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Chapter 22: The Seventh Happily Ever After

Bedford, USA, 1945

A car pulled up into the driveway of a two story suburban house. The driver's side door opened and Indiana Jones climbed out. He stood by the hood of the car with his arms folded and a stern glare on his face. The passenger side door opened and a ten year old boy climbed out.

The child looked like Indy's very own mini-me, but he was dressed in army fatigues. He didn't meet Indy's gaze as he walked around the car. All the same his shoulders were hunched and he took small steps.

As soon as he came within arm's length, Indy spoke to him in a no-nonsense tone. 'You get upstairs and change out of those combats, Mutt. And pull out your text books while you're at it. You're grounded and you're going to summer school.'

Mutt winced and ran inside. He passed Marion and bolted up the stairs. Indy heaved a sigh and walked in after him, closing the front door behind him. He smiled when he saw her looking up the stairs with a mixture of concern and irritation.

'That was unusually compliant for him,' she said. She turned and headed into the kitchen.

Indy followed her and leaned in the doorway, watching her fill a plate up with cookies and a glass with milk. He explained it. 'Mutt saw Joey take a bullet to the brain at point Blanc range.'

Indy saw Marion wince, but other than that she forced herself not to react. They both knew what that would've been like. His friend would've gotten a hole blasted into his head, blood spraying everywhere. Then Joey would have slumped to the ground, eyes open and vacant.

Marion swallowed. 'It's his own stupid fault for running off to war like that.' She picked up the milk and cookies. 'And he's definitely your son.'

~NQM~

Marion walked into Mutt's room and paused. She knew what he'd seen had hurt him. In fact, there had likely been hardly any resistance when Indy came to pick him up. Mutt was lying on his bed, on his belly, crying into his arms.

Marion set the milk and cookies on the desk and sat down on the rocking chair that was left over from Mutt's infancy. 'Come on, now. Why'd you go rushing off to war like that?'

Mutt forced himself to stop crying and sniffled. 'You and dad…you make it look so easy, mom.' He turned his head and looked at her. 'For God's sake, you guys and grandpa were immortalised by the Holy Grail when I was three.'

'Oh, Mutt.' Marion moved and sat on the edge of the bed. She ruffled his hair. 'The only reason we make it look easy is because we've been doing it for so long. Someone taught us to do it. And, to be fair, we didn't start out on war-torn battlefields. That came later.' She'd said all she needed to and stood up. 'Tell you what. We'll get Jordan here to talk.'

Mutt nodded and moved up to his knees. 'Mom…do you think dad will teach me how to handle it? All the fighting and stuff?'

Marion smiled. 'I'm sure he will. He just needs some time to cool down first. You scared the hell out of us, running off like that. We'll talk about it then.' She walked out.

When Marion came down the stairs and into the living room, she found Indy sitting on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand, fedora discarded and his head tipped back. He looked like he was just coming down from the fight of his life. In all fairness, he was. Marion walked over and sat next to him. She reached out her left hand and rubbed his thigh soothingly. Indy didn't open his eyes but he reached down with his left hand and took hers. Their fingers entwined and their wedding rings glinted in the dim light.

'Mutt wants you to teach him how to survive in those situations,' Marion said.

'I'm all for the idea,' Indy responded. 'But first he needs to recover from what's happened. We ought to call Jordan to talk to him. A male Holy Child would be better.' He huffed. 'Yuichi and Andor are out. Japan's allied to the Nazis and Norway's been taken over by them. Be a bit weird for either of those two to come onto American soil.'

Marion nodded and laid her head on her husband's shoulder. 'I was thinking the same thing. We gonna call him now or later?'

'Later.' Indy drained the whiskey and opened his eyes, looking at her. He set the glass aside. 'I think I'd like to do something else now.'

Marion smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. 'What did you have in mind?' She already knew, but it was just so much more fun to make him talk early. Then he shut up at the later parts when all she wanted to focus on was what they were doing to each other.

Indy started stroking her hip. 'Well, princess, I don't think Mutt's going anywhere.' He leaned in and began nuzzling her jaw.

Marion closed her eyes and arched her neck. She didn't either. He was sorry for running off like that. And now she was in her husband's lap and he was very randy. She could feel the evidence of that pressed up against her butt. Indy found a sensitive spot and she moaned. Heat and moisture pooled between her legs.

Indy inhaled. 'Ah…' His hand slipped down, underneath her skirt and trailed, feather-light, up her legs.

'Oh!' Marion gasped as his fingers brushed her panties. 'Indy…upstairs!'

Indy growled and shifted, scooping her up into his arms. He just about sprinted upstairs and into their bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him. Marion felt herself land on the bed and dragged her husband's mouth down to hers.

~NQM~

The house stood dark and quiet, one of many in an American street. For all anyone knew, it could belong to an ordinary archaeologist and his normal family. But it didn't. It belonged to a hero, his wife, the defunct Crown Princess of France, and their son, the seventh Holy Child.

Nick Balinger, the Sovereign of the 20th Century stood in this street, across from the house. He closed his eyes and smiled. Then the prophecy of the Holy Children passed from his mind.

The First born upon dirt, so close to Christ

Father, learn magic for justice

The Second born into war, hungry they be

The sire, the deserter

The Third deep in the heart of green and wood

Born to a fable

The Fourth born to a rouge

No honour is lost

The Fifth born upon redemption of greed

They despise the glimmer

The Sixth born to a faux fool

Stop the heads that roll

The Seventh born upon a madman's battlefield

The last child of a monarchy

These seven, the children, holy by name

Firstborn to men, heroic true but lost to time

In hand, a weapon thy father did choose

To stop Armageddon, these they must use.