Mikayla slipped her glasses back onto her nose. “Did you know that the sapphire was never cut. At the time of the writing of this document, which was roughly one hundred years after the landing, the sapphire was still in its natural shape.” Will nodded. Mikayla continued. “It also says that sometime around the reign of King Malachi, the sapphire disappeared. It hasn’t been seen since.”
Will nodded again. “That’s just a legend though. I don’t believe there was ever a sapphire, especially considering the bloody history that is supposed to be attached to the stone.”
Mikayla screwed her forehead up in concentration. “What bloody history?”
Will shrugged. “They say that Henry’s most trusted knight, his Lancelot to his King Arthur, tried to kill Henry for the stone while they were still in Jerusalem. That plan failed. Then, Henry was murdered. His son Richard took the throne and ruled with an iron fist. It was his iron fist and cunning that continued the legend of the Wolf. There were numerous attacks on Richard, but none of them succeeded. Religious leaders and military tyrants wanted the power supposed to be in the stone. The stone could be called upon to cause harm to one’s enemies. It was worth more than anything else in the world. There was a lot of blood spilled for that stone. There was a lot of blood spilled period.”
Mikayla shook her head. “That’s a fairy tale. I don’t believe it.” She leaned towards Will. “You realize, Mr. Chambers, that you are suggesting that Henry may have been murdered for that stone alone. You don’t think it is possible there might have been other reasons?”
Will shrugged again. He liked the way her eyes blazed with excitement as they discussed the more captivating parts of Amor’s fascinating history that had been hidden in folk lore and fairy tales for generations. Her interest and excitement suggested a passion lurking beneath her aloof exterior that never flirted, that never teased, that never suggested a relationship beyond the working relationship. He swung his feet off of the table. They landed with a soft thump on the floor. He leaned in towards the table, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I know that at some point there was a pretty ruthless rebellion. It is recorded in a tapestry in the Secluded City. I also know that the history of Amor is bloody up until the end of Malachi’s reign. It is only after Malachi’s reign that peace comes to Amor. Perhaps the disappearance of the Eye of the Wolf had something to do with the arrival of peace in Amor. Maybe it no longer had the power to cause rebellion because it was no longer part of the family’s legacy. Its power was gone. The king ceased to be a predator, of sorts.” He toyed with the rose in the center of the table. “All I know is that mysterious gems always carry a dangerous, deadly history. Look at the Hope Diamond.”
Mikayla nodded in agreement. She could see his point, but the idea that a sapphire supposed to be of the finest yellow contrast was the cause of the violent history was more than she could fathom. This wasn’t history. “I don’t know. I don’t really buy it. It’s too much folk lore for me.”
Will cocked his head to the side. “Isn’t folk lore history though? Isn’t there usually a factual basis for the stories that appear in fairy tales and folk lore?”
Mikayla rolled her eyes. “Oh, we aren’t going to have this conversation, are we?” She smiled slightly, a motion that lit up not only her face but the entire room around her, or so it seemed. “I’ve have this conversation many times with my undergraduate students. They always want to study the historical basis for stories like Cinderella, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty. I always have to remind them that those are stories meant to make girls believe in princesses, Prince Charmings, and fairy godmothers.”
Will scratched his cheek and watched the color rise in Mikayla’s cheeks. It was fascinating to see this change from cool demeanor to avid interest and fervor. The heat in her eyes radiated into the space between them and warmed the air, drawing him into the moment, making him part of the moment, making him wish he knew more about the past, but making him wish there was more of a future.
“Don’t you believe in fairy godmothers and Prince Charming?” He paused and watched Mikayla fiddle with the flower that lay on the table between them. “I think it is unbearably sad when little girls grow up and cease to believe in Prince Charming and settle for second best.”
Mikayla shrugged. “Prince Charming only exists for those who have to make him exist to make themselves happy.”
Will frowned as sadness enveloped him. “I believe in them. There are princes out there. Just as there are princesses too.” He paused again and wondered where these thoughts of sadness for her and where the sudden need to prove to her that Prince Charming really did exist had suddenly arisen from. It was unnatural for him. It was scary. And, most importantly, it was impossible. He cleared his throat.
When he spoke again, his voice was strong, cool, and very academic. He was impressed with himself. “I disagree. Fairy tales, folk lore, ghost stories, and treasure hunts are all part of history. They are all based in something that occurred at one time.” He reached forward and toyed with the hair that veiled her face. “What are you scared of?”
“History is not a treasure hunt. It is more solving a complex one thousand piece puzzle and finding that you are missing one piece rather than hunting for treasure.” Mikayla straightened in her chair, just out of reach of Will’s hand.
Will leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the table. He shrugged again and picked up his own notepad and book. “Perhaps, perhaps not. I do know that the Eye of the Wolf is part of the history of Amor.” He looked over his book and feet into Mikayla’s stubborn eyes. “Maybe we should find it to fit the pieces of that puzzle together.” He winked. “Then history would be a treasure hunt, don’t you think, Doctor Knight.”
