Harley Merlin 11: Finch Merlin and the Lost Map Read online

  “That was quite the entrance.” I stepped up to make my introductions. “My name’s Finch. Still in one piece, though your flying ball came pretty close to knocking off my pretty head.”

  The girl stared at me before breaking into giggles. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t even see you through all the flames licking up the windshield!” She put out her hand. “I’m Melody Winchester, and this is my bodyguard, Luke Prescott.”

  “Winchester, eh? As in—”

  “As in the rifle inventor, yes,” she replied, shaking my hand with alarming vigor. I tried to let go, but she held on. “I’m his descendant. It’s a hard name to get away from. Everyone says, ‘Oh, are you related to the rifle guy?’ and I’m always like, ‘Yes, that’s the one!’ Or they say, ‘Oh, as in the ones who built that weird house with all the dead-ends and ghosts?’ and I’m like, ‘Yep, that’s me.’ Creepy house girl.” She laughed louder, practically ripping my hand off. This had to be the longest handshake in history. “I don’t mind, so don’t worry about asking. Everyone does. Besides, there are worse families to be from, right?”

  Oh, sweet girl… if only you knew. “I suppose there are.”

  “What have I told you about shaking hands with strangers?” Luke whispered. He hit me with a death stare.

  “How am I supposed to say hello properly if I don’t shake hands? That would be plain rude,” she replied, finally releasing me. “My father always said a handshake is the best way to get an idea of a person. You can tell a lot from a handshake, you know?”

  “Is that so?” What’s it say when you take forever to let go? Man, this girl talked a mile a minute. It sapped my energy just to listen.

  “Yes, he always said that a person should have a strong, genuine handshake. Weak handshakes equal shifty people, and lack of eye contact means someone has something to hide, or that’s what he used to tell me.” She smiled proudly.

  “Is that why you held on so long?” I teased. “What did you learn about me?”

  She cocked her head. “You’ve got a good, honest grip, but you don’t like physical contact. It makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Well, you’re not wrong. Judging by your handshake, you’re part boa constrictor.” I laughed, and so did she.

  “I get a bit enthusiastic sometimes.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Pleased to meet you both.” I offered my hand to Luke, even though it throbbed from Melody’s ridiculous handshake, but he looked at it like my fingers were covered in oozing boils.

  “My name is Blanche Dunham.” My first new chum shook Melody’s hand and wasn’t rebuffed when she went to shake Luke’s. Ah, it’s like that, is it? I’d been out of high school for years, but whenever I came across someone like him, it took me right back. He reminded me of Dylan, only less palatable.

  “So, you’ve come to map-make?” I broke the ensuing silence.

  Melody and Luke exchanged a secretive glance. “That’s right,” Luke answered. Simple and to the point. If Melody had answered, I could only imagine what might’ve poured out of her mouth. The way she rambled had a somewhat endearing quality. Like a hyperactive squirrel.

  “You must’ve led an interesting life, being from the Winchester family?” I tried again. “Although, I thought the magical gene petered out of that line a long time ago.” If spending time in the Cult of Eris had taught me one useful thing, it was that knowledge was power. And the months I’d spent cooped up in stuffy study rooms, reading book after book on magical families, would soon pay off.

  Luke frowned. “You seem to know a lot about the Winchesters… Finch, was it?”

  “That’s right,” I replied, unfazed.

  “He must be a bibliophile, like me!” Melody clapped her hands in excitement. “And you’re right. The famous Winchester, William Wirt, wasn’t a magical. If he had been, he might not have invented a rifle, am I right?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Who needs guns when they can spew magic from their hands?”

  “Exactly! So, he wasn’t, and the last magical recorded, before me, was two generations before him. Was it two? Anyway, it skipped down the line until I came along, and—poof!—a magical was born. But I think that was mostly my mother’s doing. She’s a magical, but my father isn’t.” Luke nudged her, like she’d said too much, but she didn’t seem to notice. “They fought and fought about sending me to the San Jose Coven for my magical education. Instead, they brought the preceptors to our house to teach me. Homeschooled—guilty as charged.”

