Timeless Vision

by Regan Black

  “There.” He aimed his finger near the screen. “That is the mark. Sterling saw this as well,” he explained.

  “Okay.” The man and dog worked too efficiently for her to discount that. “That bond you told me about?” She tilted her head to watch him while he answered.

  Wayne nodded. “I see what he sees when it is necessary. It has saved us many times over.”

  “Okay,” she repeated. She opened a new window, searching for any mention of crimes committed by men with this horse tattoo.

  Behind her, he stood up and shuffled his feet. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Does my knowledge and use of magic bother you?”

  It was a question she’d expected. While he was talented, she noticed the way he kept apologizing for it. “No more than any of this bothers me. I want my property back. Especially if some witch plans to use it for something terrible.”

  “She does,” Wayne murmured absently.

  “Here we go,” she said, finding a string of news articles from upstate New York. “Look at this,” she said. Wayne leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “A small group created big trouble in the area a few years ago. Police noted several of the people they arrested bore this mark.”

  “It makes no sense to me.”

  “Which part, the crazy people or their horse infatuation?”

  “The wording,” he snapped, pacing away from her. “If that is what they are.”

  “You can’t read?”

  He spun on his heel, his expression severe. “I can read,” he insisted, through clenched teeth. “I cannot read that.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. “The delivery has changed as much as the language. More really.” She’d been thoughtless. “You’re doing such a great job accepting and fitting in…” her voice trailed off as his eyes went wide and he marched up to the table. “What?”

  “The horse.” He waved a finger at the screen. “Our first clue. A black horse can signify anything from impending death or honor to the goddess of seasons. Can you provide more images?”

  She brought up as many as possible and clicked between them. “Does that help?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed one hand over his closed fist. “This is her coven.”

  “Police called it a cult.”

  Wayne snorted. “By any name it is terrible that she has gained the power of so many followers. How did this happen? I trapped her, bound her. She should not be free in this world.”

  So maybe Morgana’s presence wasn’t as possible as she’d thought. “You sound like you know her well.”

  The back door opened, and they both jerked around, braced for another fight. Sterling joined them, his toenails clacking on the floor tiles.

  “Stand down.” Nick raised his hands in surrender. “It’s just me. Sorry it took so long,” he said, dropping a backpack and duffel bag to the floor before loosening his scarf. “Your mom packed for you.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Tara demanded, leaping out of the chair. She wanted to punch him for leaving them alone and give him a big hug now that she knew he was safe. She opted for the hug.

  ~*~

  With one hand on his hound’s head, Wayne watched the warm greeting. An odd jealousy pulsed through him, wishing she might throw herself at him that way. Or that he might have one more opportunity to embrace the sister who’d first trained him. He missed his family and the friends who’d become equally close. With a mental shake of his head, he gave Morgana due credit for stirring up the hornet’s nest of emotions past and present.

  Emotional bonds were a hindrance in his quest and created vulnerabilities Morgana would not hesitate to exploit. Only logic, common sense and sheer power would stop the witch.

  Nick eyed Wayne over Tara’s shoulder. “What did you do to her?” he asked. “Affection and Tara rarely go together.”

  Was that true? He hadn’t felt any lack of affection when she’d kissed him.

  “Oh, shut up.” Tara gave Nick a shove and stepped back to stand beside Wayne. “We were attacked in the bar,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest. “Where were you?”

  “About that.” Nick’s eyebrows arched and his gaze moved between them as he rocked back on his heels. “I told you to stay here.”

  “I insisted on investigating the office where the dagger had last been,” Wayne said even as Tara explained the call from her staff. Again, Nick eyed them far too carefully for Wayne’s comfort.

  “We were attacked outside as well, as we made our escape,” he said. There was no sense denying it any longer. “By a powerful witch. I believe Morgana has been freed.”

  “That’s impossible.” Concern stamped on Nick’s face as his eyes raked Tara head to toe. “No way. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “One of the guys who jumped us in the bar was the thief,” Tara continued. “The other two had a tattoo from a cult recently busted upstate. Do you want a drink?”

  “I’m not sure it will help.” Nick slipped out of his scarf and coat, draping them on the back of a chair. He took a seat at the table and urged Wayne and Tara to join him. “Walk me through it from the beginning.”

  Wayne let Tara handle the storytelling, his mind sifting through the fine points of his experiences since he arrived. He’d been thinking about Tara’s ancestry, at least when he wasn’t thinking about that kiss. She and Nick knew different details about their family origins and treasure. Obviously desperate to prevent the enemy from undoing the binding spell, Peter had divided the family secrets between his sons and the sons they bore.

  Wayne offered up a silent prayer of belated thanks for the squire’s ingenious decisions. It could not have been easy to explain the true inheritance of the dagger and full consequences of the spell in a way that unified brothers, not even in those first generations. In his time, brothers were more often pitted against each other, fighting for attention, honor, and family wealth. The O’Malleys must have been an odd breed to have overcome society pressure and natural human tendencies.

