Waiting for Magic (14 page)

“Oh my, yes. Of course there was.” Pendragon was so damned blithe.

“Well, there were the Spanish missions in the eighteenth century, but this wasn’t a mission, was it?” Kemble asked.

Pendragon just smiled.

“Indians, of course,” Devin muttered. “Was it a burial ground?”

“You are both right. Both church and burial ground of sorts. Far before the Native Americans, of course. Ah. Here we are.” He pressed his thumb against another plate. The doors opened. The lights blinked on in the room beyond, dim and atmospheric. The glass cases and the sealed and lighted niches stretched into the distance. The walls, between a dark wood wainscoting and a carved wood ceiling, were padded red brocade. Huge glass chandeliers hung at infrequent intervals to supplement the lighting of the exhibits. The Tremaines all moved out of the elevator as if in a trance. There must be thousands of items here. The place had a heavy atmosphere, as though it were hermetically sealed. Which it probably was.

There was something else in the air too. He couldn’t identify it. Energy? What was the opposite of energy? A kind of dark heaviness weighed on him. Devin saw a wall of mounted animal heads. Some didn’t look like any animals he knew. A niche was filled with the most grotesque African masks he’d ever seen. He found himself gravitating toward a table display of crystal balls because they seemed the safest of the lot. He touched his watch to click pictures.

“Ahh, my collection of scrying devices,” Pendragon said, following him. “Some of these go back almost to the Dark Ages.” He pointed to a light-greenish one that seemed to have mists floating in it. “This one belonged to the Borgias. Lucre
zia was quite a talented scryer. It allowed her to survive all those dreadful plots for far longer than she should have.”

Devin remembered that Kemble had said that members of the Golden Dawn at the highest level were said to use scrying techniques. “Do you use them to see the future?”

“Not necessarily. You can also use them to see the present. Though there are other, more effective ways to do that.”

Devin bet he used them that way, spying on people. Devin wanted to draw Kee into him and protect her, but he couldn’t chance another shock to his system like he’d had out at the elevator. He’d gotten an instant erection. Only the appearance of Green had distracted him from the overpowering urge to take Kee in his arms and kiss her. He flushed just thinking about it, either about kissing Kee, or about the humiliation that would follow, he wasn’t sure which.

Kee wandered down the rows of cases, peering at objects. “What a collection,” she murmured. “Fascinating. What are these scales?”

Devin came up behind her, careful not to touch her. The glass case contained scales of all kinds, wooden, golden, intricately carved, plain, ivory, or just worn metal. He clicked pictures.

“That one is used in alchemical experiments.” Pendragon gestured with his glass of whisky to one that looked very plain. “It’s most important to have precise measurements of your ingredients. That one,” here he pointed to one that had an immense eye incised in the center post, “is said to be used for the measuring of souls.”

“How would you do that?” Devin asked.

Pendragon smiled and sipped his whisky. “You don’t want to know.”

Devin was about to protest that he did want to know, whether he did or not, just to show Pendragon that he wasn’t a pushover, when Kemble interrupted.

“Keelan was thinking that some kind of cup or chalice might have survived from Arthur’s time. They must have been common. And some connection to Merlin—perhaps a wand?”

Pendragon snapped his head around. “A wand? I shouldn’t think anything that fragile would have survived.”

“You must have a collection of wands,” Kee said, looking up from the scales with a gleam in her eyes. “Aren’t they the most basic of magical accouterments?”

Pendragon examined her until she blushed. Devin felt himself flushing for very different reasons. “Of course. Wands have been used to focus magic since prehistoric times.”

He led the way to a large niche about halfway down the wall, lined with glass cases in which were mounted all sorts of sticks and rods. Devin followed, his camera-watch busy. Pendragon pointed to a gold plaque. “This is a bas relief of a Zoroastrian magus with his bundle of willow wands from the fifth century BC. That’s about the time Plato referred to the use of wands. Homer and Virgil both describe the witch Circe as using a magic wand. They were supposed to be made of virgin wood, a single year’s growth. Wood doesn’t usually survive a long burial. Insects, rot—they take their toll.”

Devin had begun to feel lightheaded, as if something was thrumming in his head.

“There’s a metal one.” Kee pointed.

“Yes, Swedish. Buried with a queen in her ship. And of course one could consider the scepters of kings wands, if you wanted to stretch a point. They are usually precious metal. There are a lot of those around.”

“Maybe Arthur had a scepter which survived?” Kee asked doubtfully.

“Anything is possible, but I don’t have it in my collection. Nor have I heard of it surviving in my research. It would certainly be a powerful magical instrument, if it exists.”

“How about a chalice from the period?” Kemble asked.

Devin shook his head to clear it. The atmosphere was so oppressive in here.

“
A
chalice,” Pendragon asked slyly, “or
the
chalice? Arthur’s knights were said in some circles to have found the Holy Grail, you know.”

“Yes, I do know that,” Kemble said, unequivocally. “And out of four candidates to be the Holy Grail that supposedly survived, the one in the Holy Land has never been found and another turned out to be a lamp. One, thought to be made of emerald, was discovered to be Roman glass when it was broken by Napoleon. It’s still in the Cathedral in Genoa, though the repair was only partially successful. And the Valencia Chalice, allegedly made in the third or fourth century BC of chalcedony is still in Rome, but has never had its date of origin authenticated, perhaps because they’re afraid they wouldn’t like the answer.”

“My, Mr. Tremaine, you do know your chalices.”

“So let’s just stick with
a
chalice then, all right?”

