Susan Squires - [Da Vinci Time Travel] (23 page)

“It
is
a big deal. You could find Mordred.”

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until a little gasp escaped her. “I don’t think it works with people.”

“Have you tried?”

“No. It never came up. And this thing I do, it’s really a lot . . . smaller than that.”

“So no harm in trying, is there?”

She chewed her lip. This
so
couldn’t be up to her. She wouldn’t be able to do anything about something this big, this important. “I . . . I wouldn’t know how to begin. . . .”

“Well, how does it usually happen?”

“I . . . uh . . . It happens so fast it’s kind of hard to deconstruct.” He nodded his encouragement. “I guess I think about what the thing is, and I ask myself, ‘Where would it be?’ ” She closed her eyes and tried to feel what she felt when those little ideas about where things were just popped into her head. “Actually, I think I really think about
being
that thing, just for a second, and I ask myself, ‘Where would I be?’ ” Her eyes popped open. “And I just know. Maybe . . . maybe the thing tells me where it is.” She rolled her eyes. “Now
that
sounds crazy.”

“But it isn’t crazy because you
do
know where things are. So try it. Try it with Mordred.”

Diana looked around as if there were some escape. The drizzle had thickened into a steady rain. The windshield was beginning to fog up. The SUV felt chill and her leather suede jacket was unlined. She shivered. There was no escape. She’d brought Mordred here, and she had to try by whatever means possible to find him and stop him. It was just that . . . failure seemed so inevitable. She was a romance writer, a woman men never noticed. She wasn’t up to this.

It didn’t matter. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay. You’re going to be disappointed. But I’ll try.”

“Then I won’t be disappointed. That’s all anyone can ask.”

She glanced up to him, and his eyes turned the clearest, softest green you could imagine. Combined with his expression, she thought it might be her favorite. “This is going to be harder than finding a set of keys,” she grumbled.

“Aye.” He gave a helpless look. “If I had another way I’d take it.” He must have seen her look of doubt. “I have faith in you, Diana.”

So she closed her eyes and calmed her breathing. She’d try this to atone for her sin in bringing Mordred forward in time, and she’d do it because Gawain believed in her. The fool. She thought about Mordred as she’d seen him last, dark, close-cropped hair, face all hard planes as though he were an unfinished sculpture, the clay not yet smoothed by the creator’s hand. Even as she held his image in her mind, the mouth sneered in that volatile way he had. He would still have the wound he’d gotten in the fifth century on his upper arm, though it would be healing. She felt her breath, easing in, easing out. Only her breath in the cold air of the car. That’s all she would think about. All she would feel.

Her arm throbbed. Her stomach knotted with anger. Bile rose in her throat. She paced a big, empty space with many windows. It echoed with her steps.
Bastard!
To have taken what was rightfully hers all those years ago. Well, she’d triumphed in the end. She’d have a better kingdom than her father had. Richer, more magical, more wonderful. And it would all be hers. Starting right here, tonight.

“Where am I?” she muttered under her breath. She looked around herself and saw the modern arched glass towers of the Marriott that looked like a jukebox out broad windows, and as she turned she could see the lights of cars in a ribbon across a highway that disappeared over the bay. Square structural towers loomed in the dim mist of afternoon.

Breath in. Breath out.

She opened her eyes, to find Gawain staring at her. Squinching her eyes tight, she felt the buzz of blood in the veins in her head. She shook it violently to get him out of there. The feeling of all that hatred made her skin crawl.

“Diana, are you okay?” Gawain had hold of her shoulder. His grip was strong and warm.

Breath out.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Right.
She was shaking like a leaf. “He’s in an unfinished loft in a warehouse somewhere down by the old Marriott hotel that looks like a jukebox. The building’s tall enough to see Highway Eighty just before it goes over the Bay Bridge.”

Gawain looked a little stunned. “You . . . did it.”

“Don’t act so surprised. I thought you had faith in me.” It was she who was surprised. And appalled. She’d become Mordred for a moment, and the experience frightened her.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t still amazing when you see it happen right before your eyes.” His expression was a little abashed.

