The snake of power was a thousand serpents now, tendrils weaving a web that would strangle her will. Nerves finally cracking, Tamsin pushed away from her desk and jumped to her feet. “Stop it!”
Nimueh’s elegant brows arched. Her magic still tickled and scraped against Tamsin like tiny crawling feet, straining to pierce down to her soul. Tamsin brushed at her skin, although she knew it did no good. “Get off me before I make you regret it,” Tamsin said with more bravado than she felt.
“Really?” Nimueh raised an elegant long-fingered hand, then clenched her fist. The weave of magic drew tight.
Tamsin gasped, instantly suffocated, and felt the power burrowing into her. Rage swept through her like sudden fire. Grabbing that white-hot anger, Tamsin pushed Nimueh away with her power, sending her skittering backward. Then Tamsin followed up with a blast of power. The fae slammed into the door and grabbed the knob for support as her heels skidded on the tiles.
“Well done.” Nimueh pushed her long, pale hair away from her face and blinked, her expression almost surprised.
The magic crawling over Tamsin’s skin faded. She should have been relieved but knew it was just a change of tactics.
Nimueh raised her hand again, this time to snap her fingers. Tamsin heard the heavy boom of the front doors of the church slamming closed. “Don’t worry,” said the fae. “The moment I arrived, the visitors and your docent had a sudden desire to go see the tourney. You and I are alone.”
Tamsin listened. She could hear no voices, but something rustled outside the office door, making a thin, dry, leathery sound. She sat up slowly, the hair on her nape rising when she heard the scrape of... Was that claws? “You lie. There is someone else in the church.”
“Not someone,” Nimueh said calmly. “A helper of a different kind. You seem to need persuasion.”
Tamsin’s palms went clammy. “What have you done?”
By way of reply, Nimueh turned the handle of the door and pulled it open. Almost panting with fear, Tamsin came out from behind her desk. Afraid or not, she wanted space to fight. She gripped the heavy tape dispenser, then released it. Whatever Nimueh had conjured was probably immune to something as mundane as a crack to the head.
The space beyond her office door seemed dark, lit only by the light falling through the stained glass windows. Nevertheless, Tamsin saw something move. She stepped forward, then hesitated. The fae swept an elegant hand toward the door. “By all means. Escape if you can.”
Sucking in a breath, Tamsin barged past, reluctant to put Nimueh at her unguarded back. The church echoed with her hurried footsteps, each scuff resounding in the stone ribs of the vaulted ceiling. The fae followed but turned the other way, giving Tamsin a wide berth.
Within seconds, Tamsin knew why. Something flew from her left, diving at a steep angle. She ducked, dropping nearly to the cold stone floor, but her attacker pulled up sharply in a flap of leathery wings. Tamsin glanced up, her jaw dropping when she saw a creature with a wingspan as wide as her office desk circle to land on the edge of the largest window. For a moment it was backlit, a silhouette of pointed ears and clawed bat wings, but it shuffled along a ledge until the light caught its features. It had a face like a demonic lemur, all huge eyes and fangs, with a tufted lion’s tail that twitched with impatience. Tamsin gaped, all danger forgotten while she absorbed the strange sight.
“You brought one of the gargoyles to life,” Tamsin said, her voice trembling. This was power of a kind she’d never encountered before.
“Indeed I did,” said Nimueh. “And it’s rather hungry.”
The monster hopped off the ledge with a screech like nails on a chalkboard. It swooped toward Tamsin, wings spread and tail flying straight behind it. Tamsin ducked again, using a fat pillar as cover from its slashing claws. It wheeled in the air, far more agile than Tamsin would have guessed, and came at her again.
Tamsin slipped around the pillar again, but the creature was wise to her now, rolling end over end in the air and using its tail like a rudder. Tamsin bolted for the safety of her office, but it outdistanced her immediately. There was no easy escape.
“You aren’t pledged to the Round Table,” said Nimueh. “You aren’t one of their human subjects—you’re a witch. You owe them nothing. Lord Mordred could offer you much.”
