Knight's Call Part 5

The two men standing over Michael were both over six feet tall, if Michael were any judge.  The one closest to him had dark hair and eyes.  An old scar ran from the outer corner of his left eye down to his chin.  Someone in the past had tried to take the man’s eye out with a knife, and had nearly succeeded.  This man was a professional; Michael was familiar with his type from his time around some of Gavin and Gabe’s less savory associates.  It meant he was dangerous, but far less terrifying than his companion.

                The first impression Michael had of the second man was simply “cold.”  His hair was so pale, Michael couldn’t tell if it was blond or white.  His skin, likewise, was so pale it could very well have been composed of pure snow.  Scariest of all, however, were his eyes.  Like the rest of him, they were so pale as to be almost colorless, but it was the cold, almost inhuman look in them that disturbed Michael the most.  A tingle ran up the arm holding the staff, and for the briefest moment he’d have sworn where the pale man was standing he saw reptile of some sort.  As quickly as it came, the vision was gone, and he was left facing the two men over the gun.

                “So, the runt actually managed to get the book,” the dark haired man remarked, a definite Irish lilt in his voice.  “The boss was certain he’d be the one, but I had my doubts”

                “You should know by now not to doubt our employer,” his pale companion said simply, his lifeless gaze never leaving Michael.  “Now, Mr. Drake, I suggest you hand over that volume.  As impressive at it is that you were able to actually obtain it, it certainly does not belong in such…young hands.”

                Michael knew from all of his self-defense training that he was better off just handing the book over, but something inside him rebelled against the very idea.  In the same way he had known how to extract the book from the wall, he now knew that handing it over to these two men was a very, very bad idea.  Whoever had hidden this book had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure its safety, and even more so, it would seem, to get it into histo him.  The fact that these two men had known about the book, and yet hadn’t been able to acquire on their own, suggested they were just the sort of individuals the writer of the book was trying to protect it from.  That said, Michael wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this situation.  Yes, he’d had extensive self-defense training, and yes he was completely at home with a katana in his hands, but none of that had ever prepared him for using those skills in real life.  This was more Gavin and Gabe’s area of expertise.

                The deafening crack of a gunshot made his ears ring while simultaneously pulling him away from his own thoughts.  He absent-mindedly noted a sudden sting in his cheek where debris from the bullet that struck the tree had grazed his face, but the majority of his attention was focused on the gun now pointed directly at his head.

                “We’re not gonna ask you again,” the Irishman warned.  “Hand over that book, or the next time it will be your turn.”

                Shaken, and admittedly more scared than he could ever remember being, Michael’s grip on the staff tightened until it was almost painful. He found he was incapable of even speaking; , much less [JKB1] moving was definitely out of the question.  He wasn’t sure he could move, much less hand over the book he held so tightly to his chest.  He couldn’t think of anything beyond wishing he was someplace away from here, someplace safe.  Unexpectedly, he found himself visualizing McGregor’s antique shop.  The old man’s store, for some reason, just radiated a sense of safety and security that not even his own home could match.  Squeezing his eyes closed, certain that at any moment a bullet was going to tear through fragile flesh and bone, Michael mentally cast himself into the safety of the image in his mind.  An odd rippling sensation seemed to enfold him, the way one’s hand feels when slowly dipped into a pool of standing water, followed by a bone-rattling jolt.

                For a long moment, Michael just stood there, eyes shut tight, still waiting for…something, anything to happen.  It took some time for his focus to shift outward, and let him realize something had changed.  He no longer felt a slight breeze on his face, and the smell of dirt and grass had been replaced with the smell of dust.  Then he heard to the quiet sound of clocks ticking, and his eyes flew open in shock.  He, somehow, by some impossible miracle, was back in McGregor’s store.  For a minute, Michael was certain he’d died, and this was just some bizarre version of the afterlife brought on by his final thoughts and memories.  That supposition was quashed, however, by McGregor himself appearing from the back room, only to nearly drop the book in his hands as his eyes went wide at seeing Michael standing right in front of him.

                “Michael, lad, where the devil did you come from,” he spluttered.  “I thought you left town this morning.”

                All of a sudden, it all seemed to hit the younger man, and he began to shake.  Michael could feel his heart pounding in his chest, while a cold, clammy sweat had broken out all over his body.  A buzzing in his ears, and tunneling of his vision, warned him he had better sit, or he was going to black out.  Fortunately, McGregor seemed aware of the danger, and quickly got him seated with his head between his knees.  Something lightweight but warm was thrown over his shoulders, and a solid hand began to gently rub up and down his back.

                “Easy, lad, easy,” McGregor soothed.  “Take all the time you need.  You’re safe enough now.  Whatever happened, we can deal with it.  Just breathe for a bit.”

                It seemed to take forever, but finally the shaking eased off, and the thought of sitting up stopped making Michael feel like he might throw up.  Sensing that the worst of the shock had worn off, McGregor stepped back, though he kept close enough to step in should Michael need his assistance again.  Once Michael was sitting upright and stable, McGregor swiftly fetched him a bottle of water from the mini-fridge hidden under the main desk.  Not wanting to set off the nausea again, Michael slowly sipped at the cold beverage as he just allowed himself to soak in the sense of safety he associated with his current surroundings.

                Finally, he was back to himself enough to fully take stock of himself and his surroundings. The chair he was sitting on was one of a set of four Victorian-style chairs he’d noted during his earlier visit to the store; the distinctive gold peacock feather pattern on a rich red background had, for some reason, reminded him of Hunter.  There was something stiff, yet regal, about the set that just seemed so fitting for his oldest brother.  The warm weight around his shoulders was McGregor’s own coat.  For some reason, the deep green of the pea coat, rather than the traditional black or gray, just seemed to fit the old Scotsman, and somehow served to make Michael feel all the better.  The thing that surprised Michael the most, however, was that the staff was still gripped tightly in his hand, and the mystery book was pressed securely to his chest; at his feet his bags were pushed neatly out of the way.  Eyes wide with alarm and lingering shock, Michael turned to look at the elderly Scotsman.

                “I…I am not sure what happened,” he said, his voice sounding startling young.

                “Just start from the beginning,” McGregor said, his voice firmly reassuring.  “What happened after you left my shop?”

                Slowly, but with increasing confidence, Michael recounted the story, leaving nothing out.  He started with the dreams he’d had off and on his whole life, leading up to the most recent one that set him on his course to find the book.  He told about the walking staff that, of its own volition, changed shape; of the terse conversation with Hunter; of catching the bus only to have it break down; of the almost summons-like pull that led him to finding the book.  And then he told of the two men who had threatened him at gunpoint, and how he had wished to be back in the safety of McGregor’s shop, only to magically, for lack of a better term, appear there.  When the tale was done, he waited for McGregor to laugh at him or call him crazy, but the old man did neither.

