“Aaaargh!” Kee made a strangled sort of sound in her throat. She crawled up onto a stool at the breakfast bar and slumped over the handmade tile counter, her hands buried in her hair. “He feels he has to come. I can’t think of anything worse.”
“Oh, honey, he seems personable and intelligent. What’s so bad about that? And don’t say he’s too old for you. He’s thirty-five. I checked. Michael and Drew have a bigger age difference, and that worked out fine.”
Kee glared up at her mother. She really wouldn’t understand. She was so confident and easy with people. Kee was confident and easy with her family. Other people not so much. She sighed and all her energy seemed to escape on her exhale. “Look. It won’t do any good.” She shook her head, despair pooling in her belly. “When you invited prospective mates for Tris and Kemble, they hadn’t met the boys before. Those girls really could have been the One. But I met Christian Coombs three weeks ago. No bolt of lightning. No moon, June, spoon thing going on. No magic power. Didn’t happen.”
Her mother left her chopping and came to sit on another barstool. Jane studiously turned away to put her two cake plates on a rustic Spanish sideboard, covered against the depredations of the cat, and far enough back so Tammy’s new dog couldn’t reach them. Devin poked his nose farther into his book. Temperature/Salinity Infrastructure in the Thermocline. Like that could be riveting.
“Maybe it isn’t always instantaneous,” her mother said, taking her hands.
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“We know the details of only three cases. Your father and I, Maggie and Tris, and Drew and Michael. Hardly a conclusive sample.”
Kee sighed.
“I know you want it to happen right now, Keelan. Living with uncertainty is difficult. Poor Kemble knows that only too well.” Her mother pressed her lips together. “But the worst case is that Christian gets a good dinner and a dose of some family, which has to be welcome since he lives alone, and we get to have a guest besides Miles to liven up our table.”
“He might be grateful he lives alone by the end of the night.” Kee gave a crooked smile. Her mother was only trying to help.
“Good girl.” Her mother rose from the barstool. “Now why don’t you go find some pinot noir to go with the chicken? Something nice to warm us up since it’s still raining.” Her mother looked out at the wind whipping sheets of rain against the French doors.
Okay, she’d get through this. Maybe Christian didn’t know it was a setup. He thought he was just coming to dinner with the museum’s largest donors.
*****
“So, Mrs. Tremaine has been telling me all sorts of things about you.”
Kee looked up at Christian in dismay and glanced around. Kemble and her father were off in a corner, talking business. Her little brother, Lanyon, was providing background music at the piano. Tammy was discussing her mare’s progress learning to jump with Jane, and the two couples with magic were laughing and talking together like they shared a special bond. Which they did. Devin seemed to be drifting from group to group. That left her to entertain their guest. She’d bet anything her mother had left detailed instructions with her family to ensure that happened. And her mother had been talking her up to Christian. That meant he knew exactly why he’d been invited. It was a wonder he even got the courage to show up.
“What…?” She cleared her throat. “What could she possibly have to say about me?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
Oh, dear.
He was handsome, of course. Blond, blue eyes, chiseled jaw. For a guy who hung around museums he had broad shoulders. They usually tended to be the gaunt, intense type in her experience, with leather patches on their jacket sleeves. Christian’s navy sport coat was designer wool. Along with the crisp lavender shirt, the gray wool slacks, and a steel bracelet made of Celtic knots, it hit the perfect note of casual elegance paired with an artistic nature. Showed just the right amount of respect to his donors without being overdressed, too. She, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to contain her love of color. So her bodice was magenta but the flouncy short skirt that attached to it was more plum. A very vibrant plum. With streaks of silver in it. Which did go with her strappy silver heels and the broad silver belt. But she felt a little overly colored. She glanced to Drew and practically groaned. Little black dress with gently ruffled cap sleeves. Hair swept up to show her diamond earrings. Enough to make her want to poke her sister’s eyes out with a fork or something. Why couldn’t she be more like Drew?
