Page 10

Now, back in the light of day, Tamsin pressed her fingers to her temples and pushed back a tide of anxiety.

Her life didn’t feel as if it was hers anymore.

Gawain’s tales of crazy stalker fae had her eyeing the shadows, although he was the one she should be worried about.

Even if his wild stories were true, he had broken into her apartment and violated her privacy—and then tried to possess her in ways he had no right to.

He’d forced her to use her magic to defend herself. That was utterly unacceptable.

If this had happened to a friend, she’d advise them to call the police.

But, despite all common sense, she’d found herself drawn to Gawain’s story.

There was no reason to believe him—sure, she was a witch and knew magic was real, but seriously?

Fae had vanished from the earth centuries ago.

The knights of Camelot were a legend. Even if they were real, what would they be doing in Carlyle, Washington?

Swilling craft beer, wearing flannel shirts and cheering on the Seahawks?

That image alone had kept her wide-awake.

Nevertheless, there was something important in his tale, something her sixth sense told her to pay attention to. It felt like pieces of a puzzle coming together, but she had no idea what picture it was forming.

The fastest way to find out was to locate those tombs, and that meant getting down to work.

She sipped black coffee from her travel mug and switched on the aging computer.

Stacks of paper boxes filled with old, uncataloged records reached halfway up the wall beside her desk.

Most of the papers had to do with the study and restoration of the many architectural features of the church, but a few concerned the sale and loan of items. It was completely possible her answers were buried in those old papers.

Tamsin opened a box at random, grabbed a handful of files and started searching.

The papers were at least thirty years old and smelled of mildew, and many were routine office records—like a bill for a typewriter repairman.

Not quite ancient history, but as close as Tamsin could get to the day-to-day operations of Medievaland’s first owner, an eccentric millionaire who’d lost interest in the project the moment it was up and running.

She looked up at the clock a few minutes later, only to discover that hours had passed. A rumble from her stomach confirmed it was noon. Tamsin was unzipping her backpack to rummage for her lunch when her cell phone rang.

“Hey,” said Stacy. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Tamsin replied.

“Something happened after I talked to you yesterday.”

Tamsin immediately thought of Gawain and shivered at the remembered brush of his rough hands. She wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. “I’m in a medieval church, remember? No one here but us history buffs. What could possibly go wrong?”

Stacy sighed. “There are disturbances in the aether all over the West Coast. They were particularly strong near Carlyle all afternoon and last night.”

Tamsin frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Mom. She had her crystal ball out and was scrying the energy fields in your area.”

“Scrying? You mean spying.” Tamsin wanted to smack her head against the wall. “I hate it when she does that. It’s like having a drone on my tail at all times.”

“Maybe, but she’s always right. She says there have been significant spikes in magical activity right in your area.

” Stacy listed off a handful of times, and then her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Mom even thinks someone or something stopped time for a moment. No one’s used that kind of magic in centuries.

What, by Merlin’s magic wand, is going on in Carlyle? ”

Tamsin sat back in her chair, skin prickling with alarm. “I don’t know. I’m a healer. Sensing the aether was never my talent. I don’t notice an anomaly unless I’m looking for it.”

“Surely you have some idea. Mom might be obsessive and paranoid, but she can read energy from a distance better than any other witch in the eastern covens.”

Which meant—what? That Gawain was right, and there were evil fae romping through the streets? “I honestly don’t know.”

Stacy’s tone grew impatient. “You know Dad always thought Carlyle had a significant archive of magical materials. There have to be some serious practitioners out there, and they’re up to something.”

Tamsin cleared her throat. “There are supposed to be some very special books here, ones I know Dad was interested in, but I haven’t found them. They seem to have disappeared along with...”

“What?”

“Other things.” Tamsin put a hand to her forehead. She was hot, possibly because her head was exploding. “There are items that should be in the church but seem to have gone missing. I’m trying to find them.”

“Magical items?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Oh, Tamsin,” Stacy groaned, sounding pushed to her limits, “hurry up and come home where it’s safe.”

