“Thanks,” he said grudgingly.
“You’re welcome. Do you have any other injuries? Didn’t she bite you?” There was quite a lot of blood on his collar and shoulder but she couldn’t see where it came from.
“I’m fine.” He tried to rise from the chair but she pushed him back down.
“Let me see,” she insisted. “You don’t want it to get infected, do you?”
Hawk started to argue but he gave up and sullenly unbuttoned his shirt. Trisha gasped at the puncture marks on the side of his neck, two in front and two in back. They looked exactly what a vampire bite would look like if vampires were real. Her hands started to shake.
“What’s wrong?” Hawk asked, trying to look down at his own shoulder.
“N – nothing. It’s nothing.” Trisha took a deep breath. Concentrate on the patient, she told herself. Nothing else matters right now. These punctures were deep and ragged but thankfully nothing vital had been damaged. The kit didn’t have a bandage large enough to cover them, so she had to make do with four smaller bandaids. She wiped off the dried blood as best she could with a bit of alcohol and the last clean towel. “That’ll have to do. Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital? You should at least get a tetanus shot.”
“A rabies shot would probably do more good,” he grumbled, but he started to button up his shirt again. He stopped when she shook her head with a long-suffering expression. “Now what?”
“Don’t you have another shirt?” she asked pointedly. “That one’s, well, pretty nasty.”
That was an understatement. The left sleeve hung in shreds and dried blood matted half the fabric. “I guess you’re right.” He stripped it off and wadded it up, tossing it on top of the used towels. The dark hair on his chest failed to hide the solid muscles underneath and Trisha felt her ears warming. She averted her eyes and started gathering up the tainted cloths, wondering where she could dispose of them safely. Hawk headed for the master bedroom and her eyes followed them of their own accord. Her gasp was loud enough that Hawk heard it and he turned with a frown.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, scanning the room suspiciously.
“Your back!”
“My back?” He peered over his shoulder. “What about it?”
“What’s that on it?”
“What?” He reached around with his good arm but felt nothing unusual.
“That – that tattoo!”
Hawk let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s a tattoo.”
“It’s a pentagram!”
“No,” he explained patiently, “it’s a pentangle.”
Trisha blinked at him. “What’s the difference?”
“A pentangle is one continuous line, crossing over and under itself. See?” He turned to show her his back. “It’s a symbol of, well, a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like something we can talk about later. Can I go get my shirt now?”
He didn’t wait for her response and vanished into the bedroom. By the time he returned, wearing a plain but form-fitting t-shirt, Trisha had stuffed everything with even a hint of blood on it into a plastic trash bag, packed up the first aid kit, wiped the table and counter down with alcohol, and scrubbed her hands twice. Hawk found her sitting at the kitchen table looking worried.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Trisha shook her head, not looking at him. “I just – I don’t know. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said somberly. The Glock, he noticed, lay on the counter by the sink, well out of her reach. “Here. These are the pictures I was talking about.”
He set Butler’s tablet on the table between them and inserted his pass key. He had to think for a minute to remember the access code, finally squinting at the faint ink marks remaining on his hand, but he got the thing unlocked and opened the drawing app. He flipped back to the first image and pushed the tablet towards her.
“What’s this?” she asked hesitantly.
“That’s you.”
She peered closely at the woman’s image and shook her head doubtfully. “That’s not me. It can’t be.”
“It’s you.” Hawk picked up the tablet and held it up beside her. “Turn sideways. No, the other way. More. There! That’s exactly you. It even shows that weird thing on your ear.”
Trisha turned back, covering her ear with her hand. “My ear’s not weird,” she protested.
“There’s a little notch just on the outside edge.” Hawk pointed to the place on his own ear and she carefully ran her fingertip around the outside of her ear lobe, stopping at a small triangular nick.
“Oh, that. That was just a stupid accident when I was a kid. It’s actually in the picture?” Hawk handed her the tablet again and she carefully touched the tiny mark on the image. “That’s impossible. You must have drawn this,” she accused him, thrusting the tablet back at him.