“Well, here is what I have.” Pendragon pointed to a wall of small, lighted niches. Devin tried to click his watch, and could hardly find it on his wrist.

At this point, Kee slumped gracefully to the floor. Devin fell to his knees beside her, feeling faint himself. “Kee!” He cradled her head. The feeling of holding her was so right, it almost made him dizzier.

“What’s wrong?” Kemble asked, concerned.

Devin looked up at him.

Kemble’s brows drew together. “You don’t look well yourself.” He immediately took charge. “Let me have her. You, sit. Put your head between your legs.”

“Isn’t that ‘tail between your legs’?” Devin murmured, unfortunately illustrating just how addled his thoughts were. But he sat heavily on the polished wood floor and hung his head.

Kemble took Kee in hand, lifting her shoulders and patting her cheek.

“I’ll go for Mr. Green,” Pendragon said, limping toward the door where they’d come in.

Devin felt a little better. He lifted his head to see Kee’s eyelids fluttering open.

“Hey, little sister, you okay?” Kemble said, helping her to sit.

. “I … I don’t know what came over me,” Kee said, still looking groggy.

“Well, whatever it was, Devin caught it too.” Kemble looked Devin over.

“I’m fine.” He struggled to his feet as proof. Not incredibly convincing, he had to admit. He took several deep breaths. That was better.

Mr. Green appeared out of nowhere with a silver tray holding a pitcher of water and several glasses. “Perhaps some water to revive the young lady?” He poured.

“Thank you,” Kemble said, taking the glass. He held it for Kee, who was still a little shaky. Devin was glad to see a spot of red color in each of her cheeks. She let Kemble have the glass and tucked her waving hair behind one ear.

How many times in his life had Devin seen her do that? Yet it struck him almost like a blow. Her fingers were so graceful, the skin on her cheek so fair and fine, her ear so delicate.
Uh-oh.
He felt an unwelcome stirring below his belt.

Mr. Green held out a glass. Devin took it ungraciously and gulped about half the contents. “For you, sir?” Green asked Kemble.

Kemble shook his head, looking puzzled. “I’m fine, actually.”

“May I assist the young lady? She would, perhaps, be more comfortable upstairs, and dinner is ready.”

Kee looked a bit wild eyed at the thought of being left to the ministrations of the spectral Mr. Green.

Devin intervened. “Kemble and I can manage.” He nodded brusquely to Kemble’s one raised brow. He wasn’t going to let some creepy butler handle Kee. He might not be great, but he’d do. He almost dreaded touching her. At least the explosion of sensation wasn’t a shock. He gritted his teeth against it, and between them they got Kee to her feet and steadied her.

“I’m fine,” she said, lips pressed together in a determined line.

“I’m sure you are,” Kemble said, and took her arm to walk her back toward the elevator. Devin let him. There was only so much a man could take, and he still wasn’t at full strength. The loaned smoking jacket had fallen open. He pulled it closed to conceal his state of arousal and retied the silk belt. The last thing he wanted was to display the way his sister affected him.

Pendragon had not reappeared in the dungeon “collection” room. But he was already seated in the dining room when Green ushered them inside. Maybe it wasn’t easy for him to walk around that much. Or maybe having to use a cane was a show of weakness. Pendragon wouldn’t like that.

The dining room was nothing if not opulent. The padded fabric on the walls was a green and blue paisley pattern above the dark wainscoting. Peacock feathers fanned out of huge brass vases with ornate carving. The table could have seated twelve and the size of the room said it opened to seat twenty at least, but the table settings were grouped at one end, so at least they wouldn’t be shouting at each other. The table itself was set with crystal and that kind of blue-patterned china that Brina once told him came from Holland. The other end of the table was occupied with a huge silver
vase-thing, more like a gigantic soup-bowl. The whole was lighted with a chandelier holding more crystal than the whole Lamps R Us store down on Hawthorne Boulevard, and a bunch of candles sat on the sideboards and in the center of the table.

“Are you feeling better, Keelan?” their host asked, pushing up from the table slightly with his arms in a gesture to Kee.

Devin didn’t like him being so familiar with Kee, or the way his eyes practically stripped her every time he looked at her.

“Yes. Fine,” Kee answered. She still looked pale, Devin thought. “I can’t imagine what came over me.” She sat in heavily in the chair Mr. Green pulled out for her.

Devin made a show of striding purposefully to the chair next to her, but his knees were shaking and it was good to be able to sit down. Kemble looked worried as he glanced between them. Devin took a couple of deep breaths.

“Perhaps you two are a little claustrophobic?” Pendragon asked with narrowed eyes.

Devin made a show of shrugging. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Please tell Mrs. Holmes we’re ready for dinner, Green.”

*****

The talk through dinner was nothing if not small, which was just as well for Kee. She picked at the lovely quinoa salad, and the brothy lobster soup that seemed to have some Indian spices, trying to get her balance back. Between the shock of touching Devin and whatever it was that
had happened down in the basement, she had to work hard to corral her few remaining brain cells as they caromed around in her head. Devin was quiet too, so it fell to Kemble to maintain the conversation. Not his strong suit, but as it turned out, Pendragon was quite the raconteur, so Kemble wasn’t called upon to do much more than nod and prompt. About the time Green served the quail with some delightfully complex sauce and a curried dish with mixed vegetables that defied identification, she was able to actually listen to what he was saying.

“Gauguin
.” He shrugged. “So overrated. He painted his women as bulbous fertility goddesses.” He gave a mock shudder. “And his personal habits were deplorable. I was glad when he left for Tahiti, though I expect he infected half the population of native girls with syphilis.”