Kemble knew an order when he saw it. Tris opened the creaking screen door and headed into the house. Kemble edged by Drew. Tris was already coming out of the bathroom. That was pretty much the only closed door in the shack. Just to tie up loose ends Kemble checked the kitchen floor behind the little bar that separated it from the rest of the room.
Tris was glowering in frustration as he glared around. “So he might look Italian but he’s got some Celt in there somewhere.”
“Redmond isn’t Italian. Scots maybe, or Irish.” Kemble’s anger bubbled up. “How could he leave her if he’s the One?”
To his surprise, Tris grew thoughtful instead of angry. “Maggie left me.” He sighed. “And I let her go, at least until I came to my senses.” He glanced up to Kemble and shrugged apologetically. “It isn’t always that easy.”
And Tris knew. Kemble didn’t. “I’m still going to kill him for hurting her,” Kemble muttered. That is, if they could find the bastard. He pushed out the door and shook his head at his father to indicate Redmond wasn’t there. Drew was to the hiccupping stage, which meant she might be capable of speech.
“Where is he?” his father asked Drew, gently. Then a note of steel intruded on his tone. “If the fool left, we’ll find him and explain why that isn’t possible.”
“Oh, Daddy, you can’t do that.” How long had it been since Drew had called their father “Daddy”? Since she had been Tammy’s age? Maybe longer. “He raised my magic.” She took a breath, as if for courage. “But he already had his. His one true love, Alice, died.” She looked up, pain etched around her eyes and mouth.
Kemble glanced to Tris and saw his brows raised in surprise too.
“Doesn’t matter,” their father said. But even he was taken aback.
Drew shook her head slowly and turned away. “He still loves her, of course. You don’t quit caring for your one true love just because she dies. And ... and now he’s met someone who promised to bring her back to life.”
“What?” they all barked in unison.
Drew wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “A girl came looking for him who can raise storms. She said the woman she works for could bring Alice back to Michael.”
“It can’t be,” Kemble’s father said under his breath. “She must be dead by now.”
“Who?” Kemble asked, lost.
“Morgan.” His father was flat. “That was her power. But she was ancient even when your mother and I met her. That must be thirty-five years ago, now.”
“Could ... could the girl, Rhiannon, and this Morgan woman be part of the same group who tried to kill you and Maggie?” Drew asked Tris in a small voice.
His father took a huge breath and let it out. Kemble could see his father’s brain working as his gaze darted around the porch, not registering the torn screens or the bare wood. Trees tossed branches or fronds in the wind that had risen. Clouds were boiling up on the horizon as they did most afternoons in this part of the world. These looked more ominous than most. “Yes, they could,” he said slowly. “If Morgan is still alive, she must be incredibly old. Her power comes from Morgan Le Fay, not Merlin. And she doesn’t want to usher mankind into the same kind of new world that we do.”
“Oh, no.” Drew looked stricken. “Michael joined them. They wanted his ability to find things.”
His father’s gaze snapped back to Drew. “He’s a Finder? Did they want him to find something in particular?”
Drew nodded. “Yeah. A sword. I recognized the design.” She paused and swallowed. “I think it was the Sword of Gwynedd.”
“The sword Merlin gave Arthur,” his father whispered. “Is that possible?”
“The Lady of the Lake gave it to Arthur, Daddy.”
“Don’t nitpick, Drew,” her father said absently. “Merlin sent him to the Lady of the Lake.” He was thinking about something else again.
“That sword was lost in the Middle Ages,” Kemble protested.
“If it ever existed at all,” Tris snorted.
“Well, they think it’s somewhere in the Caribbean,” Drew said.
“What would Morgan want with that sword?” his father mused.
“Uh, pretty valuable if you could prove what it was,” Kemble offered. He could never resist answering his father’s questions. Ever the good little boy in school, Kemble was.