                “Lad, I told you before, I’ve seen things I can’t explain,” he said.  “Between my Scottish background and my time in the antiques business, I’ve become something of a collector and teller orf stories; some of the truest stories I know don’t make sense in the bright light of logic and reason, but it doesn’t make them any less true.  And while mankind has learned many, many things about how the world works, I firmly believe we’ve barely scratched the surface, and magic is just science’s more mysterious twin sister.  Just because we don’t know how it works doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

                “Before today, I’d have strongly disagreed, strongly, with you,” Michael said.  “Now I don’t know what to think.”

                “Well, why don’t we put it aside for the moment,” McGregor said.  “That’s a pretty nasty gash you’ve got on your cheek there.  Let’s get that cleaned up, and for the time being focus on practical matters.  We can come back to the magical and metaphysical when the shock’s not quite so new.  Something to eat and something warm to drink will help the world make a little more sense.”

                Just as McGregor had said, the world felt a little steadier once Michael had eaten, and the warm cup of peppermint tea in his hand helped to chase the last of his chills away.  His cheek still stung a bit, but given the splinters McGregor had been required to remove from the wound that wasn’t much of a surprise.  The antibiotic anointment had helped some, but it couldn’t compensate for the pull on the wound as Michael talked.

                “The dark-haired man, Irish if I read his accent right, was a professional,” Michael told McGregor as they discussed the event in a bit more detail.  “I’ve met his type before; quite a few of them have standing contracts with my brothers’ security business.  Whoever his employer was, this guy respected his power and authority.  I’m also pretty sure he just flat out enjoyed his job.  He made me nervous, but just because I knew he would do what he said.  The other guy, though, he was the one who terrified me.  They weren’t partners; not really.  The pale guy was in charge, that much was clear, and I’d hazard a guess that he was pretty far up the food chain.  But I’ve never met anyone so…inhuman.  For the briefest moment it’s like all the outer stuff that looks human dropped away, and there was this, this lizard thing standing there, but only if a lizard could be made of living marble.  It was vaguely human-shaped, but its head looked like an iguana with a cockscomb-like frill running down the back.  I only got a quickly glimpse, but it definitely had talons instead of hands.  I didn’t see its tail, but I’m absolutely certain it had one, along with a pair of wings.  The only other strong impression I had was that looking that thing in the eye, with its human mask off, would be a very bad idea.”

                “I think you’re right, lad,” McGregor agreed.  “From your description I’d say you miraculously came face-to-face with an ice basilisk and lived to tell the tale.”

                Michael couldn’t hold back his snort of disbelief.  “An ice basilisk? I think you’ve read one too many fairy tales and legends.”

                “Says the bonny wee lad who owns a walking stick that changes its own shape and whose dreams led him to find a book hidden in a wall,” McGregor countered.  Michael found he couldn’t argue that.  McGregor continued, “Speaking of said book, have you taken a look at it since you pulled it out of that wall?  Maybe we can figure out what’s so special about this mysterious tome of yours that someone would be willing to kill you to obtain get it.”

                With no small measure of hesitation, Michael placed the book on the table.  Since he’d arrived back in the store, he’d been unable to make himself let go of either the book or the staff.  Doing so now was taking no small amount of willpower on his part.  Fortunately, McGregor seemed aware of his hesitation, and made no move to try and touch the cloth bound tome.  Laying the staff across his lap to free up both hands, Michael very carefully unwrapped the cloth covering from off the book.  And there, just as he remembered from his dream, was the book.  The exterior was crafted from leather, now dark with age, though surprisingly showing no other signs of age or wear.  There were no markings on the exterior of the book, but some sort of complicated silver lock sealed the book.

                “Very odd, indeed,” McGregor said.  “It’s obvious the book is of ancient origin, but the silver of that lock looks like it had just come from the silversmith just yesterday, and there’s no cracking of the leather like you’d expect for something hidden in a stone wall for hundreds of years.”

                “My question is, how do we open it,” Michael said.  “Nowhere in my dream was there any hint of a key; just this bothersome book.”

                He ran a finger over the swirling pattern of the silver lock.  As he did, a soft click could be heard, and in the blink of an eye a needle no thicker than a hair popped up and pricked his finger.  With a yelp, Michael jerked his finger back and stared at the single drop of blood that appeared on the pad of his finger.  As if in a trance, Michael watched as the blood welled enough for that single drop to roll off his finger and land directly in the middle of the silver lock keeping the book closed.  The bright metal seemed to absorb the drop, turning the entire silver clasp blood red, only to, a heartbeat later, begin glow with the same silver-blue light the crystal atop his staff had given off at the wall.  The glow built and built, until both men had to bring a hand up to block the intense light before it blinded them.  Then, just as suddenly as it had occurred, the light disappeared, and the lock on the book had disengaged.  Before Michael or McGregor could move, however, the book flipped open of its own accord, and the same voice from the wall began to speak.

                “Well done, seeker; you have accomplished the first task, and taken the first step to claim your birthright.  Since you are hearing this, let me also say well met, blood of my blood.  Only one of my direct bloodline would be able to hear this message, which means the time has come.  Alas, I fear there is not much more I can tell you; this journey is yours, and you will have to embark upon it with your own skills and knowledge.  If my foresight is in any way accurate, I imagine you find this all a bit overwhelming, so I have done what I can to ease your way.  While this book contains the best of my accumulated knowledge, it will do you no good if you haven’t the skill to use it.  That said, opening this book will set in motion a series of tests that will help you unlock the abilities you need within yourself.  I regret that, given the enormity of the task you will yet face, I haven’t the time to be gentle, and you will face serious risk to overcome the tests placed before you.  All I can say is look within; the power is in you to be what you must.  Good luck, seeker.”

                The voice faded away, and the two men looked at each other in stunned bewilderment, until Michael jumped up from his seat and skittered away from the table.

                “No,” he said in a voice that was somewhere between a groan and growl.  “This is not happening.  I already got in enough trouble following that stupid dream.  I want no part of this…this, whatever it is!  I was quite content with my life the way it was.  Why on earth would I willingly submit myself to this?”

                “Michael, I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling right now,” McGregor said.  “But I don’t think this is something you can just wish away.  Fate, destiny, divinity, take your pick, but something beyond us has chosen you for this task.  Your life story, it would seem, has just taken one big plot twist.”

                “But this isn’t me,” Michael said in a soft voice.  “I’m not the brave one in the family.  That’s Hunter, or Gavin, or Gabe; I’m the computer geek that prefers his own company.”