Tamsin whirled, running for the stone lions now. Her feet were slipping on the floor, her braid bouncing against her shoulders as she ran. Behind her, the gargoyle’s wings beat like thunder. It would have been easy to give up and tell the fae about the clue she’d found. Maybe it would buy her some time, give her a chance to plan a defense. But every one of those knights was a man like Gawain. Turning them over, even a single one, would be little better than murder.
Tamsin’s lungs burned. She was gasping with fright as she dove between the stone lions, hiding in the space where Arthur’s tomb should have been. She crouched under the shelter of the nearest head, making herself as small as possible, as the gargoyle landed close by. It swiped with one claw-tipped hand, but Tamsin jerked out of reach. Up close, the gargoyle’s face was something out of a nightmare, with fangs jutting from its lower jaw and slits where there should have been a nose. Its eyes—huge, watery green marbles—were worst of all. For all Nimueh’s magic, they held no more life than the stone.
“You’re an abomination,” Tamsin growled at the creature.
It made a soft chittering noise, crawling on all fours, wings folded tight and hugging the shape of the stones it clung to. The movements were more insect than animal, sending every one of Tamsin’s nerves frantic with revulsion.
Tamsin could hear the heels of Nimueh’s boots clicking on the stone floor. Tamsin squirmed, trying to see over the lion’s back. The fae was coming closer, businesslike but unhurried. Tamsin fell back. The lions were a refuge, but they were also a dead end. She panted, nerves jangling. She was going to have to break cover and try for the side exit before Nimueh cut off her last hope of escape.
The gargoyle suddenly dropped in front of Tamsin’s face, gripping the lion’s mane with its back paws and grabbing with the front ones. Tamsin shrieked in surprise as needle-sharp claws raked her cheeks. Covering her face with one arm and batting with the other, Tamsin scrambled for freedom, but the gargoyle dropped onto her back, clutching her braid and hanging on with jabbering, squeaking glee. She cried out in pain, reaching around to jerk her hair free, but it chose that moment to bite, sinking its fangs into the flesh of her wrist.
Anger took over. Tamsin gripped the gargoyle and let fly with a pulse of blue energy, sinking it straight into the beast. It flung away with a squeal, arrowing at hideous speed until it hit the wall. The impact was horrific, an earsplitting crash ending in an almost gentle tinkle like the fall of broken china. The gargoyle was in pieces. Tamsin froze, horrified despite everything that she’d destroyed a piece of art. Then Nimueh was there.
Tamsin felt the stir of fae magic and didn’t hesitate. She hit first, hurling a bolt of power. The first caught Nimueh square on the shoulder, sending her off balance. The fae spun in a swirl of pale hair, using the momentum of the blast to catch herself and throw her own pulse of energy. Tamsin dove out of the way, rolling to her feet, and then struck out again. A flash of light strobed through the church, bleaching everything white with its brilliance. By the time Tamsin blinked the world back into focus, Nimueh was gone.
Tamsin swore, furious and relieved at once. Had she hit her?
A moment later, the main door groaned open. It was Gawain, looking around the gloomy cavern of the church. He caught sight of her and bolted to her side. “Are you all right?”
He skidded to a halt and dropped to one knee. After one look at her scratched face, he pulled her closer. Tamsin gulped down the aftermath of panic as she buried her face in his shirt, breathing in the warm scent of him.
“Tamsin?” he asked gently when she di
dn’t speak.
“I had a visit from Nimueh.” The words came out slowly, mumbled through a sudden fatigue. She’d fought back, she realized with a giddy lurch. She’d stood her ground well enough that the enemy had withdrawn.
He drew back. “How badly are you hurt?”
Tamsin looked down at her wrist where the creature had bitten her. There was an angry red mark, but it could have been worse. “I’m fine.” Then she started to shake, the adrenaline leaving her body in a rush. The world went foggy with tears.