  With so many safeguards and precautions, Nick was right, it could not have been Morgana he’d seen on the street. Who else could weave a spell that not only clouded his mind, but drained his strength enough to make him bleed? And who other than Morgana would recognize him so quickly?

  “Wayne!” Nick rapped his knuckles on the table to get his attention. “Help me understand why they’d come back to the bar when they have the dagger.”

  “I’m sure they were looking for me, for the magician who traced the device left behind by the thief.”

  “You put Tara in danger.” His quiet voice did nothing to dispel the surge of temper. “That’s the opposite of everything I was trained to do in this scenario.”

  Sterling came to attention, but Wayne gestured for the dog to relax. He’d created this problem through reckless overconfidence and deserved the set down. “How much do you know of the original spell?”

  “Not enough, I’m guessing.” On a heavy sigh, Nick got up and went to the cold box Tara called a fridge and pulled out a bottle. After popping the cap and taking a long drink, he knelt down and gave Sterling’s head a rub. Standing, he tipped his head toward Tara. “I’ve spent the day doing research and it’s clear to me some things were deliberately omitted over time. The spell must be bound with O’Malley blood or you wouldn’t have been so aggravated to discover we existed.”

  “You are correct.” He folded his hands on the table, refusing to think of Tara as the lamb Morgana would eagerly slaughter for her freedom.

  “So it can’t be Morgana out there calling the shots if no O’Malleys were injured,” Nick said. “My dad and grandpa have helped me track everyone down. From what I can tell, the only blood that spilled today was yours.”

  Wayne acknowledged the observation. “Could we speak privately?”

  “No.” Nick and Tara spoke in unison, down to the matching determination.

  “You’re not shutting me out,” Tara added.

  “W
e’re not putting you in danger again either.” There was no mistaking the authority in Nick’s voice. “I’ve heard about this cult with the black horse tattoos. It’s my job,” he said when Tara muttered an insult. “The founder claims to be a descendant of Morgan Le Fey.”

  “An acceptable explanation,” Wayne mused. “I suppose such a popular myth would draw in unwitting recruits from every generation.”

  “It’s a fair ploy,” Nick agreed. “But why steal the dagger now?”

  Still rattled from the way the witch had cowed him and the way Tara’s kiss lingered in his system, Wayne decided he needed a drink himself. Maybe the bottled brew would give him some relief. He’d been no monk in the past and he recognized lust when it had him by the throat. Something about the woman called him to claim her as his own. How much of that was the witch’s trickery? Mimicking Nick, he drank deep before returning to the problem.

  “Morgan Le Fey or Morgana, by any name she remains influential,” he continued. “Her inherent power, rooted in nature, does not truly die. She had no surviving offspring when I trapped her. The witch we saw resembled her enough that I was fooled.” The admission bruised his pride, much as the stray punch had bruised his cheek. “She must want the dagger as a trophy to establish her influence. It’s unlikely she believes she can release Morgana.” He looked to Nick. “I wanted to follow her and I believe that’s what she wanted me to do.”

  “He collapsed and started bleeding, so I insisted on the hospital until you told us to come here instead,” Tara interjected.

  “He stopped bleeding once you arrived, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew it.” Nick gave them a self-satisfied grin. “We’ve worked hard on this place from the first stone to the latest remodel.”

  “I know we’re both grateful,” Tara said. “But what do we do about the witch? That stunt or spell or whatever she did gave her a distinct advantage over our gallant knight. Sterling and I were all that was holding him up,” she finished, avoiding his gaze.

  Unhappy with the image she painted, Wayne looked to Sterling and forced himself to examine the scene from his hound’s perspective. “The witch was strong and her power was similar to Morgana’s,” he agreed. “Beyond the confines of the spell I cast, her aura was not familiar to either the hound or me. She must be your contemporary.”

  “Auras?” Tara’s green eyes went wide. “The dog sees auras?”

  “It’s the best word I know to use to describe the mystical energy around someone so powerful,” Wayne said.

  “How can you be sure? Wouldn’t an aura change over the course of centuries?” Nick asked.

  “Not at the core,” Wayne replied. “Magic leaves behind traces unique to the person using it.”

  “At least that narrows the search a little,” Nick said. “Give me a description and I’ll get started. We need to find this woman and fast.”

  Chapter Eight

  Collette poured a deep red wine into a glass and let it breathe. Let herself breathe. Despite Darius’ concerns, she had been smart to follow and watch from the shadows as her team tested the man helping the O’Malley woman.

  Turning a happy circle, she reveled in the shock and joy to have Gawain the Gallant here in the 21st century. Gawain was here, in the flesh. Not a reincarnation, not a mirage or trick of some talented sorcerer.

  There was no mistaking him. Or better put, there was no mistaking the mystical energy pulsing off his splendid form. She’d returned to her chambers and confirmed it with Morgana’s personal notes. She didn’t know how he’d managed to survive. She didn’t care. The sinful potential simmering under his excellent body and golden face called to her to turn him to her cause. All of the risks had been worth it, to have caught a glimpse of the legendary man who’d nearly destroyed everything centuries ago.

