So I put my earbuds in my ears and turn up my iPod, silently rocking out to a little Lady Gaga as I stare out the tinted window, remembering the last time I journeyed to Glastonbury with Magnus. It’s hard to believe it was only last May—it seems a lifetime ago. Back when I thought I was a normal girl living a normal life and my only desire was to get a cute boy to ask me to prom. In just six short months, my simple life has turned upside down and I will never be considered normal again.
Magnus moans softly and cuddles closer to me. I smile down at him. Oh well, normal is kind of overrated anyway.
The last time we arrived in Glastonbury, it was during their annual music festival, and the streets and fields were teeming with raver types. This time, luckily, it’s a lot quieter. A charming town with quaint shops and pubs and brick row houses lining the streets. It’s a bit of tourist trap—catering to all the King Arthur fans out there—but mostly in a cute, non- tacky kind of way. A far cry from the Vegas strip, in any case.
I get out and do a little exploring while I’m waiting for my team to wake up for the night, buying a few books for Rayne at the independent book publisher Gothic Image on High Street, checking out the castle-like St. Benedict’s church, and visiting the famous Chalice Well, which supposedly offers healing waters due to its close proximity to the Holy Grail. (Some people are actually drinking the “healing water,” but the fountain looks a little unhygienic to me, so I pass. Besides, I’ve already gotten healed by the real thing anyway.)
Outside of town you can hike up the Tor, which is this huge hill, topped by St. Michael’s Tower. Legend has it this was once an island called Avalon where the druids of Arthurian legend lived. What few people know is underneath this popular tourist destination lies the Holy Grail itself—brought here by Joseph of Arimathea after Jesus died. What we’ve come all this way to find.
Before I know it, the sun sets and the mist rolls in and the vampires awaken from their slumber as all good mortals head to bed. After receiving Magnus’s text, I meet up with the gang at a small, dark pub on Market Street and slide into one of the wellworn wooden booths to discuss our plan. Jayden is no longer chained, but is still flanked by his two vampire jailers, leaving him little chance to succumb to any possible bloodlust.
“The druids are a bit... suspicious... of strangers, especially vampires,” Magnus is explaining. “So I think it’s best if just I go alone to their home and you lot wait here.”
I frown. “How about I go instead?” I ask. “Seeing as I’m neither stranger nor vampire. In fact, druids and fairies have had a long, intertwined history together.” (See? I’ve been doing my fairy homework!) “Surely they’ll be more excited to see me than some undead guy.”
“Some undead guy who once gave them a million pounds,” Magnus reminds me. “I think they’ll remember me... favorably... despite my fangs.”
“Fine. Then let’s go together,” I determine. “Jayden, are you okay waiting here?”
Jayden nods, though he doesn’t look psyched about being left alone with Francis and Tanner, to be honest. Not that I blame him—the two bodyguards are already ordering up pints and tuning in to the local football (soccer) update on the telly. They barely nod good-bye as Magnus and I walk out of the pub and onto the streets. Jayden, on the other hand, doesn’t take his sad eyes off of me until we turn the corner out of sight. Which makes me feel more than a little guilty.
“I wonder if it’ll be the same guys as last time,” I remark, trying to push thoughts of Jayden from my mind as we head down the road. “Or if they totally ditched the whole sacred druid gig once they got ahold of that million you gave them.”
Magnus chuckles. “I do wonder how much of that... donation... ever made it into the goddess’s coffers.”
“Please. The goddess completely got screwed out of the deal, let me tell you. I’m betting the entire balance went to pints of Stella and front-row seats to the local football matches.” I shake my head in disgust. “Druid hooligans.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Magnus says. “We need their coffers to be running low to tempt them into considering a second deal.”
“Do you think it’ll cost another million this time?” I ask. “Or is there some sort of discount for repeat customers?”
“What, like buy one Grail, get one free?” Magnus asks with a laugh.
“Sure. That’d work. At the very least, they should let us put it on plastic so we can score some frequent flyer miles out of the deal.”