“Hush.” Gawain folded her into his chest, comforting her with the warmth and strength of his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Tamsin let herself melt against him. Only a few days ago, he’d grabbed her in this same church, scaring her half to death. Now his gesture was one of concern. The rapid, fundamental shift left her shaken.
“Tell me everything,” he said, resting his cheek against her hair for a long moment before he helped her to her feet.
She did, leading him back to her office as she described her encounter in detail. Gawain went quiet with worry. “I was afraid that Mordred would trace you. That makes working here a risk for you.”
“I might not be working here long. I’ll have to come up with some excuse about the gargoyle.” She grimaced. “I can’t exactly say it came to life and attacked me. Maybe I could say there was an earth tremor.”
Gawain looked dubious. “I wouldn’t believe that story.”
“Thanks. That’s helpful.” She stopped, picking up a set of car keys from the floor. She remembered Nimueh holding them. The fae must have dropped them during the fight. Tamsin shoved them in her pocket and went into her office, Gawain on her heels.
Beyond the office door, visitors were drifting in again. Tamsin heard an exclamation of dismay that said the ruined gargoyle had been found. At any moment, she’d have to start answering questions. Tamsin closed her eyes and stifled a groan. Then she remembered what she’d been doing before Nimueh ruined her day.
Tamsin picked up the invoice from her desk. “I might have found one of the tombs.”
Gawain snatched the page, his features tight. As he frowned at the faded writing, his nostrils flared, the lines bracketing his mouth growing deeper. He looked like a man afraid to hope.
“I don’t understand all of it,” she said. “There’s writing at the bottom of the page that looks like it might be something out of heraldry, but it’s so faded I can’t be sure.”
“‘Purpure, a two-headed eagle displayed or, beaked and membered gules, over all a bendlet gules,’” Gawain said, apparently having no trouble with the strange words. “It’s a blazon.”
A blazon was the formal description a herald used when recording a coat of arms. This one described a golden two-headed eagle with red beak and talons, wings spread against a purple background and crossed by a red diagonal stripe.
“What’s the significance of it?” asked Tamsin.
Gawain lowered the page, swallowing hard. His gaze was guarded, almost terrified. “It means you found my youngest brother, Gareth Beaumains.”
Chapter 9
They had a tomb to find.
By the time Tamsin and Gawain escaped Medievaland and gargoyle-related paperwork, it was dark and rush hour traffic had eased. As a result, the drive into Seattle took only about forty minutes. Gawain amused himself with the Camry’s car radio, pushing buttons until he found a station that played heavy metal.
“That is proper battle music,” he declared with satisfaction. “It sounds of hoofbeats and the clash of weapons.”
“I had no idea ancient warfare and retro rockers had so much in common. Maybe it’s all the long hair and sweaty leather.”
Gawain raised an eyebrow. “You’re mocking me.”
“Maybe.” Tamsin bestowed an innocent smile, though her nerves were still jangling. “It gives me something to do besides worrying about Mordred.”
“You surprised him,” Gawain cast her an approving glance. “He has forgotten how strong witches can be.”
“The covens keep to themselves.”
“Will your coven Elders approve of you helping me?” Gawain asked.
“I don’t know. As I say, they’re not crazy about getting involved with other people’s conflicts.” Tamsin shrugged. “But if I bring them Merlin’s books, the Elders will forgive anything.” They wouldn’t be able to resist the knowledge—and power—such ancient lore could bring.
“And if you don’t bring them the books? Will they forgive an indiscretion then?”
Tamsin bit her lip, anger and determination bubbling up in her. The car sped up, and she had to force herself to relax and slow down. “If I really made the Elders angry, my powers would be stripped for disobedience. I would be made a servant of the Elders so they could watch me. That’s a lot like being their live-in secretary, nanny and housekeeper until I find a husband who can afford to pay them enough to let me go. If they never find out what I’m up to but I fail to find the books, I lose this job and go home. There won’t be any second chances at a life outside our town.”