                “And yet, here you are,” McGregor countered.  “I don’t think you see yourself in a clear light, lad.  I can tell you what I see: a good hearted young man with more strength than he gives himself credit for, who cares more for others than he may be willing to admit.  And I think if you ask your brothers, they would say much the same.”

                At that, Michael suddenly cursed under his breath.

                “What’s the matter,” McGregor asked, concerned at the unusual show of verbal vulgarity.

                “My brothers,” Michael said, worried eyes turned on the older man.  “I was supposed to meet Gavin and Gabe in Edinburgh.  They are going to freak out because I didn’t show!”

Knight's Call Part 4

            The next morning, Michael ate a quick breakfast before catching a cab to the train station.  The cabbie had looked at him a little oddly at seeing the unusual staff in his hand, but made no comment as Michael tried to arrange himself around the unwieldy object. Michael figured an American hauling a rather unusual walking staff wasn’t the oddest thing the taxi driver had ever seen.   Fortunately, he had his tickets pre-purchased, so all Michael had to do once he arrived at the station was find the appropriate train.  As he made his way through the crowded station, desperately trying not to smack anyone with the staff, he found himself wishing there was a way to make it less conspicuous.  All of a sudden, he went from holding a six-foot tall staff, to holding what appeared to be a finely crafted gentleman’s cane.  More than a little unsettled by the obvious demonstration of what could only be termed magic, Michael was more than glad to make it to his seat.

            No sooner had he settled in, however, than his cell phone rang.  Seeing Hunter’s name on the display, Michael debated whether to send it to his voicemail.  Knowing his oldest brother, however, Michael little doubted his ability to make life miserable for his youngest brother for doing such a thing, so he braced himself and answered, immediately going on the offensive rather than letting Hunter set the opening tone of the conversation.

            “Good morning big brother.  A little early in the morning for you to be calling isn’t it?”

            “More like up too late,” Hunter growled back.  “To start, I had a meeting at the downtown office go two hours over, so of course I was expecting, at best, to have to reheat dinner.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I arrived home to a hot, fresh meal waiting for me.  Next, I discover my little brother, who should have been waiting impatiently for me, was nowhere in sight.  What’s more, no one on the staff could tell me anything about your whereabouts beyond telling me you had left two days ago and had yet to return.  I then spent the next several hours chasing down anyone who might possibly be able to pinpoint your location.”

            Before Michael could protest his brother’s incursion into his private life, Hunter had barreled on.

            “I contacted everyone I could think of, but no one was any use.  All I got from your secretary was that you had a business meeting, and that the ‘appropriate parties’ had been informed.  The odd thing was, I thought I was one of the ‘appropriate parties.’  Once I went through all the local contacts, I began branching out, including Gavin and Gabriel.  True to form, both of them covered for you, so they were either unwilling, or unable, to tell me where you were.  Once I was finally able to reach them, that is.  In the end, Maeghen coughed up the number for your European cell.  So, little brother, now that I have you, I’d appreciate know where the hell you are!”

            In the face of his brother’s obvious frustration and outrage, a small part of Michael wanted to just divulge everything his brother wanted to know, and except for that “little brother” he might have.  The greater part of him rebelled at that diminishing reference, however, so he refused to give in to his brother demands.

            “While I apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused you,” Michael informed Hunter, “last I checked I was an adult, running my own company with the all the accompanying responsibilities.  Furthermore, I don’t recall signing any contracts or other legal documents that make me accountable to you.  You’re not my legal guardian anymore, Hunter, and I have the right to live my own life without you looking over my shoulder.  So, no, I’m not going to tell you where I am or what I’m doing, mostly because it’s not any of your business.”

            “It is while you’re living under my roof,” Hunter shot back.  Immediately he wanted to take the words back, as he practically heard his father’s voice spewing from his mouth.  Michael must have thought so too.

            “You’re not my father,” Michael responded quietly, hurt and anger both evident in his voice.  “You’ve never been like our father; you I knew I could trust.  But if you’re going to start channeling him, if you’re going to start to become him, then I’m not staying.  I’ll have Gavin and Gabe help me find someplace else, because I’m not living through that hell again.”

            Both men went silent as memories assailed them.  Archer Drake had been a brilliant business man, but when it came to his family he had been too proud and inflexible to make living with him a comfortable or enjoyable experience.  Michael, in particular, had a rough time with his father’s expectations.  For most of his youth, Hunter had placed himself between his younger brother and their father.  Michael had spent years nearly idolizing his oldest brother, which made his threat all the more significant.  Ultimately, Hunter was the first to break the silence.

            “Might I at least know when I might expect you home?”

            Recognizing the apology and the plea for reassurance for what it was, Michael said, “Most likely tomorrow; the next day at the latest.  I still have a little bit of business to take care of, and depending on how things work out, I might even be catching a ride home with Gabe and Gavin. That’s assuming they’ve checked their email by then, of course.”

            Michael knew his brother had received the message, assurance that he was coming home when Hunter simply replied, “Travel safely, and I will see you when you get home,” before hanging up.

            For a long while, Michael sat in silence.  Things between Hunter and his younger brothers had been tense for a long time, practically since the death of their father.  Hunter had been young enough that taking responsibility for his father’s company, as well as guardianship of his youngest brother, had been very stressful.  All the brothers had tried their best to help, but all decisions ultimately fell to Hunter to decide.  Of course, it didn’t help that Hunter was enough his father’s son that pride sometimes proved to be one of his worst faults.

            Pushing thoughts of his oldest brother away, and trying desperately to ignore that staff-turned-cane resting on the seat next to him, Michael pulled his laptop from his bag and set to work on the security layout for McGregor’s store.  This was part of the job he loved; taking his technology and blending it seamlessly into its environment.  Although he was no longer solely responsible for all location designs and layouts, he always made the final approval; and then there were locations like McGregor’s where something in Michael insisted he be the one to create the layout.  Very quickly, Michael was so deeply engrossed in his work he paid no attention to the passage of time.

            When Michael reached Newcastle, he was almost done with the security plans, but beyond that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next.  The tug at the back of his mind hadn’t let up any, but he was having a hard time deciphering just where it was he was supposed to go.  And then he saw a sign for the bus to Carlisle.  Without a thought Michael purchased a ticket for the next bus which, as fortune would have it, was departing only fifteen minutes later.  Michael quickly found his seat and got settled in.