“Sadly, Sunny, I’m pretty certain the ancient druid sect guarding the Holy Grail does not take American Express.”
I huff. “Well, the ancient druid sect needs to get with the new millennium then. Or at least be willing to throw in a set of Ginsu knives with every Holy Grail purchase. I mean, they do know we’re in a recession, right?”
Magnus shakes his head, laughing. We turn another corner and I recognize the narrow, cobblestone street the druids call home. Lined with cheerily painted row houses and little curio shops filled with rusty antiques, you’d never know the street was the resting place for one of the most clandestine groups in the world.
Except, you know, for the fact that their front door seems to have been ripped from its hinges and tossed into the street in a pile of shattered glass. Which, let’s face it, is not the best way to keep a low profile.
Horrified, I reach down and gingerly pluck the druid’s brass knocker from the dirt. The secret symbol of their ancient non–American-Express- taking sect. I hold it up to Magnus questioningly. He takes one look, then dashes toward the house in question, shouting, “Stay here!” as he vanishes through the open doorway.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” I mutter as I rush in after him, down the narrow, gas lamp–lit hallway and into what, at one time, served as a cozy Victorian parlor. Now it’s more like something out of a natural disaster flick: furniture overturned, windows shattered, paintings slashed, and ancient-looking books strewn everywhere, their pages ripped to shreds.
“Please tell me this is just the aftereffects of some World Cup party gone wrong,” I beg as I survey the scene. But something tells me that even the worst football hooligans wouldn’t have made this much of a mess. Not to mention there aren’t nearly enough empty beer bottles strewn around to suggest a happy fiesta.
I glance over at Magnus, who appears to be intently sniffing the air like he’s Toucan Sam or something. He steps forward, following his nose, over to a swinging wooden door at the far end of the parlor, shoving it open and heading into the next room where, unfortunately, I’m guessing he won’t find any Froot Loops. I run after him, pushing through the door and immediately slamming into him on the other side.
“Um, what?” I ask, trying to peer over his shoulder and into the room, which appears to be some sort of kitchen. Though to be honest, I’m not entirely sure I want to know what made him stop short like that. Especially since he currently appears to be shaking in fright. And let’s just say vampires don’t tend to scare easily.
He takes a step to the side, allowing me an unfortunate up close and personal look at a crumpled body, facedown in a puddle of thick blood. The man is dressed in a druid’s robe but his hands and feet have been bound. And while I’m no specialist, I’ve seen enough CSI episodes to conclude that our victim was shot in the back of the head, execution style. Flies buzz cheerfully around the carcass, evidently having a much better night than we are, and it’s all I can do not to vomit from the smell of rot permeating the room.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing Magnus’s arm and trying to drag him back into the parlor. He resists, locking his feet to the floor. Unfortunately even the most self-controlled vampires tend to lose focus when they come across a big pool of free blood just waiting to be drunk. (It’s like winning the undead lottery to them.) But I’ll tell you right now, if I have to watch my boyfriend mop up this particular puddle with his tongue I will seriously hurl and never be able to kiss him again. Which would suck, big-time, considering what a great kisser he
is.
Luckily, a loud moan from the parlor seems to awaken him from his bloodlust. The two of us run back into the main room and look around. Magnus points at a ratty overturned sofa. I grab one end and together we manage to flip it back over to its proper position, revealing another body—this one not so bloody or dead, thank God—curled up in fetal position on the floor.
“Hey, dude! Are you okay?” I ask, toeing the still- living druid with my foot. “What happened here?”
As the man rolls over slowly, his eyes bulge with fright. “Please don’t kill me!” he begs, his whole body trembling. “You’ve already taken everything! I have nothing left to give!”
I squint down at him, taking in the long gray beard and matching robe, tied with a crimson belt. “Llewellyn?” I ask, cocking my head in recognition. “Llewellyn the Pendragon?”
