Authors: t
Where does she live now?”
“Mom stayed in Frisco after the hippie thing ended. She still lives near
Haight-Ashbury. The area has all been renovated and she rents a loft. She
still writes poetry and works in a little shop around the corner reading Tarot.
Gavin refrained from asking if her mother still thought she was a hippie too.
It didn’t sound like she had matured too much over the years.
But maturity was the last word he would have used once they’d arrived at
the stately Victorian where her mother lived. Or, more ironically, ‘maturity’
might have been the most appropriate word to use.
The woman who answered the door looked not much older than Chloe,
although with cosmetic surgery any woman could maintain a youthful
appearance.
But this woman hadn’t aged since Gavin had seen her last—in King Arthur’s
court.
Genievre. Guinevere’s half-sister who could have been her identical twin.
Gavin watched her covertly as she and Chloe exchanged hugs. He had never
considered that any of the women from Arthur’s court were immortals. He
wasn’t even sure if any more of the knights existed, having only met
Lancelot during Templar times.
Except for the modern clothing, Genievre hadn’t changed much. She still
wore her honey-colored hair long, her hazel eyes were fringed in naturally
dark lashes, her generous mouth pink enough not to need lipstick. Like
Guinevere, she had an unaffected beauty that only grew in the eyes of the
beholder.
She had wrecked havoc at Court.
Not that it was her fault entirely. Half the knights were infatuated with the
queen and most have them had mistaken Genievre for Guinevere on more
than one occasion, since they often delighted in dressing the same. Most of
those hoaxes had been the queen’s idea, he suspected, to divert unwanted
amorous attention, but it hadn’t always played out well. Genievre had been
light-hearted and playful, which led to rumors and accusations that
eventually made Arthur send her away.
Gavin had just achieved knighthood and thought it unchivalrous to ban her
from court, although even at his young age, he was aware of troublesome
quarrels brewing among the older knights.
Genievre looked at him now, her smile friendly, no trace of recognition in her
eyes. “I’m Jennifer. Please come in.”
‘Thank you.” Disconcerted, he followed them in. A small kitchenette, the
single counter littered with mail was to his right. At the end of a very short
hall was the bathroom. To his left was a small living area. Genievre—Jennifer
now—hadn’t recognized him. Of course, she probably hadn’t even noticed
him back then. He’d barely turned seventeen and both his hair and eyes had
darkened after he was turned. Still, he wondered if she knew who she was.
Maybe he was only meeting a reincarnation of her.
He took the seat she gestured to—a well-worn, but surprisingly comfortable
rocker. An eclectic assortment of furniture filled the room: different styles of
small tables sat beside equally mismatched chairs and a sofa covered in a
dark blue throw emblazoned with silver stars and half-moons that probably
doubled as a bed. Various sizes of candles in different states of meltdown
decorated a round glass table-top whose pedestal was a dragon.
Sandalwood incense wafted from a small metal bowl perched precariously
near the edge. Gavin looked around. A bookcase lined one wall, its contents
mostly strewn-about, battered paperbacks, along with several astrological
charts. Another wall held framed posters of Sixties icons: Beatles, Stones,
Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Doors. Gavin wouldn’t have been
surprised if there were black lights and beaded curtains somewhere too.
“I’m afraid I never really outgrew the Sixties,” Jennifer said with another
smile.
He shifted uncomfortably. Had she read his mind? He didn’t want to take a
chance on trying a mesmerization at this point, but he would have to keep
his guard up. If Jennifer were immortal, he didn’t know which side she was
on. She had no reason to love anything connected to King Arthur after she
had been banished. Balor could have gotten to her.
“The décor is interesting,” he managed to say.
“I think it’s cool!” Chloe said. “Mom has stayed true to her principles.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” she said and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze.
“It’s not principles so much as not wanting to put up with roommates. It
interferes with my work.”
Gavin wondered what she meant by “work”. Chloe had said she read Tarot,
but was her mother involved in more arcane—and perhaps dangerous—work
as well? Witches, warlocks, sorcerers—even vampires—preferred to work
alone.
Was Genievre immortal? If so, did Balor know? Was he looking for her? He
had sic’d Sigurd on Chloe—maybe it was Genievre who Balor was really
after. Had they just led him to her?
God’s Blood! Genievre was Chloe’s mother.
****
apartment. Outwardly, he gave the appearance of calm, cool confidence, but
Chloe had spent enough time with him—well, to be truthful, time spent
fantasizing about his various body parts—not to recognize how stiff his broad
shoulders were or how he kept his hands clenched to his muscular thighs,
but it was his intense, scrutinizing gaze that made her wonder what was
wrong.
Her mother might be a bit unorthodox living like a retro-flower child, but
there was nothing mysterious or dangerous about her. So why was Gavin
alerting on her like a bird-dog scenting quail?
“It’s good to see you again so soon, dear,” her mother said and glanced at
Gavin. “Have you brought me news of a wedding engagement?”
If Chloe had not already been sitting on the sofa, she would have fallen onto
it with her mother’s words. Geez. She thought she had made it perfectly
clear when she’d called that Mr. Smith had hired them. Why in the world
would her mother come up with—oh. Oh, no. Chloe got a glimpse of that
special gleam in her mother’s eye that meant she was plotting something.
Please, Mom, no match-making. She felt her face flame. How utterly
embarrassing when Gavin didn’t even find her attractive enough to have sex
with, for pity’s sake. He’d probably think she put a possible engagement
notion in her mother’s head.
But instead of glaring at her, he was looking oddly uncomfortable too. Maybe
it was his proper English breeding that didn’t want her mother thinking he
was anything but a gentleman, even if they were traveling together. Chloe
felt an almost hysterical urge to giggle. If this had been some Regency
romance, Gavin probably would be honorably proposing marriage by now.
