Chapter Seven—Clues #3
The fine hair on Sara’s arms rose as she felt the heat of sudden flames scorching her face and her arms, singeing her hair, setting her thin shift ablaze… She coughed on the thick fumes of smoke and gasped for air.
“Snap out of it!” Michael gave her a shake, a look of alarm on his face. “Come back to us!”
Slowly, the haze cleared and Sara found herself inside the circle of her friends’ linked arms as they sat on either side of her on the sofa. She could feel the soothing white energy permeating the air inside their protection. She shuddered.
“It was so real…and so ancient. Like I was living in another time period.”
“I’m sorry,” Brianna said as they broke the link and everyone sat back. “I don’t know what it means, but it affected me the same way. Thank the Goddess Morgan was here when it happened. She called Michael.”
Sara’s head cleared a little. “Why was she here? Of all the Circle, you and I are the ones she likes least.”
“Only because Michael is our friend and Morgan envies that,” Brianna said with a smile as she watched Michael roll his eyes.
“She did seem disappointed when you weren’t here.
” Brianna turned back to Sara. “She brought over a new herbal blend of tea to try. She said she’d found it in a Mexican curio shop over on the West Side.
It was good. It smelled a little like new-mown hay. ”
Woodrowel? It was the only herb Sara knew of that smelled like that and it had a very special effect. She grinned at Michael, who looked suddenly wary.
“What?” he asked.
“Did Morgan offer you any tea when you got here?” she asked.
“Yeah, she did. I was more concerned over Brianna, though. Why?”
Sara’s grin widened. “I’d be real careful of what I drink around Morgan, if I were you.”
He looked exasperated. “Don’t tell me she tried to poison Brianna!”
“No. Well, maybe just enough to make her ill,” Sara said, sobering at the thought.
“Why would she want to do that?” Brianna asked. “She’s a part of the Circle!”
“You said she was disappointed when Michael wasn’t here?” She looked at him. “Were you supposed to be here?”
He nodded. “Don’t you remember us arranging the meeting before we worked the ritual at the full moon? You were going to fill us in on what was going on with the document. Then, when you said you were going out of town, I called Bri and cancelled.”
“What does that have to do with my getting ill?” Brianna asked. “Morgan and I both drank the same tea.”
“Did you watch Morgan prepare it?” Sara asked instead.
“No. I stayed in the living room while she was in the kitchen. Why?”
“So many questions. Can you get to the point?” Michael interjected.
“Okay. Here’s what I think happened. Morgan was expecting to find you. When you weren’t here, she added a little something—maybe mandrake or foxglove—”
“Just what the average witch carries around,” Michael said wryly.
Sara ignored him. “We all have those stashed in our cupboards as counteractions if needed.” She looked at Brianna. “Right?” At her friend’s nod, she continued, “—to Bri’s cup, but not her own. Then, when Bri got ill, she called you to get you over here.”
“I’ll admit that the woman has tried cornering me a few times,” Michael said, “but I’ve always turned her down. Why would she resort to such drastic measures to get me over here? Like I’m going to change my mind?”
“You might have, if you’d drunk the tea,” Sara said mischievously. “Woodrowel is an aphrodisiac.”
Michael stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am, and I suspect Morgan is, too,” Sara answered and then remembered something else. She turned to Brianna. “Woodrowel is also a hypnotic. With your natural gift of Sight, it might have triggered the vision you had. Did you feel yourself go into a trance?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Brianna answered and laid her hand over Sara’s. “I’m sorry. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”
Maybe. But the same black warrior throwing lightning bolts wasn’t a good omen in Sara’s book. And in Bri’s vision, the golden-haired Templar knight hadn’t even ridden to the rescue.
Golden, tawny hair. An image of the half-naked Lucas bursting into her hotel room the night Baylor broke in flashed through her mind.
Strangely, it was not the comforting embrace that turned passionate that held her attention now.
The cross that he had been wearing on his broad chest did.
A Templar cross with its fleur-de-lei ends. Why hadn’t she recognized it before?
And the Templar Shield that was sold at the auction had been in her vision as well.
Her third-eye chakra began to spin, causing the familiar dull pain as it opened to the astral plane, but all she could detect was pale swirling mists.
