I've published the book! Arthur's Witch: The Priestess is now available on Kindle and Smashwords, and you can download the sample for free, so it's gotta be worth a look! The blurb is below.

Morgan le Fay is a woman shrouded in infamy. The original wicked witch, she is responsible for bringing the golden age of Arthur to a catastrophic end. Though evil guile, ruthless ambition and petty jealousy, she stood against the light of Britain's first Christian King, her own brother. She watched an entire kingdom burn. A subhuman monster who consorted with demons and became the Devil's mistress.

Or a woman shrouded in mystery. The original fairy godmother, she is responsible for creating the golden age of Arthur from the ground to the ramparts of Camelot. Though passion, purity of spirit and selflessness, she stood against the religious perversion which invaded her homeland and corrupted her King, her own brother. She protected an entire kingdom as a mother would a child. A High Priestess whose name and legend have been besmirched and besmeared by lesser men.

Her own story. Now told.

A/N: I know, crazy right? First Gunpowder, now this. But here is the first chapter of Oklahoma Part III in I think almost a year. Hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Eighteen—Sunshine and the Flyboy

Nick sighed as he closed the umpteenth cupboard door, still empty-handed. It was no good. He was going to have to bite the bullet and do it. He was going to have to broach the subject with his father. Where was Sarah when you needed her? Or Alfred, in fact, Alfred would be the ideal person in this situation. He had always known where everything was. Of course, finding that out would involve a trip to the afterlife, and while he was on good terms with most of the Olympic pantheon, Hades was an exception. Something about him trying to kill Mom so much had always set Nick's teeth on edge.

As he came to his door of Bruce's study, he took a deep breath before knocking on the door. He wasn't nervous — not of his own father — but this had to be approached from the right way. Always a delicate subject, though he didn't think the answer would be no. It was for a good reason after all.

"Come in, Nick."

He pushed open the door with a sigh. "You know, a man of your age shouldn't be able to do that, Dad."

"A man of my age shouldn't be able to kick your ass either, but that doesn't mean I can't," his dad commented from behind a copy of the Gotham Gazette.

Nick smirked. "Good to know."

Bruce put the paper away. "You alright?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine."

"I want you to help me with something."

"Anything."

"I'm putting together a photo album, for the baby. When it comes. I have this probably stupid image in my head of us going through them together when she's about eighteen. That is, if it is a girl. If it's a boy then I don't imagine he's going to be that interested in looking through old photos with his dad."

"You weren't."

"Exactly. But at some point, I imagine it's going to be a good thing to have. There's just one problem."

"Which is?"

"I can't find any photographs of your parents."

There was a small pause, during which tried to read something — anything — from his dad's face. Then Bruce said, "They're in the safe."

"I looked in the safe."

"The one in the Cave."

"Oh. Didn't look there. Is it okay if I make copies of some of them?"

His father gave him a strange look. "You can take the originals, Nick."

Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Sure?"

"They're your grandparents, and they'll be the baby's great grandparents. I trust you to be careful with them, and you've got every right to them. Just try not to get fingermarks on them."

Nick's face split into a wide grin. "Thanks, Dad!" He clapped his father on the shoulder, grimaced apologetically for the grunt of pain that elicited, then left through the clock.

"Okay, grandparents, grandparents…" Nick rifled through the album, finding a lot of pictures of his father as a child, his father with Thomas, his father with Martha—but Nick was after something specific. After another moment, he found it. "Gotcha!"

It was their wedding photograph. It hadn't been a big event, considering Thomas' income and status; just the two of them and a couple of witnesses, he remembered Alfred telling he and Sarah as children. The photograph reflected that: Thomas wore wore a shirt, dark jacket and trousers, while Martha's dress was very short, though white and lacy. One her feet she had white go-go boots. Smiling, Nick pulled the photo out of its setting and stuck it down carefully in the photo album for the baby. He almost closed the album and went hunting for the next photo, but something stopped him. He found himself looking at the people either side of his grandparents, and then staring at them. On the back of the photo was, Me and Tommy with Sunshine and Flyboy.

"Great Hera!"

