Waiting for Magic (5 page)

“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 hear 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 F
ay?” 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.”

“What could we have in common?” Morgan didn’t bother to conceal her disdain.

“Why, the love of the occult,” the voice said. “In particular the … darker arts.”

“Oh, you do a few parlor tricks?” she sneered.

“You could call them that. You could call what you do parlor tricks as well, however. It’s all just the size and scope of the parlor that makes the difference, don’t you think? Perhaps we can exchange trade secrets.”

“What could you possibly have that I want?” The old woman rose and stalked over to stand over the speaker in the hotel telephone. She wasn’t getting younger anymore. Jason had noticed that in the last two weeks or so. Her hair hadn’t darkened further. No more smoothing of wrinkles. She’d gotten all the power the Sword could give her. Of course, it meant she would live for many years now. Jason would never be free of her, except in death.

“Well, for starters, you must want to know how I keep finding your number, no matter how many times your minions change it.”

The old woman cast a steely look at Hardwick. “So you’re a hacker, so what?”

“Oh, dear me, no,” the voice chortled. “Nothing so mundane as that. But perhaps you’d rather know how I keep an unlimited supply of gold flowing into my coffers.”

“Day trading?” The old woman’s frown said she’d had enough of this. But her eyes sparked with greed. She
did
want to know. Score one for the guy on the phone.

“An art far older than that.”

“You must be kidding. You’re talking about alchemy,” the old woman snorted.

There was a heavy sigh over the phone. “An art much maligned through the centuries, and yet so very useful.”

The old woman was silent. She was all about power, and one form of power was money. She always said she needed a lot of money for what she wanted to do. Jason knew she was looking for another Adapter like the elder Tremaine. They were great at making money. One reason she hated Tremaine so much. He would have been a valuable add to her stable of powers. Now it was up to Jason to supply her. But she was a greedy bitch. She always wanted more.

“Perhaps we should meet,” the old woman said thoughtfully. “But I wonder. What would you want in return?”

The voice over the speakerphone chuckled. “Why, only to show you what a great partnership we might have.”

“What makes you think I want a partner?”

Again with the chuckle. “I’m sure you don’t like partners.” The voice turned serious. “But I know who you are, Morgan Le Fay, and I know what’s in your bones. You don’t realize it but you need me, and I want to go where you’re going.”

Jason’s eyes widened. That was a first too. How much did this guy know about Morgan, and about the Clan?

The old woman glanced to Hardwick, who hunched over a computer. He looked up and nodded. She turned back to the speakerphone. “I will consider your offer, Mr.
…
. What was your name again?”

“Pendragon. Magnus Pendragon.”

She sniffed. “Unlikely.”

“As likely as that your name is Morgan Le Fay.” The voice was harder now. Then it softened. “We both have remade ourselves in the image of our dreams, Ms. Le Fay. Now let’s realize those dreams together.”

“I’ll think about it, Mr. Pendragon.”

“You do that. I’ll give you a couple of days.” There was a pause. “After all, I always know where to find you.”

The line went dead. The old woman snapped her attention to Hardwick. “Well?”

“He’s in L.A. Hollywood to be exact.”

The old woman smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “Find out all there is to know about Pendragon. And Jason, get out to Hollywood and collect him for me.” The smile widened. “I think he’s right. We need to meet.”

“Do you think he can really turn iron into gold?” Jason ventured.

“If he can, then he may be allowed to serve me. If he can’t, then he’s no use to me.”

Jason knew what that meant.