            The further the bus traveled, the more intense the pull became, until Michael thought his head was going to split from the pressure.  Wherever he was supposed to go was getting closer and closer, but Michael wasn’t sure, now that he was on the bus, just how he was supposed to get off.  Searching for some kind of release he wrapped his hand around the transformed walking stick and gripped it as tight as he could.  All of a sudden, the pressure in his head seemed to “pop,” followed by a sudden jerking sensation as the bus unexpectedly tilted to one side, only to come to a screeching halt.  Michael was grateful it happened so quickly no one had the chance to start screaming.

            In very short order that had everyone off the bus, which is when Michael discovered that not one, but two tires on the bus had blown.  Since there was no way they were going to be able to continue on with the bus in that condition a couple of volunteered to  pull all the baggage out while the bus driver worked on obtaining alternate transportation and assistance with the downed bus.  No sooner had Michael grabbed his luggage, then the silent pull was back, this time drawing him away from the crowd around the bus and further into the countryside.

            As Michael walked, he had the strangest sense of déjà vu, though he knew for certain he’d never been to this part of Great Britain before.  When he saw the wall, he knew exactly why everything was strangely familiar.  On academic level he’d realized this bus route paralleled Hadrian’s Wall, but he hadn’t given it much thought.  Now that the ancient fortification was in front of him, though, his dream came rushing back to him.  All at once, Michael knew exactly where he had to go.  Resettling his bag on his back, he gripped the cane in his right hand.  In the space of a heartbeat it went from being a cane back to its original shape as a staff, and had Michael not been intent on his destination, he might have taken note of the now glowing crystal atop the staff.

            Without any way to measure distance, Michael wasn’t certain how far he walked, only that any signs of civilization were far out of sight.  That’s when he saw the tree; the oddly crooked and bent-over tree shading a small portion of the wall.  It was the image right out of his dream.  Walking to the section of wall shaded by that tree was oddly familiar.  It was rather like returning to your old high school years after graduation.  Everything is at once familiar and different, with that sense that although you once belonged here, you don’t anymore.  Coming up on the wall itself was like approaching his old locker.  Everything about it, from the shape of the stones to the feel of the low-hanging tree branches brushing his shoulders was so, so familiar, except he didn’t know the combination anymore.  Shifting the staff to his left hand, Michael placed his right hand on the wall.  All at once, the crystal on the staff blazed with light, and gruff voice seemed to fill the small space between the tree and the wall.

            “Welcome, seeker.  In coming here you have taken the first steps on a path paved many, many years ago.  If you can hear my voice, then Ngoleuni'r Cyfarwyddyd has come into your hands, and you are one step closer to sending out the Knight’s Call.  But as with any true knight, you must prove yourself worthy.  This is but the first trial you must face if you are to obtain your destiny.  You must find the part of yourself buried in the mists of time and awaken it from its ages of sleep.  Trust your heart, and all will be well.  I wish you luck.”

                As abruptly as is had come, the voice and light were gone, leaving Michael staring at the wall in puzzled bemusement.  “What the hell am I doing here,” he whispered to himself.  “Either this is the biggest practical joke Gavin has pulled on me yet, or someone slipped something into my drink.  Or maybe I’ve finally lost it.  The stress has finally gotten to me, and I’m having some sort of mental breakdown.  That would explain the crazy dreams and the fact that I’m hearing voices.”  But even as he said it, he couldn’t stop himself from tracing a finger absentmindedly over random bricks in the wall.  Shaking his head trying to clear it, Michael pushed himself away from the wall and took a step backward.  “This is crazy,” he continued aloud.  “I should just get back to the bus and…”  His voice trailed off as the apparently random bricks he’d been tracing began to glow, and a steady pressure began to build around him.  In no time, it was enough to force him to his knees.  Instinct told him if he didn’t find a way to put a stop to whatever was happening, it could very easily kill him.  Not knowing what else to do, Michael looked at the glowing bricks on the wall.  To his amazement, he could see what looked like words written in the same strange language as the book in his dream crawling over the wall.

                ‘That’s not right,’ Michael thought to himself as he took in the swarming words.  ‘They’re not in the right order.’  With a hand the weighed far more than it should, he reached up and began to rearrange the words.  Not being able to read the words, Michael could only rely on his instincts to help him get the in the correct order.  His head was pounding hard enough it felt like it was going to explode by the time he put the last word into place.  The words flared a bright gold, and then changed.  The phrase “galw y marchogion, yr alwad yn mynd allan” appeared in their place and the pressure vanished.  At that same moment two things happened: it was like a giant, silent bell sounded, and the rocks on the wall faded away to reveal a cloth wrapped bundle.  Even as he pulled it out, Michael knew what he held.  It was the book; the book from his dream.

                Before Michael could unwrap the tome, however, his attention was grabbed by the sounds of a gun being cocked.  Looking up he found himself face-to-face with two men holding guns on him with the same casual confidence Gavin and Gabriel had.  Michael knew what that indicated.  These men knew their way around their weapons, and weren’t afraid to use them.

Knight's Call Part 3

                With cost being no problem, Michael was flying out before 6 the next morning, which put him into London around 10 that night, so he went straight to the family’s house to get a good night’s sleep.  The next morning, after a quick breakfast he called McGregor, who immediately invited him over. A quick call had a taxi waiting for him fifteen minutes later, and after a twenty-five minute drive, the two new-old friends were exchanging warm greetings.

                “Good to see you lad,” McGregor growled happily, his grizzled countenance lighting with genuine pleasure.  “How was your flight?”

                “As comfortable as an airborne cattle car can be, even traveling business class,” Michael responded.

                “Commercial?  I was certain your family would have a fleet of private jets available for your use,” McGregor teased.

                “We actually have three, but only two are suitable for transatlantic flight.  Of those two, my next oldest brothers have one in Germany for an undetermined amount of time, while the other is undergoing maintenance.  My personal business is a little time sensitive, so I couldn’t wait for either aircraft to come available.”

                “Well, whatever the case, I’m glad you could make it so quickly.  Now, why don’t we tour my humble store so you can see what you’re up against?”

                Michael enjoyed his tour of McGregor’s establishment.  Though relatively small in size, the merchandise was obviously of high quality.  What was more, McGregor was intimately familiar with the history of each piece, and gleefully shared that history with his willing audience.  After about two hours, Michael had seen all he needed to, and the pair sat down to discuss the integration of the new security system.  After a few technically complex explanations from Michael as to what he envisioned for the store, McGregor finally said, “Boyo, I’m going to leave this in your more than capable hands.  Do what you see fit; I trust you.  All I need you to do is help me understand how to run the system, and I’ll be content.”

                Michael grinned at him, unsurprised by the older man’s attitude.  When his people had installed the video conferencing equipment as part of his security contract, the older man hadn’t been too interested in the set-up, but he had grilled to the technician on how to use it until he was confident in his own ability.  It didn’t take a genius to recognize that McGregor was one who didn’t care how something was put together, just so long as he could make it do what it was supposed to.

