The man waved as we passed. I twisted in my seat to look back at him for a moment, and when I turned back, I realized I had lost any sense of direction. In Colorado, I could always use the mountains as a point of reference for which direction I was headed.
“I feel lost,” I told Gavin. “How do you find your way around?”
“If you hit the ocean, you’ve gone east. If you hit Alabama, west.”
“It just looks the same in every direction to me. I wish I could push the trees and marshes aside for just a minute to get my bearings.”
“Well, we’re headed north-east if you really need to know,” Gavin said, pointing to the compass on his dashboard. “And we’re nearly to Durendal.”
“Durendal?”
“Nathaniel’s home, and what was at one time the headquarters of the Divinatory Guild of Savannah.”
“I didn’t think anyone named their houses anymore,” I said.
“Well, Durendal was christened quite some time ago,” he replied, “It’s been around for over a century, so I rather think it’s earned the right to keep its name.”
“My house is kind of oldish, maybe I should name it.” I twisted my hair in my hands. “Wouldn’t you just love to come visit me at Chocula Manor?”
“It does have a certain ring to it,” Gavin acknowledged.
Gavin took a left turn at a small unmarked road that wound its way between flanks of towering trees. Following the road, we turned a corner and were faced by a large iron gate. At the gate’s center were the now-familiar Guild symbols worked into the metal: the sword and the wand crossed behind the cup, encircled by a thick iron ring. Gavin opened his window and leaned out, pushing a button and speaking into the grill of the small white stand near the gate.
“James? It’s Gavin, may we come in?” he said.
The gate swung smoothly inward, the Guild logo splitting down its middle. The road continued, and finally, coming around a wooded bend, I saw the house, too large and fine to be a home, more of a mansion, really.
Durendal. I’d imagined a plantation, I supposed, lots of columns and graciousness, ready for Scarlett and Rhett to make a cameo, but Durendal was nothing like that. A looming fortress of gray-brown stone, Durendal was imposing and majestic, with deep wings that sprawled outward, topped by a red hipped roof and flared eaves. Round towers at the juncture of the main building and its wings gave it the appearance of a castle, as did the massive arched doorway. The windows framing Durendal’s entrance were tall and narrow, arched at the top like an ancient cathedral’s. It was beautiful and intimidating.
Gavin pulled into the curved driveway in front of the house, parking alongside a fountain large enough to swim in, though oddly, the fountain spouted no water and was filled with green-black grime. I got out of the Land Rover and wondered if it would be in bad taste to snap a picture of Durendal on my cell phone to send to Angie. I did it anyway and sent it to her and to Matt. I stepped back, looking upward at the house as Gavin rounded the car to stand beside me. This house is immortal, I thought, empires could rise and fall, the earth could roll and quake, humans could be obliterated, and at the end of it all, this house will still stand. The thought made me shiver in the August heat.
Gavin took my arm and led me up the steps to the door. The door was opened by a sullen woman, who greeted us with a reluctant nod and a half-hearted arm motion to enter.
“He’s in the morning study,” she said tersely, turning on her heel to walk away from us.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dower,” Gavin replied courteously. “She’s been his nurse these past ten years or so,” he explained to me once she was out of earshot. “I imagine it’s a bit of a thankless task at times.”
We walked through the immense foyer, my heels clacking loudly against the marble, seemingly the only sound in the motionless dead air of the house. At the back of the house was the study. Gavin rapped lightly at the double doors before entering.
The man in the chair had his back to us and was facing the windows against the far wall, through which the late morning sun was streaming. He did not turn to acknowledge our arrival.
“Nathaniel?” Gavin said quietly as we approached the man, whose eyes were closed, his wrinkled face slack, dull white hair tousled. “It’s Gavin. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
The man stirred and opened his eyes, which were deeply blue in stark contrast to his otherwise faded appearance. “Ah, Gavin,” he said, taking a moment to gather his bearing. “So good to see you again, my boy. Sit down, sit down.” His Southern accent was stronger than Julia’s had been, but no less charming.
