“There’s the driveway,” she said, pointing. Until today she’d managed to keep the Tremaines away. Even Drew hadn’t been to her house in years. Why should she? Jane was more than happy to come to the Breakers. At one time she’d been there almost every day.
Kemble swung the black Escalade into the driveway. Her mother’s house was modest. Not like the Breakers. But it was in a good neighborhood—a development on the bluffs above Palos Verdes Drive West. Some of the houses even had blue-water views. The security guys pulled up at the curb behind them.
Jane took a breath and let it out. She could hear the shrieking expletives from here. That meant her mother had not actually swallowed her meds this morning. Again. Mrs. Jensen, dressed in a white uniform and sensible white shoes and carrying a capacious brown purse, stood on the porch with her arms folded across her chest and her lips pressed into a line.
“Thank you for bringing me home,” Jane said to Kemble, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a dismissal, but still did the same job.
“Sit tight,” Kemble said as he got out of the car. He was reaching into his back pocket.
Oh, no, no, no. She got out hastily, but he had a long stride.
“This is for your trouble. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the agency you took a short shift,” he was saying to the nurse’s aide as he pushed green bills into her hand. The woman’s eyes got wide at the number and the denominations. Didn’t he know Jane couldn’t pay him back? “And we’ll report that you worked a full shift as well. You just get the rest of the afternoon off. Deal?”
“Whatever suits you, sir,” the nurse said, stuffing the bills into her handbag. She gave Jane a glare and strode up the drive to her car, muttering, “You got your hands full with that one.”
Wasn’t that the truth? The screaming hadn’t let up. If she didn’t get her mother calmed down soon, the neighbors would call the police. Again. She hurried past Kemble. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yes, I should.” She saw him flash the security guys a signal for ten minutes before he followed her to the door. “If she reports your mother, you’ll have to change agencies.”
“I’m on my eighth agency,” Jane said. She stopped, frozen, in front of the door.
Her mother’s voice was clear as a bell from here. “And you tell that shit-ass daughter of mine to get her lazy ass back here. Good for nothing.” Her words were slurred. Jane had checked the house thoroughly for booze. Where was her mother getting it?
“All the more reason you can’t lose this one,” Kemble said, a frown furrowing his brows at her mother’s diatribe.
She turned with as much dignity as she could muster. “I’ll . . . I’ll pay you back and . . . and I can handle it from here.” She was not letting him see this. “I’m afraid she’s having a bad day.”
“I’m not leaving.” He had that determined set of his mouth he probably wouldn’t even realize he shared with his father. Jane felt the panic rise in her throat and tried to swallow it. She couldn’t bear to let him in. He was already getting an earful. She felt her eyes fill. “Please,” she said. “Please go.”
“It’ll be better if I’m here. You’ll see.” He reached over her head, not hard since she was more than a foot shorter than he was, and pushed the door open for her.
The smell hit them immediately. Jane’s stomach rolled. Oh, no. Her mother’s hospital bed took up most of the space in the small living room. She sat in it like an inebriated queen, swaying and waving the large bottle of Bombay Sapphire around. The smell was from the human feces smeared over the walls. Her mother was confined to her bed only when she wanted to be.
Jane and Kemble stood like statues in the little front hall, staring. Her mother’s gray hair fell in greasy strings around her lined face. If only she’d let Jane wash it for her! Her eyes were small red-rimmed holes in her wrinkled face. There was a trail of spittle at the corner of her mouth. How old she’s gotten, Jane thought. Her skin was almost gray. It looked opaque somehow, like paper. Her eyes were clouded and flat too. The wrinkles around her mouth from years of smoking made her look like some kind of a tide-pool creature when she pursed her lips. It was as though the state of her mind was being reflected in her body.
Her eyes got a wicked gleam. “Well, well. A Tremaine. Never thought you’d land one, with how mousey you are.”
“Kemble is just a friend, Mother.” Jane was so ashamed she was afraid she might faint. “Give me the bottle.”
