Timeless Vision

by Regan Black

  Pushing back at the invasive magic, he barely stemmed the threatening tide. His choices were limited by not knowing his opponent. The hound growled again and Wayne followed the hound’s vision. A tiny water droplet gleamed on the glass of a picture near the main office door, vibrating with potent energy.

  He focused all of his effort on that small spot, an archer aiming an arrow at the center of the target. As he fought, he found the invading magic more foreign than familiar. It seemed the wicked sorceress had changed her tactics. Behind him the dog whined and Tara groaned in pain. As owner of the dagger, she was tied too closely to come out of this unscathed. Whatever the source of this dark spell, he would have to track it down another way, once Tara was safe.

  He called on a rudimentary spell he’d learned early, a variation on glamour that should confuse the opposing force, filling the office with a crush of people. Almost immediately the tension in the air eased. Wayne crossed the office in one stride and scraped the bit of offending magic from the glass, crushing it beneath the heavy sole of his boot.

  Tara was curled into a tight ball, her back to the wall. Her breath hissed through her clenched teeth in pained gasps.

  “Are you well?” He dropped to a knee beside her. Although it was reasonable that his skills were rusty after centuries of sleep, this kind of error was unconscionable. His mistake only proved his mother had been right labeling him as a reckless threat. The shrill, fearful voice from his distant past ricocheted through his mind before he could shut it out.

  “Where are you hurt?” Needing an answer, he gave her shoulder a little shake. His hound nosed at her face and hair, whining encouragingly.

  Tara tensed even more, resisting their help.

  Wayne gentled his voice, kept his hands off her and signaled his hound to back off. “You must talk to me, Tara. Tell me what ails you.”

  “Fi - fire. My eyes.” She sucked in another breath. “Everywhere.” She pressed her fists to her eyes. “I’m burning.”

  “There is no fire, lass.” He held a grudging admiration toward the one who’d wielded such dark magic so effectively. “You’re not burning. Your eyes are unharmed.”

  He cupped his palm and held it above her exposed temple, pulsing a gentle healing light over her. Slowly, one heartbeat, one breath at a time, he stretched that healing force out until it covered her like fine netting.

  Gradually, her hands relaxed and inch by inch her body eased until her breath calmed and she rested on her back. Her eyes remained closed, and at last he could confirm that no part of her was burned or otherwise damaged.

  His hound nestled beside her, adding a comforting touch, and Wayne’s physical and magical senses returned to normal. In all his time with magic, despite his mother’s dire warnings, he had never brought harm to an innocent. This would be the worst time and place for such an error.

  Wayne sagged in relief, though he kept that healing light draped over her. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, though he knew she’d recover fully within minutes. When would he be free of this persistent weakness? The memory of his mother’s eyes filled with fear, hate, and blame for a talent he didn’t understand forever haunted him. Nothing he’d done had earned her favor or affection.

  His sister and the Avalon priestesses had shown him what was possible. Those revelations amid encouragement and confidence had soothed the worst of those emotional wounds. And yet...

  Yet nothing. His relationship with his mother was a lost cause. His quest was not. He rubbed his temples and deliberately focused on what they’d just learned. His bleak past could not be changed and his king had given him an opportunity to use his gifts to protect others. Recovering the dagger and keeping Morgana trapped would be satisfaction enough.

  It had to be.

  Chapter Four

  Tara’s eyes stung, her skin prickled with alternating sensations. Hot and cold. Fear and comfort. She wasn’t sure which were real and which were illusions. She’d seen a white-hot, blinding flash of fire and doubled over with the pain of it. Expecting smoke, she’d dropped to the ground, immediately plagued with a sense of failure, knowing the pub would burn to the ground.

  Wayne claimed she was fine and she told herself any minute now she’d believe it.

  “Open your eyes, Tara. It is over.”

  She heard him, of course she did, but fear held her in a ruthless grip. “What if -” She didn’t want to catch her reflection in a mirror and prove him a liar.

  “We were attacked by an illusion. A strong one, to be sure,” he said gently. “I am looking at you, lass. You are as lovely as ever.”

  What a thoughtful thing to say. She wanted to believe him. She could feel him doing something near her head, the shadows and light shifting over her closed eyelids. Was he covering her injuries with a spell?

  “Breathe now. Open your eyes.”

  She felt Sterling’s wet nose near her hand and she placed her palm on his soft head. It was heartening to have him beside her. “I’m being a wimp, aren’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t know, having never heard of such a creature.”

  His admission made her laugh. Wimpy or not, lying here sure as hell wouldn’t get her dagger back. On a deep breath, she cautiously opened her eyes. The ceiling looked the same. At least it didn’t show any signs of smoke or fire damage.

  Gingerly, she sat up. Wayne smiled. The dog bumped her hand. “I’m fine. The office is fine.”

  “As I said.” Amusement danced in Wayne’s blue eyes. “Take your time.”

  “Shouldn’t we be racing off to find the thief?” His whole body seemed weary, from the tight lines bracketing his mouth, to the slump of his shoulders. How had this incident drained him more than his late arrival to the 21st century?

  “Once your cousin arrives, I will seek out the enemy on my own.”

