Immortal and unkillable except by very specific methods, the supernaturals survived long after the belief that brought them into existence had died out. They changed with the times, blending in with their creators, remaining ever true to their original nature. Good continued as good, evil stayed evil, and neutral abided uninvolved and in between.
Thus, Merlin the Magician became a commodities broker, advising the rich and famous. Cassandra Cole, last of the Amazons, turned into a martial-arts teacher and bodyguard. And barrow trolls became neo-Nazi skinheads.
At first, it had been quite confusing to Jack. But not for long. As a voracious reader of fantasy novels, he found Merlin’s explanation of the supernatural astonishing but otherwise quite acceptable. Trained in logical thinking, he found his background in mathematics provided the right answers to supernatural mysteries. It didn’t take Jack long to slip into his role as the Logical Magician.
Grinning, he rose from his bed and headed to the bathroom, three steps away. Living in a trailer, everything was close by. To Jack’s way of thinking, it was one of the few benefits of such a life. One of the very few benefits.
He was staying in the trailer camp more for protection than for lack of funds. Merlin paid him a very generous salary. Moving out of his college apartment a week ago, he had been terribly tempted to rent a fancy place on Chicago’s near north side. Or accept Megan’s offer that he share her expensive condo. But as pointed out by his friends, both choices posed clearly unacceptable risks. Jack’s life was still in deadly danger. And if he was killed, eternal night would engulf the globe.
Though he had defeated Dietrich von Bern, the Huntsman’s mysterious master was still at large. An ancient demigod of incredible powers, it threatened modern civilization. Using his crystal ball, Merlin proclaimed Jack the only one who could stop the entity. It was a duel not yet completed. Until the creature had been found and somehow destroyed, Jack could not afford to relax an instant. Thus, he stayed, surrounded by friendly supernaturals, in a trailer camp in the far western Chicago suburbs.
Megan visited as often as possible, but the cramped trailer provided little room for romance. Nor did their dozens of busybody chaperons, ranging from the Witch Hazel and her familiar, Sylvester, a talking cat, to Simon Goodfellow, a faery changeling who always managed to interrupt at the most inconvenient instant possible. It was enough to try the patience of a saint. And Jack definitely felt anything but saintly concerning Megan.
Wonderfully erotic thoughts about his girlfriend forced Jack to turn the shower water ice cold. Short and slender, with dark hair and sparkling eyes, Megan resembled an elf. Which was probably why Jack originally thought she was entirely supernatural and not merely a halfling. That she was very human and quite passionate, he had discovered only recently. For all of her ethereal charms, Megan could be quite risqué when the time and opportunity presented itself.
After showering and shaving, Jack flung on a shirt, sneakers, and pair of faded blue jeans. A quick glance at the clock told him he had barely enough time to grab a bowl of cereal and milk before meeting Cassandra on the meadow for his self-defense lessons. He grimaced as his muscles mentally groaned in anticipation. These workouts were necessary, but not appreciated. World-saver or not, Jack was a thinker, not a fighter. However, there was no arguing with an Amazon.
Arriving at the tree-lined glade at exactly nine-thirty, Jack was not surprised to find Cassandra there and ready for action. The Amazon was a chronic overachiever. Her back to him, she had started exercising on her own.
Self-discipline was a way of life to the Amazon. She always arrived early and left late. Practice, practice, and more practice filled her life. Cassandra defined dedication—bordering on obsession.
Tall and slender, Cassandra had skin the color of dark chocolate. Her eyes and shoulder-length hair were jet black. High cheekbones and a thin, aquiline nose gave her a fragile, delicate look. Only the whipcord-lean muscles in her arms and shoulders hinted at the true strength she possessed.
In her hands, the Amazon held a thick walking staff. Capped on each end with silver, the stick was covered with exotic markings carved into the wood. Simon had once mentioned in passing something about ancient Greek mottoes. Jack felt sure they dealt with the glory of battle. A mythological warrior woman, Cassandra didn’t fight to live—she lived to fight.
Jack watched, entranced as she wove her staff in an intricate series of maneuvers. The wood moved so fast mat at times the air whistled with its passage. Cassandra twirled on her toes, graceful as a ballet dancer, as she completed routines designed to kill or maim anyone foolish enough to engage her in combat. Cassandra played rough. When necessary, she was deadly.
“About time you arrived, Jack,” declared the Amazon without turning. He was quite positive she had never seen him. But she had known he was there. “You’re three minutes late.”
“Sorry,” said Jack. “How did you identify me?”
“Your breathing, of course,” she said. She spun around and planted her staff six inches into the hard soil. “Once you’ve mastered the fundamentals of self-defense, I’ll teach you some basic survival techniques. You make too much noise walking. And you breathe way too loud.”
Jack sighed. He didn’t recall any of the fantasy novels he enjoyed dwelling on the hero’s tedious and painful training sessions. In books, the protagonist was always in perfect shape and a master fighter. Unfortunately, teaching mathematics didn’t require any such skills. It was going to be another traumatic morning.
The Amazon smiled, as if reading his thoughts. Mentally, Jack grimaced. Cassandra reserved her grins for days when she planned the most demanding physical torments imaginable. He wondered if it was too late to remember another appointment.
Cassandra took one step toward him when her eyes widened in sudden surprise. Something large and black rocketed over their heads. “Assassins!” screeched the bird. “Assassins!”
Instantly, the Amazon launched herself at Jack. Her right shoulder slammed into his chest, sending the two of them sprawling to the earth. Above them, the clearing exploded with the roar of automatic weapons.
Jack gulped in shock as Cassandra’s staff disintegrated into a thousand toothpicks. On the far side of the glade, the greenery vanished, swept away by a steel broom.
“Stay flat,” commanded Cassandra and disappeared into the woods. Knowing his limitations, Jack had no intentions of doing anything but.
An eternity passed in less than a minute. As suddenly as it had begun, the gunfire ceased. Still wary, Jack stayed put. At the moment, the ground seemed the safest place to be.
With a flap of wings, a huge raven landed only a few inches from Jack’s nose. Intense pinpoint black eyes stared into his.
“All’s clear,” declared the bird, in a surprisingly deep voice. It spoke with a slight accent that Jack found vaguely familiar. “The babe neutralized the opposition. I spotted three men and she got them all. Tough cookie, that lady.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Jack. “You could be trying to trick me.”
“After warning you of the attack in the first place?” replied the raven. “That doesn’t make sense, Johnnie.”
Jack groaned. The nickname confirmed his worst fears. The bird squawked with a noticeable Swedish accent. It sounded just like his mother. Who was the only person in the world who still used that particular boyhood tide.