“Hope you had the sense to let him knock you up. Man like that’d never stay with trash like you otherwise. If you got yourself a brat he’ll have to pay and pay good. Trust me. That’s how I got Aurie Butler to tie the knot. And you weren’t even his.” She cackled.
What? She was illegitimate? Her mother had never said anything like that before. “If you were actually taking your meds, the liquor would be very bad for you.” Jane tried to grab the bottle. She could feel that her face was bright red.
“Not taking my booze,” her mother muttered, snatching the bottle away.
“Where did you get it?” Jane asked, trying to distract her attention.
“Think I can’t order delivery?”
“I told Stefano’s not to take orders from you.” Jane reached across her for the square blue bottle, and got a corner of it right across the cheekbone. “Oh,” she gasped, stepping back, her hands darting to her face. She blinked, trying to keep her balance, as her vision darkened around the edges. She held on to the railing of the bed to steady herself.
“Called the Liquor Mart.” Her mother’s grin was smug and, well, Jane couldn’t call it evil. But there was no trace of a mother’s love there. Had there ever been?
Kemble stepped firmly up to the other side of the hospital bed and grabbed the bottle.
“Hey,” her mother protested, flailing for it. “That’s mine.”
“I don’t think so,” he said firmly, glancing to Jane. “You all right?”
“Little bitch deserves what she gets,” her mother slurred. Always been a busybody, controlling little bastard girl. Doesn’t want me to drink. Wants me to take those stupid pills.” Jane wanted to sink into the floor. Her eyes were filled with tears from the pain. She could feel her cheek had split. Warm liquid ran down over her hand.
“Enough,” Kemble barked. His voice had all the authority of a real Prince of Wales in it. “You will not talk to your daughter like that, Mrs. Holmby. Look at this place. What’s wrong with you?”
Uh-oh. Kemble didn’t know he was punching a button. He tossed the bottle into a corner and rounded the foot of the hospital bed on his way over to Jane.
“What’s wrong with me?” Her mother’s voice rose. “No-good Irish bastard husband who left me. The money he paid wasn’t near enough for my trouble. Pedrino in jail off and on for years. Then I married Holmby. He was gonna cross the finish line. But the bastard left me and married some slut and then made his pile. All I’m left with is a bastard daughter I never wanted and this house.” She was shrieking now. “Nobody ever valued me like I was worth. All my life, nothing but crap. Crap, crap, crap from everybody. . . .”
Kemble took Jane’s hand gently from her face. “Let me look.” He got out his handkerchief and daubed at the streak of blood.
“You’re ruining your handkerchief,” she protested as her mother raged in the background.
He ignored her. “We should get you over to Mother. She can take care of this.”
A knock sounded on the half-open door and two patrolmen in navy blue uniforms and black leather belts, holsters, and boots leaned into the room. Jane saw on their faces the moment they smelled the feces.
“Jesus Christ.” The younger one looked around and held his nose. He was a handsome young Hispanic man.
Jane hurried forward, holding Kemble’s handkerchief to her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
“Ms. Butler.” The older man with the salt-and-pepper hair nodded to Jane. “You know you have to keep your mother quiet.”
“Hard to do when she’s being assaulted, officers,” Kemble said. He stood behind Jane. At least her mother had quieted down. She was muttering to herself and plucking at the covers.
The older officer peered at Jane. “It’s nothing,” she said. Kemble wasn’t helping.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Do you want to press charges, Ms. Butler?”
“Of . . . of course not.” She looked around, feeling a little confused. Kemble stood stiffly off to one side. Her mother looked triumphant.
“Well, ma’am, you call her doctor and get her a sedative or something. You know we can’t have her disturbing the peace like this.” The older guy’s eyes were apologetic. “You need any help here?”
She shook her head. The officers turned to leave. The young one looked very relieved. Kemble strode past her and shut the door behind him.
Well, that was that. A little piece of her heart seemed to break off and flutter to the ground. Nothing new about that. Jane had been slowly losing pieces of her heart for years.
*****
Kemble couldn’t believe this whole situation. “Wait, officers. Aren’t you going to do anything about this? She’s a danger to her daughter.”