  “They do that?” Blanche arched an eyebrow. “They never did in my day.”

  Melody shook her head. “Oh no, it was a special arrangement. I think there must’ve been quite a lot of money involved, but I don’t really keep track of those things. My parents are really protective, and I think they were both relieved and panicked that I became a magical. It could’ve gone either way, I suppose. The Russian roulette of genetics.”

  A few of the things she said hit me in a very fragile corner of my mind. Famous magical families, the genetic game of chance… I’d been affected by both. My mind gremlins stayed quiet for now, but they wouldn’t for long. My pills didn’t have the same edge under pressure and stress. This definitely qualified. If I had to spend a while here, unable to contact anyone, they’d probably wind up going haywire. This protective bubble might’ve seemed hard to escape from, but it would be much harder to escape my own mind while inside said bubble.

  “No need to tell your whole life story, Melody.” Luke put a hand on her shoulder. Her cheeks reddened.

  “Sorry, I have a habit of talking too much. I’m trying to work on it, but I’ve always been this way. As a kid, everyone always called me precocious, and I never knew if it was an insult or a compliment. I suppose that was where my love for words began, because I had so much curiosity about that word—precocious. I delved into the dictionary, and I’ve been addicted to reading ever since. I just have so many things racing through my head, and sometimes they all just come out at once, in a big torrent that I can’t control,” she said quietly.

  “Well, I think it’s better to talk too much than say nothing at all,” I said encouragingly.

  She flashed me a shy smile that made Captain Beefcake glower.

  I wonder what you’re searching for. I didn’t know if her verbal diarrhea would make her a good candidate for gentle interrogation, or if the answers would get lost in the gush, so to speak. Maybe it didn’t matter why people were here. Maybe that was none of my beeswax. But inquisitiveness was a trait I’d never grown out of.

  I opened my mouth to ask, when a soft scuffling sound distracted me, followed by a groan and the scrape of tumbling rocks. I turned to see a pair of enormous hands grip the edge of the cliff. A moment later, a huge African dude pulled himself over the lip and stood to his full height. If I’d thought Luke was tall, this guy made him look like a midget. The man wore desert camouflage trousers and a black T-shirt. A red military cap topped his head, at an angle.

  He eyed us suspiciously and removed the hat to wipe his brow. “Why are you all here?” His accent was rich and deep, flavored with Nigerian pride.

  “Same as you, I’d guess,” I replied.

  “I haven’t seen so many before.” He pushed his hat into his pocket. “I have come every day, waiting for them doors to open. Not a soul been here, ‘cept that woman over there. She been waiting as long as me, to get in them doors.” He pointed to Blanche.

  “You’ve been coming every day?” Melody sounded stunned.

  “I been trying, though I’ve not had the right spells till now. I seen a couple more trying too, but they didn’t have the right spells neither. I had to bribe me some rogue magicals to give me the right ones, to get past this here protective shield. Looks like I came just in time.” A sudden smile broke out on his face, startling in its abruptness.

  “I’m Finch.” I held out my hand, and he shook it firmly.

  “I am Mr. Abara,” he replied.

  I smiled. “No first name?�
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  “No, it is Mr. Abara.” He peered at me curiously. “No second name?”

  “No, just Finch.” Man, he got me there. It seemed I wasn’t the only one playing cloak and dagger. Melody and Luke had their secretive glances, Mr. Abara refused to give up his first name, I wouldn’t tell my last name, and Blanche was… well, Blanche.

  “I’m Melody Winchester, and this is Luke Prescott—he’s watching over me while I’m here.” She walked over and shook hands with Mr. Abara, Luke and Blanche following suit.

  “Winchesta? As in, the rifle?” Mr. Abara’s eyes darkened for a moment.

  She nodded. “Yes, and the family who built the famous Winchester house.”

  “I don’t care for gons,” Mr. Abara said, his smile gone. “I don’t care for weapons of any kind.”

