He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) (36 page)

She was still racking her brain about how to use St. Claire’s new animosity toward his employer to best purpose when the elevator in the center of the floor dinged. Her heart leaped into her throat. But it couldn’t be her vision coming true. There were no clusters of men around the big room. She needn’t be afraid of what was stepping out of that elevator door.

Rhiannon burst into the room.

Maybe Drew did need to be afraid.

“Who knew hospitals have security these days?” she fumed, throwing a skimpy wrap onto the nearest couch.

“Rent-a-Cops,” one of Rhiannon’s men said derisively. “They’re no
match
for us. We could take ’em.”

“Like we can just kill a bunch of hospital security guards without attracting attention. Don’t be stupid.” Rhiannon turned on her followers. “The ceremony takes time. And we need to have peace and quiet. We can’t be fighting off the authorities. And Morgan wants secrecy.”

“Cops would be all over us,” another one said. He laid the white box carefully on a dining room table as big as the one at home at the Breakers.

Rhiannon let out a frustrated half screech. “If Jason could cloak the sword....”

“He says he can’t, but how do we know that’s true?” The guy who seemed to be second in charge was one of those men who wore skin-tight black tee shirts to show their biceps and baggy
camo
cargo pants over Doc Martens. He looked like he was on loan from the
Mossad
.

“Even if it were cloaked it’d set off any security alarm within fifty feet,” Rhiannon fumed. “So we can’t get it through security at the hospital.” She tapped a finger against her chin and looked around the apartment. Her gaze skimmed Drew and St. Claire, but she was too busy thinking to register St. Claire’s barely suppressed fury. “Okay,” she announced. “We’ll bring Morgan here.”

Her announcement was met with silence. “She’s on a respirator,”
Mossad
guy finally ventured. “Might kill her to take her off.”

“So find me a respirator we can bring in here, and start calling ambulance companies and figure out how we transport her without killing her.”

They stood blinking at her for a minute.
Mossad
guy was the first to surface. “You locate some medical supply companies, Eric. Call and ask if they have respirators. Nick, call ambulance services. And Duane, find out from the hospital what their policy is for checking out AMA.”

They scattered. In the ensuing bustle, Drew noticed St. Claire making his way to the dining room table.

Mossad
-guy turned to Rhiannon. “We won’t get far with all these arrangements this late. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to coordinate something on this scale.”

“I hope to God she lasts until we can get her the sword.” Rhiannon was shaken. “She’s gone downhill fast since I last saw her.”

This wasn’t all bad, Drew thought. If their leader was on a respirator, it was only a matter of time until the group fell apart, right? If only Drew could last until that happened, maybe....

“I don’t trust Jason. He looked like he was the one in control there.”

“Not nearly worried enough about her, was he?” Rhiannon looked out at the glistening bright city and the last fading light to the west. “She has something on him. I don’t know what. Maybe it would be really convenient for him if she didn’t get the Talisman in time.”

“Do you think he has enough power to wield it?”

She shook her head derisively. “I’m the only one I know who can. And Morgan, of course, but not in her current state.” Rhiannon poured herself a hefty scotch from the cut crystal decanter on the sideboard. When she turned back she caught St. Claire fumbling at the box for the sword. Before either Rhiannon or
Mossad
-guy could lunge for him, he had it out. It was so heavy he had to use both hands to point it.

Stupid, stupid man,
Drew thought.

“You
definitely
haven’t got enough power,” Rhiannon said calmly, sipping her drink.

“It works fine as just a sword,” St. Claire panted.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rhiannon’s eyes were steady on St. Claire’s face even as
Mossad
-guy moved soundlessly up behind him.

“Ounce of prevention,” St. Claire said. It was the last thing he’d ever say.

Mossad
-guy slipped his arm around St. Claire’s throat and squeezed. “Drop it,” he ordered. “Or I’ll break your windpipe.”

St. Claire held on to the sword until his eyes rolled up in his head. It clattered to the ground. At which point, Rhiannon picked it up with both hands and ran it through St. Claire’s paunchy stomach and up into his chest. Drew shrieked in surprise and horror. She’d never seen anyone killed. Just like it was nothing. Like it happened every day.

“You’re right,” Rhiannon said, pulling the sword out. “Works just fine as a sword.”

Drew was having trouble breathing. Her stomach churned. She’d gotten St. Claire killed in some clumsy attempt to foment discord. He wasn’t a good guy. But he was human. And now he was dead. She wanted to take back all she’d said to St. Claire, start the afternoon over. Tears rose to her eyes.
Mossad
-guy tossed St. Claire to the floor. Rhiannon wiped the sword. The burly man slumped in a growing pool of blood on the marble tile floor. Drew had unleashed something she had no control over, and now she couldn’t fix this.

My God
…
.
Did she have some power to make visions come true, even if she made them up? Had she literally caused St. Claire’s death by making it into a vision? She didn’t want this damned power anymore, when she didn’t know how it worked, and couldn’t control it.

Rhiannon glanced over to where Drew was tied to her chair. She carefully put the sword back in its box and came to stand over Drew. “Why do I think you had something to do with this? Little Brandon was not smart enough to challenge me for leadership. What did he mean, ‘ounce of prevention’?”

Drew shook her head convulsively. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t know.”

“Odd that he went crazy just after he’d spent an afternoon with you.” Her eyes got wide. “You told him his future.”

Drew looked up at her, but couldn’t manage to say anything. Rhiannon apparently took that as a “yes.”

“What did you see?” She took Drew by the shoulder and shook her. “What did you see?”

She couldn’t tell the truth. “I saw you kill him with the sword.”

