Michael was over to her in a second, holding her shoulders.
She shook her head convulsively, struggling with the vision that obviously had her in its grip. Her low moan finally brought her out of the trance.
“What is it?” Michael asked, his face a mask of concern.
“I saw who was in the hospital bed,” Drew said, her voice anguished.
Then she fainted in Michael’s arms.
*****
Just inside the doorway of first gallery, bathed in red from the lasers of the security system, the Tremaine expedition encountered the first guard. The man wheeled in surprise. An exclamation died on his lips and was replaced by a loopy grin only too familiar to Kemble. That was how people felt when Maggie doused them with Calm. Things were great, except for the fact that they felt tired. Very, very tired.
Tristram caught the guard under his arms as he collapsed and leaned him up against the wall, outside the lines of red laser light. They looked like a collection of pick-up sticks crossing and re-crossing the room between the display cases. Tristram relieved the guard of his gun and spun it over into a corner, far enough away from the man to ensure he wouldn’t be hurt. Then Tristram took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, the gun began first to smoke then turn a dull red. By the time he looked away, all that was left of the weapon was a slagheap and a charred circle on the marble floor.
“Good job,” Senior whispered. Kemble’s mother smiled at Tristram.
The next hurdle was the lasers that lanced across the room from several centrally located hubs in the ceiling and touched each display case. Kemble would have to take them out gallery by gallery so as not alert guards all over the museum that something was wrong. He held his tablet with one hand and touched the screen with the other. Before he could even type in any code, the feeling of sinking through the screen enveloped him. He staggered. Then there were hands, holding him up, strong, steady. He made a conscious decision not to focus on that, though. Instead he reached out along a path familiar to him from this morning. He wound down through code corridors into Knight, Inc. And there was the code he needed. He reached out in his mind and touched it. He felt the lasers shut off. He flipped off the lights in the display cases too.
Dimly he heard gasps around him. He opened his eyes. Senior and Devin had him by each arm, holding him up. The gallery was shrouded in darkness. Only the exit lights, glowing greenly, and small lights by the base of the doorways showed them their way. Several small flashlights popped on. The family had prepared for this.
Kemble straightened up.
“You okay?” Senior whispered.
His mother put her hand on his arm. He felt her sending strength his way.
He nodded.
“Pretty impressive, bro,” Devin grinned. “I didn’t even see you typing any code.”
Kemble glanced to his father, only to see his thoughtful frown in the dim light. His mother’s eyes were gleaming. They knew. Senior pointed to the north archway. “Tristram, yours is the only flashlight. Everybody else, follow him.” The other small circles of light popped off.
Their destination was three galleries over. They were just seven shadows moving through the silence behind the small circle of light from Tristram’s flash dancing on the floor. They encountered two more sets of guards, these traveling in pairs. Didn’t matter. Two guards at once were no match for Maggie. For such a little thing with such an odd power, she was an extremely effective weapon. Best of all, the guards would awake in an hour or two none the worse for wear. The Tremaines left several piles of molten metal in their wake. Somebody would have trouble explaining those to the police when the theft was discovered. Kemble only hoped the family was long gone by the time that happened.
At the entrance to the third gallery, Kemble shut down the lasers, feeling slightly queasy. Keelan slipped up into the crowd of Tremaines. “Just keep breathing,” she advised everyone. “It feels a little overwhelming, but you get used to it. Devin and I were much better last night than we were with the Wand.”
“In that case, why don’t you two lead?” Senior said to Kee and Devin. The two newlyweds looked both proud and serious at once. At last the family stood in front of the case that held the Chalice of Charlemagne. Tristram ran his flashlight around the case. The goblet gleamed. Its intricate carving cast shadows on the surface of the gold. The cabochon stones, red, green, blue, seemed to have stars winking in them. It was a beautiful piece, worthy of its status.