Swallowing once, she turned her attention back to the handsome man before her. “Then… then we should talk about you,” she managed. Didn’t Mother always tell her that when she was pressed for conversation topics she should ask about her partner? “Where did you get your degree?” Oh, lamer than lame.
“Yale. School of Fine Art.”
Oh. “Then you’re actually an artist?”
He gave an easy laugh. “Most curators are, but not very good ones.”
Kee was shocked he would admit that. Could people just accept that they weren’t a very good artist? The very possibility frightened Kee.
“When you find that out,” Christian continued, with what Kee considered remarkable calm, “you go on to get an advanced degree in museum studies. I got my MFA in sculpture at Yale, and my Ph.D. in museum studies at Georgetown.”
What dared she say? “So, uh, sculpture. What drew you to that medium?”
He narrowed his eyes in thought. “The gooshy feel of the clay, I think. Reminded me of making a goopy mess in kindergarten.” He shrugged. “Only at the end of the day you had made something out of all that glop.”
Kee couldn’t help a smile. “I can see that.” Kind of surprising, from a curator. They were usually so stuffy. “But you like the historical artifacts too. You’re very drawn to the Anglo-Saxon collection, I can tell.”
“Oh, art is all around us and always has been. In the jewelry and the furniture and the dishes, as well as the painting and the sculpture. One of the reasons I campaigned for the job here is that the museum casts such a wide net in its collections. You’re a painter, I understand.”
Kee swallowed hard, then rolled her eyes in defense. “As I’m sure my mother told you. Mothers don’t care if you’re not really good. Did you get the tour of the house? She hangs everything I can stand to let her keep.”
He actually chuckled. “Yeah. I got the tour.”
“So you saw the many phases of what we might loosely call my growth as an artist.” Might as well make light of it. “Well, except for the abstract expressionism. She relegates that to Father’s offices. I can copy any style. Just can’t come up with anything original.” Why was she admitting something that painful, to scare him away or to make a connection? It was a surprise that there might be a connection. It turned out that they were both failed artists.
“Oh, but nobody can at first. It all needs to get shaken up inside us. Then the subconscious picks pieces of this and that, whisks it around with your experiences, and before you know it you’ve started a new trend.”
“Why didn’t that happen with you?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t original. I just wasn’t very good.” He actually chuckled before he gave a resigned sigh. “You’ve got good technique. It will happen for you.”
“That’s kind, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
“I rather like the Georgia O’Keefe period.” He went crinkly around the eyes. She had to admit that was very attractive.
“Forgive me. I was seventeen.”
“Ancient history, then.”
She pretended severity. She didn’t need a reminder that he was much older than she was. “Very ancient,” she corrected.
There was a little awkward silence.
Elaine came down the stairs, herding Jesse ahead of her. In the last few years she had grown into a delicate Japanese flower, kind and intelligent. Mr. Nakamura had done a great job as a single parent. Hard to believe she was already eighteen. Je
sse waved gaily to Tris and Maggie and headed out the front door with an armload of books and toys to spend the evening in the Nakamuras’ quarters over the garages.
“Thank you!” Maggie called to Elaine. “You’re an angel.”
Elaine smiled. “He’s a pleasure to watch.”
Kee saw Drew and Kemble exchanging meaningful glances, almost like they were up to something. She turned back to Christian. Why wasn’t she better at this? “So, uh, are you planning any acquisitions for the Anglo-Saxon collection? I’m sure the Parents will quiz you at dinner, so you’d better prepare.”
“They’ve been so generous. I’ll ask them if they have any ideas for expansion. They are the heart of that exhibit.”
Kee was surprised again that he seemed genuinely appreciative. He didn’t sound like a smarmy suck-up trying to solicit more donations. It confirmed her impression of him down at the museum. And she had to admit she kind of liked him.
Kemble and Drew headed for Kee and Christian. Drew snatched up a small tray of canapés on her way. Thank God, conversational help was on the way.