His father shook his head. Wrong again, Kemble. “There’s got to be something more. Maybe it has magic in and of itself. When your mother and I last encountered Morgan, she was looking for objects of power. What did she call them?” He tapped one finger on the back of the graying Adirondack chair and lowered his head to think. The wind was really blowing now, out of the east. His father’s head snapped up. “Talismans. She called them Talismans of power.”
“Talismans?” Drew asked, her eyes widening. “You mean as in the Talismans of the tarot the priests were looking for in the fourteenth century?”
Hell and damnation. His father’s shock mirrored his own.
“A sword is one of the tarot suits, isn’t it?” Tris asked.
They all looked at each other. Drew was right. This all came together.
“I’ll be damned,” his father cursed softly. Then his gazed darkened. “Morgan should not have possession of any artifact that might confer power on her.”
“Well, she’s about to get it.” Drew frowned. “Michael knows where it is. Or he will.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. “You’ve ... you’ve seen him find it?” Kemble asked.
Drew swallowed and her normal fearlessness failed her. “Not exactly. But I saw him write down the coordinates on his chart, and then draw his route. I memorized them.”
A slow smile spread over their father’s face. Pride in his daughter and a sort of fierce intention glowed in his eyes. They were in for it now. Kemble just wished that look of pride was for him. “We can’t let them have that sword, honey. Your brothers and I are going to have to go after it too, with the coordinates you saw. And if Michael stands in the way....” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. “He’s joined Morgan now.”
Drew didn’t collapse. She didn’t plead for her traitor, even though she must love him the way Kemble always dreamed he’d love someone: totally, completely. She just squared her shoulders and said, “Don’t think you’re going without me. I’m a Seer now. That means I can help. Maybe.”
Their father’s lips thinned. Then he took a deep breath and nodded. “Do you know whether the sword is underwater or on land?”
Drew shook her head. “All I saw was him coming out of the trance where he finds things, and going below to write down where it was.”
“How long have they been gone?”
Drew looked dubious. “Since early this morning. Maybe five hours.”
Their father looked up at the sky, into the rising wind. “Kemble, were there any hurricane warnings out?”
Kemble shook his head. Of course he’d checked the weather before they left LA. It was hurricane season.
“Well, check again. This Rhiannon may have raised a storm to keep any watercraft from following them.” Kemble could see the wheels turning. “Drew, write down the coordinates. I want to know where we’re going. If it’s far, they’ll need to stop for fuel, perhaps several times.”
“What does that mean?” Tris asked.
“It means that if this weather holds, we may have a better chance of beating them to the punch with wind power.”
“Right.” Kemble trotted to the car. Could he get Wi-Fi in this godforsaken place?
“And some weaponry?” his father called. Kemble held up a hand to show he’d heard.
“We’ll never catch them,” Kemble heard his sister say.
“Or we’ll capsize in this weather.” This from Tris, who had never been fond of sailing. Cycles and cars were more his thing. They had engines.
“I’m one helluva a sailor, oh ye of little faith,” his father said, steel in his voice. “And they’ve got to collect the thing once t
hey get there. That will take time too.”
“How many crew are with them?” Tris asked. Ever practical, Tris.
“Crew? More like thugs,” Drew sniffed. “I saw five, plus Rhiannon and her boyfriend.”
Great. Three Tremaine men against six guys and a girl who could raise storms. Drew might be a Seer but she wasn’t going to be much help in a fight. This was not going to be a picnic. Especially if any of the thugs had magic powers too.
But his father was right. You couldn’t just let some Talisman power thing fall into the hands of the wrong people. They had to try.
*****
The moon laid a glowing channel of light over the midnight sea. It was calmer out here, the winds diminished. Michael stood at the wheel on the upper deck of The Purgatory just as he had all day, trying to get her through the edge of that building hurricane off the coast. The storm had really come up out of nowhere. He’d tried to talk Rhiannon into waiting until it blew over, but she’d only laughed and said she wanted this storm.