                “Then, if you will excuse me just a moment, then I will call my people and arrange for them to begin the installation.  Given what I’ve seen, it should take about three weeks for everything to be in place.”

                “Sounds fantastic, lad.  Now, after you get done, why don’t we have a bit of lunch, and then there’s something I want to show you.”

                Lunch was a simple affair, just soup and sandwiches, but the company more than made up for the simplicity of the menu.  It reminded Michael of meals with his brothers, back before things in the family went sideways.  After helping clean up the meal detritus, Michael was led to small storage room McGregor had briefly show him during his tour of the store.

                “This is where I keep my more… unusual artifacts,” he told Michael as he began to sort through the various crates and boxes, obviously looking for something in particular.

                “What do you mean by unusual,” Michael asked, his curiosity piqued by the older man’s atypical behavior.

                “Let me preface this by saying when I first got into this business, I didn’t believe in haunted or cursed objects; still don’t, if pressed on the issue.  As a trained and certified archaeologist and historian, I look to science and logic for explanations of things I don’t understand. That said, I have been doing this a very long time, and I have seen my share of odd happenings; enough to be convinced some items have enough history resting on them that they become something more than just simple antiquities.  Now, every so often, one of these objects comes into my possession, and I am compelled by reasons I can’t comprehend to put it away until the right person comes along.  So, I store it away back here, and some time later, maybe weeks or months, an individual will walk through my door, and without understanding why or how, I will know he or she is the one.  More often than not, the recipient doesn’t realize he’s looking for the object until I present it to him.”

                “Am I to infer that you have such an item to show me, then,” Michael asked, something between fear and anticipation filling him, along with the nagging suspicion that the urge to visit McGregor was more than just the desire to meet his friend in person.

                “About a month before I even heard of your company, I found myself at a small estate sale up outside of Edinburgh.  It wasn’t the kind of sale I usually attend, and I was about to walk out, when they brought out an item I knew I couldn’t leave without.”

                At this, McGregor found the crate he’d been looking for, and very carefully removed the top.  Inside lay what, at first glance, looked like nothing more than an ornate walking stick, but as McGregor pulled it from the crate, Michael knew this was no simple staff.  The bottom of the rod was made up of three very distinct types of wood that had somehow been twisted and fit together so as to appear seamless.  Inlaid in each separate section of wood were various runes and symbols, very similar to the ones in the book from his dream, and well as flowers and vines, each done in yet a different type of wood.  A the top of the staff was the only place the wood separated, as each of the sections ended in the form of a simple Celtic knot, with the three knots forming a sort of shallow bowl or indention.  Settled inside this was what appeared to be a crystal or gemstone of some sort, but Michael had never seen a gemstone like this one, as one moment it appeared as clear as a perfect diamond, only to shift a moment later to a color between amethyst and sapphire, and then again to flawless emerald green.  Michael had never seen anything like, but from somewhere deep inside came a burning need to claim the staff.  McGregor must have seen something of his desire in his face, for he gave a satisfied nod.

                “Aye, I can see, once again, I wasn’t misled.  Well, boyo, I think this belongs to you.”  He held out the staff to Michael.

                “I’m not sure I can afford that,” Michael said, fighting to keep from snatching the offered rod.

                “Nonsense, lad,” McGregor retorted.  “It’s a gift.  And it’s as clear as the nose on your face that some part of you recognizes it.”

                “I think accepting personal gifts breaks some company policies,” Michael hedged again, torn between desperately wanting to snatch the staff out of McGregor’s hands, and wanting to run like hell in the opposite direction.  He knew once he laid hand on that staff, his life would never be the same again.

                “If it were a gift to you as head of the company, then perhaps,” McGregor conceded, “or if I was offering it as a means of gaining some sort of perks, but this is a gift from one friend to another.  Besides, some things are just meant to be, and I think your claiming this staff is one of them.  Fate can be a fickle bitch, but she’s a persistent one; she’ll catch up to you sooner or later.  Besides, my intuition, or whatever the hell you want to call it, has never been wrong, and I’ve a feeling you’re going to need this.”  He offered the staff once more.

                Unable to look away from the odd gemstone glinting at the end of the staff, Michael reached out slowly to grasp the rod with his left hand, lowering the end gently until it touched the floor.  At first, nothing happened, but as the wood warmed under his hand, it was like electricity ran up through the staff, through his arm, straight to his heart.  Then, just as quickly as the sensation had started, it was gone, leaving Michael shaken and light headed.  Meeting McGregor’s knowing eyes, Michael could only stare at him in breathless shock and wonder.

                “I’m not sure what just happened, boyo,” McGregor said quietly, “but from the look on your face, history is sitting a little more heavily on that fancy piece of wood work than anything I’ve had pass through my hands before, and it has plans for you.  Now, why don’t we go find something cold to drink and let you catch your breath?  Fate doesn’t play fair, and if she’s getting ready to kick you in the gut, you’d best take any chance you can get to gather yourself before the pounding begins.”

*             *             *

                That night, as he settled in for the night, Michael took the opportunity to study the staff a little closer.  He still couldn’t make heads or tails of the runes, which frustrated him, for he felt like he should know what they meant. 

                “I didn’t sign up for this you know,” he addressed the staff as he held it in his hands.  “Computers and technology are my area of expertise, not cryptic dreams and esoteric nonsense.    As for you, I’m not sure why the hell it was so important for me to obtain something as impractical as what could easily be a movie prop from Lord of the Rings.  And that book from that ridiculous dream!  Apparently I’m supposed to find it, but all I know is that it’s somewhere between here and Scotland, with just a mental picture of the countryside to guide me.  Not exactly GPS coordinates.”

                At that another surge, similar to but much milder than the one at the store, rippled through him, urging him to head north.  Snorting, Michael just shook his head.  “Of course; I had to find Gandalf’s staff to lead me to it!  Why didn’t I think of that?” 

                Silence was his only reply; apparently sarcasm didn’t register with his odd new accessory.  On the other hand, the soft pull to the north continued softly but persistently in the background of his thoughts.  Sighing, Michael, still addressing the staff, said, “Fine; I was headed that way tomorrow anyway.  But if you want me to find that absurd book, you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”  When nothing else happened, Michael gently propped the staff in the corner of his room and crawled into bed.  In no time at all, he was sound asleep.

Knight's Call Part 2

            By eight, Michael had dressed, eaten and made his way to his office in the east wing of the house.  He had another office downtown for official functions and to meet with clients, but after thwarting a third kidnapping attempt, Gavin and Gabriel had cornered Hunter and given their professional opinion that it would be much better, not to mention a lot less stressful, for everyone if Michael moved his main workspace into the family’s domain.  Gavin had put it into his usual blunt terms.

