There was something more to this object.
If only he knew what it was.
It vibrated strongly, the humming sound intensifying.
His eyes lazily drifted to the other memorabilia.
Small posters proclaimed, “The best magician in the world, Drake Marsters appearing here tonight, one show only Madison Square Gardens” and “World Famous Magician, Drake Marsters -- Get your tickets now” from his home town.
Only being the best and world famous hadn’t stopped Chloe from leaving him, had it? She’d walked away, cutting off all contact. And he’d let her.
Even now he could see her doe eyes searing into his soul. He could still remember what it was like to feel her satin skin against his, what it had been like to slide into her glorious depths, where he lost himself in the bliss she provided.
His hand dropped away from large shelf, a sigh wrenching out from his lungs. If only ... what? If only he could have her back? She’d been the one to walk away.
No, he’d driven her away. His secrecy and his protectiveness of his magic had put a wedge in between them only the truth could push out. And he’d never told her the truth about himself.
The hum reached a tuneful pitch before stopping, as though it hadn’t wanted to lose his touch.
He shook his head, picking up the tequila bottle to pour himself another drink.
It was wishful thinking, the only kind he did lately, all alone in the big house that he’d built before it had all gone to hell.
* * * * *
The man held back the scream by biting his lip as the cinches tightened the cuffs on his arms, stretching his body out to painful extremes. But the hot poker applied to his boney foot brought about the reaction that his captor was looking for. More information amidst the screams of agony.
“I don’t know what it was!” Aswell panted, trying to keep air in his lungs. He’d lasted longer than any of the others, a whole two days. Or maybe Gray was getting better at torture, rather than killing. Historians made good targets. They provided interesting objects from their own collections to do the deed with. The mace had been the most fun. But this session needed to be winding down. It had gone on too long. Someone was bound to look for the historian soon, even with email messages of excuses for missing work. And they’d start with Aswell’s house, eventually looking in the garage.
“You couldn’t identify it?” Rob Gray sat down cross-legged on the concrete floor in front of the studious man, who now was in great pain. Perhaps that would loosen up his tongue.
“I swear to you. I couldn’t.”
“But Marsters brought it to you for identification.” Gray rubbed a finger across his chin. “What did he think it was? Did he have any idea?”
“I don’t know.”
Gray stood up.
Aswell shuddered at the motion, his body shaking, trying to pull away. “I don’t know! Please. Please. No more.”
Gray paced in front of the babbling, sweating professor as he mulled over what the significance of this was. “He thought it was important. He wanted it identified.” And that made it doubly important to Gray.
Aswell’s head nodded, barely lifting his chin.
Gray continued to pace, stretching out his legs as he did so. This interrogation job was hard work; he’d be sore tomorrow. “What did it look like?”
“It was ... four feet tall, maybe. Slender. Made of a crystal. A mineral of some type. Smooth.”
“What constituted the mineral? What was it made of?”
“We never found out. He wouldn’t let us do any tests on it.”
Gray cocked his head. “Interesting. You’ve told me more than either of the two others that Drake took the item to.”
A slight, hopeful smile perched on the man’s chapped lips. “So you’ll let me go now?”
Gray clucked his tongue. “I’m sorry. I can’t risk you warning Marsters.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You’d say you wouldn’t, but you would.”
Aswell didn’t see the sword coming as he begged for his life. Quick turns of the blade, and the man bled out.
Gray chucked down the weapon, pulling off his gloves. He’d been careful not to leave any trace evidence on the body or in the house. Nothing would tie him to the crime. And by the time they could, he’d have his own source of magic, and it wouldn’t matter.
Chapter Two
Chloe shoved the books away in frustration, her eyes grimy with the grit of all the dust that had been in tomes that hadn’t been opened in so many years.
Poring over book after book of excavations sites hadn’t made one iota of difference. The little bit of information that the Collector had was enough to send her on several chases that hadn’t gone anywhere, resulting in blocked paths. It looked like this was going to be another one.
Being an archaeologist or historian wasn’t the glamorous life. These last two weeks, she’d spent more time in ancient libraries than she had in the outside world. How long would it be before the Collector pulled her off the job, saying he never should have hired her in the first place? Not long, she was afraid.
Granted, she’d have the five thousand, or what was left of it; a good chunk had gone to her sister already.
A slight smile came to her face, thinking about her last conversation with her sister right before she’d gone treasure hunting. Her phone had rung. She’d answered it on the second ring, and before she could even get “Hello” out, Joanne had started in.
“You didn’t do anything illegal. Did you?”
She could picture the over-the-glasses look her older sister was giving. “No! No, of course not. I’ve been hired for a job. It was an ... advance.”
“What kind of job?” Joanne gasped. “Is it for sex?”
Chloe snorted. “Like anyone would pay me for sex.”
“You’re sure it’s nothing illegal.”
“I’m sure, Jo.”
Joanne sighed. “I do appreciate what you sent.”