This whole thing might be a fool’s errand. The coordinates of their destination were in the Caribbean Sea where the map showed nothing but blue. That had shocked St. Claire. But it didn’t deter Rhiannon. She just made grim plans to pick up diving equipment at their first fuel stop at Cat Island in the Bahamas. Too bad she hadn’t brought Carl and Tucker. So, tearing through wind and rain toward nowhere meant that piloting The Purgatory took his full attention. He’d given up the wheel only when he had to use the head. Rhiannon fed him sandwiches and Dr. Pepper, which he ate standing.
At least his stomach had settled. By the time they had made it to the shack, Michael had retched his guts out several times. He had told Rhiannon he was still detoxing. The shrewd examination she’d given him said she might know more about what he’d been going through than he’d like. Unfortunately, Michael knew exactly what was happening. The bond he’d felt with Drew was breaking. How did he know? Because he’d felt that same bond with Alice. What did that mean? That he loved Drew as much as he loved Alice? Or was it part of the fact that they both had magic? He sure as hell didn’t feel a bond with Rhiannon. The thought that he had a bond with Drew drenched him with guilt on several fronts.
The connection had faded. Which was a good thing. Alice would be back soon, and that made Drew an interlude. The word “interlude” felt wrong applied to Drew. She didn’t deserve “interlude.” Not smart, funny, generous, sexy Drew. He was as bad as the asshole professor.
He jerked his mind away from thoughts of Drew. Alice had to be his focus now. She was coming back. He had to hang on to that.
His skin felt tight, coated with brine from the wind and the spray. The drone of the engines, the faint smell of diesel, and the jolt of the bow over the waves had long ago combined into a hypnotic assault on his senses that made reality seem far away.
The others were asleep below or sprawled in the back on the padded benches. Only one of the guys brought along for muscle was posted aft as a groggy lookout. The ocean was big and black, no land in sight. Funny, that’s how his life seemed. He’d been alone for the last two years, no land in sight, churning through the night toward some destination that never got any closer.
For a minute, he’d thought his destination was closer than he thought. He was so sorry he’d had to hurt Drew. The look on her face when he’d called her a silly coed had been enough to make him poke his eyes out with a stick.
He rolled his shoulders, then his head to ease the ache in his neck. Shit. He’d gone from thinking he and Alice were psychic to believing in magic, all in a matter of hours. And he did believe. He had to. Magic was going to bring Alice back.
Maybe bringing her back could erase the horror of those final months when she’d grown so weak and frail he hardly recognized the vibrant woman he’d fallen in love with in Dubai. People thought it took courage to serve in the Delta Force. Not really. Lord, even a Taliban prison with beatings pretty much every day paled before the courage it had taken to watch the woman he loved die a little at a time. The shock of her final plea was that it had been a little bit of a relief. The whole nightmare would be over, for both of them. That was hardest to live with.
But now, if he and Alice couldn’t make the past go away, they could at least start over. This nightmare of the last two years would be the part that didn’t seem real anymore. Well, except for the time with Drew. That wasn’t a nightmare.
Guilt surged up again. He must never let Alice find out he’d forgotten her enough to betray her with Drew. And what about Drew? He’d never see her again. That felt bad. God, but he was a shit-heel. He’d betrayed Alice. But he’d betrayed Drew too. The sea seemed to waver in the moonlight. He held to the wheel, gripping it hard to keep upright. He tried to keep his focus on the image of Alice in his mind, Alice before she had gotten sick, when she had been hale and whole and they’d been so in love. That was what he needed to think about now.
In his mind, the image of Alice spoke.
Is that her name? Drew? I like that name.
Alice! he thought frantically. I didn’t mean to betray you. It won’t happen again.
It wasn’t a betrayal, Michael, the image of Alice said, smiling kindly. I told you thinking of me wouldn’t hurt after a while. How do you think that’s going to happen? You have to meet someone new.
But I can bring you back, Alice. Or a woman named Morgan can. We can be together.
As a ghost, Michael? Alice chuckled. Have you been reading gothic novels?
