The Reluctant Amazon (Alliance of the Amazons) (6 page)

Trying to block his troubled thoughts, Artair stood before the
entrance, spoke the sacred words in Gaelic and, with a loud creak, the gates
swung open.

With a bow and a sweeping gesture of his arm, he said, “Welcome
to Avalon.”

Chapter Six

“Avalon?” Rebecca asked as she followed Artair through
the gate.

“Aye. King Arthur’s haven, where he went to his final rest.
’Tis a fitting name for our home.”

Fitting indeed.
The fresh smell of
the trees and flowers filled her senses. She wiggled her toes in the moist
grass, somehow drawing strength from the simple action.

The squeal of tires drew her attention back to the van. The
rust bucket receded in the distance with only one taillight glowing bright. She
squelched a comment about how poorly these supposed goddesses provided for their
charges. They might have at least coughed up a vehicle made in this century.

In the moonlight, Artair grinned, looking entirely too
appealing. “’Tis a sorry piece of equipment, I ken. But it doesn’t draw the
attention of something finer. We’ve nae need to show off. Amazons best go
through the world unnoticed.”

“And it’s got a Hemi,” Sparks added. “It’s what’s on the inside
that counts. Just like a Twinkie.”

“Or an Oreo.” Megan grinned.

Rebecca couldn’t smile at their teasing, even though she felt
their good humor, just as she did Megan’s pleasure with their new home.

The fact Artair could know her thoughts so easily and so well
was destroying any peace of mind she’d tried to grasp after her disgraceful
display of anxiety.

She still couldn’t believe she’d thrown up in front of
everyone. That might have been her typical response to stress when she was a
child, but thanks to her Aunt Kay’s coaxing and soothing, she’d learned to
control herself better over the years. If she was truly destined to be some sort
of superhero, she probably shouldn’t be vomiting at the first sign of danger.
Superman never blew chunks when he saw Lex Luther. Batman didn’t cringe with
fear when he faced the Joker. No, those heroes all had courage to spare.

Wishing for a moment Megan didn’t look so damned composed,
Rebecca asked, “Who’s driving the van now?”

“It’s enchanted,” Sparks replied. “It mostly drives itself, but
I imagine Beagan or Dolan is putting it away. They’re a couple of caretakers who
keep an eye on things. Nice guys. Kinda short. They sneak around a bunch, but…”
She shrugged. “Thanks to them, stuff that needs doing gets done. The laundry.
The cooking. You want something—” She pointed to her temple. “—just think about
it, and they’ll make sure you get it.”

“I don’t have to ask them?” Rebecca asked, not entirely sure
she understood. “You mean, I just think I want lobster for dinner, and,
voila,
I get it?” She glanced down at her dress. “If I
want new clothes, I can find one of the caretakers and he’ll get me some? I
figured I’d just go home and pack up my—”

“You
are
home, lass,” Artair
interrupted. “You won’t be going back. Ever.”

Rebecca wanted to throw something heavy at his arrogant
Scottish head. He didn’t understand how much some of her things meant to her or
he wouldn’t expect her to abandon all of it, to just walk away from her life.
Her awards, her pictures, the finger paintings her students had given her.

My students!
They needed her. She
needed them. “But I have to go back. What about my kindergarteners?”

“They shall have to manage without you,” Artair said with a
shrug of casual dismissal. “You have more important duties now.”

Easy for him to say. He hadn’t been a substitute for two years
until a teaching position came open. He wasn’t the one the other teachers would
be gossiping about, nor was he the one who would miss those kids she loved so
much. “That’s not fair. I’m supposed to walk away and give up everything I love?
My house? My car? My friends? Just like that? Stop being Rebecca Massee and
start being some—some—Amazon?”

“Aye.”

She looked around for something to throw.

“Let’s get back to the caretakers giving us anything we want,”
Megan said, rubbing her palms together. “All we have to do is think about
something?”

“Wish and you shall receive,” Sparks replied with a nod. “At
least within reason. And there’s no need to hunt the little guys down. Come to
think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen either of them more than a dozen times in
all the years I’ve been doing this. Of course, they’re changelings. You know,
shape-shifters. So I might’ve been looking right at them and never known it.
Watch for rabbits. That’s what they like to be most of the time.”

