by Regan Black
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 pinc
h 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.”
Her lips were pressed into a flat line as she shook her head. “No.”
“No?” he echoed, stunned by her denial.
She sat up straight, the chair creaking with the sudden movement. “I want to know what happened here just as much as you do.”
He wasn’t as certain of that. She didn’t know what would be required or the dangers involved. He’d given his life to keep evil at bay and until a few hours ago she believed she’d been robbed of a family heirloom.
“Don’t look at me that way,” she said. “You think I’m not as invested in this.” Her green eyes turned sharp and cold as she held his gaze. “You’re wrong. The dagger was stolen on my watch. You have no idea what an embarrassment that is or how violated I feel. Someone invaded my space and stole something invaluable.” She tucked a wayward strand of curling red hair behind her ear. “According to you, that someone has who knows what sort of bad intention. Do whatever you came here to do, but I’m staying.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The more time he spent in this cramped room, the more he wanted to finish the task. Quickly. He’d thought himself above any distraction - until he met her. He needed to find a lead and then escape her enticing scent, stunning body, and challenging attitude.
She was unlike any other women he’d known. While logically he understood people would have to change along with their world, her candor continued to shock him. Women of his time rarely spoke as boldly and never dressed as provocatively. He struggled against the urge to drape his jacket over her shoulders to hide her figure. He fought the automatic demands for her silence. He’d been a forward thinking man in his time, but even he had not foreseen this kind of result.
“Stay if you insist.” He pointed to the corner. “Stand there and remain still. Movement could distract me at a critical point.”
“Hang on.” Her brow furrowed with worry as she moved into position. “Are you putting yourself in danger?”
“Magic always has a price and involves some risk. You will be safe.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Wayne exchanged a look with his hound. He found no sympathy in the large, dark eyes. “None of us will be in any serious danger with the spell I will use.”
“Okay.” She relaxed, leaning her shoulders back against the wall.
That issue settled, Wayne reached into the small pack the squire had left for him. He withdrew his familiar scrying mirror and murmured the words that would focus his vision on the mystical plane.
The mirror was more prop than tool, protecting the secrets of his magic from Tara while he searched for the residual traces of the thief. He wanted to trust her. The dog’s immediate approval alone would be enough of an endorsement in his time. Here in this century there were too many variables he didn’t fully understand yet.
He angled the mirror’s reflection toward the desk drawer where the dagger had been stored as he studied all of the faint images floating through the small office. It was quickly obvious Tara had spoken the truth. The primary energy here was entirely of the squire’s descendants.
Sliding the mirror back into his pocket, he noticed the fading ward on the door leading out to the pub. A similar ward on the opposite door was frayed with an oily darkness that resembled black lace. He sucked in a breath, recognizing the pattern as one of Morgana’s.
He swallowed down the instinctive fear. Focusing on that darkness, he found traces of the only person not of the squire’s blood that had been in the office. He extended his vision to his hound, reaching out with a hand to reinforce his connection.
Beside him, Sterling growled as they retraced the activity of the previous day. A man of limited magic had entered the office from the storeroom door, aided by tools both practical and magical. Wayne and Sterling watched the echoing images as the thief held up something small and round and followed it unerringly to the dagger.
“May I show you?” Wayne turned to Tara, her beauty blurred by the magic swirling through the room.
“What do you mean?”
“If I touch you, you may be able to see what I am seeing. I want to know if you recognize the thief.”
Those auburn eyebrows winged upward before knitting together in another frown. “What should I do?”
He held out his free hand. “Just take my hand and look with me.”
“All right.” She set her palm in his.
The sizzling jolt of her energy nearly pushed him out of the vision. For a moment he was overwhelmed with her vibrancy and his vision zeroed in on her movements within this space. He waited until he regained control, showing her how the thief had invaded her space.
Her soft, furious curse let him know she was seeing it all quite clearly.
“What is he holding?” Wayne asked.
“It looks like a compass... wait.” She leaned unerringly toward the filmy image. He moved with
her. “It’s an old pocket watch. How would that help him?”
Wayne filed away his questions about the devices she mentioned. “Do you recognize him?”
“No. I’ve never seen him. I searched the security camera feed while I waited for Nick to call me back, but this guy didn’t show up. No one did. How did he stop the cameras?”
“I don’t know.” He didn’t even know what a camera was, though he guessed it was a visual tool of some sort. Her every statement raised more questions about modern developments as well as the theft. For now, he’d work with the details he understood. “What are those tools he applied to the door?”
“Old-school lock pick set,” she replied. “The bastard. The camera should’ve caught him.”
Wayne chuckled at her crude outburst, feeling marginally better now that he was certain the thief wasn’t someone from her family. He watched the shadowy residue of the thief hide the dagger in his coat. If he’d had doubts about why he’d woken from his bespelled sleep, they were gone now. The thief had clearly employed magic to accomplish his task.
Wayne prodded at the shadow image of the thief, seeking any identifying marks, and found none. He readied to dissolve the images and break the spell when he felt a power prickling at the edges of his own, like burrs caught in the weave of soft wool blanket.
The hound growled again. Wayne released Tara’s hand but it was too late. They were caught. A powerful talent was working against his magic, following it back to the source. To him.
Tara cried out, instinctively curling away from the invisible attack and covering her face with her hands. He sheltered her body with his, casting a protective spell. It wasn’t as simple as shutting down his own scrying spell, not with Tara and Sterling caught in the crossfire.