Gavin and I each sat down in one of the green velvet chairs opposite Nathaniel. As I sat, a puff of dust escaped from the cushion, motes swirling in the sunlight. I noticed the velvet had worn away in spots.
“Been too long, my dear boy, since you’ve been along to visit,” Nathaniel said, placing his gnarled hands on his knees. He smiled warmly at me. “But I’m glad to see you’ve brought a lady friend.”
“Actually, Nathaniel, that’s why I’ve come today,” Gavin said. “I’d like you to meet my friend Lucy. Lucy’s grandmother, Eleanor, used to be in the Guild with you and Grandpa.”
“Eleanor! Ah, what a pleasure. And how is Miss Eleanor these days?” he asked.
“She, well, passed away in April,” I said. “It was a hard loss for me.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure. I missed her terribly myself, when she moved away,” Nathaniel said, still smiling. Was this really the man my grandparents had been afraid of?
Nathaniel continued, “That is sorrowful news, my dear, but I am glad you’ve come. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lucy Gibson, and I hope you’ll make yourself at home here at Durendal.”
Lucy Gibson? Why had he called me Lucy Gibson? I was about to ask, but Nathaniel called then for Mrs. Dower to bring us drinks, and she soon appeared with a pitcher of tea, which was again sweet, cold and delicious. She left a tray of snacks, as well, and I nibbled on a chocolate covered cookie as Gavin relayed the story of the unusual circumstances surrounding my grandmother’s death.
“Someone broke into Eleanor’s house?” Nathaniel asked. He looked genuinely puzzled. “I wonder how on earth they found her.”
“So you see,” Gavin said, “it was quite similar to what happened to my dad. I can’t ignore these coincidences, Nathaniel, someone is tracking down Guild members and killing them. I need you to tell me more about this artifact and why someone would kill for it. We could all be in danger.”
Nathaniel sighed. “I asked you not to get involved in this. I did.”
“I know, Nathaniel, but I have a right to know,” Gavin replied.
“I suppose you do, I suppose you do,” Nathaniel paused. “So I will tell you what this person is looking for, starting with a little history lesson on our fine Guild. Now, just after the Civil War, The Divinatory Guild of Savannah was founded by a talented woman who became known for her readings. She preferred a particular deck, a one of a kind deck. This deck was the property of the Guild and remained in our hands as a cherished legacy for over a century. These cards are the “artifacts” I’d referred to. Traditionally, different guild members could possess a card from the deck, but the deck was always rightfully owned by the Guild itself. Now the Guild had some members who lost interest—this was back in your Grandmother’s time with us, Lucy—and for all intents and purposes the Guild came to an end. The cards themselves were invaluable historical artifacts, being a part of a unique deck, and those members who left our Guild took their cards from the deck with them.”
Nathaniel turned and looked at Gavin, his blue eyes shining intensely in his wrinkled, toad-like face. “Now Gavin, I’d hoped not to involve you in this. I know that your Grandfather was the holder of one of the cards. When he passed away, I speculated that he gave that card to your father. I aimed to convince your father to sell the card to me, Gavin, so it could be part of the collection again. But your father didn’t seem to know about the
card, so I let it lie, I did. However, it does seem that someone else also came to the conclusion that your father would be holding the card and they came after him and ended his life. Now Gavin, since they’ve not come after you, I presume they found that card. But there are other cards out there, there are, and I have hired investigators to track the whereabouts of the former Guild members, since I suspect that one of them is behind this.”
Nathaniel leaned forward and looked at me unblinkingly, “And it looks like you caught them in the act, Miss Lucy, so I suspect that the person responsible is just biding his time, waiting for some time to pass before he searches your home again. I do fear for you, young lady, I do.”
“So, someone is willing to kill people for a tarot card? A piece of paper with a picture on it?” I asked.