“Did you see me drawing anything while I was playing tag with Chantal?” he asked sarcastically. “Lucas is the artist in the family, not me.”
“I thought you said you just worked together,” she said in surprise.
“Figuratively,” Hawk sighed, rolling his eyes again, “not literally.”
“Well, you could have drawn it yesterday,” she argued weakly. “You saw me in the hospital.”
“It was here before I even started looking for Lucas,” Hawk told her. “If I could figure out how to show the dates on this damn thing, I’d prove it to you.” Trisha shook her head but she looked doubtful now. “Okay then, how about this?” He reached over and flicked to the next image.
“What’s this?” she asked. “A tartan? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hawk look at her askance. “It’s the Macmillan tartan. Don’t you recognize it?”
She shook her head. “Mom and Dad probably would – they got married in Scotland – but I’ve never left the States.” She set the tablet down, looking worried. “I don’t understand. What’s this all about? Why did Lucas draw a picture of me?” Hawk shook his head pensively and she shot him a tight-lipped glare. “It’s about that Quest, isn’t it?”
Hawk leaned back in his chair. “Who told you about that?” he asked suspiciously.
“Lionel. He said Arthur Pendragon sends you out on missions to bring him things and – and people. This Quest is about me, isn’t it?” Her brows knitted together anxiously and her eyes flitted about, probably searching for her gun.
“That’s not what happens,” he growled. “Fucking Lionel. He’s just messing with your head.”
“But that’s what this is, isn’t it?” she persisted. “It’s a Quest, right? To find me and – and –”
“It’s a Quest,” he admitted, rubbing his forehead, “but it’s Lucas’s. He didn’t tell anyone what it was about. The only things we know about it are here.” He tapped the tablet with his forefinger.
“But why is he after me?” she asked plaintively. “I don’t know anything!”
“He might not be after you for you. He might just need your help to find something else. Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?” Hawk pulled up the third image with the gray ovals. Trisha looked at it from several angles and shook her head.
“I have no idea what that’s supposed to be,” she said, slumping back in her chair. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hawk told her, but he was disappointed. He’d hoped she’d be able to provide some clue as to what Butler was doing in Boston. “There’s one more, maybe that’ll ring a bell.”
He tried to flip quickly past the fourth image, but Trisha glimpsed it and jumped out of her chair, nearly toppling it over backwards. “Oh my God!” she yelled. “What the hell is that?”
Hawk hurriedly covered the image with his hand, but the fierce yellow eyes still glared between his fingers. “Sorry,” he said ruefully. “I didn’t mean to show you that.”
Trisha resumed her seat but she remained tense, as if she expected the ima
ge to leap out at her from the tablet. “Is that Chantal?” she whispered. Her voice was husky with fear.
“No, that’s Savard. I think he’s the one who attacked Lucas.” He quickly switched to the final image. “Do you recognize this?” She winced in trepidation as he removed his hand, but then she shook her head with a frown.
“That looks unfinished,” she said glumly. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to be.”
“Yeah, me neither,” he sighed. He shut off the tablet and sat back, massaging his temples. “I guess we’ll have to wait until we find Lucas. Maybe Nim has some ideas. She should be here soon.”
Trisha looked longingly at the front door. “Can’t I just go?” she pleaded. “You got what you wanted from me. I can’t help you.”
“It’s not safe out there,” Hawk reminded her somberly. “Lionel’s looking for you and he has Savard and Chantal working for him.” Her entire body shuddered and she hugged herself tightly, looking miserable. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and he meant it. “Stay until Nim gets here. She’ll know what to do.”
Trisha searched his face with eyes bright with tears and finally nodded jerkily. He tried to think of something reassuring to say but nothing came to mind. “Fuck,” he muttered, and he sat back to wait.
