-7-

The next day was a flurry of activity for Guinevere. There was a stack of case studies to go over, phone calls to return, and her father had requested that she stop by his shop because he was supposed to meet a "very important bother."

Guinevere would drop everything to be with her father. She remembers all the times he had been taken away from her—by war and by force—and she vowed that she would never be far from wherever Tom was.

A few e-mails sent to people explaining why she would be a little late in responding to requests later, Guinevere was soon walking to Tom's small motor shop which was a few blocks away from her apartment.

She knocked on the familiar blue door that led to her childhood home. They lived in the apartment connecting to the shop and for as long as Guinevere could remember, the smell of oil and hot metal always meant that Tom was right next door and that she and her brother were safe.

She was unaware of the heads that had turned as she walked down the street. The stares unnerved her while she was younger, thinking that it was because of the way she looked, but as she grew older, she learned to ignore them and instead focus on the things she needed to accomplish on that particular day.

Without realizing it, Guinevere's hands moved to her wrists. In this time, she had never known manacles- handcuffs, they were called now-but her mind remembered all the times she was in shackles.

She closed her eyes briefly. There was no rush of images anymore, and her sleep wasn't tortured with dreams that were soaked in blood and ringing with helpless cries, but she didn't need to see them to remember.

It was as if she was taken, body and soul, from the past and transplanted to this time. She dressed in modern clothes, had a job like everyone else, spoke in the vernacular, but she was divided between two worlds.

Guinevere took a deep breath and walked to her father's office near the rear of the house. It had two doors: one that led into the apartment and one that took her to the machine shop next door.

"Dad?" She called out and was greeted by a smile from the burly man who was seated behind a battered office desk that was covered in folders, loose pieces of paper, and an old laptop.

"Gwen!" Tom's voice boomed. He soon had her enveloped in a hug and Guinevere closed her eyes smiled. She had always felt safe in her father's arms.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart," Tom said as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"What's wrong?" Guinevere caught the hint of worry in Tom's voice and frowned. "What is this meeting you were telling me about?"

"Remember the developer I was talking to?" Tom moved back to his desk and began to clear it up. "Well, he's coming here today."

Guinevere's frown got deeper as she moved to help her dad clean his workspace.

"And?"

"And," Tom gave Guinevere a look. "And I haven't been completely honest with you about who this person is."

Guinevere stopped picking up papers and folders and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Who is it, dad?"

"Arthur Pendragon," Tom said the name in a rush.

Guinevere sat down.

"What?"

"Pendragon, Inc. has been buying property up and down this street," Tom seemed to have given up on cleaning his desk at sat down as well. "I am the last one who is refusing to sell."

Guinevere tried to control the hammering of her heart. Arthur? Here?

"Don't look so shocked, Gwen," Tom looked at his daughter. "You know that I have been considering selling the shop for some time now."

"But where would you go?" Guinevere asked her father. "What would you do? This shop is your life."

Tom steepled his fingers looked at his daughter.

"You and your brother are my life," he said in a calm voice. "This shop provided for us and I did love the work."

"But?"

"But I am getting too old, Gwen," Tom sighed. "Pendragon, Inc. is offering a very good price for the shop and the apartment."

"What?" Guinevere could not keep the shock out of her voice this time. "They want to buy both?"

"Yes," Tom said.

"And you want to sell?"

Tom looked down. "It's time Gwen."

Father and daughter sat in silence until they were interrupted by someone ringing the doorbell.

"I want you here with me when I talk to Mr. Pendragon," Tom said as he stood up and walked to the door.

A short while later—probably spent shaking hands and exchanging good mornings—Tom called for his daughter's attention.

"Guinevere," he said and Guinevere turned. "This is Arthur Pendragon. Mr. Pendragon, this is my daughter, Guinevere."

Guinevere stood up, unable to tear her eyes away from the man who caused her pain and suffering in several lifetimes. It was only with practice that she was able to remain calm through Tom's introductions.

"I know who he is, father." She thought. "I wonder if he remembers yet."

"Good morning, Mr. Pendragon," she said as she extended her hand for him to shake. "Please call me Gwen."

Guinevere noticed that Arthur seemed to be unable to look away from her as well.

Arthur extended his hand and held hers. Not shaking it, but simply holding it.

"Guinevere," his voice rumbled through Guinevere's body and it took all of her willpower not to close her eyes. The way he said her name had always been her undoing.