            “Either make room for him here, or there will come a day when Michael won’t come home because he’s too stubborn to give the kind of jackals who’d grab him what they want, and they’d end up killing him.”

            That had decided Hunter, and Michael had a secured lab set up to his exact specification within a week.  This is where Michael headed once he was done with breakfast.  Whereas Gabriel and Gavin specialized in physical security, specifically bodyguard services and personal security, Michael handled electronic security.  He designed and oversaw the installation of security systems, as well as computer security.  He had a number of clients all over the world, from England to India, in addition to his numerous state-side clients.  This morning, his first order of business that morning was a call to the owner of a small antique shop in London.

            Michael was rather particular about who he agreed to sell his products and services to, so all prospective buyers and their employees were required to go through an extensive and intensive background  and criminal history check.  Since his system had never been beaten, nor his encryptions cracked, businesses were willing to go through the lengthy, often invasive, process, but between his, as well as his brothers’, contacts on both sides of the legal line, very little escaped his attention.   James McGregor, the owner of the antique business had easily passed all the background checks, and Michael was looking forward to the video call to the elderly Scottish gentleman to make arrangements for an in person visit to his store to begin the process of individualizing the security system for his exact needs and set-up.  This was the second reason Michael’s system was in such demand; it blended in seamlessly to any location.  More than once Michael had been asked, only half teasingly, if Michael had used magic to disguise his additions, so well integrated into the environment were they.

            Normally this was the point in the transaction where Michael handed the account to one of his hand-picked representatives to take over managing the account.  From day one, however, there had been something about McGregor that had just drawn Michael in, despite their differences in age and occupation.  Besides, Michael liked the older man’s snarky, sharp-tongued manner.  Calling up his video conferencing program, Michael dialed the now familiar number, and in mere moments a familiar grizzled face appeared on his screen.

            McGregor was in his sixties, though his ramrod straight posture and clear blue eyes belied his age.  His silver hair, what little there was, was cut short in a no-nonsense style.  With a tan, rather weather-beaten face, he wasn’t exactly the typical image of successful antiques dealer, but Michael was quite familiar with the sharp mind that had made McGregor the success he was.

            “Good morning, you old goat,” Michael said with a cheeky grin.

            “That’d be good afternoon, y’upstart colonial,” McGregor growled back good-naturedly, his Scottish accent making his words just shy of being unintelligible.  “What can I do for you this fine day?”

            “Not that it’s any surprise to you, but your background checks all came back clear, so we are ready to make the arrangements for one of my people to visit your store to get a feel for the layout and set up,” Michael told him.  Then, following an urge he couldn’t explain, Michael said, “No, change that.  I will personally handle the initial evaluation.”

            “Don’t get me wrong lad, I’d love to meet you in person, but isn’t a little unusual for the boss to handle this kind of job? I thought you had lackeys to handle the mundane details.   At least, that’s what I seem to recall from the sales pitch.”

            “In most cases, yes, but I wouldn’t want any of my people scared off by having to deal with a sour old curmudgeon like you,” Michael said.  “I’ve worked too hard to break them in just how I want them.”

            “A curmudgeon I might be,” McGregor shot back, “but I’ll show you old and sour, you young know-it-all.”  Then, in a more serious tone, “I’ve been around for a long time, boyo, and you’re not fooling me any.  You’ve got something weighing on you.”

            Immediately, an image of the book from him dream flashed through Michael’s mind, accompanied by a drive to find it so fierce it was almost like a fist in the gut, coupled with the knowing that it was essential he visit McGregor’s shop.  Fighting, and most likely failing, to keep the distress off his face, Michael opened his mouth to reassure his friend all was well, when he surprised himself when, instead, he said, “I had some rather urgent personal business come up last night that is bringing me your way anyway, so I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.”

            Not completely mollified, but recognizing the younger man wasn’t going to share anymore, the Scotsman replied, “Then just let me know when you are in town, and I’ll make sure I’m on hand so show you around.”

            “If I can get a flight I hope to be in London by tomorrow, the next day at the latest.”

            “So quickly?”

            Michael flashed him a wry grin.  “Apparently my other business can’t wait.”

            “Well, like I said, just let me know the details and I’ll arrange to show you around.”

            “Will do,” Michael said affectionately.  “See you soon, old timer.”

            “Take care of yourself, runt.”

            After ending the video call, Michael picked up the phone and dialed his secretary’s number.  Ms. Meredith Greene was about Hunter’s age, and had only been working for him for about a month.  His brother hadn’t cared for his previous secretary, and after a lot of back and forth with his youngest brother, had convinced Michael to allow him to find him a “proper” secretary.  Ostensibly, Meredith was what Hunter considered an appropriate replacement.

            “Meredith, I need a flight to London for sometime in the next two days; commercial will have to do.  Don’t bother with a car, though; I’ll take a taxi as needed in town.  However, I will be making a stop in Newcastle, and will need a car there.”

            “A commercial flight, sir?  Wouldn’t you rather wait until your brothers return with the family jet?”

            “Can’t wait,” Michael told her.  “Last time I talked to Gavin, he wasn’t sure exactly sure when he and Gabriel were coming back from Germany.”

            “Very well, sir.  Anything else?”

            “Once you have the details, let Mr. McGregor know, and tell him I will call him once I’m on the ground to arrange a time to meet him.  Also, let the staff at the London house know I will be there, one, likely two, nights, so arrange for the car to be available on that second day. Oh, and make my return flight from Edinburgh.  I have some personal business in Scotland to take care of before I return home.”

            He spent the next few minutes hashing out the details of the trip with his secretary, when she mentioned something about letting Hunter know his plans.

            “There’s no need to tell Hunter I’m going.  I’ll only be gone three, four days at the most, and I will keep Gabriel and Gavin informed of my whereabouts.”

            “I’m sorry, sir, but part of my contract is that I am to keep him informed of any plans to be gone longer than overnight.”

            I’m not eight and having a sleep-over at a friend’s house, Michael wanted to point out to her, though he knew it wasn’t her fault his oldest brother was ridiculously over-protective.  Fortunately, thanks to his other two brothers, he knew a way around his brother’s meddling.

            “Very well,” he conceded, “you may inform Maeghen of my plans.”

            “Sir, my orders are to report directly to Mr. Drake,” Meredith countered.

            “And I, as your employer, am modifying those orders and telling you to inform Maeghen instead.”

            “But…”

            Michael didn’t lose his temper very often, but the meddling of his oldest brother, even when well intended, was enough to push him past his limits.