  “Oh, neither do I, Mr. Abara.” Melody looked up at him earnestly. “I wish my family had a legacy that had nothing to do with guns, but we don’t get to choose where we come from, I suppose. That’s why my ancestor Sarah Winchester built the Winchester house, as a way of appeasing the spirits of those killed by the Winchester rifle. They swarm the place and call it home now.”

  Mr. Abara smiled again. “Hmm… I didn’t know that. At least your family is doing something about it, eh?”

  “That’s how I like to think of it,” Melody replied warmly.

  “So, you’re here to learn map-making?” All of this historical chatter interested me, but I needed to get to the root of why everyone was here. They all seemed to have a purpose, which meant I was the only one with no idea what to expect.

  Mr. Abara nodded. “I am. Same as everyone here, I expect.”

  “And what is it you want to—” A sound made me stop short. A shrub to the side of the monastery moved.

  A figure emerged from the foliage, twigs and leaves stuck in his mane of blond, shaggy hair. He had a red bandana tied around his forehead, giving him the look of a dime-store Axl Rose. Lanky, grimy, and hazy-eyed, he could have easily wandered into that bush after a heavy night, not knowing where the hell he was. His dirty, ripped jeans were covered in slogan badges, like “God Save the Queen,” the smiley Nirvana face, and of course, the jagged “A” of a wannabe anarchist. His threadbare T-shirt read “Newquay—Life’s a Beach,” topping off the punky vibes I picked up from him.

  “Wow, how long have I been out?” He ran a hand through his long hair. His accent was distinctly British. “This turned into quite the gathering.”

  I didn’t know if it was his demeanor, or that Davin-esque accent, but he instantly rubbed me the wrong way.

  “Have you been there this whole time?” Blanche’s jaw dropped.

  He shrugged. “I’ve been here and there, wandering the island, trying to keep myself occupied. This place inspired me to write a stream-of-consciousness piece, sort of Kerouacian, if you want a read. It’s just gorgeous here, isn’t it? So peaceful, and the water is just beaut. Makes me wish I had my board, to paddle out and lay awhile, you know?”

  Please, spare us the open mic night.

  “When did you get here?” Blanche demanded, clearly freaked that someone else had been creeping around the entire time she’d been here.

  “I came for last month’s entrance trials, but I failed miserably, so I’ve been hanging around since then, taking in the scenery,” he replied. “I’m Oliver Huntington-Shaw, by the way. Who are you fine people? I’ve got to say, it’s nice to see new faces. Solitude can be great for the soul, but it can be harmful if it edges into loneliness, you get what I’m saying?”

  “Did you say, ‘entrance trials’?” I ignored the rest of what he said, which was probably for the best. He’d likely never read a Jack Kerouac novel in his life. He’d probably never listened to Nirvana, or done anything vaguely anarchic, either. He’d gone from probable punk rocker to wannabe hipster in the space of a single meeting.

  He nodded. “Of course, mate. You don’t get in if you don’t pass. I bet they used to take anyone, but that’s society for you—always pitting us against each other in the endless competition that is life.”

  Entrance trials? Ah, crap…

  Three

  Finch

  “When do these entrance trials start?” I felt more agitated by the second.

  Oliver smiled. “Mate, have you been out in the sun too long or something? It’s going down tonight, my man. That’s if I’ve got my dates right. It’s going to be a full moon party, and we’re all invited!”

  “A full moon?” I had no idea what day it was, let alone where we were in the moon’s cycle.

  “Who is this guy?” Oliver snorted. “Is he with one of you?”

  I glanced around the gathered group, finding them giving me a weird look. Don’t you put seeds of doubt in their heads, pal. I’d had enough trouble with the last Brit I’d encountered. I didn’t need more reason to dislike this one, too. He’d already given me plenty.

  “No, he came alone,” Blanche replied. “You are here to map-make, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, I just don’t have all the details. It was sort of a last-minute decision.” I gave it my best nonchalance. I wasn’t totally lying. It had been last-minute, just not really my decision.

  Mr. Abara laughed. “Give the boy a break. Everyone’s business is their own. He got a reason, you got a reason, we all got a reason. Even if he don’t know all the details, he made it through the shield. He’s as much right to be here as the rest of us.”

