“Is that French?” She asked.
He nodded.
“But you sound British.”
“Born and raised.”
“Where?”
The soldiers behind him exchanged small glances.
“Here. In London,” he replied. “Your Father taught me in school.”
Maeve beamed. “Then you must be a Supreme.”
Nigel flicked the bright shiny S on his uniform. “Are you?”
The men behind him stiffened.
Maeve was silent for a moment.
“No,” was all she said.
“I have heard otherwise,” said Nigel casually.
“Maeve!”
She turned. Abraxas was jogging across the grass towards her.
“I’ve taken enough of your time,” started Maeve but Nigel held up his palm.
“Hop to it boys,” he said.
The portal spiraled into existence between them as Abraxas reached her side.
“I hope you enjoy the rest of your Saturday, Miss Sinclair,” said Nigel.
Maeve looked at the portal, and then back up at Nigel.
“Thank you,” she said.
Abraxas linked his arm with hers and they stepped through into the uncomfortable in-between of worlds.
Portals were tricky work. Maeve’s father told her that the soldiers chosen to uphold the portals between realms were exceptionally gifted in creating them and sustaining them.
After the air had been squished from her lungs, and they were strolling towards the gates of the castle Abraxas asked:
“Thank Merlin for your ability to name drop Uncle Ambrose. I didn’t want to wait another hour.”
“I didn’t do that,” said Maeve, pulling her new coat tightly around herself.
“Liar.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe there is more than one way to get what you want? Demanding doesn’t exactly buy me any favors.”
Only then did Maeve realize Abraxas was holding himself strangely. And his coat looked rather bulky and large.
“What do you have?” Groaned Maeve.
