Now at this time, self-preservation had caused Thom to ask the one question that had been getting men into trouble for centuries. “Do what?”
And just like countless men before him (and after him, is this not true, men?) he learned too late that he should have remained completely silent.
“You have unleashed our secret, Thomas. Doom to you for it, because with this book you have exposed us to those who want us dead.”
Suddenly, his dream returned to him and he remembered every bit of it. Most of all, he remembered that it wasn’t a dream.
The Lords of Avalon were all real... just as Morgan was. And as Merlin led the remnants of the Knights of the Round Table, Morgan led her Cercle du Damne Two halves fighting for the world.
But that left Thom with just one question “If you had all that magic, Merlin, why didn’t you know about the book that would be written if you returned me to the world?”
With those words uttered, he’d learned that there truly was a worse question to ask a woman than A) her age, B) her weight, and C) do what?
“Please note that here I rot and here I stay until Merlin cools down.”
Thom looked down at the PDA and sighed. Time might not have any real meaning in Avalon, but it meant a whole hell of a lot to him.
In Sheep’s Clothing
Meljean Brook
Five years ago, Emma Cooper would have thought a blown tyre in the middle of a blizzard was bad. But bad was the small, spiked metal ball her fingers found embedded in the rubber — and worse was the truck, its headlights on bright, pulling off the two-lane highway and onto the shoulder twenty yards behind her Jeep.
The tyre iron in her hands rattled against the one lug nut she’d had time to crack loose. She hadn’t even raised the jack yet, it lay on the icy asphalt behind the flat front tyre.
No, not much time had passed at all. He must have been waiting off the road for her to drive by, his truck concealed by the dark and the snow.
Don’t panic, Emma told herself, and pulled in a long breath between her chattering teeth Now was definitely not the time to panic.
Still gripping the tyre iron, Emma rose from her crouch. The rattling rumble of his diesel motor cut off. The pounding of her heart filled the sudden, snow-muffled silence.
Stay calm. She tugged open the front door of her Jeep, slid into the driver’s seat and hit the locks.
Emma had been living in Seattle the past five years, but she’d kept up on the local news. In the last eighteen months, four vehicles — each with flat tyres - had been found abandoned on this rural stretch of Oregon highway. Each time, searchers recovered the body of a woman from the surrounding woods. Each woman had been raped and strangled.
The truck door slammed shut. Oh, God. She squinted against the glare of headlights in the rear-view mirror, but couldn’t see anything. With her right hand, she rummaged blindly through her purse on the passenger seat and found her cell phone.
It had been years since she’d dialled the number, but she still knew it by heart. Nathan Forrester answered on the third ring. She spoke over his sleep-roughened greeting.
“Hey, Sheriff Studly.” Emma could see the dark figure in her side mirror now. The silhouetted shape was tall, and wearing a thick coat and a cowboy hat. She couldn’t tell if he carried a gun. “I’m on the side of the highway with a flat tyre, and I could really, really use a lift.”
“Emma? Oh, Christ. Emma, listen - don’t accept any help.”
“I didn’t plan on it.” She stared at the mirror. He’d walked half the distance to her Jeep. Her fingers tightened on the tyre iron, her nails drawing blood from the heel of her palm. Stay calm. “But I think he plans to offer help anyway.”
She heard Nathan swearing and running across a wooden floor. “Where are you? You still have your Jeep?”
“About ten miles before the Bluffs turn-off. And, yes, I still have it.”
“OK, Emma, I’m on my way, but you’ve got to drive. Stay in low gear. The flat tyre will pull hard at your steering wheel, but your Jeep will go. So you start it now and get the hell out of there.”
Emma jammed the phone between her cheek and shoulder, turned the ignition key. The engine fired up. A shadow darkened her window.
She looked over just as he swung her jack through the glass.
It was worse than the others had been — the window shattered, the door hanging open, blood splashed in the snow. Gun in hand, Nathan jumped from his Blazer, his unlaced boots skidding on the icy road. He slid into the side of the Jeep, glanced inside.
The seats were empty.