Gawain watched her carefully. “You don’t want to go home. Not like that.”
“Everybody prefers choice. The only reason I play by the rules is because I love my family and don’t want to leave them forever. This job—and these books—are my one chance to have everything I want. A little risk is worth it if I can get the job done.”
Gawain folded his arms. “We made a bargain. You help me, and I help you. We will find your books.”
They parked at the edge of the university’s campus and walked toward the Humanities Center. It was a sprawling new building, all concrete and glass with little architectural imagination. Tamsin searched the web on her phone as they neared the entrance, the cold wind numbing her fingers.
“What are you looking for?” Gawain asked.
She slowed to a stop, reading the tiny screen. “There’s an arts center in the lower level of this building and I’m guessing that’s where the tomb is housed.”
Tamsin paused again, reconsidering her words. “Gawain, there’s no guarantee the tomb is here. That invoice was from decades ago. Anything might have happened since then.”
After a moment’s pause, he turned and strode for the doors. “A chance to find him is better than nothing.”
Tamsin closed her eyes, barely able to imagine what finding his brother as a statue would be like for Gawain. When she recovered, she had to jog to catch up to him.
Gawain pushed open the glass door and held it for her, his gaze already searching for a way to the bottom floor. It was close to eight o’clock and only a few students lounged on the benches near the door. Every one of them looked up as Gawain stormed through the foyer, reminding Tamsin of animals wary of a passing lion.
The stairs to the lower level were to the left. They descended and began searching the corridors, passing drinking fountains and bulletin boards, computer labs and vending machines. “I don’t see any art,” Gawain said with irritation.
“Let’s keep looking. This place is a rabbit warren.”
Gawain made a doubtful noise but kept walking. They finally found a set of double doors that opened into a separate section of the building. The first thing Tamsin noticed was a poster for a theater production, and the next was that the decor was much fancier than the area they’d just passed through.
She looked around to realize she was in the lobby of the art center’s theater, complete with wine bar and crystal chandeliers. The main doors were up a flight of marble steps to her left. There must have been nothing on that night, because the place was empty.
“There he is,” Gawain said, pointing toward the back wall, where a large block of stone stood against the wall.
They both hesitated. Tamsin sucked in her breath, suddenly nervous. S
he’d found the clue on the invoice—now she was struck with a sudden sense of responsibility. She’d raised Gawain’s hopes, so this had to end well.
He started forward eagerly. Tamsin followed a step behind, casting a quick spell to hide their presence from security cameras and wandering guards.
Gawain reached the tomb first. He gave a faint cry and fell to his knees beside it. Slowly he reached up, touching a hand to the figure’s frozen arm. Then he bowed his head, despair in every line of his big frame.
The figure on the tomb was life-size, his feet resting on a crouching lion—a symbol of his bravery in life. His hands were crossed over the sword hilt placed on his chest. The fall of the knight’s lashes was so real, the curve of his fingers so natural, that she could believe he would rise and stretch at any moment, yawning himself awake.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, then remembered she was talking about a man, not a sculpture.
Tamsin reached out, her fingertips grazing the cool stone of the figure’s youthful face. Her fingers touched rough stone as she reached the cheek. “There’s damage here, as if something scraped the stone. Does that matter?”
“Those are scars. His face was burned as a child.” Gawain shifted with sudden disquiet. “I don’t like seeing him this way. He was never so still. My brother seems truly dead.”
Tamsin put a hand on Gawain’s shoulder, which felt fever-hot even through his coat. She squeezed gently as a tremor of emotion passed through his body, but he didn’t seem to notice. He leaned his head forward, resting it against the edge of the sarcophagus. Hands fisted, Gawain wrapped his arms around his body, as if he would shatter with grief.
Tamsin had promised to help him, but she had not thought beyond locating the tombs. Now she blinked back tears, aching to ease his pain. Finding the knights was not enough. She had to do more before her heart broke in two.
Enchanted Warrior Page 9