            “Ms. Greene,” he said, his voice quiet but grim, “the last time I checked, I signed your paycheck.  Now, I won’t countermand my brother; I won’t put you a position of having to choose who to obey, since technically he was the one you hired you, but that doesn’t mean I have to conform to the Hunter Drake play book.  Therefore, since you do work for me, this is how this will happen: you may provide my travel arrangements to Maeghen, Gavin, and Gabriel.  If it becomes necessary, one of them will let Hunter know where I am.  And for future reference, unless otherwise instructed, all future itineraries and travel plans will likewise be copied to the three previously mentioned individuals.  Do we have an understanding?”

            “Yes, sir, “a much subdued Meredith replied.

            “Then, if there is nothing further, I am headed upstairs to pack, and then down to the lab.  Just email me when the plans are settled.”  And with that, he disconnected the call.

Knight's Call Part 1

                At first glance, the man at the desk appeared to in the very sunset of life.  His hair and beard were both white as starlight, and even seemed to give off the same shimmer in the limited candle light.  His robes were of obvious good quality, but showed definite signs of wear, particularly at wrist and hemline.

                The room the man occupied was telling by itself, with leather bound books and spare bits of parchment stacked on practically every available surface.  At first glance, one might assume the man to be a scholar, which he certainly was, but a closer look would reveal there was more to this man than just scholarly pursuits, for covering a fair number of the papers were arcane symbols and complex, almost mathematical equations.  More than that were the numerous crystals of varying sizes and colors, as well as jars filled with numerous dubious materials, scattered in and amongst written paraphernalia.  The man himself was bent over his desk, writing away with almost a frantic energy in a book on the desk.

                Taking a peek over the man’s shoulder as he wrote would reveal he had a good reason for his intensity, for this was not simple journal the man was scribing, but something of far greater import.

The Kingdom will fall.  Already the foundation begins to weaken and crumble.  Betrayal.  Pain.  Death.  The bonds of brotherhood torn asunder.  The visions cannot be denied, and, for once, their meaning is clear.  One by one, they each will fall; ultimately, all our peoples will fall into the mists of time, consigned to myth and legend.

                Almost as if drawn up by his words, images seem to flash across the page.  A once gleaming castle brought to ruin by fire and lack of care.  Secret glances and faithless indiscretion leading to betrayal and treachery.  Sword against sword and brother against brother in a battle no one really wins.

I cannot find it in myself to tell my liege his cause is lost. So many of our people, our kin, feel that the time for our release is at hand; after all, it would seem we have all the pieces of the puzzle at hand.  Yet the same destructive powers that doomed our ancestors beset us still.  For all that we have created here in our marvelous kingdom, we still have yet to stamp out the pride and jealousy that ruined us to begin with.  And as it did our first parents, it will lead us down the path of destruction as well.

Still, all is not lost, for just as I have seen the end of our time, I have also foreseen a time when we shall once more be granted a chance at redemption.  I cannot say for certain when this time will come, other than knowing it is in a time far from now.  From the descendents of our people will raise a champion, not just an echo but a true reflection, of our noble king.  If he and those he allies himself with can overcome the weaknesses that overset our kingdom now, they might yet be found worthy to obtain the key that will at last free our people.

Yet they must be wary, for the forces of darkness seek to obtain the key as well.  And herein lays the danger, for whosoever gains mastery of the key determines the nature of what is released upon the world.  Should the forces of light win the day, the curse shall be lifted and redemption once more placed within our grasp.  However, should the powers of darkness win the day, we shall be forever cursed, with our destruction, and that of many others dragged down with us, guaranteed.

For this reason have I spent so much of my time and energy upon creating this book.  Contained herein are those things our champion and his guardians will need to know to provide them the best chance of success.  To prevent this from falling into the wrong hands, I will hide it away, using what gifts I possess, to keep it secreted from those who would it for their own selfish gain.

                Yet another image seemingly flashed across the page, this time of a wall.  Enough detail was given that one might, should he happen upon this very wall, know exactly where to look to find that place wherein the book was hidden away.

When the time is right, the first guardian will be summoned to fetch this book.  The Knight’s Call will go out, and those it touches will either succeed or fail by their own virtues or faults.

*             *             *

            Michael Drake sat straight up in bed, desperately trying to catch his breath, the final images of his dream still lingering in his mind.  Over the years he’d grown accustomed to the occasional dream about the enigmatic old man, but he’d never experienced anything like the dream he had been subjected to tonight.  Again, the images surrounding that tantalizing book came back full force.  That, too, was new.

            With effort, Michael pushed the last, persistent images from his mind.  A quick glance at the clock revealed it wasn’t even five yet, a good hour before his normal wake up time.  Still, Michael knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep this morning.  Rolling out of bed, he pulled on a pair of loose work out pants left lying over the back of chair before heading out of his bedroom.  This early in the morning not even his early bird of an oldest brother would be up yet, so he should have the dojo to himself for at least an hour.  That would give him just enough time to work off the last edge of tension clinging to him like insipid socialites usually clung to Gavin, his pretty-boy older brother.  Not bothering with any lights, Michael made his way down to the basement dojo/workout room.  Foregoing the lights, Michael instead lit the candles kept stocked specifically for his use.  Still unsettled by the dream, Michael drew more comfort from the dim, flickering candle light than he would have been able to from the harsh florescent overhead lights.

            After a few minutes to warm up, Michael moved the far wall of the room, where the family’s eclectic collection of weapons and equipment was displayed.  Pulling his familiar katanas from their places on the wall, Michael couldn’t help recalling the first time he’d ever held a sword at the tender age of six.  He and his mother had been living with the Drakes for all of three weeks when the curious, and overly energetic, youngster had found his way down to the basement where his big brothers were in the middle of their martial arts lesson.  Michael hadn’t much cared for the exercises Hunter and Gavin were doing, but his eyes had fastened on the practice sword sitting on the bench against the wall.  Michael hadn’t been aware of it at the time, too absorbed by his newest discovery, but his every motion had been carefully watched by the vigilant teacher working with his brothers.  When Michael didn’t start immediately start swinging the blunt, but still potentially dangerous, weapon around, the wise man had remained quiet to see what the young boy would do with his new “toy.”  After a few minutes of intense study of the unexpected find, Michael had looked up at the older man and simply said, “I want to learn this.”

            Sensing the boy’s seriousness, but not one to give in to a child’s fleeting whimsy, the instructor had honestly replied, “Learning the katana is no light thing.  It will take a long time and much dedication.”

            Michael had regarded him for moment before restating, “I want to learn this.”

            Motioning to where the two other boys were working out, the older man simply said, “Then let us begin.”