Tamsin sighed. “I’d better get to work. I’ll call you later.”

“Be careful.” Stacy hung up.

Tamsin thumbed the End button and sat staring at her phone for a moment as the dark cloud of Stacy’s anxiety faded. Her mother’s observations bothered Tamsin. Something was definitely going on.

Tamsin needed a break. She grabbed her coat and strode through the cool dimness of the church.

Outside, it was bright and sunny, and Tamsin breathed in the air and cheerful, gaudy colors of the theme park.

She waited on the porch as an actor rode by in the full armor of a knight, the feathered hooves of his horse clop-clopping on the pavement.

Children milled about the beast, who bore the noise and commotion with gentle patience. Tamsin couldn’t help but smile.

And then she thought of Gawain, which wiped away every trace of lightness. She jumped down from the porch and began to walk briskly through the grounds, using the exercise to take the edge off her nerves.

The morning’s work had made one thing clear. As a historian, she’d been trained to value meticulous research, but in this case the fae army might overrun the mortal world before she made it through all those boxes of paper. There had to be a way to fast-track a solution to this problem.

Tamsin was pondering the question when she reached the booth where brown-robed friars sold paper cups of hot chocolate. She bought the largest size and walked back into the church, ready to resume work.

Except Gawain was sprawled in her desk chair, feet stretched out and arms folded across his massive chest. She started at the sight of him, releasing a sticky dribble through the hole in the lid of the cup.

With a sliver of disappointment, she saw he’d acquired a shirt. No more easy view of those abs.

Knuckles smarting from the burn, she set the drink on top of her filing cabinet and licked the sweetness from her fingers.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light despite her suddenly pounding heart.

Emotion from last night flooded back—trepidation, anger and, illogically, desire.

Somehow the taste of dark chocolate merged with the sight of his big body, sending a burst of need through her synapses.

She wanted to touch the stubble on his cheeks to see if it was as rough as it looked—which was utterly ridiculous.

He looked up slowly, eyes traveling from her feet to her face as if committing her to memory all over again. With a quick shove, he spun the chair to face her. The lines of his face were harsh with fatigue. By the rumpled state of his clothes, he’d been up all night.

“I told you I’d come back for answers.” His voice was rough, almost a rasp.

“You lost the right to answers.” Tamsin shed her coat, hanging it on the hook behind the door.

His jaw went tight. “For your own sake, for everyone’s, I beg you to reconsider.”

“Right,” she muttered. “Evil fae, wicked queen, stone knights.”

“I promise you, I will not touch you again. You have nothing to fear from me.” Gawain rose from the chair, stepping aside as best he could in the tiny, cramped office. The movement was graceful, reminding her he was more than he appeared. A knight. A prince. Or perhaps a very good actor.

Tamsin folded her arms, protecting herself but determined to stand her ground.

She wasn’t prey, and she wasn’t about to run—although her knees were trembling a bit.

He might say he was harmless, but she didn’t buy it.

His presence filled the room like a physical force.

He gestured to her empty chair with courtly grace.

Refusing to show how much he spooked her, she retrieved her chocolate and sat down. Only then did she notice a newspaper folded and positioned in the middle of her desk. “What’s this?”

“Proof of what I’ve told you.”

She picked up the paper and glanced at the headline. “It says there was a mugging. What does that prove?”

In a single, lightning-fast movement, he snatched the paper and slammed it down on the desk. “This happened last night. I was there. Read it carefully.”

Suddenly he was too big, too physical. The fury rolling off him pinned Tamsin to the chair. “Look!” He jabbed a finger at the paper. Then he visibly reined himself in. “Please.”

At first she couldn’t. It was as if her spine had fused with fright.

Then, one degree at a time, she managed to move her head.

There was a picture of a narrow alley, the outline of a body marked in chalk.

The owner of the gas station next door had found the unidentified corpse.

“This is awful, but I don’t understand the significance. ”

“The deceased male was a fae. There were two, but apparently the other survived and walked away. Now read the article below.”

