Denver Cereal Denver Cereal

Chapter Six Hundred-twelve: The making of a Grand Master (part one)


(part one)

Denver, Colorado

U.S. Army Lieutenant Alexandra Hargreaves awoke with a start. She was naked, tucked under her husband’s arm, in her own bed. She closed and opened her eyes.

How did she get there?

She tried to remember. They had been standing on the grassy field of Castle Ponferrada in the early dawn. “They” consisted of a bizarre collection of mythological creatures, Goddesses, and even a Titan. She had been standing next to Dr. Nelson Weeks, who turned out to be a good friend of her husband’s. Dr. Weeks was also Guy Semaines, Templar or possibly head of the Templars. Grand Master? He’d said as much but he was also… It was hard to keep track of all of the things the handsome man was an expert in.

She turned to look at her sleeping husband. His curly hair was clipped close. Knowing she wasn’t going to be home, he’d not shaved before bed. With his even stubble, he could give any sultry male model a run for their money. She loved him in a way she could never explain.

Feeling her eyes, he opened his eyes. In the dark light, his cobalt blue eyes looked nearly black. He squinted at her face and then smiled. He leaned his face forward to kiss her.

“What a wonderful surprise!” Dr. John Drayson said. “When did you get home?”

“Just now, I think,” Alex said, shrugging her eyebrows. “I seem to have been set into bed.”

“Lucky me,” John said. He stroked her face.

“How long have I been gone?” Alex asked.

“You left after dinner tonight?” John asked. “You don’t know?”

“Hecate said that we would ‘walk time,’” Alex said. “I don’t know what that means, really.”

“You mean that you’ve been off on a quest?” John asked, sitting up.

He turned on the light to look at her.

“More than twenty castles in Portugal and Spain,” Alex said with a sigh. “We spent a weekend at on an uncharted island that belongs to Aphrodite. We raised some saints on Bardsey Island. Met the real Merlin, even.”

“You were off the coast of Wales?” John asked.

“London, too.” Alex nodded as she sat up and leaned against the headboard.

“We spent time on the Isle of Man in the company of the Manannàn,” Alex said.

“What?” John asked. “The actual Celtic god?”

“You know him?” Alex asked.

“My mother’s favorite Celtic God,” John said with a shake of his head. “At least that’s what Rita used to say. ‘If you cannot worship the Catholic God, you can pray to Manannàn.’ I still do that sometimes.”

Denver Cereal continues tomorrow…

Next: Chapter Six Hundred-twelve: The making of a Grand Master (part two)

Previous: Just a reminder, in a week Denver Cereal begins its first hiatus

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