“How is that niece of mine?” Chloe bit her lip, hating to ask the mother watching her child go through hell about just how far into hell the child had descended.
“She’s well. Little bit of throwing up with this new therapy. But that’s to be expected.”
Chloe closed her eyes. Flashes of orange light raced across them.
“She drew you a picture. I’ll send it in the mail.”
“Thanks, Jo. Give her a kiss from me. And a hug.” And part of my life, if only I could.
“I will. How are you doing, Chloe?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Always fine.”
“You know, talking about sex, you should get back out there. It’s been four years since you and Drake.”
Chloe rubbed her hand over her chin. Like she could get the man out of her mind long enough to get friendly with another man. He dominated her thoughts even when he shouldn’t. She’d had sex since Drake. But it always seemed to lack something, some spark that happened whenever she was around him. Hence, why she had avoided him since she’d called their marriage off. “I gotta run, Joanne. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Chloe, come on, I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m just worried about you.”
Now that was the rub. Her sister, whose daughter was dying before her eyes, was worried about her. She bit back tears. “I know, Jo. But I gotta run. I’ll call soon.” She slipped the phone back into the receiver. She had trips to plan that would hopefully find her niece the money for the groundbreaking medical treatment that might save her life.
Now she’d become obsessed with locating the artifact.
It was no longer about the money. Well, it was to a certain extent, but it had gone beyond that.
She had a chance to do this herself, to make someone proud of her, and with her brief interaction with the Collector, somehow that he believed in her, made that matter to her.
Maybe it would drop from an alien spaceship and land on her head. That seemed about as likely as finding it from the books she’d been examining.
> She reread the papers that the Collector had given her. It wasn’t huge, about four feet, had an oblong shape with no angles.
Why did that sound so familiar? And why was it being so hard to locate?
She shifted in the wooden chair. It creaked under her, loud like a gunshot in the quietness. Something had been pecking at her brain since she’d begun this exercise. But it sat just out of reach. She couldn’t quite bring it to the front of her mind.
She pounded lightly on the top of her skull, leaving her hands up there. Come on. Remember.
Stupid, because she didn’t have anything to remember.
Her hands left her hair, grasping one of the books she hadn’t looked at yet. It was on the excavation site that the Collector thought the object came from. It had writings from the original team who’d discovered the site.
Why bother?
A note caught her eye.
Several objects were claimed by Wesley Rune. They were of no archaeological importance and weren’t recorded.
She read a lot more. This book had the most she’d found on the burial site so far. There was no mention of the object itself. The note she kept going back to was from a journal by one of the archaeologists who’d been the leader of the recovery team.
She tapped on it with a well-worn fingernail.
Maybe this was why she’d come to so many dead ends. If no one had officially documented the artifact she sought, and it had gone home with a private family, it made sense why she couldn’t find it.
Why wouldn’t they have jotted down what that family took? Marking off artifacts as unimportant seemed contrary to everything she knew about protocols at dig sites and archeology. Anything found could be important to history. And why were there no mentions of this event anywhere else but a private journal?
Who was Wesley Rune?
She thumped at her head again, laying it on the table.
“Are you all right, miss?” The elderly librarian had approached without her hearing it. He looked down at her, concerned. He must not get too many women beating themselves up in the library.
“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.” She lifted her head, one hand going to her ponytail to see if it was straight. He turned to go. “Wait.” He spun back on his heels. “Can I get a copy of this page, please?”
He smiled, a kind genuine one. “I’d be glad to, miss. That will be fifteen cents, please.”
She dug around in her jeans pocket. Shit, she’d changed this morning from the pair she’d worn yesterday bearing pockets laden with change. “I don’t suppose you take credit cards?” She pulled out a fleck of lint. Nope. Not a quarter.
“I’m sorry, miss, we sure don’t.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can put that on hold for you until you come back.”
A credit card with no freaking limit, and she couldn’t take evidence with her because of fifteen cents.
She sighed, having intended on moving on tomorrow. It would mean a whole other day at this library, as they would be closed by the time she got back with the change.
A glint caught her eye from under the table. Pushing her chair back and cocking her head, she bent down to retrieve the shiny new quarter from where it lay on the grungy pea-green floor.
She’d been there for over four hours and hadn’t noticed the coin lying under the table before. Well, she hadn’t been looking, but still, a bit strange she’d notice it now, in her moment of need.
“Here you go.” She placed it in his palm and waited for her copy. She had some genealogical records to search for.
* * * * *
Later that evening, Chloe tapped her pencil against her cheek. She made another two notations on her legal pad.
She’d gone from excavation sites to genealogy. Now she was attempting to trace records to find living descendents of Rune’s family. And it wasn’t as easy as she’d thought to track down.
Leaning back in her chair, she thanked God for the free high-speed internet available in her hotel room. It had been after hours, and she’d decided to see what she could find online. Somehow, she’d visited all the right sites for information.