Kemble’s stomach was turning summersaults and his breathing was shallow and gaspy. If he’d needed any confirmation of his situation, that was it. He was affected by the Talisman. He couldn’t help his excitement, on two fronts. They were really going to get one of the Talismans. That would go a long way to evening the score between the family and the Clan. And he had a power. The event for which he’d waited twenty years had happened almost without him realizing it. He could travel the highway of code that wound around and through the world. He could control it. Would Merlin have even recognized that as magic? Kemble almost chuckled. Merlin would think computers were themselves magic. Kemble couldn’t help but wonder if possessing a Talisman would increase the family’s powers. That might even include his now. The satisfaction that coursed through him pushed out the niggling problem of how those powers had been raised. He’d deal with that later. He had a power.
Everyone stood, staring. Maggie and his mother held their hands to their lips. They must be feeling its power. Senior pressed his lips into a line. That was about as much an admission of vulnerability as Kemble’s father would ever give.
“How do we get it out?” Devin asked. The kid was always the practical one.
“We just lift the glass. The alarms are all off,” Kemble whispered, but he didn’t move to do it. It was up to Senior to declare who would have the honor of doing the deed. They all looked to their father.
Senior nodded to Devin. Yeah. Good choice. The kid had nearly made the ultimate sacrifice while trying to get a Talisman for his adopted family. That effort had failed. But no one could fault Devin. It should be his honor to claim this one.
Devin took a deep breath and put a palm on each side of the small cube of glass. It was about eighteen inches high by about twelve inches square. He lifted. No alarm. No death ray. Thank God. The glass just came up off the pedestal. Keelan lifted the goblet with two hands, reverently. You couldn’t help but feel reverent around an object that was so overwhelming in its power. Devin set the glass down.
Keelan turned and handed the goblet to Senior. “You should take it out, Father.”
Senior nodded and took the goblet and the responsibility that went with it. Who was more fit to wield a Talisman than Brian Tremaine? “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Tristram and Maggie led the way again, Tristram’s flashlight wobbling over the marble floor. Back they trooped into the next gallery, as quickly and quietly as they could.
Tristram stopped so suddenly they all almost ran into him. In the beam of his light there were the bodies of two guards, their necks twisted at odd angles.
“What the fuck is this?” Tristram said, forgetting to whisper and to clean up his language in front of his mother.
The overhead lights in the gallery flipped on, nearly blinding them.
Right in the middle of the room, an empty space near the viewing benches filled with people materializing out of nothing.
“Morgan,” Keelan breathed.
A tall woman, maybe fifty and dressed in a long red cloak, stood in front of a group of others. She had yellow eyes. Kemble had heard the description. Morgan Le Fay. She held a long staff. It was silver, intricately carved with what looked like dragons wound around it. The emeralds that served as their eyes gleamed balefully. The Wand. Its power cascaded over them, magnifying the power of the Cup Senior held. The others behind Morgan were steely-eyed: a spectral man, maybe six-six, a voluptuous redhead who looked like she stepped out of a Victoria Secret catalogue, a greasy-looking g
eek, a hard-faced man with a buzz cut and light eyes, and several more.
Morgan pointed to Maggie. “Phil, that one.”
“Phil!” Maggie exclaimed. “Is that you?”
A slender guy, nondescript, hesitated, then stepped forward and made a shoving motion with both his hands. Kemble knew that guy, though he’d only seen him from a distance. He’d felt that disembodied shove though. Maggie was lifted into the air by unseen forces and hurled into a display case. Tristram gave a guttural cry and made a dash for her. Half the Tremaines turned. His mother broke from the group to help.
“Jason?” Morgan’s voice was calm as you please.
The light-eyed guy pulled out a nasty looking snub-nosed pistol. The crack of the gun was deafening in the big gallery. The whole thing happened so fast. Kemble didn’t know where the gun was aimed. He looked around. Everyone was shocked, even Senior. Then his father swayed.
“The Cup,” Morgan yelled. As Senior slumped, the Cup levitated into the air as the geeky guy pointed to it.