“Beagan and Dolan?” Rebecca asked, hoping she had the names
right and trying to ponder how people could turn into rabbits.

“Aye,” Artair replied. “Beagan and Dolan. You just ask them if
you require anything, but I don’t think lobster is
required.
”

Gods, goddesses, demigods. Now shape-shifting servants. Things
just kept getting more and more complicated. “What is this place?” she asked
Artair, trying to focus on what she could see.

“A home where we can all enjoy a wee respite from malevolence.”
The gates closed behind them with a resounding clank. “’Tis always spring in
Avalon. You won’t find a place more beautiful.”

The moonlight dimmed as the group headed toward a thick grove
of trees. It all but disappeared when they walked under the canopy of leaves.
Artair took the lead, taking long, purposeful strides as Sparks and Megan fell
in behind. With a resigned sigh, Rebecca joined their ranks, hoping she didn’t
rub up against any poison ivy or step on something sharp. They weaved their way
through the maze of low-hanging branches and undergrowth. After several minutes
of beating a path, the number of trees began to thin, the moonlight returned,
and a large camp came into sight.

She hadn’t formed any pictures in her head about what her new
home would look like. She didn’t know whether to be thrilled or disappointed.
Rustic
was the only word that came to mind.

I’m giving up a three-bedroom Cape Cod for
this?

There were several small cabins and one rather large building
that was probably some kind of mess hall. Off to one side sat an enormous area
much like a sand court people used for volleyball games. Glancing to the other
side of the compound, she gawked at a large tower constructed of enormous logs.
Just the sight of it brought a painful memory bubbling back to the surface.

Her boss had wanted to encourage teamwork amongst the teaching
staff, so he’d sent all the teachers to a day camp where they scaled what the
guide called a “victory tower.” Climbing ropes was the only way up and
rappelling a vertical wall the only way down. Deathly afraid of heights her
whole life, Rebecca had fretted through the whole horrifying exercise. Now, it
appeared history would repeat itself, and she would disgrace herself on this
tower just as she had on that damned victory tower.

She looked at the three people who would share this camp with
her. Sparks and Megan stood yards away, thick as thieves and deep in
conversation. That bond was already unbreakable. Fire and Fire. She could
actually feel the strengthening camaraderie between them.

Exactly where did she fit in?

Watching Artair, she hoped for some kind of reassurance but
wasn’t sure why she needed his comfort so much. Her fears slipped out of her
mouth before she could censor herself. “I’m not an Amazon.” She glanced back to
the tower. “I can’t do this.”

“Aye, lass. You can.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Nay, Becca. I
do
understand. ’Tis
you who needs to get a grip on your fears. You wouldn’t have been called if you
couldn’t do the job.”

“But—”

He shook his head as he put a strong hand on her shoulder.
“Give it time. I ken ’tis much to gather in all at once.”

With a heavy sigh, she nodded, thinking the man was acting
bi-polar. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. It was enough to make her want to scream, which
she almost did when he startled her by yelling at the other women.

“Sparks! Megan! Get your arses over here!”

As the women jogged back to them, he started the tour. With a
sweep of his arm, he gestured to the cabins. “Each of you shall have a cabin to
yourself. You may sleep there, but you will spend most of your time there,” he
inclined his head toward the sandpit, “and there.” His nod at the tower made
Rebecca’s stomach start to churn again. “You’ll take your meals in the mess
hall, which we also use for classes. You’ll learn history. Geography.
Mythology.”

“There aren’t any showers in the cabins,” Sparks grumbled. “The
shower room’s behind the mess hall. You’d think we’d at least get our own damn
showers. I finally quit wishing for them years ago.” She shrugged.

Rebecca glanced down at her destroyed wedding dress, realized
her boobs were about to pop out again, and jerked the bodice up. “I’ll have to
get some clothes. Kinda hard to learn to fight zombies in this.”

Artair stared right at her chest.

She flushed warm in response.

“’Twould be a might skimpy,” he said. “Mayhaps it would
distract a few revenants.”

“I thought you said revenants were dead. You know,
zombies.”

“Aye, they’re dead. And they’d have to be not to take notice of
your charms.”

Her face was on fire.

“New clothes will be in yer cabin. Each warrior’s provided for
by her goddess. Becca, your goddess is Rhiannon. She is—”

“She is
here
to see her Sentinel
and her new warrior,” a feminine voice purred with a proper British accent from
behind Artair.