Last time we were here, Llewellyn (probably not his real name) was the one to help us retrieve the Holy Grail blood from under the Tor. Though to be honest, he seemed a lot more majestic and Gandalf the Great–like when he wasn’t shaking like a frightened hobbit.
The druid looks up at me in surprise. “How do you know my name?” he demands as he tries to right himself. Magnus grabs his arm and helps him over to the sofa. I notice his robes are bloodstained, but he doesn’t appear to be hurt. Unlike his poor friend in the kitchen…
“Don’t you remember us?” I ask. “We came here last May and donated a bunch of money to your Goddess in exchange for a little Grail blood.”
His eyes clear with recognition and he nods his head slowly. “Yes,” he says. “Of course. You were the girl who did not want to become a vampire.” He glances over at Magnus. “Though you still seem to enjoy keeping their company…”
If only he knew. “Yeah, long story, that. But I’m sure it’s not half as interesting as what happened here. Why were you hiding under the couch? Who trashed your apartment? And”—I hesitate, not wanting to be the one to break the news if he doesn’t already know—“have you seen your friend in the kitchen, by chance?”
Llewellyn draws in a shaky breath. “You mean Collin. Yes. I’m afraid the wheel of life has seen fit to detach my dear friend.” He sighs deeply. “I can only hope I shall manage to find him again in our next lifetime.”
Ah, right. Being a druid, he’d believe in reincarnation. “I’m sure you will,” I try to comfort him. “I’m sure the Goddess will merge your two souls together as one and your destinies will be intertwined for the ages and—”
The druid holds up a hand. “All I’m after is the fifty quid the bastard still owes me. Pretty convenient he goes and gets himself bloody executed before paying me back.”
Oh. Right.
“So um, about that,” I say, getting back to the subject at hand. “Who did the old executing anyway? I mean, I’m assuming this isn’t a normal Friday night in for you guys, right?”
The druid scrubs his face with his hands before speaking. “Early this morning, we gathered before dawn in the parlor to speak our daily prayers and present our offerings to the Goddess mother who made us all,” he begins. “But no sooner had we lit our first candle than the front door comes crashing in. A group of five hooded individuals invaded our home, armed to the teeth. Guns, swords, knives— they were a walking, talking armory.” He shudders, as if remembering the rampage. “Their leader demanded to know where we kept the Holy Grail.”
I swallow hard as Magnus shoots me a worried glance.
“But you didn’t tell them, right?” I demand, fear rising to my throat. “I mean, you wouldn’t just give it up like that, under threat. That’s the whole reason you have this gig to begin with. Your life’s mission and all that.”
But even as I’m saying the words, I’m remembering the last time we came here. How easily they abandoned their commission for the money we offered in exchange for their secret. And that was without their lives being on the line.
Seriously, the powers-that-be would have been so much better off just leaving the damn thing in a safety deposit box in Topeka.
Sure enough, Llewellyn hangs his head. “We tried,” he says mournfully. “We told them we’d rather die than give up the sacred location of the Grail. And so they started killing us. One by one, execution style, until Collin decided enough was enough. He wasn’t prepared to give up his life just for some stupid antique.”
“So you gave them the location of the cup,” I conclude dully, my heart aching inside of me. Poor Jayden. How am I going to break the news to him that his one shred of hope in regaining his humanity is now likely gone for good?
Llewellyn nods slowly. “I walked one of them to the location myself. A girl—maybe a teenager—it was hard to tell with her red hood shielding her face. In any case, I thought she’d just take a drop or two—all anyone would really need for personal use. But she wanted the whole cup and all it contained. And she had some kind of high-tech laser knife, which she used to chip away the Grail from the stone—stealing it from the sanctuary that’s kept it safe for two thousand years.” He squeezes his hands into fists. “She sealed the top to prevent any blood from escaping, then ordered me back to the house.” His voice cracks. “When we got there, all the other druids—including Collin—were dead.”
“But they let you live?” I ask. “I mean, no offense, but why?”