Marriage. Chloe had never even considered it. She could support herself.
She had friends. Her mother hadn’t needed marriage. Why ever did Chloe let
that silly idea enter her mind? Gavin was a super-hot hunk with a sexy
accent and broodingly dark, good looks that spelled “bad boy” in caps. Even
in her wildest fantasy scenes, she couldn’t imagine him saying “I do” and
settling down to hearth and family.
Family? Geez. She really was getting crazy ideas today.
“I thought I told you that Mr. Myles—” Chloe almost smiled as Gavin lifted an
eyebrow in surprise. Well, she could be formal too. “—is an investigator with
Scotland Yard. He’s tracking down a Celtic relic that was moved to the
States for security reasons over a hundred years ago.” She’d already filled
her mom in on the details of Jake’s death and the other disappearances.
Chloe gave her mother a no-nonsense look—no more match-making.
But Jennifer just smiled. “Forgive me, sweetie. It’s just that you haven’t
brought any of your other…friends… home before.”
Chloe could have sworn that Gavin squirmed, but it was so fleeting, she
wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she should enjoy seeing that unflappable
English reserve dented or if she should feel sorry for him.
“Mom. I thought maybe you could check out the Tarot and give us a clue as
to where to look for the platter. I did tell you what we were looking for,
remember?”
“Of course.” Her mother rose and went to bookcase, removing a carved
wooden box that she brought back to the sofa. She took out the silk bag that
held her cards. Closing her eyes briefly, she chanted softly as she shuffled
them and then fanned the pack at Gavin.
“Choose one.”
If Gavin thought her mother’s ritual at all weird, he didn’t give any clue—he
was probably just glad she had gotten off the track of marriage. He selected
a card and handed it back.
“The Knight of Pentacles.”
Chloe didn’t need to be a Tarot reader to see that the card represented
Gavin. It was a picture a knight astride a black horse.
Her mother laid the card down on the table. “You have a sense of purpose
and duty. You take responsibility very seriously.”
Like Chloe couldn’t have told her that. She wondered what would happen if
Gavin ever let down his guard and had some fun. Then she bit her lip
remembering that he certainly seemed to enjoy Morgan’s company. Damn it.
Her mother reshuffled and cut the deck, taking off the top card and placed it
to the left of the knight. Three of Pentacles. “This is an important mission in
which other people are counting on you.”
Like they didn’t know that either. Chloe frowned. Usually her mother’s
readings were a little more insightful.
“Patience, dear,” she said as thought she’d read her mind. She withdrew
another card, putting it to the right of the knight. “The Ace of Pentacles. This
one is your mission.”
Chloe leaned over, looking at the hand extending from a cloud, holding a
golden pentacle. Below it was a field of grass with a hedge of shrubbery
forming an arch through which distant mountains could be seen. “What does
it mean?”
“The Pentacles suite represents earthly riches,” her mother said. “In this
case, it’s pretty obvious the pentacle is the platter. The archway suggests to
me that you will enter through something like that.”
“Like church or museum doors?” Chloe asked. “Gavin thinks the platter may
be hidden in plain sight.”
“It could be. Pentacles represent the earth, though, and the mountains are
in the background. The platter may be buried.”
“We’re planning to follow the Route 49 Mother Lode road if things don’t pan
out here in Frisco,” Chloe said.
“Do you have suggestions to where we might look while we are here?” Gavin
asked.
Her mother hesitated, although her hands still shuffled the cards. “Mission
Delores is the oldest intact building in the city and has the oldest cemetery.
The De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park is the oldest museum. You might
start with those.” Jennifer took out another card and placed it at the top of
the knight. “The World. A Major Acana card.” She looked up at Gavin.
“Whatever you seek is of vital importance.” Withdrawing another card she
frowned slightly as she laid it beside the Three. “Hierophant, but I pulled him
upside down.”
“That’s reverse meaning, right?’
“Yes. Right side up, he represents sacred mysteries and arcane principles
which he teaches people to use wisely. Upside down, these very things can
be used for selfish purposes or even evil intent.”
Chloe threw Gavin a startled glance only to see that he was staring at the
cards. He had told her this Adam Baylor person wanted to destroy
democracies. Could that card implement him? She turned her attention back
to her mother as she heard her gasp and then looked down at the card
beside the Ace.
“The Devil.” Gavin said in a strangled tone.
Her mother frowned. “This is going to be very dangerous for both of you.”
“I will not let anything happen to your daughter.”
Chloe gave him a second startled glance. His jaw was rigid, his eyes
practically blazing. Lord, he really did sound like a medieval knight.
“You have my word,” he said and this time he looked at Chloe. She
swallowed hard, feeling an irresistible pull toward him. Her mind must be
playing tricks on her—for a moment, she actually saw him sitting on that
black horse, encased in armor.
She shook her head to clear it, forcing her attention back to her mother.
“And where do I fit into all this?”
Jennifer held out the cards. Chloe took the one that seemed to extend out
from the pack. Turning it over, she felt the blood rush to her face and then
drain away.
Lovers.
****
adjusted his dark glasses as he rang the bell to the Victorian the next
morning. Thankfully, Jennifer had insisted Chloe spend the night with her
and that the attic apartment was too small to have a spare room for him
which had allowed him to hunt. Synthetic blood was usually sufficient, but
working in the light for days was beginning to take its toll. He needed real
blood. San Francisco had its share of homeless people who were easily
accessible; unfortunately, their blood was often tainted with drugs or
alcohol, so he only took the minimum he needed. They would wake in the