He whirled around and thumped his right fist against the left
side of his chest over his heart in some kind of salute.

Glancing toward the voice, Rebecca gasped. An incredibly tall,
graceful woman with strawberry-blond hair that fell in long, loose curls past
her tiny waist stood before them. Her beauty and regal bearing took Rebecca’s
breath away, making her even more conscious of just how pathetically disheveled
she was. As if her looks could ever compete with a goddess.

Large green eyes that seemed to shine set off a slender, oval
face with creamy white skin. She was garbed in a medieval-style gown of gold
satin with long, flowing sleeves trimmed in red fox fur. Her elegant skirt
draped the ground like a wedding dress with a short train.

The goddess reached out to caress Artair’s broad shoulder and
Rebecca had to swallow a flash of jealousy. Rhiannon’s gaze shifted from Artair
to Rebecca as her hand slid across Artair’s chest to rest on his other shoulder,
pausing only a moment to touch the silver broach pinned to the plaid covering
his heart.

“Becca,” he said, “this is Rhiannon, the Earth Amazon’s
goddess.”

Rhiannon’s shining eyes framed by long, brown lashes regarded
her new Amazon. “I bid you welcome, Rebecca Massee. You, my dear, are my newest
warrior, and this is your new home. Your
aunt,
my
priestess Kaylista, sends her best and promises to care for your pet.”

Rebecca blinked a couple of times, trying to absorb what the
goddess said. She had a horrible notion that she was being judged. Feeling
nothing short of inadequate, she wanted to run and hide in one of the cabins.
Instead, she squared her shoulders, smoothed her hand over her tattered dress
and raised her chin. “Thank you. I’m sorry I don’t know etiquette when
addressing a goddess. I should probably curtsey or something.”

Rhiannon glanced down at Rebecca’s clothing, her hand still
casually draped over Artair’s shoulder. “I fear that your
dress
will fall away should you dare try. Nay, you need not curtsey.
You are an Amazon. You are Earth. You bow to no one.”

“What should I call you?” Rebecca asked. “My lady? Your
highness?”

Sparks chuckled and elbowed Megan. “Get ready for it,” she
whispered, just loud enough for Rebecca to catch. “Here comes the spiel.”

A smile crossed Rhiannon’s lips, and she drew her hand away
from Artair. Her divine chin lifted with a haughty air. “I’m called by many,
many names. Goddess of the Isle. Divine Queen. The Lady of the Lake. Guardian of
Excalibur. Patroness of the great King Arthur. Protectorate of Avalon. I prefer
Rhiannon. You may address me as such.”

“Yet, I call her ‘Mischief,’” another feminine voice with a
slight Scandinavian inflection called from behind Megan. “A fitting name for
someone who seems to court trouble so readily.”

This was another goddess—no other explanation would suffice for
the beauty of the woman who had spoken. Blond hair so light it appeared white
flowed from the tall woman in a cascade of curls that reached her hips. Her
dress was of a similar style as Rhiannon’s, but was made of sky-blue velvet and
trimmed in silver fur. She strode to the center of their circle and let her gaze
fall on each face, one by one.

Sparks was having a hard time standing still. Small flicks of
fire sprang from her fingertips. “Freya, I’m glad to see you.”

The goddesses nodded at Sparks. “And I am happy to see you
looking so well, Frida. You have grown more beautiful with age, as a good Fire
should.”

More bits of flame popped from Sparks’s hands as gray smoke
rose from the crown of her head. “Thank you.”

Artair swept his hand out to Freya. “Megan, this is Freya, the
Norse goddess who endows Fire Amazons with their powers.”

Freya stepped up to Megan. “I bid you welcome, Megan Feuer. You
follow a long line of strong warriors, the strongest of all Amazons. I have
waited patiently for you to be called.”

“I’ll be the best you’ve had,” came Megan’s cocky reply.

A laugh escaped Freya’s lips, sounding like the tinkling of
bells.

“You are worthy to be called Fire. Aye, you
shall
be my best ever. You were born to be.” The
goddess smiled at Megan. “Aye, you will be magnificent.”

Freya moved to Rebecca, and that urge to flee ran roughshod
again. Stubbornly standing her ground, her knees had to be knocking loud enough
for all of them to hear.