Less than a minute later, he went flying—literally—into his dad's study, photo in hand. Without a word, he landed and put the photo into Bruce's hand. Bruce took less than five seconds to see what the deal was.

"Is that-?"

Nick nodded. "Either reincarnation and past lives are real, or…"

"Or Sarah and Rex were at my parents' wedding," Bruce finished.

1969

Thomas accepted the explanation Rex gave him relatively well. He didn't buy it, of course, not for a second, but he didn't argue it either. Rex couldn't blame him for not swallowing the 'I'm a supersoldier in a high-tech battle suit' story. It had been hastily thought up and not very well executed, and even if it had been, it still wasn't a good story. But Rex wasn't sure how well 'I'm a half-alien from the future here with your granddaughter' would go down either. At least he hoped he was here with Sarah. Somewhere. She better be alright.

"So you're taking me to the US embassy, yes?"

"Yeah. And from there I'm going to search for my…partner. She came with me but we got separated somehow."

Thomas nodded. "So how we busting out?"

"We're not. I am. Stay here, and stay down."

"That door's locked," Thomas said, as Rex checked his armour was in working order.

Rex adjusted his helmet. "Who said anything about the door?"

He burst through the thick concrete wall in a shower of rubble and dust, to shocked cries and a scream or two from the men behind it. They all started yelling in Russian, curses from the sounds of them. It wouldn't be long before the disbelief ran out and the gunfire started, so Rex charged at the nearest kidnapper, throwing him over his shoulder, and into the wall of the room he had just vacated. He just registered Thomas ducking in the nick of time. The next kidnapper raised his machine gun, but Rex simply snatched it from his hands and bent it in half, rendering it completely useless. The third one got a shot off, showering Rex in a spray of bullets which sparked off his armour, until the kidnapper was backhanded into unconsciousness. The fourth and fifth ones were lifted bodily and had their heads knocked rather forcefully together, then were tossed aside. The sixth one got another few shots off, one of which found a weak spot in Warhawk's armour, just between his shoulder and chest-plate. It didn't do too much damage, and only resulted in a flesh wound. It still meant that he had to pick the final kidnapper up with his left arm and yank his gun away with a small grimace of pain.

A few moments later, everything was quiet, and the dust was settling. Thomas stepped through the hole in the wall surveying the damage. "Subtle, aren't you?"

"Thank you will suffice."

Thomas frowned. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"Let me look at it, take that armour off. C'mon, I'm a doctor."

Rex paused. He vaguely remembered Sarah mentioning one of her grandparents had been medical in some capacity, and Thomas was already crossing to a dirty-looking box with a red cross on it. Opening the lid though, the supplies inside seemed to be intact and sanitary, so Rex let Thomas clean the injury and put a large square of gauze over it.

"What were you doing this side of the Iron Curtain anyway?" Rex asked.

"I wasn't this side of the Iron Curtain—I wasn't even this side of the Berlin Wall, I was working in a hospital in West Berlin when they snatched me on the way home from work."

"There aren't hospitals in America?"

Thomas avoided his gaze. "Sure there are."

"Then why not work at one of them, where you're not going to be kidnapped by communists?" There was no reply. "Mr Wayne?"

"Call me Tom."

"That's not answering my question, Tom."

"What's it to you?"

"I don't like it when people willingly put themselves in danger."

Thomas snorted. "Thought you said you were a soldier."

"I don't like it when civilians put themselves in danger," Rex amended.

Thomas finished patching his injury and then put the lid back on the first aid box. "None of the hospitals state-side would have pissed my old man off enough," he shrugged.

"Oh. So is there any point in me actually rescuing you if you're going to come right back?"

"Believe me, being kidnapped once is enough to last a man a life time. I'm not stepping foot outside of Gotham the rest of my life." He paused. "Besides, there'd be no one to answer the ransom demand now. Dad's dead. Died the morning I was kidnapped and I didn't get a chance to tell anyone."

Rex put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."

Thomas shrugged. "Happens. He was sick anyway. Cancer."

"Still not easy."

There was another silence, and when Thomas spoke again, his voice was slightly hoarser, his eyes slightly brighter. "No. I…I didn't think I was going to get home in time to bury him, if I'm honest."

