Timeless Vision (6 page)

“How are you familiar with the sacred island? It is supposed to be protected, sheltered.”

“Relax. It’s not a tourist attraction,” she said. “It only exists in this century through legends and stories.” She waved a hand toward him. “Knights, wizards, Camelot. Everything about the King Arthur myths fascinated me as a kid. Avalon was real,” she mused, filled with a new rush of curiosity.

“Avalon is real,” he echoed. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “If we survive and succeed here, maybe I will seek the sanctuary of the island again.”

The idea of him striding off in search of some mythical place bothered her. Silly, but true. Maybe she could convince him to take her with him.
If they survived
. It was a sobering thought. “So they didn’t show you cars when you were training? The taxi was a type of car,” she clarified.

“They did,” he said. “I have never enjoyed small spaces, though it took many years to understand why. The sky and open air support my particular abilities,” he said.

“Then count your blessings we don’t need to take the subway.” She zipped up her coat, gesturing for him to mimic the move.

He didn’t. “Subway?”

“An underground train.” She followed a hunch and opened the coat closet, finding a collar and leash for Sterling. “Come here sweetie.” The dog shied away for a moment, then allowed her to slip the collar over his head.

He shook, making the tags rattle, then rubbed his neck against her thigh as if that would remove it.

“What is that for?”

She clipped the leash to the collar and handed it to him. “Collar and leash,” she explained. “Less magic required.” When he shrugged acceptance, she pointed to the door. “Do you need to do anything with the wards when we leave?”

He nodded and she watched as the light came and went under his palm, again in differing glows for inside and out. At the gate, he and Sterling paused, heads moving side to side as they searched the street.

“What’s the problem?” she asked, reaching for the latch.

His hand covered hers. “We cannot travel by underground train. It’s too dangerous.”

The urgency radiated through his touch, warming her more than the glove she wore. “We are going to walk,” she repeated slowly. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t budge. “I need your word, Tara. You must not go underground until the dagger is recovered.”

She pulled free of his grasp and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Why?”

“I cannot sense the threats against you as effectively when I am underground.”

“Fine. No subways.” She understood he was only brushing the tip of the iceberg with that answer and though tempted to push him, decided ignorance might be best. Magic, impending threats and good versus evil weren’t comforting thoughts. For a split-second she nearly ran back for the safety of the brownstone. “Come on,” she said, resolutely reaching for the gate again. She couldn’t leave her staff in the lurch any more than Wayne could fight the powers that had dragged him out of his century. “At this rate, Nick might get to the pub before we do.”

The temperature dropped as they walked through the neighborhood at dusk. Lights glimmered behind window as people settled in for the evening. Beside Wayne, Sterling kept tossing his head, unimpressed with the collar and leash.

Of all the factors in this equation, the connection between dog and man intrigued her most. “How is it that you both survived all these years?” She waved a hand between the man and the dog, uncertain how best to phrase her questions. They were fit and healthy and nothing about them indicated they’d been asleep for more than 1500 years.

“Magic,” Wayne replied. “The hound was a gift from my sister.” He spoke softly, as if the memory might fade if he raised his voice. “Just before my first campaign she brought him to me, helped me develop and solidify the bond. She was careful to provide me with a loyal animal that would grow with me.”

“Through everything?”

“So it seems.” He rubbed the dog’s head absently while his gaze took in everything around them. “A fact for which I am ever grateful.”

“So you’re both immortal?”

“Immortal? Hardly.” Wayne laughed. “We are unique, that’s true. And we were blessed specifically to attend to this task. He is as essential to the recovery of your dagger as I am.”

She reached down and patted the dog’s shoulder. “That makes me feel better.”

“Why?”

Tara found herself unsure how to articulate her point to a knight centuries removed from his original time. “Many hands, or paws in his case, make light work. My mom says that all the time. Generally, people are stronger and more productive with a partner to shoulder the load.” Feeling Wayne’s scrutiny, she clamped her mouth shut and cut off the rambling answer.