Rhiannon seemed to notice the bowl of water on the table for the first time. She straightened. “Well, that vision was sure accurate.” She paused to consider. “So that’s what he meant. He was trying to kill me first. Which led to the vision coming true.... Interesting.”

She was about to continue, when Drew stopped her, swallowing her tears. “If you want to know whether the vision caused itself to come true, I can’t say.” She took a deep breath. She had to get control of herself. She couldn’t look like a sniv
eling weakling. Rhiannon was like a shark. The last thing Drew wanted to be was chum. “What I
can
say is that I’m about to get gangrene in several limbs if these ropes aren’t loosened, which would be very bad for my ability to have visions for this Morgan person.”

In the background, a couple of the guys were shoving St. Claire’s body into a plastic bag. How would they dispose of a body in the middle of downtown Chicago? Drew pulled her gaze back to Rhiannon and managed to lift her brows in an imitation of the old, supercilious Drew.

“Oh, all right,” Rhiannon huffed. “Lev, you’re in charge of our guest here.”

Apparently
Mossad
-guy really was Israeli, or at least that’s how his name sounded. He looked a little exasperated at his assignment, but he motioned the men out the door with the sack and came to kneel behind Drew and untie her. “Sailor or not, St. Claire couldn’t tie a knot for shit.” He had her loose in a moment.

Blood rushed into her hands and feet. The tingling actually hurt. She rubbed her wrists gingerly and looked up at Rhiannon. The tight little black leather skirt and candy-cane striped top left nothing to the imagination. Her boobs were practically spilling out the low-scooped neck.

“So, ready for a few visions, Seer?” Rhiannon asked, hands on hips.

Can’t look like chum.
“I wish it worked like that. It comes when it wants to, not when I call.” That was true enough. “And ... and it takes a while to recharge my batteries.” That’s what she’d told St. Claire, and it still sounded plausible.

“How long?” Rhiannon asked through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know.” Drew did her best shrug. “Depends on how rested I am, how hungry....” How long could she drag this thing out?

“The restaurant downstairs will send up take-out.” Rhiannon headed for one of the bedrooms off the large main room.

“Not safe,” Lev said. “Don’t you cook?”

Rhiannon just turned around and stared at him.
Whoo
. Guess she didn’t cook.

“Okay. We’ll breach our security to order in food,” Lev said sarcastically, like he thought she’d back down.

“Damn straight,” Rhiannon called over her shoulder. “She’s got to be in shape by the time we get Morgan here.”

Drew wondered how long she could keep Rhiannon at bay. Could she get a vision on command? If she did, she might not want to tell Rhiannon what she saw. Or she might not see anything useful. And the minute she quit being useful, she’d be following St. Claire into a plastic garbage bag.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Just get them on the plane,” Michael heard Brian Tremaine say, from somewhere far away. “We’ll get treatment in Chicago.”

“I don’t know, sir. That one looks pretty bad....”

Tris’s voice.
“Our lookout, dude.”

Michael knew he’d never make it back to the States. That was okay. Her family was going after Drew. He could count on Brian Tremaine.

“It isn’t ‘your lookout,’ sir. This man needs immediate treatment. The medical officer on
The Splendid Seas
ordered transfer directly to a hospital.”

Michael opened his eyes. Blurry figures moved around him. He was in some kind of big space, floating along above the ground. It smelled like metal and gasoline. A tall pole clattered along beside him. One of the figures waved a clipboard.

“Brian,” he managed. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Two of the blurry figures came over to him. One resolved itself into Brian Tremaine, and one was a guy with a clipboard.

“What is it, son?” Brian said. He wasn’t hoarse anymore. He had cleaned up, too. When had that happened?

“I’ll sign AMA. I want to go.”

Did Brian look grim? “Give me the clipboard,” he barked at the other figure. Up close the man was some kind of official, in uniform. His face was a mass of wrinkles that said
he
frowned a lot. When the man hesitated, Brian said, “Look, if he signs, you’re off the hook.”

The frowning official handed over the clipboard. Brian held it up for Michael, along with a pen he’d fished out of some pocket. Michael barely had the strength to grasp it. Ah. The clattering stand had an IV bag on it, and when he moved, he saw that it was connected to a needle in his arm. All the antibiotics in the world probably wouldn’t save him. He scribbled something on the paper he hoped they’d take for his name and let his arm fall back.

Brian scribbled his own signature and handed over the clipboard. “Now I’m responsible.”

“You sure are,” the official said. His voice was receding.

“Don’t worry,
Dowser.
Brina’s waiting on board.”

Michael closed his eyes. He was only sorry he’d never see Drew again
...
never hold her ... never get to tell her exactly how much she’d come to mean to him....

*****

Michael became aware that someone was calling him. The pain was pretty much gone. That was good, wasn’t it? But his brain was still fuzzy. There was a lot of noise.
Vibration, too.
A pungent smell of rot hung in the air. Someone’s very cool hand was stroking his cheek. He opened his eyes and his heart started skipping beats it couldn’t afford to lose.

“Drew?” he whispered.

“No. I’m Brina, Drew’s mother.”

Yeah. Now he saw it. Not Drew. Maybe how Drew would look when she was older. Beautiful. The blackness started eating at his vision again. Drew’s mother began to recede....

“Stay with me,” Drew’s mother called, from farther away. “It works better if you help.”

What? His head lolled to the side but she lifted it back so he had to look at her.

“Leave me alone.” Sleep called to him, now that he wasn’t in pain anymore.

“Dowser, Dowser!” The voice that was Drew’s voice, but not, was sharper now.