Mikayla rolled her eyes again. She pulled the book and notepad back across the table to herself. “I don’t think so, Mister Chambers. Perhaps instead we should get to work finding out what happened during that rebellion you mentioned or maybe about why peace came following King Malachi’s reign.” She raised her eye brows, a flirtatious move that she was unaware she made, but made Will smirk.
“Yes, ma’am.” Will turned his attention back to the book before him. “I’m going to read about the rebellion now, if you don’t mind.”
His tone carried a hint of the royal in it making her grin. “Yes, you do that. I will read more about the Eye of the Wolf and the arrival of the Crusaders here in Amor.” Mikayla returned with a snooty tone of her own.
Why on earth she had agreed to let this annoying, yet humorous, man help her, she still didn’t know. What she did know was that she wished for just one moment that she was as light-hearted and flirtatious as the women she had gone to college with so that she could enjoy the mindless flirtation she was sure Will could provide if she was game. However, she knew she was there for a specific job and that she was going to accomplish that job. It was part of her character. She would never be anything other than a professional historian; and professional historians were boring. It was in the make-up of anyone who would spend her life looking as the remnants of people long gone. It was also very scary to let someone in close enough to know all of you, to know what passion was inside of you. Once a person had the chance, then there was power over you. It was best to remain the cool professor and get the job done, rather than risk the injury that came from getting too close.
And that was what she was going to get to right that moment, looking into the evidence of people long gone and determining the secrets of those people, and stop thinking about roses and fairytale princes.
Stone skittered down the wall, making quiet splashing as it hit the water far below. The fingers dug into the stone, searching for purchase. As feet slid along the loose gravel, the keening reached its pinnacle. Golden eyes gleamed through the darkness as the icy voice of the Wolf hunted the prey who tried to shrink away into the darkness but was unable to free himself from the power in the eyes.
Blood smeared the stone wall as fingers scraped
along the roughly hewn stones. Fear laced through his heart as saliva pooled in his mouth. The Wolf’s hand grasped his shoulder, freezing him into place. The servant’s hand took his other shoulder and forced him to his knees. Stone bit into the flesh, but only whimpers escaped his lips. He peered up into the night, into the golden eyes of his master, the Wolf. He knew he was going to die.
The Wolf looked down into the tear-streaked, terrified face of this servant who had failed him. He felt power within him grow and smiled a feral smile into the night.
The servant’s cold voice growled in his ear. “You have failed us, Evan. You have failed your master.” A small keen arose from the mouth of Evan as he cowered at their feet. “You realize the payment that must be given to your master for your failure.” A silvery blade glinted in the moonlight as the servant pressed it against Evan’s cheek.
Greek babbled from his lips as his eyes grew wide. The Wolf leaned in close to his ear and whispered softly. His growl low and venomous. A cry releases itself from Evan’s lips as the Wolf straightens and releases his grip. He gestures from the servant to release Evan as he struggles to free himself. A low laugh escapes the Wolf’s lips as Evan scrambles for the stairs leading away from the parapet, his feet slipping on the gravel, his hands scraped by the rock, leaving a trail of blood as he runs.
The servant wiped his hands on a pristine handkerchief as the Wolf’s amusement floats on the moonbeams of the night. He watched the worthless Evan stumble into the darkness as he carefully folded his handkerchief and placed it into his suit-coat pocket. “Letting him go is dangerous, Sire.”
A small flame illuminated the Wolf’s cunning face as he lit the tip of a cigarette. Smoke wafted into the night air as darkness surrounded them again. The silence of the island surrounded them. The waves of the ocean lapped quietly at the base of the wall. He smiled into the night, realizing the power that was growing within him as each day passed, as he grew closer to his ultimate goal: the Eye of the Wolf and the crown of Amor. His long fingers tapped the stone of the wall, sending small bits into the darkness. “My friend, have no fear. He won’t get far, nor will he have anything to tell anyone.”
The servant exhaled a ring of smoke into the night, watching it drift on the night breeze. He said nothing, waiting for the Wolf to reveal all in his own time.
The Wolf turned, piercing the servant with his predatory eyes. “When he’s found and the autopsy is performed, they will assume he over-dosed on Phenobarbital. You will release to the press that he had been relieved of his position within the Secluded City after testing positive for a Phenobarbital addiction.”
The servant nodded his head and watched the Wolf move into the darkness, that same humor cutting through the night and chilling the heart of the servant as the plan moved forward, beyond the point of no return.
Chapter 6
Mikayla stepped into the Hall of Records after following the sounds of curses and grunts through the Exhibit Hall. She couldn’t see anyone, but she could hear swear words in four languages clearly from the back of the room. Dust motes floated in the air everywhere. She swatted them away as she moved between the rows of books. The voice grew louder and more emphatic, as did the vulgarities spewing forth. Those vulgarities were followed by a large crash which were followed by smaller thumps. It sounded like William had gotten an early start.
Mikayla turned the corner of the last bookcase. She stopped in her tracks and could only gawk at the sight before her. Then, her hand rose to her mouth to stifle the giggle that had escaped.