“People have killed for less, Lucy, yes they have,” Nathaniel replied.
“What do you think we should do then? I don’t want to just fly back to Colorado and wait for some freak to kill me,” I said. The sunlight had become even brighter and the study was becoming uncomfortably warm.
“I won’t let that happen, Lucy,” Gavin said.
“Thanks, but I don’t need you to protect me, Gavin.”
“Oh, right. I beg your pardon. I’d rather forgotten—you’re quite clearly ten feet tall and bulletproof.”
“No, I’m five foot two and squashy but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself,” I retorted, pressing the glass of tea to my cheek in an effort to cool off.
Nathaniel cleared his throat, interrupting us. “I think,” he said, “that the best course of action at this point would be for you to hunt for the card, Lucy. Your grandmother was indeed one of the card holders, and the card is probably located somewhere among her things.”
“And then?” I asked.
“And then you could bring the card back here to its rightful home in Durendal. I would of course, offer generous recompense for your troubles and the value of the card. I can then spread the word, so to speak, that I have reclaimed the card Eleanor held. This should take you out of the path of danger, Miss Lucy, yes, right out of the path of danger.”
“How will we know what the card looks like, Nathaniel?” Gavin asked.
“You’ll know it, you will. Unmistakably old, for one thing, and much larger than a standard playing card. It’ll be the card of the Empress, and you will know her,” Nathaniel coughed and then began to wheeze loudly.
Mrs. Dower thundered into the room. “Medication time,” she said, “Time for company to leave.” She looked at Gavin pointedly, so we said our goodbyes and left.
Chapter 17. A Welcome Intruder.
“YOU’RE SURE THAT CARD ISN’T AT YOUR HOUSE?” Gavin asked as we walked inside his house.
I bent to take off my heels. “I’m pretty sure,” I replied. “I mean, I haven’t torn up the walls or looked under floor boards or anything, but I’ve been through most of the stuff my grandma left behind.”
“Can you think of anywhere else she might have stashed it?”
“Not really but I guess I can look around some more when I get home.” I said, yawning hugely. It was only early afternoon, but I felt exhausted, as if the sleepy atmosphere of Nathaniel’s estate had permeated my body. “I’m going to head upstairs for a nap,” I told Gavin. I climbed the winding stairs to the bedroom and was asleep within minutes.
Bang! A noise bumped through the house and I sat up, startled. Feeling disoriented, I looked out the window and saw that it was already dusk. I’d been asleep for hours. What was that noise? My mind cleared and I realized someone was at the door. Why wasn’t anyone answering it?
Bang! Bang! Bang! Ok, the person at the door wasn’t going to give up. I got out of bed and stumbled down to the front door, wondering where Gavin and Julia had gone. I opened the door, and was about to say hello, but suddenly I recognized the man on the doorstep: it was the intruder. Facing me, only inches away, was the dark-haired man I had glimpsed on the morning my grandma had died.
I let out a short scream and slammed the door shut, but the man was too quick. He thrust his arm forward against the door, bracing it open enough for him to push his body into the house. I kicked him squarely between the legs and turned to run from him, planning to escape out the side door and to a neighbor’s house. The man reached out for me as I ran across the foyer.
“Get away from me!” I yelled as I ran, my bare feet slapping against the polished wood floor. I got to the kitchen and reached out my hand to yank the white wooden door open, but it was locked. I fumbled to twist the deadbolt, my heart racing with panic. I felt the man’s arms reach around me, his hand across my mouth.
“Hey! Calm down, Lucy,” the man said, slightly out of breath. I squirmed and kicked and tried to bite his hand. “Lucy, listen to me, I’m here to help you.”
He removed his hand from my mouth and I screamed loudly for help. He promptly held me tighter, placing his hand back over my mouth. “Shhh, listen,” the man paused, “I’m your father, Lucy. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me. You have to believe me.”