No, he said, serious. Really alive again. And healthy. She said the cancer wouldn’t be a problem anymore.
Alice frowned. She shook her head, just a little, as if she was contemplating coming back, and didn’t like the idea.
Michael was stunned. He’d never considered that Alice might not want to come back. I’m not drinking anymore, Alice. It’ll be like it was. His thoughts sounded desperate.
I’m not sure. She hesitated. The familiar smoke started to billow up around her.
Don’t leave me, Alice, he begged.
Michael, be careful.... And she was gone, receding into the smoke.
Michael found his shoulder being shaken by the thug from aft. “Who you talking to, buddy? Eh?” Michael looked around, dazed and distraught. “Anybody up here with you?”
“No. Nobody.” And that had never felt worse. He realized his cheeks were wet. “Get St. Claire up here. He can keep on course. I need some sleep.”
He headed aft, staggering, whether with fatigue or remorse he didn’t know, leaving the wheel in the thug’s beefy hands as the poor sod yelled for St. Claire.
*****
“Go below, Drew,” her father yelled over the rushing wind. “Take a break.”
“Not on your life,” she yelled back. She wasn’t going to be the weak link here. Her brothers and her father were dead on their feet too. They’d been screaming along with only a few scraps of storm canvas up for so long it seemed like they’d always been slipping and sliding over wet decks to execute their father’s orders. They’d leaned over one side or another to keep from capsizing when required. It had been a near thing almost a dozen times.
A wave washed over the deck, and Drew clung to the lifelines they’d rigged.
“It’s lessening,” her father yelled back as the deck righted itself. “Can you feel it? Boys, take in the storm trysail and jib. Let’s get ready to haul the mainsail. Three reefs.”
Drew looked at Tris. He didn’t feel it lessening yet either. But if her father said it was lessening, it was. He was the best sailor she knew.
Tris yelled, “Right ho, Senior,” and hauled himself fore through the pounding rain.
Drew refused to desert the deck. “Give me the sails. You guys haul mainsail.”
In half an hour, they knew their father was right. The rain was reduced to sporadic squalls. The wind still screamed in the sails, but they were sporting more canvas and it wasn’t being torn to shreds.
“Looks like we’re gonna make it, Senior,�
� Tris shouted.
Her father grinned and Drew realized that he loved being in this life-or-death contest with the elements. He’d just won game, set, match. “Did you doubt?” he called from the wheel.
In an hour, they were whizzing along and the clouds showed broken patches.
“Kemble, bring up some coffee and more of those sandwiches. I think we’re good.”
Kemble looked a little depressed, which didn’t make sense since they’d just found out they were going to live. “I’ll give you a hand,” she said and followed him to the hatch. They scrambled down, using both hands, since the yacht was still pitching. It was quieter below.
Kemble had found them a forty-foot bareboat rental—just the boat without a crew. The name was prophetic, The Hail Mary. Of course they could have bought the thing for what the guy had asked in a deposit. He hadn’t been exactly keen on them taking it out in heavy weather.
“How does it feel, Drew?” Kemble asked, as he unlocked the cupboard. That question cost him something. Drew was willing to bet he’d never asked Tris how it had felt to find Maggie—too much sibling rivalry between the two brothers.
The truth would likely be difficult for him. So she said, “You mean, how does it feel to be so screwed?” She gave a rueful shake of the head. “Generally pretty awful.”
“No, I mean, how does it feel when you find the One?”
She sighed. Kemble wasn’t as sure of himself as he always seemed. She’d long suspected he had “impostor syndrome” big time. Who wouldn’t with a father who could do anything? Must be hell to work alongside him every day. And at thirty-one, he hadn’t found love or his magic. She’d thought Kemble would resent Tris when he had gotten his magic. But he’d just gotten quieter. She wondered if her father noticed. Maybe. He had realized Devin was destroyed when Senior had learned to surf in just over an hour. After that, he hadn’t tried to share his younger children’s enthusiasms. Maybe he was learning.
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 18
