Chapter Ten #2
“From what you’ve told me about these new flying objects, it will be cold in there,” Pendragon said and puffed smoke at Michael. “Reptilian forms prefer warmth.”
“You aren’t exactly a lizard,” Michael answered, “and it’s only for the flight to Virginia. From there, we’ll rent a car and drive the coastline down through Florida and up the Gulf coast. You can ride in the back seat.”
“I’d be more help scouting for you,” Pendragon said as small sparks of flame shot from his snout.
“Careful!” Sophie managed to say. “You’ll set the house on fire!”
He rattled his scales. “Sorry.”
“We really don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves,” Michael had explained.
“Right now, Baylor doesn’t have a copy of the second riddle and he doesn’t know where we’re going.
Let’s keep it that way. Besides,” he added, “you can use heightened sense of sight and smell just as well like you are.”
Now, Sophie sighed and stood, chewing her lip in frustration. She paused half-way out the door and ran her tongue to the corner of her mouth. Cold sore? She was prone to get those when she felt stressed. Just what she needed.
She spent the next two hours busy with her furry charges. Allison, who had agreed that Sophie looked horrible and in need of some sleep, would take over at lunchtime, letting her leave at noon. First, though, she had to clean out Augustin’s stall.
She led him to the small paddock behind the stable. “Sorry I can’t take you for a ride today, boy, but you can kick up your heels out here. There’ll be oats waiting for you later.”
The horse nickered and lowered his head, bumping gently against her shoulder and then he snorted and cantered away.
Sophie smiled and turned back to the stall.
She shoveled out the old straw and replaced it and made sure there was fresh hay and oats in the trough and then brushed at her cheeks, trying to clear the dust particles that were making her itch.
Turning on the air conditioning in the truck, she waited in the driveway as a Lincoln Navigator drove past. She didn’t recognize it, but someone down the street was probably getting company.
She glanced at her watch. It was barely past noon.
She put through a text to Michael asking him to meet her at Mr. Smith’s.
She wanted to look at the manuscript again. She still had questions.
And then, she’d go home and deal with a real live dragon.
****
“Sophie’s not here yet?” Michael asked as Smith met him in the study. “She sent me a text a half hour ago, asking that I meet her here.”
“I know,” Mr. Smith said. “She called me about the same time. You know how traffic can be. Or someone may have walked in with a sick pet. Sophie would never turn an animal away.”
That was true. Michael had to admit that he admired her for that.
Last night, once she’d recovered from her faint, she had appeared to accept that she had a talking dragon in her home, and she had responded admirably.
Pendragon had practically preened, rattling his scales, when she asked him about his lair and horde and other dragon questions.
No doubt she’d have him eating out of her hand within a few days.
Hell, Michael wouldn’t mind eating out of her hand either.
Or, for that matter, nibbling some very luscious parts of her.
Her soft, full breasts had pressed against his chest as he’d caught her, and he’d wanted nothing more than to roll her nipples between his fingers until they hardened to tiny peaks that he could suck into his mouth.
Her rounded rump fit perfectly into his hands as he’d laid her on the sofa, and his enhanced senses picked up the faint trace of her unique feminine scent.
How delicious it would be if she were fully aroused!
To strip off her jeans and fit himself between her thighs and… that was what he really wanted.
And could not have. They had to find the Sword.
Mr. Smith was eyeing him with interest and Michael began to wonder if the man had some sort of sixth sense no one else had picked up on.
With his fixation on the medieval world and particularly all things Arthurian, there just might be a drop of Druid’s blood in his ancestral line.
Michael didn’t believe in coincidences. There was a reason the manuscript had gotten into Smith’s hands.
“I take it that Sophie has agreed to go with you, after all?” Smith asked and smiled coyly. “You must have been very persuasive.”
Michael’s groin tightened at the thought of how very persuasive he would like to be, but not for any reason involving the Sword—unless he wanted to count getting his own sword sheathed in her tight, hot scabbard.
He doubted she’d welcome that kind of bold advance though.
The jerk who’d hurt her had done a pretty thorough job.
Wooing—an odd word in today’s world, but it seemed to fit—Sophie would take time and patience and tiny, little steps in building her trust. Still, he could hardly tell Smith that Sophie’s persuasion was because a dragon was now residing at her place.
Michael smiled and shook his head. “Sophie’s an intelligent woman. I think she finally realized that there is a real danger to society if Excalibur falls into the wrong hands.”
Smith stopped smiling. ‘I’ve never met Adam Baylor, but if he was responsible for poor Professor MacDonald’s death—”
“He was,” Michael said, “but we’ll never be able to prove it.”
“I tried to have him investigated,” Smith said soberly. “I hired the best spies Interpol had to offer. They raised questions. Had suspicions. Nothing conclusive.”
“And there won’t be,” Michael said, wishing he could explain that even Merlin had not been able to ferret Balor out.
Demons built layers of illusion around themselves and, in this technological age, shielded themselves with barriers of protective hardware, software, and human minions to do their dirty work.
“No man can maintain a flawless fraud,” Mr. Smith said. “He’ll slip up eventually and my spies will be waiting.”
No man could. Michael wished he could tell Smith that Balor was really a demon, but the fewer humans knew that immortals existed, the better.
Smith thought they were battling for power over the corruption of drug cartels, terrorists, and semi-sane political leaders who strived for dominion.
And all that was true, but it was the ancient, exiled god who controlled these factions as though they were puppets.
According to the prophecy of Avalon, only one deity could destroy Balor and that was his own grandson, Lugh—and even Lugh would need his Spear.
If Nimue were correct, the Spear was safe, waiting for its owner.
“I hope you’re right,” Michael said. “Meanwhile, we need to keep the Sword away from Balor. As soon as Sophie gets here, I’ll call the airline and make reservations for us to fly out of here. The sooner we can get started, the better.”
Mr. Smith checked his watch. “I wonder where she is.”
A strange tingle began at Michael’s nape as tiny bits of violet light started to sparkle along his side vision. “Something’s not right,” he said, just as the phone rang.