“Like you coming out of a mist in the dark last night.”
Had it only been last night?

He grinned sheepishly. “Probably pretty much the same.”

“By the way, anything else you can do?”
Besides wonderful sex, that is?
“Turnabout is fair play.” Just how magic was he?

He swallowed. She could see he was thinking about whether or not he could tell her. This was some kind of a test. If they were ever to be really friends he had to level with her. She saw him decide. She saw his fear. “I . . . I can enter people’s dreams.”

And she knew. “You . . . you entered my dreams, didn’t you?” How could he
do
that? It was like rape. He’d better say something right now to quell the outrage she felt rising in her.

“I . . . I wanted you to trust me. I finally realized you didn’t know me because you didn’t recognize me in the liquor store. You thought I was a stalker. I wasn’t sure how else I could get near enough to protect you.”

“They were nightmares, let me tell you.”

“I couldn’t get past your fear at first.” His eyes slid away. “I’m sorry about those.”

“And later you could?” How long had this been going on?

He nodded, looking uncertain. “I made you feel better about staying in my apartment.”

“Well, stay the hell out of my dreams from now on.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Had he been giving her lustful thoughts, too? Her shoulders slumped. He didn’t need any psychic help to do that. “Just promise, okay?” He’d been trying to protect her. She had to remember that.

“Word of a knight,” he said so solemnly she couldn’t laugh. He cleared his throat. “Will you know the loft if we see it? Should we go to a Realtor and shop for a loft?”

Okay, back to business. They had to deal with something more important than her feelings about him entering her dreams. “I’ll know it. We might have to drive around a little.”

Gawain smiled at her. Yeah. Pretty impressive. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life. “I have to stop back by the apartment before I go after him.”

Gawain had Diana by the hand as they ran through the rain for the door to the Oakwood apartments. His grip was strong and sure. But Diana wasn’t. He would try to kill Mordred.
But what if that’s not how it turns out?
Mordred was hard. He knew how to fight, and he would fight dirty. She had
been
Mordred for a moment and she knew. She never wanted to repeat that experience again. It was if she had disappeared for a moment and all of Mordred’s hatred and twisted anger filled her up and became her.
What if he kills Gawain
? Or what if
Mordred’s army was already gathering? Gawain was just one man. . . .

Gawain had his keys out and pushed open the door. “You show me where the loft is. Then I’ll take you someplace safe to wait for me. Maybe the lobby of the Marriott. You can have a drink at the bar.”

“What are you doing?”

He knelt in front of the sofa. Reaching under it, he pulled out a long package wrapped in what looked like oiled cloth. He set it on the couch cushions and unwrapped it carefully. Diana looked over his shoulder, drawn by a glint of red and green. There were two very gigantic swords. They had cruciform hilts with what looked like cabochon jewels set in them, one with ruby, one with a gigantic emerald, but the grips themselves were wrapped in leather. The blades gleamed, even in the rainy afternoon light.

“My God, Gawain, where did you get those?”

He picked up one of the weapons. One palm gripped the pommel in what was almost a caress. His gaze never left the gleaming blade as he spoke. “The police took the sword I brought with me when they arrested me. Real ones in museums aren’t in good enough condition to actually fight with. These are the best replicas money can buy.”

Where did he get the money for swords like these when he’d been out of prison only six months? But he gave her no time to ask. He wrapped the swords up again briskly.

“Let’s go.” He was already turning to the door.

She grabbed her slicker. It was gearing up to rain. “Why two?”

“One for Mordred.”

“What? Are you trying to make this into some kind of a fair fight? You were willing to shoot him down in the
parking lot of the Exploratorium.” She pulled on her yellow slicker.

He looked pained. “Not very honorable. But I didn’t want you to know it was me, so I had to do it from a distance.” He cradled the swords in their oilcloth reverently. “I’m better hand-to-hand with a sword.”

“So you brought one for him, too?”

“You can’t hack at a man who doesn’t have a weapon.”

“What if he has a gun? What if he kills you?” The very thought made her heart clench in a preamble of despair.