“Ha ha.” She leaned forward again. She’d gotten to her grandparents’ generation. It should be easy to track down the rest of the family, with modern record-keeping
Getting up, she walked to the well-stocked little mini-bar fridge and grabbed a soda. Her eyes took in the luxurious hotel suite with king-sized bed and living space. It was huge, almost as big as her apartment, and with more furniture. The carpet begged for toes to sink down into it. She’d never stayed anywhere so posh.
Except when she was with Drake.
Her stomach skittered as it did whenever he came to mind.
She remembered a night from when they’d been young, newly married, in love. He’d had one of his first big magic shows as a headliner. They’d stayed in a hotel room, which had been as grand as anything she’d ever stepped foot into up to that point. They’d ordered champagne, caviar, and lobster tails. High on both the extravagance and each other, they’d eaten, drunk, and been merry, making love until dawn. He’d missed an interview at a local television station because they’d overslept. Hell, they’d slept past checkout time, too. When they woke up, they’d had sex yet again before dealing with the world.
God, those had been good times. Even when the bad times came, she hung on to times like that.
She hugged her arms around herself tightly, the chill sweeping into her bones. Her hand rubbed up and down. She couldn’t get away from the cold that came from not weather, but memories.
Drake had been her first love and lover. She’d thought they’d be together forever.
Thoughts of his hands moving on her skin, or of his cock moving inside her, stopped her no matter what else she was doing. It was like her brain went on pause whenever he came to mind, so she could relive those moments.
Enough of this trip down memory lane. Get to the fucking research.
She located the latest find, the relative from not too long ago.
Caroline Rune.
Had she had dreams like Chloe did? Of course she did. Did someone stomp all over them, too? All she had was the woman’s name, but she could picture her. Windswept blond hair, blue eyes, long, tall, and limber, looking nothing like Chloe with her dark mass of curls going every which way. This woman had probably been a sophisticated young lady in her prime.
What had Drake called her when she left? Gauche and gaudy? This woman had probably been the exact opposite.
Shaking off her daydreams, she located a marriage certificate.
I hope you never got divorced.
Clicking on the link to the information, she paid the fee and brought the copy of the certificate up on her screen.
Carolyn had married Donald Marsters.
Chloe froze, staring at the little black lettering.
Marsters?
No. It couldn’t be. Marsters was a common name. Just look at the guy who’d played Spike in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He’d been James Marsters. Even fate wasn’t that cruel, to play such a big joke on her.
Quickly, she sorted through the records, looking for birth certificates, finding two children, Daniel and Mary.
Her heart pounded, drumming out any other noises from her ears, her mouth drying out.
Coincidence. It had to be coincidence. So Drake’s dad’s name was Daniel, and he had an Aunt Mary. It didn’t mean anything ... yet.
And Daniel Marsters had married Peggy Able.
Drake’s mom’s name was Peggy.
And Daniel and Peggy Marsters had had one child. A son.
Her head banged on the laptop keyboard. She did it a couple of times, as if the banging would make the truth go away.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Fate was that cruel.
* * * * *
Rushing into her apartment, tossing down her bags, Chloe dashed for the tiny piece of the floor she called a bedroom.
Please, please, please, don’t let it be.
&nbs
p; She’d spent the whole trip home begging things not to be. But that hadn’t changed that Drake Marsters was a descendent of Wesley Rune. In fact, he was one of the only ones left. The line might die with him if he didn’t have any heirs.
Waking up at two A.M., after going to bed after midnight last night, something had occurred to her. It wouldn’t let go or let her sleep. She’d checked out before breakfast and been on a plane home an hour later.
She grabbed the pictures on her shelves and went through them. Where was it? Her muscles curled in knots as she looked.
And there it was.
She reached out a finger and tentatively touched the picture like she could feel it. The cool glass shook under her fingertips.
The blown up picture had once been of her and Drake. Drake had been edited out with scissors, but she’d always liked the shot of her so she had framed it. She’d done that before putting someone like Mel Gibson or Vin Diesel in place of the bastard, so she’d been good.
It had been at his parents’ house before they’d passed away, so she’d been a lot younger and a bit thinner. She’d been what? Nineteen? That was ten years ago, she realized with a sigh.
In the background, resting behind her, sitting on a shelf, was a crystalline object, roughly in the shape of a phallus, smooth, no angles. It stood out. She’d always wondered what it was. She’d asked Drake once, but he hadn’t known.
In that picture, her artifact sat on that shelf less than two feet away from her.
She fell backwards on her bed, photo pressed against her chest. Her eyes shut as she let the tiredness of not sleeping and of traveling seep into her consciousness.
This couldn’t be happening.
Drake had inherited all his parents’ things. And she held in her hands proof his parents had been in possession of it. So it stood to reason Drake now had the object, whether in storage or in his house.
She was never going to get the money.
She groaned. Never. Not in a million years would Drake hand that thing over to her. Good thing he hadn’t been in possession of it when she’d left. A few things had been tossed his way during the argument that had preceded her leaving. She would have cried had she broken the item that had become her albatross.
THE COLLECTOR 1 - Magical Chances Page 2