Rex tried for a comforting smile. "We'll get you there."

Sarah made Martha stop the van as soon as they reached the next large-ish town—instinct wanted her to blend in, and she couldn't very well do that in what she was currently wearing. She had clean underwear (never go anywhere without clean underwear; it was a lesson her mother had drilled into her a long time ago), but nothing that was in the style of the day. Nothing that wouldn't raise a few eyebrows and questioning looks. People taking notice was the last thing she wanted right now. Thankfully—and unlike most superrich people—she always carried cash, and the man at the clothing store didn't notice the date on the bills she handed over. But then again, she had blinded him with the trademark megawatt smile. She came out of the store much more suitably attired: sandals, maxi skirt that was billowy and cool against her legs, and a gypsy blouse that bared her shoulders. Her hair was down, falling down to mid-back in soft blonde waves.

Self-consciously she twirled in front of her grandmother. "Well?"

She beamed. "Totally groovy."

Sarah grinned. "Thanks, Martha. Sorry about the wait."

"No problem, sunshine, I'm cool. You ready to get going?"

"Absolutely."

Driving across country with her grandmother was certainly an experience. She had a record player in the back of the van, which she played music on all the time, even at night. It was a good thing Sarah had trained herself to be able to snatch sleep when she needed it, since otherwise it never would have happened. The first night though, she didn't want to sleep. This was Hendrix, The Who, Santana, the Grateful Dead…music that was legendary even in her time, and it was the Sixties. She had heard these records as classics, yet now there were new. It was somehow exciting in a way it never had been before. In addition, the idea of her grandmother being a true hippie was not one she had ever considered. It was inescapably true, though. She was completely against conflict of almost any kind, consulted the I Ching, had an ambition to live in a commune, and while Sarah wouldn't have called her a communist, it wouldn't have been a far stretch either. She certainly believed in sharing the wealth. Sarah wondered how and when these strong ideals would fade or change when she met her grandfather. Would she view the huge amounts of money that came with Thomas Wayne as a necessary evil to be with the man she loved, or an opportunity to help people?

In the back of the van there were several anti-war signs that she was apparently going to take to a rally against the Vietnam War after Woodstock, riot police be damned. There was also a fairly sizable stock of weed, something else that Sarah was having a hard time coming to terms with. Martha didn't appear to be a drug addict, and only had a joint once every few days, but it still wasn't something Sarah could condone. By the twenty-second century, drug laws were extremely tight, and she had never so much as touched a cigarette in her life. It was like suddenly discovering leeches still being used in commonly practiced medicine.

She kept her views mostly to herself—Martha was her only way across the country to D.C. after all, and she didn't want to get there in an atmosphere of tension. She did persuade Martha to let her drive though, though she felt a little guilty about how forceful she had to be. But whether it was the weed or the general Sixties atmosphere, Martha seemed to take everything so casually that she didn't have a problem at all.

"Man, sunshine, you drive so slowly."

"You mean I drive within the speed limit."

"There's no such thing. Everyone is free to go at their own pace, completely free."

Sarah glanced behind her, to where Martha sat in the back of the van with the yarrow stalks and silk banner out. "The I Ching tell you that one?"

"No, sunshine…it's like, the universe's rule."

Sarah suppressed a grin. "I'll keep that in mind."

Martha pulled herself into the passenger seat next to Sarah, shooting a childish grin at her. "Are we nearly there yet?"

"Check yourself. Map's in the back."

Martha went immediately back to the rear of the van without comment. There was a few minutes of shuffling and rummaging around, then a silence. "Well?" Sarah asked over her shoulder, "Found it?"

"Not exactly… Hey, sunshine?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you an alien?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. Strange, she hadn't seen Martha light a joint today… "An alien?"

"Yeah. As in from Mars, an extraterrestrial, not of this world," Martha elaborated, sounding as though each possibility was both unalarming and completely possible.

"No, Martha, I'm definitely an Earthling."

"Oh." She sat back in the passenger seat, holding Sarah's utility belt in her hands. "Then what the heck is this thing?"

Then she tried to open one of the pouches.

A/N: Review please