“Don’t look so relieved, Kee,” Drew drawled before she turned to Christian and offered the canapés. “You must be famished, so I’ve come to the rescue. You’ve met Kemble?”
“We met last week,” Kemble said. The two men shook hands. “Good to see you again, Christian.” Kemble had a speculating look about him. What was he up to?
“I was just telling your sister that I’ve been looking forward to any ideas your parents might have about how to expand the Anglo-Saxon collection. Have you seen the new sixth-century pewter box we acquired?”
“Well, my dear expert, that’s just what Kemble and I wanted to discuss.” Drew put her hand through Christian’s elbow and guided him over to one of the sofas in front of the fireplace. “We’re interested in very specific Anglo-Saxon artifacts, and we’re just sure you can help us.” She was doing her Scarlett O’Hara imitation minus anything but a whisper of a Southern accent. No man was immune. Kee sighed.
Kemble sat down on Christian’s other side, leaving Kee to wander over and stand at the periphery.
“What sort of artifacts?” Christian looked from one to the other.
“Cups,” Kemble declared. That surprised Kee. Kemble had never cared much about the contents of the collections at the museum. He was just the moneyman. “At least, it could be a cup, or a chalice, or something.”
“And wands,” Drew added. “Something with historical significance.”
“We’re, uh, looking for connections to Arthur or Camelot or Merlin. That would really increase foot traffic to the exhibition, I think.” Kemble looked relieved to have a reason for this very weird request. Why in the world were Drew and Kemble looking for cups and wands?
Then it dawned on her. The Tarot Talismans. She sucked in a breath.
“You all right?” Christian asked.
“Of course she’s all right,” Drew said, dismissing Kee. Her eyes never left Christian.
“Well, let’s see,” Christian chewed his lip in thought. “You’re right about any connection to Arthurian legend increasing visitors.” Kemble and Drew looked like they were holding their collective breath. “I don’t know about chalices and wands.…” He looked up in question.
“I know. I know,” Drew said, patting his hand. “Very odd of us. But I was looking at some old engravings, Middle Ages, of course, not original to the fifth-century Arthurian period at all. The engravings were all about the celebration after the hunt. But they started me thinking that one of the most common items to survive, aside from belt buckles, of course, must have been chalices.”
“And wouldn’t a wand be easily connected to Merlin?” Kemble added. “I can see the narrative of the exhibition now.”
Christian lifted his brows and nodded thoughtfully. “You might have a point about a wand. Wood wouldn’t have survived, I wouldn’t think, though.”
“Who says it would be wood?” Drew asked innocently. Drew had never been that innocent in her life. She’d have researched wands back to the very first wand held by dinosaurs. And she’d know what they could be made of. “Couldn’t it be gold, or iron?”
“Actually chalices aren’t frequent survivors either. Sorry to disappoint. And belt buckles, though we have a fine collection of them, aren’t that common.” He grinned. Did he suspect that Drew had found the belt buckle collection extremely boring? She had been yawning within five minutes during its debut gala. “What usually survive in the greatest numbers are coins.”
“Ever heard of coins that have a five-pointed star on them?” Kemble sounded too casual.
Christian shook his head. “Not really.”
“Neither have we,” Kemble muttered, shaking his head.
Christian got a thoughtful look. “You know who’s most likely to know about ancient magical paraphernalia, don’t you?”
Kemble and Drew positively hung on his words. “No,” Drew said, then made little encouraging motions with her hands. Did she have to be so graceful? Christian appeared to have forgotten all about Kee, standing like a plum and magenta lump at the edge of their conversation.
“Why, Magnus Pendragon, of course.”
Silence greeted this pronouncement. Christian acted shocked they hadn’t heard of him.
“Isn’t … isn’t he that charlatan magician?” Kee asked in a small voice.
They all turned toward her, surprised. They’d forgotten she was there.
“Well, I expect all magicians are charlatans of one kind or another. They trick you, after all.” Christian smiled kindly at Kee.
