“I’m not the only one they’re gunning for,” Conal said, leaning close to the phone. “Siobhan told me she’s going after Branwyn, Aislyn and the Changelings in a New York neighborhood called Beltane. Maeve has loaned me her werewolf troubleshooter, but Helena can’t guard all of us. I was hoping the Magekind could help.”
There was a long, tense pause before the vampire sighed. “Sounds like you need it. I’ll go talk to Arthur. Hang tight and try not to get killed until I call you back.” He hung up.
Helena’s brows rose. “Well, that got their attention.”
“Arthur can be an asshole, but he’s a protective asshole.” With a dry smile, Conal headed for the bar that occupied one corner of the living room. “Does anyone else need a drink? Because after the day I’ve had…”
“Oh, hell yes,” his sisters chorused.
* * *
Helena and the twins sat on the charcoal sectional nursing their drinks -- a Riesling for Aislyn, Scotch for Branwyn, coffee for Helena. Conal, pacing, was about to go for a refill on his Scotch when Liam murmured, “Incoming.”
Sure enough, a gate bloomed open, and Arthur Pendragon stepped through, followed by his pretty blonde witch wife, Guinevere. Bringing up the rear was Adam Parker, Branwyn’s former videographer turned vampire, a big bastard with shoulder-length blond hair and turquoise eyes.
At first glance, the legendary couple could have been mistaken for a pair of thirty-something millennials, clad as they were in jeans and sneakers, her with a peach cotton top, him with a dark blue Henley. The only thing that broke the illusion was the sword Arthur wore buckled around his hips -- Excalibur, radiating magic Conal could feel in his bones like the amps at a rock concert.
The vampire was only about five-ten or so, with a muscular, athletic build. He wore his black hair in a well-trimmed executive’s cut, a short black beard framing the line of his stubborn jaw. Handsome enough, but not necessarily someone you’d look twice at. Until you met those black eyes and saw the Once and Future King staring back at you. Conal had spent more than a century dealing with powerful people, but there was an entirely different quality to Arthur. It wasn’t the sort of power you got from wealth, connections or getting elected. Hell, it wasn’t even born of magic. It was the absolute power of a Dark Ages king born to rule, combined with leadership skills that inspired fanatical loyalty in eleven of the greatest warriors the planet had ever seen. “What the hell did you do to piss off Siobhan?”
“I told her mother she was an abusive bitch who’d threatened to give Maeve’s ten-year-old granddaughter to a troll.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, going icy with rage. “Yeah, that would do it. So what are we going to do about your bunny-boiling ex?”
* * *
Somewhat to Conal’s surprise, Arthur allowed him to gloss over the details of his torture. He was grateful, given that his sisters were listening, though the vampire leader did grill him about every word his captors had said.
“So Warlock’s Wrath is working for Siobhan now?” Warlock had been the cult leader of a faction of werewolf aristocrats, at least until Arthur had killed the asshole a decade or so ago. “How many of the fuckers are there? I mean, you killed…”
“Ten of them. I don’t know how many other Wrathers there are, but they’ve been rent-a-wolfing for the last few years. Raising money for God knows what.”
Arthur glanced at his wife. “Didn’t a gang of mercenary werewolves try to kill that shape-shifting griffin?”
Gwen nodded. “Yeah, a griffin dictator hired them. Our feathered friend turned out to be one big bite more than they could chew.”
“Yeah, time to do something about those hairy assholes. In the meantime, we need to repair some of the damage they did.” He eyed Branwyn. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about an idea I’ve got. Looks like it would solve both our problems.”
She gave him a suspicious stare. “What kind of idea?”
“I’d like you to do a media embed with the Magekind. I’ve been doing interviews with every reporter I can find, but it’s not putting a dent in the public’s paranoia. I was considering taking you along on a couple of missions to show us as people instead of…” Arthur waved his fingers in a whooo gesture. “… aliens, or whatever the fuck they think we are. That might shut up the tinfoil hatters.”
“And discourage the dozen governments that have launched attempts at magical research,” Gwen put in.
Helena snorted. “They can investigate all they want, but it won’t do them any good. There’s no loose magic in this universe for them to detect.”
“You know that, and I know that, but if somebody kidnaps one of my witches, I’m still going to have to get medieval.” Arthur turned back to Branwyn. “Adam could shoot the video, and you could follow us around while we work whatever crisis we’ve got going on. There’s always something. You could do a documentary about our teams, get happy talk from the people we help, and deflate the rumor bubble. Maybe focus on Bill Justice and his wife, since they’re our werewolves. That would take down the temp on the monster thing too.”
Branwyn wasn’t charmed. “Yeah, right. Why me?”
Arthur blinked. “Because you’re one of us?”
Adam and Conal simultaneously winced. Sure enough, she eyed him coldly. “So you think I’ve got a conflict of interest, and you want to use it to manipulate me.”
Arthur’s black brows snapped down. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Uh huh. Look, the military only did embeds during Iran and Afghanistan to control wartime messaging. DCN isn’t a propaganda arm of the US government, and we’re not going to be yours either.”
“So I’m supposed to protect you while you refuse to help me?”
“Oh, we’ll help.” Conal’s hands coiled into frustrated fists as he gave his sister a glower. “I spent five years sleeping with a sociopath to keep you alive.” It was only after he heard the words come out of his mouth that he realized what he’d said. Well, too late now. “You can damn well do a little PR to avoid getting chained to a chair while something guts you.”
Dead silence fell as every eye in the room swung toward him. Even Helena lifted her brows. Branwyn stared. “Aren’t you the one who spent twenty years lecturing me about journalistic ethics?”
“Enact family drama on your own time,” Arthur interrupted. “I’m not telling you to lie.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
Black eyes narrowed dangerously. “We need to show all magic users aren’t killing machines. Otherwise mortals’ll start targeting anyone who can pull a rabbit out of a hat. I’ve dealt with these idiots for fifteen centuries, and I’m telling you, that’s next. My Magekind can gate away when things get hot, but the Direkind and Changelings can’t.” He leaned forward and met her gaze. “Think about it. What would your audience do if they found out you are Sidhe?”
Conal stared. “The fuck do you mean by that?”
“That wasn’t a threat, even if it sounded like one,” Gwen said, glaring at her husband.
Arthur sighed. “Of course it wasn’t a threat. I just don’t want bigots to start burning Fairies at the stake. I won’t tell Branwyn what to cover or how to cover it.” Turning to Conal, he glowered, resting a hand on Excalibur’s hilt. “But if you don’t turn down that sword right fucking now, I’m going to show you mine -- up close and personal.”