Will looked up from where he laid, sprawled on his back on the uneven ground of the Hall of Records. His blond hair was filled with dust; there was dirt smeared rather charmingly down his cheek. His khaki pants were streaked with dust, dirt, and anything else he might have found in there. There was a rip in one of the knees of his pants. His white button-down shirt was no longer white, but a dingy off-white that screamed for some Tide to remove the damage he had done. His eyes were closed, one hand rested on his chest, dirt beneath the fingernails, while the other sat under an upended box that had spilled books all over the floor of the back corner. Books and scrolls littered the floor. Some were opened but upside down, others had landed on their spines and tipped over. It looked like a whirlwind had raced down the bookcase in that corner and thrown the entire inventory on the floor and on him.
Mikayla swallowed her giggle and knelt down. Her first instinct was to poke him to see if he was still alive. Instead, she leaned over and pressed two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. His hand was fast and caught her wrist just as she pulled away.
He lazily opened his eyes and peered up at her. His eyes were veiled underneath his long dark lashes, lashes most models would have murdered him for. “Worried about me, luv?” His British accent washed over her in like a calm ocean wave warming her, melting her. He pressed a quick kiss to her fingertips before she could jerk her hand back.
She stood up and brushed off her jeans. She refused to look at him, afraid her eyes would linger on his deadly lips. She pushed her feelings back and regained her composure. She was too practical of a person to fall for that foolish gesture. Romance belonged in storybooks. Besides, she had work to do, but, oh, did he have an effect on her.
Mikayla pushed that thought and that warmth he had created out of her mind. “Of course not. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t need to call an ambulance, or if necessary, the coroner. I can’t have a dead body stinking up the place. I have to work here.” She straightened and looked down her nose at him in her best school-teacher imitation. She arched an eyebrow. “Luv.” She said it matter-factly with just a hint of snide sarcasm that made him grin.
He attempted to sit up and only groaned. Every muscle in his body hurt. He covered his eyes with his hand and groaned again when she nudged him with her foot. “Let me die in peace, Woman! Can’t you just let me die in peace.”
Mikayla smirked. “Well, it serves you right.” She knelt down again and began lovingly picking up the books he had so carelessly allowed to land on the floor. “What were you doing in here, anyway?” She leaned over him to pick up more books. “It is before eight o’clock.” She checked her watch. “In fact, it is only seven-thirty. You are always ten to fifteen minutes late. What’s wrong with you?”
Will focused on her face as she leaned over him and her long hair trailed along his face and neck. He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. He grinned. She had the cutest freckles darting across her nose and cheeks. He hadn’t noticed them before. He had never liked freckles on women before, but on her, they were charming and added only to the character that he already found entirely too endearing for his own good. He ran a finger down her nose before she could jerk back in protest.
Mikayla jumped back at the intimate gesture. Her eyes were wild and wide; fear, frustration, annoyance, and perhaps a hint of mirth danced in her eyes. She lost her balance from her precarious perch on her feet and landed with a thump on her hip. She frowned and rubbed it with the hand that wasn’t full of ancient texts. She said nothing, but again she refused to meet his eyes.
Will sat up. He began to pick up books. “I was looking for a book that I thought might be of help to you.” He looked around him at all of the books on the floor and up at the empty wooden case. “I thought I had found it, but it was on the very top of the top shelf.” He gestured with the book in his hand. Mikayla followed his hand in the direction he was pointing and saw a slim red-covered book jutting out from the top of the case. It looked like it might dive down on her head at any moment. “I got a little carried away.”
Mikayla raised an eye brow. “How carried away, is a little carried away.”
Will ducked his head sheepishly. “I tried to climb the case. I guess I was a little too heavy. The thing almost came down on top of me. As it was, that box is the only thing that actually fell on my head.”
Mikayla shook her head and stood. “Well, you certainly are determined.”
Will stood
and grinned at her. “I think I will take that as a compliment.”
Mikayla murmured as he turned to shelve some of the books. “It wasn’t meant as one.” When he turned quickly around with narrowed eyes, she flashed him a dazzling smile that took his breath away.
She shelved the books she had stacked. “Well, do you want to get that book or not?”
Will looked up at that book that was a good foot above his six foot two inch reach would allow. “I’ll have to get a chair or a ladder or something. I can’t reach it.”
Mikayla finished shelving the books in her hands and turned to him. “I can.”
Will let out a loud guffaw, for certainly that was what it was. It echoed off the stone walls and ceiling, cheerful and mocking at the same time. He looked her up and down, taking in her five foot five petite frame. “You? And how do you propose to do that?”
Mikayla gestured impatiently for him to bend down. When he had done so, she clambered, not so gracefully, onto his shoulders. “Now stand up.” Will did as he was directed. Mikayla now was high above the top of the bookcase, able to see the tops of the cases, but still not reach the high, cathedral ceiling. “You know, they really should dust more in here.” She stated matter-factly as she reached out to pick up the slim book. As she did, her eyes scanned the other treasures that had sat upon the case for centuries, or at least since the last inventory, which by all accounts had been 900 years before. Her eyes stopped on the only book that she had seen that hadn’t had gilt lettering and gold-leaf pages. It was simple. Brown leather bound the cover with leather ties holding it closed.
The Eye of the Wolf Page 6