            Coming back to the present, Michael smiled softly to himself.  It hadn’t been that easy.  His mother had been horrified to learn of her baby’s newest fascination, and had initially refused to let him continue his lessons.  It had taken a lot of begging by Michael, as well as numerous discussions with his father and the instructor, before Lilly had been willing to even consider the possibility.  She finally gave in, however, after observing her first lesson, and discovering that her always-in-motion, too-curious-for-his-own-good mercurial son had at last found something that could keep his attention for longer than five minutes.  Eventually, they had to place limits on just how much time Michael was allowed to practice, else they never would have gotten him out of the dojo.  Since then, Michael had found other outlets for his restless energy, swimming and horseback riding just to name a couple, but nothing soothed him quite like deadly dance he could perform with his beloved blades in hand.  And right now, that mental relief was exactly what he needed.

            Focusing on nothing but the blade and movement of his body, Michael was finally able to block out the disturbing dream from his thoughts, barricading it behind a wall of sheer mental will.  With no other thoughts to distract him, Michael allowed himself to be carried away in the rhythmic dance, his sharply honed dance partners his only company.  He was not certain how long he’d been lost in his own world when the room suddenly fell completely dark, bringing him back to reality.  Feeling the sweat drip down his face, Michael smiled to himself.  The extinguishing of the candlelight was his signal to call his practice to an end.  It was a system he had worked out with Hunter when his oldest brother had taken over the running of the family. 

            Unlike their father, Hunter understood Michael needed the solace and solitude of his time in the dojo, so he’d presented his youngest brother with a compromise.  Michael could have the dojo to himself, twice a day, for the amount of time it took for two of the candles to burn themselves out.  The only stipulation was Michael couldn’t do two sessions back-to-back.  If, after finishing his allotted time, Michael still needed an outlet, then he would have to find other means.  Only once had Michael ignored the limits set by his oldest brother.  Following the death of his mother, a fifteen-year-old Michael had locked himself in the dojo for two days straight.  Hunter never called him on it; he simply made sure sufficient water and sustenance were kept supplied for his grieving sibling.  At the end of those two days, when Michael was completely spent, Hunter simply bundled him off to his room to clean up and rest.  When Michael was finally rested enough to be coherent again, the only mention that was made of the incident was a short note from Hunter reminding him of their agreed upon strictures.  Beyond that, neither brought it up again.

            Michael was brought from his thoughts by the sound of quiet footsteps entering the dojo.  He looked up expectantly to see Hunter standing just inside the doorway.  Michael watched his brother’s eyes flick to the candles.  He saw the concern flash across Hunter’s face as he calculated how early Michael had crawled from bed to have already used up one set of candles.

            “Trouble sleeping,” Hunter asked neutrally.

            “Just some odd dreams,” Michael told him.  “Couldn’t go back to sleep, so I decided to get an early start on the day.”

            Hunter gave him another searching look, and Michael did his best to bury the remaining disquiet not even his intense work out had managed to dispel completely.  As his brother scanned him from head to foot, Michael couldn’t help but wonder just what his brother saw as he looked at him.  At ten inches over five feet tall, Michael was the shortest of his brothers.  His constant work with his swords, as well as the swimming and horseback riding his participated in as his other physical outlets had graced him with an excellent physique, if the female half of the population could be believed.  Top that off with jet black hair that was just short of being shaggy, brown eyes one overly effusive admirer had described as the color of melted dark chocolate and a baby face that would have him looking half his age for years to come and, well, Michael would never be short of female companionship; that is, if he wasn’t so blasted shy in social settings.  Still, Michael was aware at this moment that his sweat-damp hair was obviously still bed-tossed, and there were probably shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep. Whatever he saw must have satisfied his brother, however, for Hunter just gave Michael a small nod before moving to the far end of the room to begin his own work out.

            As Michael left the dojo, he passed a pretty red-haired woman, her hair braided tightly back from her face, grey eyes alert despite the early hour.  Michael smiled, recognizing his brother’s personal bodyguard.

            “Good morning Maeghen,” Michael said.  “Glad to have you back. How was the visit with your father?”

            There was a slight relaxing in the lines of Maeghen’s body as she acknowledged that Michael was not a threat.   Nodding to Michael, Maeghen gave him a slight smile.

            “Glad to be back,” she replied.  “My father was about how he always is; less than pleased with my choice of vocation and employer.  How have things been in my absence?  From what I hear your brother about drove young Malcolm crazy. Poor kid can keep up with the ditziest, most self-absorbed debutant for a month in Morocco, and a week with your brother had him nearly in tears.  It would seem he wasn’t as prepared for this task as I thought he was.”

            “You know Hunter,” Michael said.  “He will push as far and as hard as he can.  He’s just learned you push back.  You just might have your hands full for a few days until he’s reminded of that fact.”

            Maeghen gave an evil little smile.  “We’ll just see about that,” she said.

            Chuckling, Michael headed on toward his room.  If anyone could keep his oldest brother in line, it was Maegs.  She had been the star talent at D&D Security, the security company owned and operated by his next older brother Gavin and their adopted brother Gabriel, making her the obvious choice to take over Hunter’s personal security.  During the five years she had been working with Hunter, Maeghen had also become their premier trainer for up-and-coming talent.  She often used Hunter as a final exam of sorts for her better “graduates.”  The aforementioned Malcolm had been Maeghen’s leading student; looked like the unfortunate young man was in for some remedial work.

            Still smiling over the fireworks certain to erupt between Maegs and his stubborn brother, Michael headed back toward his room.  As he made his way through the empty halls, the smile left the young man’s face as his thoughts returned to the changes in his relationship with his oldest brother; the relationship among all the brothers, really.  Some of those changes had their genesis in Hunter’s assumption of the role as head of both the family and Drake Enterprises.  Hunter took his responsibilities seriously; sometimes too seriously if you asked his brothers.  And then there was the debacle that had been the termination of Hunter’s engagement.  Ultimately Hunter had forgiven everyone involved in that mess, but his continual reserve with his brothers told Michael that he hadn’t forgotten any of it.  Not for the first time, Michael wondered what Hunter would do if the whole truth were revealed to him.  No matter what, it would not be pretty, not to mention the truth would hurt Hunter more than he’d already been, which is why Michael, Gavin, and Gabriel had all agreed to keep it among the three of them; four if you counted Maeghen.  As for the other party involved in the ugly affair, she certainly wasn’t going to reveal what really happened that night.

            Pushing his own unpleasant memories back, Michael headed straight for his in-suite bathroom, wishing the hot shower could wash the lingering memories from his mind as easily as the sweat from his body.