  Unlike Morgana, Collette didn’t hold his drastic actions against him. Of course, she had the benefit of time and perspective. At the time, the gallant knight thought he was doing the right and noble thing by siphoning the power and binding Morgana. He’d been brainwashed by his precious King Arthur to believe her ancestor had an evil agenda.

  Gawain’s trouble was the same as Arthur’s, with that annoying, persistent faith and belief in the unimaginative values of loyalty and equality. Normal people weren’t capable of maintaining such a standard. Morgana had understood some people were stronger and better than others. The vast majority of people were sheep, willing to follow whoever promised security and peace with the least amount of effort.

  She raised the glass to her lips and sipped the wine, soothing her rapid pulse. Gawain had dispatched the men she’d sent far too easily. While she’d assumed it would be three against one, the old knight had allies. His ever-present dog of course, but the O’Malley woman had proven more capable than she’d anticipated.

  “I need the O’Malley family tree,” she said to the empty room. She would make a full study of them, as she’d studied every other piece in this vast puzzle. She would learn what they’d done to pull Gawain through time so quickly after she’d stolen the dagger. Then they would be flushed out and captured, every last one of them used to further the greater good. Her greater good.

  At the knock at the door, she invited Darius inside. “Tell me everything.” She gestured for him to sit with her on the couch.

  “The men are recovering quickly. They’ve said little so far, Collette.”

  Her concern stretched only as far as when she might interrogate them. She hadn’t dared to go inside that tawdry pub until she knew what they were facing. “What spells were used against them?”

  “None.”

  She echoed the response into her wine. How odd that Gawain would not even attempt to fight with his strongest weapons. Unless his magic was no longer his strength. “I wonder what they saw?”

  “When we arrived, he was drinking,” Darius said. “I used that, made it more potent, to blur his senses.”

  “Well done.” She wanted to dance in victory and settled for a soft kiss against his ebony lips. “I want to see it all for myself,” she declared. Hopping from the couch, she motioned for Darius to lead the way.

  She was nearly effervescent since returning from her jaunt to Brooklyn. Her mind drifted back to that moment on the street. She had pushed the great Gawain to his knees. It gave her a delicious thrill of anticipation of what was to come.

  Once she separated him from the woman and the dog, she had no doubt he would surrender to her. She knew how to manipulate men. Not even Gawain’s renowned goodness could withstand her sly assault. To have his skills on her side would change everything. Together they would be unstoppable.

  At the common room door she waited, watching the people milling about. Her followers, this core group of people, were only the beginning. Loyal to her above all, they applied themselves to their mutual goals with all their strength. Some had magic talents, but most had basic skills they happily devoted to the ideas she presented to them. Each person here worked tirelessly to transform the world in her image.

  “This way, my lady.” She walked with Darius to a table where the two held bags of ice to bruises and minor cuts.

  Seeing her, they started to rise. She urged them to relax with a radiant smile. “What were your orders?” she asked in an even tone.

  The men looked at each other, then her. Her thief let the other man speak first. “To identify and observe the magician who helped the woman. The fight was unintentional.”

  “I see.” If they hadn’t appeared so contrite, they would’ve felt the immediate sting of her temper. She prodded them a bit with her thoughts, but couldn’t get a clear read from either man. “Tell me how he bested you.”

  “Straight up power,” the wiry thief said. “And the dog didn’t help matters. He sensed trouble, I’m sure of it. Dogs are the worst.”

  She nodded, keeping her features placid as the leader described how they’d lost the element of surprise and been out-maneuvered.

  Ag
ain, she was glad she’d followed them. “Come with me.” This next step was best handled privately. She rose from the table and they trailed after her like ducklings, Darius bringing up the rear as they left the common room.

  In her private conference room where she’d planned this evening’s mission just a few hours earlier, she asked the men to be seated. With a thought, the doors locked and with the twitch of her finger, she dimmed the lights. “Be at ease, friends.”

  Despite her outward calm, she trembled inside. With excitement. All her planning was coming to fruition. The solstice was nearly here and she sensed this would finally be the year when all the pieces were in place.

  “Make them comfortable,” she said to Darius. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  She’d wanted the dagger since she’d found the obscure sketches and brief references created by the few fortunate souls who’d survived Gawain’s dreadful attack. The dagger had been a critical element in the spell he’d woven to imprison Morgana in the 6th century. She’d found the story of the O’Malley family little more than charming as she tracked the dagger through generations, across an ocean, to the dull little pub in Brooklyn. There had been no signs that they understood the dagger’s true value.

  And yet Gawain had arrived, an apparent champion of the O’Malley clan.

  She knew from the first moment the small blade packed serious power and she refused to let anyone else touch it. Not even Darius. Though she wanted to know exactly what had happened in the pub, this was the perfect time for a test run.

  Collette left through the secret door at the rear of her rooms and took each step a little quicker than the last, eager to see how the dagger boosted her power. She navigated the secret route confidently, as Darius had long ago posted loyal scouts all around Manhattan. She couldn’t have just anyone traipsing through the warrens and tunnels they had explored, searching along leylines for the ideal anchor point.