32
Somewhere along the way, they both ended up in the living room. Hawk sat in one of the chairs staring at the door, as if he could summon Nim by sheer force of will. Trisha sat on the couch off to the side, stealing occasional glances at him. He wasn’t nearly as frightening as before, now that she’d spoken with him, but he seemed to be filled with a restless energy incapable of sitting still for very long.
She glanced away whenever his deep blue eyes flicked in her direction, but she studied him while they waited. Lionel implied he was a killer, a man who earned his keep through mayhem, and he certainly managed to escape from his battle with Chantal with relatively minor injuries, but his face was creased with worry and she wondered what he was thinking about. Probably Lucas, she decided. He came all the way here from New York just to find him. They may not be real brothers but they’re obviously close.
Hawk shifted in his seat and frowned at her and she quickly dropped her gaze to his hands tapping a syncopated beat on the arm of the chair. His knuckles were still raw and his fingers were thick and calloused, but their motion was surprisingly mesmerizing. She wondered if he played some sort of musical instrument. She tried to imagine him playing a concerto on a grand piano and couldn’t. That image didn’t fit him at all.
She was about to ask him about it anyway, just to break the tense silence, when his fingers stilled and he straightened in the chair, his attention focused on the door. Trisha’s heart leapt in her chest as she heard a faint beeping, followed by the clack of the latch turning. She leaned forward, ready to run to the kitchen where her Glock still lay.
The door opened, revealing a woman in a long fur-edged coat. She wasn’t particularly tall but she had a presence that automatically drew everyone’s eyes to her. Trisha couldn’t pin down the woman’s age at all. She could have been twenty or fifty or anything in between, with flawless skin and perfect lips. Her eyes were as blue as Hawk’s but her hair was lighter, a honey brown carefully coifed and held up by some sort of hairdresser’s magic.
Hawk rose to his feet and Trisha did the same a moment later, unsure of her welcome. The woman smiled at her as her eyes inspected her from head to toe in a flash. Trisha couldn’t tell if she approved of what she saw.
“You must be Patricia,” the woman said warmly, crossing over to her and holding out her hand. Trisha took it automatically, feeling the woman’s firm grip for a moment. “Call me Nim.”
“Hello, um, Nim.” The name, even as unusual as it was, seemed far too casual for her. “Call me Trisha, please. Most people do.”
“Trisha, then.” Nim glanced at Hawk as she unfastened her coat. She wore a tailored white blouse underneath and beige linen slacks, although the hems were discolored and wrinkled, as if she’d been wading through puddles recently. “I trust Gavin has been a good host.”
“Yes, he’s been a perfect, well, um –” Calling Hawk a perfect gentleman was such an oxymoron she couldn’t force herself to utter the words. Nim’s smile broadened a fraction.
“Well, I’m sure he did the best he could.” She pretended not to notice Hawk’s sour glare.
“So what happened at that other place, Nim?” he demanded. “It wasn’t empty, was it?”
“All in good time. Your surprise should be here in a moment. Ah, here he is.”
They all turned to face the door as a youngish man in an ill-fitting suit strode through. He had unkempt sandy hair and tired brown eyes, but he grinned broadly at Hawk’s incredulous expression.
“Fuck me,” Hawk murmured, and then he crossed the distance between them in no time and grabbed the man in a tight bear hug. “Lucas!”
“Ow ow ow! God damn it, Hawk, I just got out of the hospital!” Hawk released him hurriedly and Butler gingerly shook out his right arm. “It’s good to see you, too,” he added sincerely. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Hawk demanded. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Everyone sit, please,” Nim suggested. “We have a lot of things to discuss.” The men obeyed immediately, taking over the couch, while Trisha took Hawk’s chair and sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion. Nim laid her coat aside and closed the apartment door before seating herself gracefully in the remaining chair. She looked at each one of them in turn, her gaze lingering the longest on Trisha. “Trisha,” she asked softly, “how much do you know about what’s happening here?”