“Daddy!” Kee cried, crouching. That brought his mother’s attention around. Kemble saw the look on her face as though from a great distance. He knew he would never forget that look as long as he lived. He stared down at Senior. Blood welled from the side of his head just behind the ear. He looked like he was asleep, relaxed, uncaring. Except for the spreading pool of blood. Kee was sobbing. His mother scrambled over to him and laid her hands on him.
The Cup floated by on its way to Morgan. Kemble lunged for it, but it merely drifted up out of his reach. He was dimly aware that the light-eyed guy was aiming his pistol, at least until it glowed red and he dropped it with a cry. Tristram.
The Cup drifted into Morgan’s left hand where she cradled it against her side. Kemble had never felt so helpless in his life. Morgan started forward just as Kemble dove for her.
A cone of blinding light enveloped Morgan. Kemble bounced off it as though it was steel and fell to the floor. His ears were ringing, his head split with pain. Was this what it felt like to get struck by lightning? He tried to move but his limbs wouldn’t obey him. He could only watch as Morgan advanced on the tableaux of Keelan and his mother bending over Senior. His mother was straining, the veins standing out in her neck and her temples as she struggled to Heal her husband. Devin stood over the women and his adopted father. A pipe burst out of the wall in a flood of water and sound, and flashed across the room like a missile at Morgan. Another explosion sounded, another pipe flung itself at Morgan. But they bounced off the impregnable channel of light that surrounded her. One hit the geeky guy, though, felling him instantly.
Morgan pushed Devin out of the way with the Wand. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Was he dead? The yellow-eyed bitch stood over his parents and Kee, watching his mother strain to keep her husband from dying of his head wound. Kemble saw with relief that Senior’s chest still rose and fell.
“Hmmm,” Morgan said. “I think you’ve done it. You’ve brought him back from the brink.” She cocked her head to one side. Her growing grin was illuminated clearly by the light from the Wand. “That doesn’t mean, however, that you’ve saved him.” The bottom tip of the Wand moved outside the cone of light. Morgan touched it to the wound still gaping in Senior’s head. His mother’s hands were still pressed to Senior’s chest. The wound glowed.
“No!” his mother yelled. “What have you done?”
Morgan laughed.
Tears blinded Kemble’s vision. His mind willed his body to move, but all he managed was a grunt of pain. Kee scrambled up, choking back the sobs that went with the tears streaming down her face.
Suddenly the gallery vanished. The Tremaines were gone and so was Morgan. In their place were shrieking, wailing, devilish things almost like gargoyles, or aliens. They were grimacing in anger, advancing everywhere. Blood dripped from fangs that still held shards of flesh. A smell of rotten meat filled the air, nauseating him. One was advancing on Kemble. He tried to move, to no avail. This was it. Whatever Morgan had conjured, was going to rend his flesh from his bones. All he could think about was that he was never going to get to have his conversation with Jane. He’d never be able to ask her. . . .
The slavering beast moved through Kemble’s body, insubstantial as air.
The beasts weren’t Morgan’s doing, but Keelan’s. He’d always assumed Kee’s strength was misdirection. That’s why Senior had made her part of the escape plan. But what she’d conjured here was an offensive weapon. Though it wasn’t real. Could it get them out of here?
He managed to lift his head. The beasts were moving on the Clan. Morgan yelled for someone named Jason to get the body. The light-eyed guy slung it over his shoulder like it wasn’t a dead weight. He turned, impassive, though the banshees shrieked around him. Kemble couldn’t see the Clan any more, just the monsters Kee created, writhing, shouting…
Then they were gone. Keelan’s apparitions slowly faded. The Tremaines were alone in the dark. Tristram’s flashlight cast a single channel of light from the corner where it had been cast away. Kemble turned his head to see Kee standing, shuddering, in the middle of the dim room. Tristram was bent over Maggie, trying to revive her. His mother was gasping over Senior, putting her hands again on his chest. She strained, keening, over him. Kemble was relieved to see Senior’s chest moving. He was alive. His mother’s Healing had come to the rescue once again. But why was his mother still straining? She looked utterly drained, as though she was dehydrated or had aged twenty years in the last minutes.