  “No way. You did that once and it backfired. We’re in this together.”

  He started to say something and changed his mind, dropping his gaze to his empty hands. His hair fell over his face, blocking her view.

  “Talk to me,” she said. She needed some help putting everything context. “I’m as tied to this dagger as you are.”

  “More so,” he admitted, lacing his fingers. “To my ongoing regret. I’m not exactly sure I can explain it.”

  “Try, please.” she pressed. “Just don’t try to avoid the answer.”

  He tilted his head just far enough to glare at her with one eye and half a scowl. “Very well.” He pointed to the framed picture of her parents on their honeymoon in Ireland. “The thief left a spyglass of sorts behind. It allowed whoever sent the thief to watch and intervene if someone with magic unraveled the theft, as we just did.”

  “Spyglass?” She didn’t like the idea of being watched. “Like a bug?”

  “Not at all.” His brow furrowed. “Though I crushed it.”

  “Pardon me. A bug is a modern term for a listening device, but you’re saying this was a visual thing, yes?”

  “Yes. At first glance it was as innocuous as a droplet of water. Only very powerful sorcery could exploit and attack us through such a small portal.”

  Sorcery, portals, and magic were as foreign to her as her slang and idioms were to him. She couldn’t in good conscience allow him to search out this magic in the modern world alone. While Sterling was a great partner, the dog couldn’t serve as the translator Wayne obviously needed.

  “Were you able to learn anything about the thief?”

  “He wore the magic like a cloak, but he was not the one with the power.”

  She wasn’t sure how that detail made her feel. “Can you tell me what you did to, umm, reveal the theft?”

  “Explanations would do you no good.” He rolled to his feet in one fluid motion.

  “I’m not an idiot,” she said, hurrying to stand as well. The room swayed just a little. She recovered quickly as Sterling braced against her leg.

  He grinned down at her. “Of course you are not the idiot. You’re a tavern keeper a
nd quite good at it.”

  She caught herself before she explained yet another progression of the vernacular. “What now?”

  “Now you shall keep to your business and I will take care of mine.” He picked up his leather jacket and broadsword.

  He was suddenly damned eager to cut her out of the search. It made her that much more determined to stick close. “You need a translator.” And she needed a chance to become the hero rather than the goat in her family. With every passing hour since she discovered the dagger had been stolen, she felt increasingly hollow, as if she was dissolving from the inside out. She wasn’t about to confess that squishy sense of failure to this brave and strong knight or he’d find a way to leave her behind for good.

  “I understand the language.”

  “You only think you do. We’ll catch the thief faster if we stick together.” She could see he wasn’t buying it. “I can help, Wayne.”

  “The hound is the only partner I need.”

  “Really?” She wanted to drill her finger into that hard chest of his. “You think you’ll be just fine out there without any money, using your magic to blend in whenever you need to?” She snorted. “No way. I have brothers and I know that’s male pride talking, not a valid strategy.”

  “It is not pride.”

  Tara planted her hands on her hips just to keep them off him. “Whatever’s pushing you is messing with your logic.”

  “Goodness.” He rolled his shoulders back, his presence crowding the small space. “I am not here for pride or my glory. I act with honor in all things for the cause of goodness and peace.”

  Okay. As a motto, delivered with such earnest conviction, he made it sound like a good one.

  “This thief is an instrument of darkness. Of evil,” he continued, staring at her as though he could will her to understand. “Without powerful magic he would not have countered the wards or found the dagger so quickly.” He stepped closer to her, towered over her. “Dominant, dark magic gave him that tool to observe your reactions.”

  She shivered. “You can find him.”

  “It may take some time, but yes, I will find him.”

  Though they hadn’t been acquainted long, she knew he meant to find the person wielding that dark magic, the person who’d learned about the dagger and hired the thief. “Nick and I can help you. We know this city, this time, in ways you don’t. Think of the house and your belongings. Nick obviously has things in place to support your search.”

  “And I’m grateful,” Wayne said. He scooped his hair back from his face, his jaw set. “The advances here may be of little help. I am likely searching for a force not of this time.”

  That was a sobering thought. She would be as uncomfortable in King Arthur’s era as Wayne was here and would like to think she’d accept help graciously. Studying his stoic features, she could tell there was more he wasn’t saying. Having lived and worked with men her whole life, she suspected it had something to do with a woman. “Do you know who is behind this?”

  “The magic has familiar markers,” he replied. “That is all I can say for certain.”

  Chapter Five

  “He is on his way, my lady.” the guard reported.

  “Thank you, Darius.” The woman perfected her posture in the chair, her shoulders back and her spine rigid. Her power subdued for this meeting, she toyed with the fragile handle of an elegant antique china cup and resisted the urge to gloat.

  For centuries her family worked in shadow and darkness by the weak light of soft candles. They’d toiled in chilly caves and hidden in barren deserts forever pursued by those who called themselves righteous. While their numbers ebbed and flowed over decades and generations, many of them had mastered the spells and skills to steer clear of those determined to contain and destroy their plans.