“What do you want us to do?” The older officer looked disgusted. “Arrest an old woman in a hospital bed? The girl won’t press charges on assault. She never does. So she just has to keep the old bat quiet.”
“And clean up the house,” the younger one murmured.
“This has happened before?”
“About once a week,” the older officer said, shrugging. “Minus the shit all over the walls.”
“But you’ll file a report,” Kemble insisted. “At least note that Jane was assaulted.”
“Sure.” The older officer sighed. “For all the good it’ll do.”
Kemble watched them walk away. He’d never felt so frustrated in his life. He’d had no idea what Jane had been dealing with. No one at the Breakers knew. How could they let this happen to someone they considered part of the family? He should have checked it out. Jane had no one to protect her. And it sounded like Jane had been hit before. He’d fallen down on the job, as usual. But as of now this had to stop. The police wouldn’t do anything. Maybe they couldn’t, but what about social workers or something? Couldn’t the old witch be put in a home?
He turned back to the house, hesitating. Jane wouldn’t allow that. Taking care of your mother was what you owed for her raising you, she said.
But nobody owed this.
He pushed back into the house without even knocking. He had a feeling Jane might not let him in. It wasn’t lost on him that she hadn’t wanted him to see this. She was standing behind her mother’s bed, turned away toward the window, her back to Kemble. Her mother’s incoherent mumbling was punctuated by cursing, and cackles. “Jane, come back to the Breakers. Let Mother take care of that cut on your cheek.”
“You know I can’t leave her alone.” Her voice sounded distant.
“Sure you can. Ernie and Ken can take a turn watching her.”
“And leave you unprotected?” She sighed, turning. “Go home, Kemble.”
“I’ll send over a cleaning crew. . . .”
“Kemble, no. I’ll clean it up.”
“Really, it’s just a call away.” He reached for his phone.
“No.” Jane actually raised her voice. “How would I pay for it?”
He shut his mouth when he found it hanging open. “You don’t have to pay for it, Jane.” He shrugged and tried to muster a grin, just to lighten things up.
Now Jane started wringing her hands. “Your father built me a darkroom at the Breakers, for goodness’ sake. I eat with your family, drink with you. I’ve been mooching off the Tremaines for . . . for years.” Her voice broke. “I’ve got to stop.”
“What good is having money if you can’t use it to help people you like?”
He thought that was a pretty good response. So when her hands dropped to her sides and her gaze got flat and bleak, he didn’t understand what had gone wrong. “You’ve always been the one to give,” she said. Her voice was too calm. “You don’t know how it is to be the one who has to take all the time.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. The whole family loved Jane. Even after Drew got married, nothing had changed. Jane still practically lived at the Breakers, at least until recently. She was as much a part of the family as. . . .
“Just go, Kemble. I mean it.”
He still hesitated. Whatever he said seemed to just make things worse. He ran his hand through his hair. His father would know what to do.
But Kemble didn’t.
He couldn’t just stand here forever, feeling useless.
So he turned around and left her there.
CHAPTER TWO
Morgan smiled into the mirror. She wasn’t getting younger anymore, but soon she would. She turned her head. The long hair was streaked with gray, but it was only streaks. It looked more dramatic than old at this point. She peered at her eyes in the reflection. The sclerae were almost white again around her golden irises. Wrinkles, yes, of course. Who was it that said a woman’s neck never lies? But it could be worse. It had been worse. Rotting corpse worse.
And now Hardwick had located the Cup. She squinched her eyes shut as the thrill of it rolled through her. She’d be getting younger again soon. And she thought there was a way to take the Tremaines out at the same time. She wanted to shout or jump or scream. But she didn’t. Best she channel the energy into her plan.
She pulled on a red velvet dressing gown. She didn’t like to leave the presence of the Talismans for long. At first they’d made her feel queasy, the force of their power overwhelming. But now their power was seeping into her, making her own powers grow stronger, her body young. Their magic was a drug that made her feel like the queen it was her destiny to be. Wrapping her robe around her body, she entered the living area of her private suite. She owned the casino and its attached hotel now, thanks to her Cloaker. Cloaking was a great power for robbing things. Jason just made himself disappear, followed the staff into any vault she named, pulled sacks of money in under his shroud of invisibility, and walked out. Talk about money seeming to just disappear. It almost made up for having her plot to bring down the European banking system foiled last year by Brian Tremaine. Almost.