“Do you have a partner?” he asked after another moment.

“No.” Her cat had died last year and though her apartment felt empty, she wasn’t ready to find a new companion to fill the void. “The pub is family owned and though the firstborn gets all the joys and trials of keeping it afloat, we also have the benefit of family wisdom and willing hands.” The wind kicked up, nipping at her nose and ears. It felt as if winter wanted to come all at once. She hunched a little deeper into her coat to keep the chill away. “Just around the corner,” she said.

“That is your family pub?” Wayne stopped short when the sign came into view.

“Yes.” She walked on up the block and waited for him to join her at the door. His scowl was fierce as he peered in the front window. Pulling open the front door, she held it for him. “Welcome to the 21st century edition of The Oak and Owl Tavern. We call it O’Malley’s now.”

His jaw clenched and his fist tightened on Sterling’s leash. “You might as well have sent the witch a bloody invitation.”

~*~

Wayne glowered at the modern rendition of a tavern he and his squire had frequented on their quest. He used a little glamour to hide his displeasure behind a friendlier expression. He immediately recalled the woman Peter had taken a shine to on one of their visits, the owner’s daughter, in fact. As an explanation, it served though couldn’t shake the irritation. If only he’d known the truth he might have taken a different tack or added a different element to his binding spell. He sighed. It was far too late to change that history now.

Taking his cues from the contemporary men at ease in the bar, he tried not to gawk at the changes. The shining glass behind the bar and the gleaming brass rails along the front were new, as were the bottles in every shape lined up for a customer’s perusal. The long oak bar top, dark with age, glowed with polish and care. He thought that might be original, or partly so anyway. Whatever had happened, Wayne could not fault Peter for taking care of the details in the face of his broken vow.

Unfortunately, if they didn’t recover the dagger, no amount of care, no preservation of material good would matter.

“This way,” Tara said, snapping her fingers for Sterling’s attention.

The dog sidled up beside her and Wayne trailed them, wondering who was leading who by the leash. She guided them through a room crowded with tall tables and low booths, greeting many of her patrons along the way.

When and why had women decided to wear men’s clothing? Or garments that left far too little to the imagination? He hadn’t yet decided if the new societal standard pleased him. He’d quickly realized Tara was a prime example of her peers. Her blue pants were similar to his, though the fabric enveloped her legs and rear in a snug fit that left little to the imagination. Her shirt was modest compared to others he’d seen, but it showcased the appealing curves of her bosom and narrow waist.

The urge to touch the fabric and the body underneath was a persistent, inappropriate distraction, and it was taking a significant effort to resist. He forced his attention to the high cheekbones and long limbs, attributes she shared with her long-dead ancestor. It didn’t help. He’d simply been too long without a release. Perhaps her cousin could help him find a woman willing to ease the tension that had been building since he’d been summoned.

“The office is back here.” She pushed up a section of the bar and passed through.

As he followed, he noticed a worn design under the dark wood panel. Sterling halted, his nose raised toward the faded carving.

“It’s a Celtic tree of life,” Tara said.

“I recognize it.” He and his hound lingered in the small space with a reverent appreciation. He reached out, stopping short of touching the special symbol. Power emanated from the wood, carrying him on an ocean of memories back to his time.

“According to family legend, this is from the original tavern.” She retraced her steps, crowding the space with the soft scent of her hair. “Is it some kind of ward?”

He appreciated her curiosity and the thoughtful concern in her voice. Nodding, his throat clogged with emotion, he searched for an explanation that wouldn’t terrify her. “Not in the way of those at the house,” he murmured, concentrating on the symbol. “It would not have been hidden in my time. It would’ve been displayed as a comfort to travelers.”

At least that was how it would be presented in a tavern run by a normal family with no fear of evil pursuit. Peter had had the carving blessed and used it as an alarm of sorts. Wayne didn’t want to be impressed with his squire’s resourcefulness, or how he’d passed those resources on through so many generations. Despite every obvious effort, the dagger had been stolen by someone with evil intentions. The carving had snagged and held the dark energy.

