Chapter 1
Second Alpha
Second Alpha
The room was filled with sweet smoke, though the flavor itself was difficult to pinpoint. At a small table, a hookah bubbled, the man next to it seeming quite relaxed as he stared at the wall across from him. He didn’t quite see the wall. A sort of projection had conjured itself on the sand-colored paint, the memories of many years as he was. He raised the hose to thin lips, inhaling deeply, slowly, and pulling the hose from his mouth, allowing the sweet smoke to escape in a sort of sigh. Her eyes observed him, knowing without doubt what was going on in his mind. Her thumb was idly against the nozzle at the end of the hose, conserving the smoke for the man who enjoyed it. He was Egyptian, and she was Roman.
The two shared a comfortable silence, for they rarely spoke to each other. His red eyes remained hazily on the wall, and the hose rose to his lips again. Finally, when he exhaled, she took in a deep, insightful breath, the nozzle between her lips. She leaned back in her seat as she exhaled. The two watched the wall as the smoke swirled out of the way so they could watch the image on that sandy wall. It was quite a while before the movements changed.
A tanned hand plucked up the smoldering coal from the bowl at the top, and the dark-haired god removed the screen from the hashish bowl, his free hand languid as he pulled a generous amount from the bowl where he’d mixed the hashish and dumped it into the top of the hookah. Usually, one may worry for how clumsy he could be, but hashish did not truthfully affect him. The both of them had a resistance to poisons and hallucinogens, but it functioned as a sort of muscle relaxer if they allowed a certain amount of the smoke into their bloodstreams. Her eyes had barely turned to him; this was supposed to be their lazy day, just enjoying each other’s company. It usually went with the two of them sitting there with a hookah, thinking.
After setting the screen back on the top of the hookah, he placed the smoldering coal on the top, the heat not bothering his nimble fingers. He took a few short puffs as the coal started to heat up again, just making sure the airway was good, and then returned to his languid smoking. In the time that she knew him, he was meticulous enough, even when relaxed, not to make a mistake. It might be luck, but there was something behind it. The years of practice.
She noted a smirk on his lips and let her thoughts trail elsewhere. The two friends sat in a comfortable silence for a while longer, until the sound of a sweet melody reached them. The god lifted his head, blowing out the smoke from his most recent lungful, eyes on the door. The goddess took this as a rare moment to study his lean form without his attention on her observations. When the door opened, this was forgotten.
There was a sort of distaste that came about seeing the Celt before her. He was plucking idly at the strings of his lyre, leaning on the wall with an infuriatingly gentle smile as he swayed side to side. “Maximilian…Another has popped up.”
“You should be taking care of the new ones. I informed the lot of you that we would be relaxing.”
“Aye…But there’s a problem.”
“Which is?”
“He’s the Keeper of Camelot.”
The god’s hand stilled. The nozzle had been about to touch his lips, and he’d been about to take in another breath. He closed his mouth, setting the hose on its hook, and his friend mimicked his actions. His hand went to the coal, which he crushed in his palm, leaving the ashes in the bowl around the container from the hashish. He didn’t say anything as he stood, opening the single window of the room and allowing the smoke to escape, as the smell had a tendency to linger, and his sensitive nose couldn’t take it for very long. He ran a hand through his short, clean-cut hair as he looked to the man, still plucking at the lyre in his hands idly. “You are positive he is the Keeper?”
“Yes. Something has upset the balance, because his entire aura reads Camelot.”
“What is his name?”
“Gavril Arthur Pendragon, descendant of King Arthur Pendragon.”