“He’ll fight me with a sword, because it will be more satisfying to hack me to death than shoot me. He is still a man of his times.” Gawain must have seen the horrified look in her eyes. He pulled the hood of her slicker up over her head. His gesture was tender. “But he’s not better than I am with a sword. No one is.”

He was that matter-of-fact about it. She was reminded of those tales of Lancelot’s pride. Maybe they’d gotten the idea for those from the real Gawain. She swallowed. Then maybe he
was
that good. Lancelot was that good in all the legends. Gawain grinned at her. There was a kind of tense stillness about him now, a readiness. “Let’s go.”

They drove around the business district south of Market Street, looking for the angle that seemed right for what Diana had seen out the window of the loft. The rainy afternoon was turning into dusk.

“It must be on the other side of Market.”

There were no left turns for miles off Market. Gawain had to make three rights. He took Second Street.

“In this block or the next couple,” she said as they crossed Post.

“Jackpot,” Gawain said, pointing to a huge real-estate sign plastered to a building obviously undergoing serious renovation just down Post Street.
Lofts,
the sign said.
Give up your commute. Live and work in this modern new environment. All the amenities. Opening January 2011.
Various trucks were parked in front, one that belonged to a plumber, one that had great sheets of glass on a rack that made it look like a transparent Boy Scout tent. Workers trooped in and out of the lobby in the rain as Diana and Gawain passed by in the Range Rover.

“Top floor,” she whispered, as though Mordred might hear her.

“Is he there now?” Gawain asked.

She hardly had to close her eyes to know. She blinked them open. “Yeah. He’s there.” That made an icy finger run down her spine.

“Okay. I’ll take you to the Marriott. It’s only a few blocks.” He turned left at the light.

Suddenly that didn’t seem right to Diana. “I want to come with you.”

He frowned. “I am not letting you put yourself in danger just to watch me in action.”

“I have no desire to watch you in action.” That was true. She wouldn’t be able to bear to witness a fight where he might be hurt. “But I . . . I might be able to help. And I need to be there.”

“Not happening.” He pulled the Range Rover under the covered drive in front of the Marriott lobby doors.

“It just doesn’t feel right to be separated.” Maybe that was something he would understand. He was all about destiny.

“Look, Diana. I can’t fight if I’m worried about you. You’re more important to me than anything. But I have to kill Mordred. When it’s done I’ll come for you. You’ll be free. You can get on with your life.” He didn’t look happy about that.

She didn’t feel happy about that, either. As a matter of fact, this whole thing felt wrong.

“Now, off with you.” He didn’t look like he was taking no for an answer anytime soon.

So she opened the door and slid out. As she did, Gawain reached over and pulled her scarf from around her neck.

“My lady’s token,” he said. His smile was small and a little sad.
Tristesse.
That was what
tristesse
looked like. She’d have to remember that for her next book. Like there was going to be a next book. Everything was slipping away from her.

She nodded. “May you have good fortune, Sir Knight. My thoughts will be with you.”

She stood there as cars unloaded visitors, bellmen pushed their big carts full of luggage into the lobby, and the doorman tweeted for a taxi. Gawain pulled the car door shut and drove away.

Not right. The feeling churned in her gut until she felt nauseous.

But what could she do?

She
so
didn’t want to go anywhere near Mordred.

There was no way she could actually help Gawain.

It didn’t matter. She had to be there. She pulled up her hood and trotted out into the rain toward the loft.

Gawain pulled the Range Rover in behind the plumbing truck. Something was niggling at his mind. This whole thing felt wrong. He knew why. He just couldn’t remember. He got out and retrieved his oilskin package from the backseat. To an onlooker, the package might seem to be a batch of rolled blueprints. Gawain didn’t have time for doubts now. He had to get to his quarry before Mordred’s acolytes started arriving. Workers streamed out to their vehicles. Gawain trotted through the open doors behind some workmen. The elevators were hung with that padded cloth. One opened.

“Where to?” a guy with a potbelly and a construction helmet asked. “We’re just winding up here for the day.”

“Top floor. I won’t be a minute. Just want to check something on these schematics.”