  Now, thanks to her devotion to the cause, they were stronger, smarter, and well-prepared. The world was full of doubters and distractions, all too ready to blame a magical error on aliens or a rogue government agency. Through clever schemes and careful planning they had the stability and security of a fortress. A safe zone she had established. Their numbers were growing once more and those who proved talented had the space and mentors to explore the full scope of their abilities. Soon, with Gawain’s dagger in her possession, nothing would stop them.

  She was more than ready to break out of her shell, out of hiding, in a glorious triumph. She and Darius and her closest advisors were as eager as bulls to spring free of the gate and stampede all those foolish enough to stand in their path.

  She gazed with respectful affection at the artistic tapestry on the far wall. Many times she spoke to that tapestry, a beautiful depiction of her idol at the peak of her power. Gawain the Gallant had nearly destroyed it before the true vision had been realized in its completion. All her life she’d reveled in the whispers of her uncanny resemblance to the great witch. She’d used the rumors to her advantage as she’d navigated her way to the top of their order. The likeness between her and her idol went deeper than eye color and flowing dark hair, deeper than bone structure, straight to the root of the magic within each of them.

  “We will finish this,” she murmured to the tapestry. “Soon I will transform this world. They will all worship your name. They will love you and fear you as they should have done ages ago. They will flock to your altar and honor your power as I do.”

  Feeling her magic rising with thoughts of that glorious day, she turned from the tapestry to the table and quieted her mind. She must meet her thief as he would expect to see her, as a gracious leader. A single rumor, ill-timed, could unravel the plans they’d been weaving for centuries.

  The sentry rapped at the door and she opened it with a swift thought. A man with a bit too much swagger walked in, Darius in his wake.

  When the door was closed behind the men, she invited her thief to sit with her at the table. He impressed her when he waited for her to be seated first.

  “You have the item I requested?” she asked, her voice pure kindness.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He withdrew a slim, flat roll of black fabric and placed it gently on the table. “Everything went just like you said.” He nudged the roll closer to her. “Take a look.”

  She did not take the gift he offered. Already she could sense the age, the heavy magic involved. There was no doubt in her mind but this was the dagger, the capstone for the spell she had in mind. He had not attempted to deliver a forgery or to double cross her. Although it was another point in his favor, she wasn’t yet sure she could afford to spare his life.

  The power under that fabric whispered to her, as engaging as a siren song. It required more effort than she expected to keep her eagerness at bay. “You were not seen coming or going?”

  “Not once.”

  “And you placed that device as I requested, yes?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did. On my way out, just like you said.”

  She knew this of course, for she’d been spying on the mortal’s office, eager to catch a glimpse of the O’Malley clan’s collapse. Unfortunately, the impertinent barkeep had discovered the theft almost too quickly. Yet after a brief, fruitless search, nothing more had happened.

  Maybe they’d drifted too far from their roots, though it would be such a disappointment if she were cheated of the fight she’d anticipated. Her mind wandered over the best ways to use the vessel if the family were indeed oblivious to the scope of their loss.

  Satisfied her every instruction and precaution had been followed, she reached for the dagger. Easing back the edges of the fabric, she admired the dull gleam of the blade on the black field.

  In less than a week the ritual would be complete and she would stand - a glittering weapon at the center of a world rendered powerless, all of humanity groveling at her feet.

  Reining in her excitement, she touched only the fabric, bringing the dagger closer for a better inspection. Oh, yes, it was the original. She admired the small fortune here on her table. Museums would pay for the honor of di
splaying it. Private collectors would pay more still to keep it hidden. The rough ruby in the hilt, once removed, cut, and sold, would propel her to the top echelons of wealthy society.

  If only such a false status mattered to her.

  The things this world prized were as fleeting as snowfall in late spring. She would show people what to value. She alone would teach them that wealth was rooted in power instead of their paltry gold and silver.

  “It’s real, right?” The thief cleared his throat. “Pardon me.” He lowered his eyes.

  “It is real. You have done well for us all.” She looked beyond her thief to Darius, waiting silently at the door. With a nearly imperceptible nod, she marked her thief for death. Clever and quick, the man had been too close and she’d allowed him to see too much of her inner sanctuary.

  She raised a finger, belaying the death order. The man had also been close to the O’Malley woman. “I would like you to stay,” she said to the thief. “I’ll arrange a room, if you’ll agree.”

  Darius arched a dark brow, all sorts of questions and speculation in the subtle motion. They both knew she didn’t need to explain herself or her methods to him. “There may be another job for you.”

  “With what you paid me, I can take some time.”

  “Wonderful.” She smiled warmly, though it was merely illusion. Coming to her feet, she reached out and clasped his hand between hers. With a shift of her finger, she pricked him with one of her rings. As he bled, she soothed the wound, leaving him no knowledge of his more personal donation.

  Darius escorted him out of the room, handed him off to another guard and returned to her side. She smiled as they watched the thief’s blood skitter across the dagger’s blade like quicksilver.

  “Look, Darius,” she said. “It begins.”

  “Which is only more reason to kill him.”

  “A new believer is never unwelcome,” she chided gently. “And a man talented enough to add our charms and magical tools to his repertoire could prove quite valuable.”