He shrugs. “The girl wasn’t happy when she saw all the bodies. She told me to hide under the sofa and play dead. I heard her later in the kitchen admonishing the rest of them for the murders, saying they were unnecessary, seeing as they’d gotten what they’d came for. But the group’s leader—who I swear was a vampire—insisted that the Alphas wanted no witnesses.”
I shoot Magnus a look, then turn back to Llewellyn. “Wait, what? The Alphas? The Grail robbers said they were Alphas?” It all suddenly starts to make sense. The red robes—that’s what the Alphas all wore at Riverdale. After escaping the Blood Coven, Corbin must have rejoined his friends.
“But how would they know to look for the Grail here?” Magnus asks. “Llewellyn’s order has been guarding it for two thousand years. There’s no way some newbie vampire and his boarding school pals would know of its location.”
“Well, you knew,” Llewellyn reminds him bitterly. “Maybe it’s not such a well-kept secret after all.”
“Um, it’s not like I Google mapped it. I only knew because I once served as a Knight Templar,” Magnus replies in a steely tone. “My order was sent to the Crusades to find the cup to begin with. After my maker, Lucifent, turned me into a vampire, I started doing my own research on the side. I traced the cup to your Order in the early 1300s and have been keeping an eye on you ever since.” He frowns. “And I certainly never shared the information with anyone.”
“Except for her,” Llewellyn reminds him, tossing his head in my direction.
Magnus turns to me. “You never told anyone the Grail’s location, did you?” he asks. “Think hard.”
I bat my eyelashes at him. “Oh, was that supposed to be a secret? Guess I shouldn’t have dropped the dime to the Vatican then.” Magnus and Llewellyn shoot me looks and I roll my eyes. “I’m kidding. God. Of course I didn’t tell anyone.”
Okay, fine. I may have mentioned it to Jayden, but he’s been under guard the entire time so there’s no way he could have spilled. And my sister might know the general vicinity of the Grail, but not the exact address.
“In any case, at this point it doesn’t really matter how they learned its location,” Magnus interjects. “Only that they have. We have to find them—and the Grail—no matter what it takes. No good could come from the Alphas possessing such a relic.”
“Yeah, well you lot have fun with that,” Llewellyn mutters, grabbing a pair of Air Force 1s from under the couch and slipping them on his feet. “I’m bloody done with this gig. I’d rather be stuck pouring pints at a lousy pub for the rest of my days than keep risking my life for a glorified Big Gulp.” He yanks off his robes, revealing a vintage Van Halen T-shirt and jeans. “At leas
t now I’ll have a decent chance at scoring some health benefits. Damn druids and their ‘herbs cure everything so you don’t need a doctor’ bullshit. I mean, really.”
And on that uplifting note, he gives us a little bow, then heads briskly down the hall and out the open doorway, leaving Magnus and me alone in the parlor. My boyfriend watches him go, shaking his head. “Kids today,” he snarls. “No respect for holy commissions.” Then he turns back to me. “Sorry, babe,” he says, giving me a sympathetic look. “I think we’re out of luck.”
I hang my head. “This sucks. I mean, the Grail’s been sitting here for, like, two thousand years and it just happens to get stolen the day before we need it?”
“It does seem a really lousy coincidence. And I don’t like the fact that the Alphas have Corbin on the payroll again. They’re dangerous enough without actual vampires working for them.”
“Well, Corbin didn’t want to be a vampire,” I remind him. “Maybe he took the Grail so he could turn himself back into a human.”
“Maybe,” Magnus says, not sounding all that convinced. “Or maybe the Alphas need it to finalize their supernatural DNA cocktail.” He scowls. “This could be bad. I have got to notify the Consortium immediately.” He rises to his feet and starts out the door.
“Wait,” I cry, stumbling after him. “What about Jayden?”
He stops and turns back to me. “I’m sorry, Sunny, I don’t know what to tell you. Without the Grail, he really doesn’t have much hope.”