michael’s surprise, the guy’s eyelids fluttered open. “Hey, Tris,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t think you made it.”

“Back at you.” Tristram ripped Kemble’s shirt. Kemble’s torso had cuts all over it. He looked like a victim of shrapnel like the ones Michael had seen in Afghanistan. Tristram looked up at Michael, pain etched into his expression.

“I’ve seen worse,” Michael said. True. But it was beginning to dawn on him that they were a long way from shore on a sinking boat with a badly injured guy when they weren’t in great shape either.

Michael’s comment drew Kemble’s attention. “Redmond?” he asked, blinking slowly. “What are you doing here?”

“Dowser to you,” Tristram said to his brother. “Father says we need him to find Drew.”

“Drew’s lost?”

Tristram’s face got a look even more glowering. “Damn bitch with the sword took her.”

“Then we’d better get going.” Kemble tried to sit up. Luckily Tristram was there. He caught his brother in his arms when he started to black out.

“Whoa, there,” Tristram said. He looked at Michael, concern and question in his eyes.

“We can float him back to the island. But we need a few minutes rest.”

Tris glanced pointedly to the hull. It was sinking visibly now.

Michael nodded. He was finally getting his breath. But his leg was kind of a swollen dead log on his hip. He and Tristram were matched bookends, and about as useful in this situation. Which was deteriorating.

“We’ll take what time we can.” Michael dragged himself up above Kemble. Tristram followed suit and they pulled Kemble up as far as they could. Sitting on the edge of the keel, Michael stared back toward the island. It looked so close. But it might be too far away to do them any good. Getting Drew back seemed impossible.

Tristram said, “Wish my mother was here.”

That was surprising coming from such a tough guy. “Uh, okay.”

“Well not
here
,” he amended. “She’s not a great swimmer. But on the island.” He looked at Michael. “Drew
tell
you she was a Healer?”

Oh, yeah. “That would come in handy about now.”

“Costs her though. Senior goes crazy worrying about her. She does it anyway. Heals sick kids in Children’s Hospitals around LA as often as she can store up the energy.”

“Still seems strange, all this magic shit.”

“Yeah. I didn’t believe it. I knew about the Parents. But I didn’t think it was for me.”

“Past tense, I see.”

“Yeah. I found Maggie.” He said her name reverently. He glanced over to Michael, suddenly wary. “Hear you got your Finding from a wife who died.”

“That how it happens?”

“Yeah. When you meet your one true love. That’s when the power activates.”

That would be true. He’d only realized he was psychic after meeting Alice.

Tristram looked like he was about to say more, but thought better of it. The hull wheezed and sank lower. Bubbles started bursting up through the water.

“You rested enough, old man?” Tristram asked Michael. He pulled Kemble up.

Michael took a big breath. “Island isn’t getting any closer.”

“And this sucker’s sinking fast.”

Michael slid into the water. “Push him off, I’ll catch him.”

Tristram looked worried, but he pushed Kemble off the hull. “Swim to Dowser,” he ordered. Kemble flailed weakly and Michael caught his arm and pulled.

“Hold my waist,” he yelled, as he rolled to his back. Tris dove off the hull, trying to get as much distance as he could. Kemble grabbed Michael’s waist, and Michael kicked backward. The hull slipped beneath the water. A huge bubble of air broke the surface, roiling the water as the hull started down. Michael felt the tug downward even as the water around them flashed waves over them. His head went under. Kemble was a dead weight, pulling him down. Michael fought upward even as the shadow of the wreckage sank into darkness below them.

Above him a shadow against the sunlit water turned into an arm, reaching down. Tristram grabbed the waist of his cargo pants and pulled.

In a moment all three men were gasping on the surface as they bobbed in the sunlight.

“Shit, howdy,” Tristram coughed.

“That was close,” Michael sputtered.

“Kemble, you okay?” Tristram had his brother by the shoulders and was physically holding him above the waterline as the waves lifted them.

“Yeah,” Kemble said, weakly. “Can we make it?”