She absolutely hated that. She swallowed once.
“I do know he is a well-respected collector of magic artifacts, some very old,” Christian said. “And his name is Pendragon, after all. Wasn’t that Arthur’s family name?”
“I’m sure it’s not his real name,” Kemble said.
“That doesn’t matter.” Drew had that determined look around her mouth her sister knew only too well. “He specializes in magic artifacts. Don’t you think we should find out if he has any Anglo-Saxon artifacts that we might get on loan?”
Christian sighed. “He’s an odd duck. Lives up in that old mansion in Hollywood. Practically a recluse. And he never loans out his collection. Curators all over the world have been trying for years to get access to it. He never lets anyone even see it. But the pieces he’s rumored to have are extraordinary.”
“That collection might be worth seeing.” Kemble seemed thoughtful.
Their mother sailed over to the conversation pit like a schooner in a high wind. “Into the dining room, children, supper is on.”
Kemble and Christian rose, and Christian gave Drew his hand. She got up gracefully. They joined the parade into the old, Spanish-style dining room with the huge trestle table in ancient dark wood. It sparkled with crystal and silver. Trays of chickens and heaping bowls of vegetables vied with arrangements of the last birds of paradise of the season. The napkins were rust colored in their ornate wrought-iron rings, the china a simple Spanish country pattern Kee had loved since she was little. It was beautiful.
“Now, we have you seated between Keelan and Drew, Christian,” her mother was saying. “So you won’t lack for attractive female company.”
Kee was willing to bet Christian was going to pay attention to Drew all night, not her. Even though Drew was married, she was still so magnetic he’d have no other choice. Didn’t matter, she’d have Devin on her other side. She always did.
“Devin, let’s put you down here with Maggie and Tristram,” her mother said, sealing Kee’s fate. “Jane, you’re just across from him. You don’t mind sitting next to Kemble and Brian, do you? They’ll bore on about business, I’m sure, so keep them in line.”
Devin gave a sigh that would be imperceptible to anybody who hadn’t known him nearly all his life, and then a lopsided smile to Maggie. “Guess you’re stuck with me tonight,” he said.
“Nonsense, darlin’. I hea
r there was big surf today. I saw you go out even in this awful storm. Was it worth it?” Maggie had a way of making everyone feel comfortable.
But not Kee. As she sat down, Christian was already asking Drew for her advice on an exhibit he was planning: The Costume as Art in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries.
“Fascinating,” Drew was saying. “I mean, just the evolution of the silhouette is indicative of the freedom of thought that was emerging during that period. Not to mention the growing power of women.”
“But what do you think is the significance of the change from vibrant colors to pastels?”
Kee sat down. This was going to be a very long night.
******
“It’s the guy again,” Jason said, punching the line on mute and glancing over to the old woman. She was sitting in front of a TV, enjoying an interview with a frazzled employee describing the robbery at the vault of the biggest casino in town, Shangri-La. The gleam of the monitor and the glowing case where the Sword was displayed were the only lights in the dim room. The old woman preferred darkness. Rhiannon, Phil, and the others were out on the town. It was late, but this was Vegas.
She turned her head slowly. “He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.” She glared at Hardwick. “Though I still fail to understand how he’s getting my private line number.”
Hardwick held up his hands. “I’ve changed it three times, I swear. There’s no way he could be getting your number. Even the hotel doesn’t have it.”
“Except he is,” the old woman snapped. She gritted her teeth, which made the wrinkles around her lips purse into a corona of lines. “Put him on speaker.” Well, that was a change. She’d never agreed to speak to the guy before. “And you,” she said, pointing to Hardwick. “Trace the call.”
“Ms. Le Fay?” The smooth male voice crackled out into the dim suite.
“What do you want?”
Her barked challenge didn’t seem to disturb the caller. “We have common interests. I was hoping we could meet to discuss them.”
Waiting for Magic Page 3