The time had not come to reveal what she needed to know, but somehow, she had the feeling that Lucas Ramsey was not exactly what he said he was.
****
Baylor bit off the end of his illegal Cuban cigar and spit it out on the floor. Across the room, Caldwell poured two single-malts from the minibar. The man had been careful not to gloat in front of him. Baylor had to give him that.
Damn, but he hated losing. Flying all that distance to Canada in one of those cramped express jets without food or alcohol available, let alone the First Class service that he was used to, had already put him into a rage.
He knew the jaunt out to Oak Island would prove worthless. But he had fully expected to pick the bitch’s room lock and walk out with that black briefcase of hers with no problem.
He had, after all, lured Ramsey out. Let his scent linger just close enough to the dining room that the damn Templar would do the Change and come looking for him.
That part had worked, and losing his scent in the ocean hadn’t been hard, but the water had been cold as a nun’s tits, even to his immortal body.
And the Change back should have had the Templar in a deep sleep for hours. He had counted on that.
The damn purse hadn’t been there. He’d moved toward the bed to see if she had it under the pillow, but she must have detected him in her sleep.
Which meant she had more power than he cared to think about.
“What did you find out from Morgan?” he asked as he accepted the drink Caldwell handled him and motioned for the man to be seated.
Caldwell smiled. “She knows her business in bed.”
No doubt. She’d made it abundantly clear to him in their brief meeting that she was willing to do anything—and here she had let her hand linger on the button of her blouse and given him a coy look—if he’d help her get what she wanted.
If that type of woman expected to be successful in attaining that goal, they had to be good on the follow-through.
He’d pried into her mind. Along with the usual riches and fame, there was also a man she wanted.
Foolish mortals. Any time lust or love was at the top of their lists, Baylor could hold that over them.
So he’d agreed to the money and fame part.
She would be getting a call for a modeling contract tomorrow.
“Maybe I’ll try her, then,” he answered and was pleased to see a look of displeasure flit over Caldwell’s face. He made a mental note of it. “But I meant, have you found out anything about who this Sara Kincaid is?”
Caldwell looked uncomfortable. “It’s a little weird.”
“Try me.”
“Morgan confided…” He paused to let the effect of the word sink in and Baylor gave him a small smile. “She confided that she was part of a circle of witches that went out on the full moon to worship some ancient goddess.”
“And is Sara Kincaid a part of that group?”
“Apparently she leads it,” Caldwell answered. “Probably a bunch of women who want to dance around naked under a full moon and get themselves all hot.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll ask if I can attend. Having two or three of them do me at the same time might be a whole lot of fun.”
Baylor hardly heard him. If this Kincaid bitch were a priestess—a real one from the Auld Days—it might explain why she had been so lucky in eluding him thus far.
“Did Morgan mention which goddess, by any chance?”
Caldwell looked at him oddly. “You don’t believe any of this stuff is real, do you? Maybe I should buy her a broom!”
Baylor curbed his impatience with the man’s stupidity.
Let him think witches flew about the night sky.
He’d learned his lesson well at Camelot, seducing Arthur’s sister, Morgana.
He hadn’t realized her power until she held his body paralyzed and tortuously teased for hours.
Ironically, it had been the holier-than-thou Galahad who had accidentally interrupted her playtime, but Baylor had limped about in pain for a week.
He’d never made that mistake of underestimating a real witch again.
It was better that mortals didn’t know how many kinds of supernaturals there were, roaming about. Let them think werewolves and vampires were the stuff of fiction, that the elementals and the old goddesses and gods didn’t exist. Or that he had been one.
“Which goddess?” he asked again.
Caldwell frowned, thinking. “Brenda, or something like that.”
Baylor tensed. It couldn’t be. “Do you mean Brighid?”
“Yeah! That was it!” His face brightened. “I remember thinking about that old French actress, Bridget Bardot. Wonder if she’s still around?”
He didn’t bother to answer. If the bitch were a true follower of Brighid, Baylor had his work cut out for him.
Brighid—his own goddess granddaughter—had tossed him out of Avalon.
He would have to exercise caution, something he rarely did.
He also had an answer to a centuries-old problem.
Sara Kincaid would be his ultimate revenge.