“This is the original,” he said, crossing through and lowering the panel back into place.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you can tell.”

“No you shouldn’t,” he agreed, looking around at the patrons. It was possible one of them was a bad seed. Of the men looking this way, their eyes tracked Tara, instead of him or the dog. He couldn’t blame them. Opening his senses, he did a quick search for anyone with power and found no sign of magic in the people present.

It was small comfort. “The office,” he stated brusquely. Better to get this handled so he could put an end to the cult and get back to the era and life he was supposed to be living.

She shrugged out of her coat and folded it over her hands. “I’ll unlock it for you.” She turned behind the bar into a square hallway and unlocked another solid oak door. “I need to check in with the kitchen staff and then I’ll be right in.”

He was tempted to argue or send the dog with her. As a compromise, he waited in the kitchen doorway, taking stock of how the people in her employ responded to her. Satisfied her staff posed no threat, he and his hound moved into the office.

The space was far too tight for his comfort. Overly warm, he slipped the sword and scabbard over his shoulder and shrugged out of the leather jacket. He unclipped the leash and rolled it up, setting it near the sword, leaving the collar in place despite the hound’s irritated look.

Tara entered a few minutes later and closed the door. “They’re on track in the kitchen and I have someone coming in to pinch hit.”

Wayne didn’t ask for clarification. She seemed satisfied with her business, so he focused on the more serious problem. “Where did you keep the dagger?” His gaze roamed over the walls, expecting to find a place where it had been displayed.

Tara sank into the desk chair and pulled out the shallow center drawer. “I kept the dagger here, out of sight, exactly the way my dad and grandpa did it. We all used it as a letter opener.”

“I suppose there are worse purposes.” Mentally, he gave a quick prayer for patience. “What security measures were employed?”

“Only the locked door.” She leaned back in the chair, her arms folded over her chest. “No one besides the owner ever has access to the office.”

“When did you notice the dagger was missing?”

“Yesterday morning. I came in early to sort through bills before the lunch shift and it was gone.” She made a sound of impatience. “Nick should be here. I told him all of this.”

Wayne nodded, ignoring her, letting his magic slip out and around the room in small wisps. The hound had sniffed the perimeter while they waited, giving close attention to the shallow drawer and the doorknobs. “Where does that door lead?” he asked as Sterling snuffled at the edge of it again.

“Storage and stairs. Up is the apartment and down is storage.”

“Who knew of the dagger’s history or location?”

“Family knows the basic story of the relic gifted from knight to squire. We all know it’s passed from firstborn to firstborn. I didn’t learn there was a serious, dangerous side to the family story until I inherited the bar.”

Blood of the O’Malley heir would break the spell and free the devious sorceress. “Family.” Wayne bit back an oath. “How many people know the dagger was here?”

She scowled, ticking off the names on her long fingers. “Nick, I guess. Definitely Mom and Dad. Maybe my two brothers. Pub policy has always been no one except immediate family in the office.”

“Because of the dagger?”

“I guess so.” She ran her fingertips along the open edge of the drawer. “I always thought it was because we were messy about the paperwork and the place is so small.”

That was a fair assumption. His squire had done well, instilling the significance and importance of safeguarding the artifact he’d handed down, without compromising all of the blade’s secrets. Wayne appreciated the balanced system Peter had created, of his direct lineage possessing the artifact, while another branch on the family tree had clearly been entrusted with more specific information about the spell. Maybe he should have waited for her cousin at the house.

No, examining this space was imperative to recovering the dagger. Waiting only gave the enemy a head start. If Tara was right and no one beyond her family had seen the dagger in generations, then one of two things had happened. Either the sorceress who needed it to break the spell had found a way to trace it, or someone in Tara’s family had fallen in with or been turned to the cult’s service.

Neither scenario gave him much hope for the O’Malley family or the world at large. “You should wait outside.”