Page 111 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“There’s wooden stairs leading to the beach.” The first time my father took me there, I was eight. He’d stood at the cave entrance with the waves pulling back from the rocks and told me the whole story—the mist, the disguise, how Uther had walked through the gates without anyone realizing who he was. My father had been different that day. Animated. He’d pointed into the dark mouth of the cave and said, ‘That’s where the magic is.’

It was one of the few times he’d ever been excited by anything beyond a deal or a client.

“Too bad we don’t have magic disguises,” I said.

“Or any disguises,” Lance said. “Rick knows us and obviously recognizes Gwen.”

My phone buzzed with a security notification. I unlocked it and saw a figure on the east camera, moving toward the house. Toward the kitchen doors. Head down, dark jacket, wide hat, and a rifle.

Lance noticed my reaction and grabbed a gun.

I grabbed the other. “Gwen, get behind the sideboard.”

She darted to the heavy oak piece against the wall with the sword case in hand and crouched behind it.

Lance and I hurried toward the kitchen, guns low until we got close. Muscle memory and occasional silent signals kept us in sync as we took the corners toward the east entrance. I flattened myself against the wall beside the doorframe.

I nodded.

Lance raised his weapon.

I yanked the door open.

An older man stumbled back a step, his ancient rifle coming up halfway before his brain caught up with his hands.

“Don’t!” I lowered my gun and put up a hand. “Ethan. It’s us.”

Lance dropped his weapon to his side. “Jesus Christ.”

Ethan Fowley stood in the doorway with his chest heaving, the rifle now pointed at the ground. He had long gray hair and a face like a permanent thundercloud beneath the tattered hat that had obscured him on the security feed. “Master Arthur? Lance?”

“Yeah, it’s us.” I let out a breath. “But it’s Arthur, okay?”

“Your father would have my hide, Master Arthur.” Ethan stepped inside and leaned the rifle against the doorframe. He pressed a hand to his chest. The man was pushing seventy and had just had two guns in his face.

The last thing I needed was to add my father’s caretaker having a heart attack to the list of this week’s chaos. I took his arm. “What are you doing here with a gun?”

“A car crossed the back field about half an hour ago. I didn’t recognize it and thought someone was going to break in.”

So much for sneaking in. I should have called to warn him we were coming back. As we entered the dining room with him, Gwen stood from behind the sideboard. I said to her, “It’s all right. This is Ethan Fowley. He takes care of the property.”

Ethan straightened when he saw Gwen, but the cold scowl remained. “Ma’am.”

“My name’s Gwen.” She put the sword case on the table and came over to him. “Are you all right? Can I get you some water?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He lowered himself into one of the chairs with a groan. He touched one of the maps. “Visiting more of the local sites?”

“Gwen’s the historian friend we took to St. Catherine’s Church.”

“Yes, yes.” Ethan ran a hand over his face. “Did you enjoy the church, ma’am?”

She smiled at him. “I did. Very much.”

“And how long will you be staying this time, Master Arthur?”

“A day or two.”

“I can have some more groceries sent up, if you’d like?”