She did. A man had been found wandering the streets last night. He was hospitalized now, suffering from amnesia.

“The fae attacked him,” Gawain said. “I saved his life, but I could do no more. They were consuming his soul.”

Tamsin looked up from the paper, bewildered. “They were what ?”

“The fae were robbed of their souls, so now they devour those of innocent strangers. If I cannot find my king and brother knights, there will be no way to stop their army from taking what they want. I cannot begin to guess how many mortals will die.”

The harsh regret in his words shook her. She picked up the paper, studying the eerie scene again before she set it facedown on the desk. The articles weren’t exactly proof, but the times coincided with some of the disturbances Stacy had reported. That had to mean something.

He was utterly somber, nothing but pure determination etched on his face. “Will you help me?”

She hesitated, and not because she begrudged him her aid.

Even if he were mad, it would be straightforward enough to find one of the tombs and send him on his way.

But maybe—just maybe—she was starting to believe him.

“What are you going to do if I find your king? Hover over his effigy and wait for him to wake up?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Tamsin imagined him sitting by a tomb for days, weeks, even years, waiting for his lord to cheat death. He had that kind of single-minded purpose. “Why spend the time looking for Arthur?” she asked. “Why not lead the attack against the fae yourself?”

“For the same reason you do not hire a blacksmith to etch the head of a pin,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“We all have strengths. I am the best fighter, but Arthur is the strategist. And there are other reasons.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t.

He obviously wasn’t ready for full disclosure.

Even so, his words made sense to Tamsin. She fiddled with the edge of the newspaper, fraying it between her fingers. “I’ve tried looking in the files. It’s going to take forever to get through them, and if what you say is true, we don’t have that kind of time.”

She heard his indrawn breath. She hadn’t exactly said she would help him, but she’d given him hope.

A mix of emotions made her palms go clammy.

Agreeing to this meant spending more time in his company, and that was a terrifying prospect.

Worse, it had a dark appeal that made her insides grow warm with anticipation.

Tamsin wasn’t sure how far she trusted herself.

Gawain found a second chair beneath a stack of files and sat. His eyes were on her face, reading her every expression. “Go on.”

“There might be another way,” Tamsin said slowly. “I came to Carlyle because rumors say there is a collection of ancient books of magic in town. I want to find it and study what’s there.”

Gawain frowned. “You don’t know where it is?”

“No. Strange as it may seem to outsiders, that’s common among my people.

” She took another sip of her chocolate.

“Covens guard their archives jealously. Most of the real information on magic was lost after the war against the demons. Merlin’s spell compromised our powers and, well, let’s just say magic users weren’t popular after he was through.

Years of persecution followed and most of our books were burned. ”

Tamsin paused, wondering if she should be telling him her plans.

At the same time, an idea was forming as she spoke.

“The only books that survived were well hidden. Scholars like my father, and now me, have to talk our way into collections to study the materials. There is no coven in Carlyle, which makes me think the books I’m looking for might be in a private library. ”

“And what does this have to do with the tombs?” Gawain asked, the tension around his eyes reminding her of how little he liked magic.

She set the cup down. “I’m getting there. The rumors say the books were originally part of this church’s property and came with it when it was moved. They might have belonged to Merlin the Wise himself.”

That got Gawain’s attention. “You seek Merlin’s books?”

“I do. Since Merlin enchanted your tombs, the books may help us find your knights. I could try locating them by magic. One seeking spell might even find both at once.”

Gawain didn’t speak, but leaned forward in his chair, waiting for her next words.

“So that is how I can help you,” Tamsin concluded. “Now I’ll tell you how you can help me.”

His response was clipped. “Name it.”

Tamsin took a deep breath, bracing herself. “A seeking spell requires an object connected to the thing or person you’re looking for. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to those tombs.”

“You want to use me?” Gawain bolted from the chair, blue eyes wide with wrath—or maybe it was alarm. “I am to take part in your witch’s spell?”

“It’s up to you,” Tamsin said, her throat so tight it hurt. “How badly do you want to find your king?”