I shook my head from side to side, still trying to break free of his hold.
“Yes, I am. My name is Tyler Auburn. Your name is Lucy Eleanor, and your lovely mom is Claire.”
I still didn’t believe him; anyone could have looked up that information. He could have been a random stalker.
“I’m trying to help you. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought Gavin would be here as well,” he added calmly. “Look, I know about the Guild. I know about the Empress.”
He let go of me and I twisted to look at him, furious. “If you’re really my dad, prove it.”
He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a battered brown wallet, sliding a picture out from one of the pockets and handing it to me. I held the picture for a moment, my heart still racing, staring at the faces. There was my mom, young and beautiful, standing next to me as a baby in my highchair, her blond curtain of hair falling against my frosting-covered cheek. Next to her was a handsome man, wrapping his arm around her shoulders with a sort of wisecrack grin. His hair and eyes were dark like mine; his features sharp…like mine. I looked from the picture to the man in front of me. The man I now faced was older, his skin a bit more lined and his hair much shorter, but it was definitely the same man.
If my father was alive, where had he been all these years? And why had he waited until now, when I was eighteen years old and two thousand miles from home, to contact me?
“Do you believe me now?” the man asked.
I shrugged, looking around the kitchen to avoid his stare. “It’s hard to swallow. You’ve missed my entire life and now you just suddenly appear. What I am supposed to do?”
“You don’t have to do anything, Lucy,” he said, walking away from me to sit at the kitchen table, “And you need to know that I didn’t want to miss your entire life. I didn’t want to leave you or your mom. In fact, nothing I’ve done has ever been harder on me. I had to, though, it—“
“Yeah, yeah, I know, you had some tarot reading that said your presence was putting me in danger or something like that,” I said. I was beginning to calm down. I pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down as well, resting my forearms on the floral placemat.
“So your mom told you that?” He folded his arms behind his head, stretching backward.
“I kind of pulled it out of her. She wasn’t happy about me learning the tarot and I wanted to know why.”
He grinned. “Claire was always more pragmatic, a true Virgo, when it came to the cards,” he said. “She thought of it as a fun trick, but it was never real to her as it was to me or to your grandmother.”
“Or to me,” I added, tracing the designs of the placemat with my fingernail.
“It’s in your blood, kiddo, you can’t help it. How long have you been reading for, anyway?”
“A few months,” I replied.
My dad frowned. “A few months? But that article about you just came out
in what, May?”
“You saw the article too?” I exclaimed. “What, did they like broadcast it on loudspeakers across the US?”
“I have followed up on you, you know,” he said with a wink. “And do you mean to tell me that you’d just started reading the cards at the time you predicted that parade fire?”
“Yeah, I’d picked up my cards the weekend before I made that reading. My friend Angie and I did a bunch of readings together so I learned them pretty fast.”
“That’s unbelievable,” he said, “It takes most readers months, if not years, to pick up enough nuance from the cards to really weave a story. You must be very talented.”
I shrugged again. I didn’t know if I was talented or not—I didn’t have anything to compare it to. This had been one bizarre day and I was coming up speechless. And anyway, what did you say to a father you’d never met?
“So why now?” I asked the man…Tyler…my dad. “Why did you pick this particular day to track me down?”
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Because I know you went to see Nathaniel today, and I can’t stand by and watch while you put yourself in harm’s way.”
“Harm’s way?” I was incredulous. “You think Nathaniel is dangerous? He’s like a thousand years old, what’s he going to do, cough on me? Shake his cane in my general direction?”
“I don’t know if he’s dangerous or not, but I have enough doubt about him to be concerned,” my dad replied. “I’m thirsty. Is there anything to drink in this joint?”
I crossed the kitchen, opened the fridge and found a pitcher of lemonade. “I know Grandma and her husband thought Nathaniel was bad news,” I said, pouring a tall glass for each of us.
Tarot's Kiss (Tarot Chronicles) Page 10