  “Thanks, man. I wasn’t ready for an inquisition,” I mumbled.

  “Think nothing of it.” He clapped me on the shoulder so hard I nearly toppled over.

  Our conversation faltered, interrupted by the whirr of a plane engine. I looked up and saw a small aircraft approaching the island, from the direction of Odysseus’s rocky Ithaca. All of us watched and waited to see if this would be another member of our expanding party. All the while, my mind raced with thoughts of these trials. What would they entail? I needed some damned sleep before I started running gauntlets and doing crazy things, but it didn’t seem naptime had been slotted into Erebus’s schedule.

  The aircraft slowed as it came near. A door in the side gaped wide, and two figures leapt out before my heart had a chance to jump. Blanche gasped, while Oliver nodded his head admiringly. He’d probably gone base-jumping during his year abroad or something.

  Parachutes opened and the figures careened down as they grappled with the pulleys steering their course. Melody and Luke’s entrance might have been impressive, but this was old-school impressive. James Bond stuff. As they neared the protective bubble, they sent out streams of Chaos, their mouths moving as if chanting a spell. I couldn’t get a good look at them, since they both wore jumpsuits and goggles.

  Holes sparked and fizzed in the protective membrane above as it fought against this aerial attack. The holes made a small target for them to hit, and parachutes didn’t strike me as very precise modes of transport. I held my breath as they descended farther, almost reaching the crackling holes they’d made. A moment later, they sailed right through, only for the parachutes to catch in the holes as they quickly closed. The parachutists had let up on their Chaos onslaught, which gave the membrane a chance to repair itself at lightning speed.

  The two figures dangled like marionettes. They writhed and wriggled to get free, but they were harnessed in tight. I lifted my palms to create a boost of Air. Luke seemed to be doing something similar. But there was no need. Whoever these two were, they didn’t need our help. In total sync, like those swimmers with the weird nose-clips, they delved into the pockets of their jumpsuits and took out matching knives. Slicing through the harnesses, they fell in perfect unison to the ground, where they rolled and jumped right back up as if it were nothing. I half expected a “ta-da” or a gymnastic pose to finish off the move.

  Overhead, the empty harnesses swayed in the breeze.

  “So cool,” Oliver said in an appreciative whisper.

  As the duo removed their goggles and unzipped the
ir jumpsuits, stepping out of the billowy fabric, I got a closer look at them. Identical twins of the female persuasion, with long, golden hair, olive complexions, and hazel eyes with a matching mischievous glint. Ugh… twins. It brought back memories of the Ryder twins. They might not have been identical, but they’d liked to mess with people by changing into each other. I hadn’t seen their rampage of mayhem through San Diego, but Harley had told me stories.

  “What’s the matter? Have you—” the first twin said in an Australian lilt.

  “—never seen two sisters parachute out of a plane before?” Number two finished off the sentence in the same Down Under accent.

  Creepy…

  “Twin sisters!” Melody grinned at them. “That’s fascinating. Apparently, magical identical twins have shared—”

  The first twin cut her off. “I’m Shailene, and this is—”

  “—Fay Basani. You might have heard of us,” the second one added seamlessly.

  I wracked my brain. “I’m not sure I have.”

  Both sisters shot me a withering look. “We’re the famous Basani twins,” Shailene went on.

  “Superstars of the Sydney Coven.” Fay nodded.

  “Responsible for the capture of ten percent of the monsters held in the Bestiary.” Shailene grinned at her sister.

  “Travelers and adventurers extraordinaire. There’s no way you haven’t heard of us.” Fay shot me another withering look at the same time as Shailene. They just seemed to know what the other was doing.

  I shrugged. “I don’t read much international news. I must’ve missed you.”

  “I know who you are,” Melody chimed in. “I’ve read a lot about you. Is it true that you caught the first Selkies? I know you shouldn’t always believe the things you read, but it was such an amazing story that I really hope it’s true. It’s quite a feat, to wrangle with a sea creature and survive it. They should have the upper hand, in their own territory, so I imagine it’s very difficult to achieve.”