Tristram propped Maggie up against the base of the display as she blinked to consciousness. He half stumbled, half crawled over to Senior and their mother in his haste. “Mom, you okay?” he asked, putting his arms around her. His eyes were glued to Senior though.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice small and wondering. “I can’t Heal him.”
Tristram looked around. “Kee, see to Dev.” He lurched up and came over to Kemble. Kemble tried to heave himself up without success. His shoulders got about four inches off the ground, like he was doing girls’ sit-ups. Tristram put his arm under Kemble’s shoulders and heaved him up.
“Wand knocked me for a loop,” he muttered thickly.
“You’re hair’s standing up. You and Dev both look like you had a close encounter with a power line.”
“Maybe we did.” He looked up at his younger brother. “I couldn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, well I wasn’t exactly effective.” He glanced to Senior. “I didn’t keep him from getting shot.”
Kemble made a supreme effort, and with Tristram hauling on him, got to his feet. “You were busy with Maggie. She okay?”
“Knocked around some.” He glanced to where Maggie sat with her head hanging. “We’ve got to get out of here. Morgan will probably call the cops on us after she’s out of harm’s way.”
Kemble hadn’t thought of that. He blinked, groggy.
“You okay on your own if you stick near a wall?”
Kemble nodded. Not exactly an asset to the team right now. Kee was pulling Devin up, who looked exactly like Kemble felt.
“Kee, you’ve got Maggie and Dev,” Tristram called. “I’ll get the Parents.” He walked Kemble over to Maggie’s display case and leaned him there. “Maggie, hon, stay close to Kee.”
Maggie pushed herself up. “Don’t need a babysitter, Tris. I’ll hold my own.”
“Of course you will.” Kemble could hear the love in Tristram’s voice and the worry.
“We can watch each other,” Kemble said to her as Tristram went over to gently pry his mother away from his father. “Neither of us is in prime shape right now.”
“Not by a darned sight,” Maggie muttered. “Thanks for the monsters, Kee. They scared away the monsters.”
Tristram leaned over his mother. “Will it hurt him if I carry him out over my shoulder?”
Their mother turned anguished eyes up toward her son. “What choice do we have?”
Kemble stepped away from the d
isplay case. “I wouldn’t hang his head. If we each take an arm we can haul him out upright at least.”
Tristram looked doubtful, but in the end, he nodded tersely. Kemble tried to look steady on his feet as he pushed off the display case and stumbled over to Senior. He picked up his tablet from the floor. Just a little blood on it. Tristram hauled Senior up and Kemble ducked under one of his arms and pulled it across his shoulder.
“Wagons ho,” Tristram called softly and the Tremaines dragged themselves to the archway, leaving a security system in disarray, an empty case where the Chalice of Charlemagne had been, some heaps of metal slag, and a very big pool of blood on the floor.
They heard the sirens approaching as everybody piled into the Suburban. Tristram drove. Kemble rode shotgun. Still groggy, he was beginning to recover. “They’re coming in the front,” he managed. “Use the service road through the tar pits.”
“Check.” Tristram put the Suburban in gear and shot out of the loading dock area.
“Whoa.” Kemble grabbed for the dash. “Normal speed. Normal people. Not suspicious.”
“Normal people at the museum at four in the morning,” Tristram muttered. Still, he slowed.
Kemble turned around. Senior was laid across their mother’s lap in the seat just behind him. Her hands were covered in blood. The three others squeezed into the back row. “Mother.”
She tore her attention from Senior and turned frightened eyes to him.
“Does . . . uh . . . does he need a hospital?”
The fear in her eyes turned to utter defeat. She nodded. “I couldn’t Heal him. I don’t know whether Morgan stopped the process with the Wand or . . . or maybe my power is . . . gone.” She looked away. “He was so close to death. Maybe . . . maybe. . . .”
She didn’t have to finish. They just didn’t know. But her Healing hadn’t worked, so maybe he wouldn’t make it. All they could do was get him help.
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