“Nothing,” she said fervently, and then she corrected herself. “Well, I know Lucas is on some sort of Quest that involves me somehow and I know you and Hawk have been looking for him. He showed me your pictures,” she told Butler, “but I don’t know what they mean. I’m sorry.” She expected him to be disappointed but he just smiled. Without the bandage around his skull, she barely recognized him as the patient in Exam Room 4.
“Lucas, perhaps it’s time you told us what this Quest is really about,” Nim suggested in a way that sounded very much like an order.
“I’d love to,” he said, “but I have absolutely no idea.” Trisha and Hawk gaped at him and even Nim looked startled.
“You told us you received a Quest vision,” she said sharply.
“I did,” he agreed. “What I didn’t tell you is that it was different from the others I’ve seen.”
“How do you mean?” Nim looked concerned now.
“You’ve had more than I have, Hawk, you know what they’re like. They’re big and they’re obvious and they stop you dead in your tracks, right?” Hawk nodded with a frown. “This one wasn’t like that at all. It was more like a memory of something I’d seen before, like I was just waking up from a dream. But it didn’t fade away like a dream usually does. I still remember it, every detail.”
“Are you sure it was a Quest, Lucas?” Nim asked doubtfully. “Perhaps it was just a dream.”
Butler shook his head vehemently. “No, it was absolutely real. It had that same sense of urgency. I had to follow it. That’s why I went to see you and Arthur about it.”
“Wait, I don’t understand.” Three pairs of eyes focused on Trisha and she shrank back in her chair. It was too late to pretend she hadn’t said anything, though. “I thought Arthur assigned you those Quests.”
“Who told you that?” asked Nim.
“Lionel,” Hawk answered for her, his voice dripping with disgust. “He probably tried to convince her we’re some sort of crazy cult trying to rebuild Camelot.”
“Ah, now I understand why you’ve been avoiding us, Trisha. Did Lionel happen to mention the Chevaliers?”
“Chevaliers?” Trisha asked doubtfully, stumbling over the pronunciation.
“Les Chevaliers du Lac are our ... counterparts in Paris. Lionel is one himself.
”
“No, he didn’t say anything like that.” Trisha dropped her face into her hands, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. Is everything Lionel told me a lie? He pretended to be a police detective. He said Chantal was just following Hawk but then she attacked us out of the blue. That other thing put Lucas in the hospital. Is Lionel one of the bad guys? Oh my God, I begged him to rescue me from Hawk. I had sex with him! She shook her head vehemently, unsure what she should do.
“Trisha,” Nim said gently, “I know this is a lot for you to absorb. Please believe me, I’m sorry you were dragged into these events against your will. We’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe and get you back to your life as quickly as possible, I promise.”
Trisha slowly lowered her hands, taking a shaky breath. “Just tell me one thing,” she said. “Who are you people? What do you want?” The three of them exchanged looks that she couldn’t quite interpret. “Lionel told me Arthur Pendragon thinks he’s the reincarnation of King Arthur and he’s using his company to spy on everybody to get enough power or influence or something to bring Camelot back. That’s obviously insane, so what’s really going on?”
“Well.” Hawk and Butler looked at Nim as if they weren’t sure how she was going to answer that. “Let me begin by assuring you that Arthur Pendragon doesn’t think he’s the reincarnation of King Arthur.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Trisha told her, but something about Nim’s lopsided smile made her anxious.
“Arthur Pendragon is King Arthur of Camelot, the Once and Future King.”
33
The silence in the room was so profound, all Trisha could hear was the rush of blood in her ears. Hawk and Butler stared at Nim like she was crazy, which matched Trisha’s own thoughts exactly. She rose to her feet suddenly.
“I have to go,” she said to no one in particular. She walked straight into the kitchen, grabbing her coat and scarf and searching fruitlessly for her purse until she remembered it was still back at Lionel’s mansion. She grabbed the Glock from the counter, stuffing it into her pocket, and turned to leave, only to find Hawk blocking her path to the door.
Gawain (Knights of Excalibur Book 1) Page 18