The new, lighted display case that held the Wand had joined the one that housed the Sword. In the dim room, they glowed with their aura of power. Beautiful. The Sword was pristine, no matter that it was nearly sixteen hundred years old. The blade glinted. The jewels in the hilt winked at her. It was a huge weapon, as swords were in Merlin’s Dark Age Britain. That made it of similar size to the Wand in the case next to it. She grinned. The Wand had been concealed in plain sight as a walking staff. It was silver, inlaid with twining ribbon dragons that wound up the shaft. Its gleam was dull and throbbing rather than sharp like the Sword. Together they made half of the symphony of power she required for her purpose. Merlin, the idiot, left them for his progeny, never thinking that his archrival’s descendants would have the magic gene as well, and could use his precious Talismans. And now the Cup was within her grasp.
Hardwick was a genius. She’d have to think how to reward him. Only he would have kept at it until he found those crumbling manuscripts that mentioned finding a “cup fit for a king.” The monk who found it embellished it with more jewels and gave it to his bishop. In France. That was the key to tracing the Cup’s whereabouts. Centuries later, it was given to a king.
In the shadows of the room several figures waited. The Clan was growing. She still hadn’t found a Firestarter to replace the one the Tremaine spawn killed, though.
Tremaines. A flash of hatred shuddered over her. They bred like rats. She sat irritably at the escritoire she used for makeup, not writing. She’d offered Brian Tremaine everything. And he’d turned her down to go it alone with his little do-gooder nurse. If she hadn’t lost track of them on his escape route, she’
d have convinced him to dump the bitch, destiny or not. Why was a brilliant con man using his ability to make boatloads of money in a legitimate business? Let alone one that invested in “green technology” and “disaster relief.” Disaster relief was about the last thing Morgan wanted. Well, soon they’d pay. With everything they held dear.
A channel of light cut into the dim room with the opening of the door to the outside corridor, breaking her reverie.
Ah. “Hardwick. What have you got for me?”
The spectral man held up a fan of ticket jackets. “Twelve plane tickets to Athens tomorrow, under pseudonyms, of course. The return trips are scheduled for two weeks. The Intercontinental Hotel in Athens has rented us the whole floor. Twelve doubles have been engaged. I’ve made the usual arrangements to get you to the monastery Monday. And you will return three days later.”
“Excellent.” She took the proffered ticket jacket. Her reflection in the glass of the display cases showed a covetous smile. “I can’t wait to see how my little project is doing. Wouldn’t do to let him forget how grateful he is to me.”
Hardwick cleared his throat. “Is he . . . safe?”
She chuckled. “Brother Theodosius is very devoted to his God and my donations. And a monastery is as safe a place as any for a virgin.” She examined the ticket briefly to see if he’d gotten her favorite first class seat. Yes. 2b. She glanced up at Hardwick. “And when I return, we are off to L.A. Keep track of the Tremaines. I want to make sure they know where the Cup is as well. That will pry them out of their fortress.”
Hardwick nodded. “And we’ll sit tight here until you return.”
“Locked in the suite. No one leaves. I want no sightings stateside.”
*****
Kemble turned on his heel and strode down to the wing the family called the Bay of Pigs, because it had once housed all the less-than-tidy Tremaine boys. He and his youngest brother, Lanyon, were the only male Tremaines in residence here since Tristram and Devin were both married. He closed the door to his room and went to the window. It overlooked the stables where Tamsen kept her horses, and farther on, the sea. Off to the right, the shoreline of Santa Monica Bay curved. Planes hung in the clear late-May air as they landed and took off at the L.A. airport fifteen miles away. For once the view didn’t soothe him. Maybe it was the noise of the wedding party. He shut the window and pulled the heavy drapes.
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