Chapter Thirteen
In the end, it had seemed easier to leave than try to convince Michael to stay away from her. Sophie settled into the silk-covered chaise in one of Mr. Smith’s guest rooms and propped her leg up.
“Is there anything else you need right now?” Mr. Smith asked.
Sophie glanced at the frosty pitcher of iced tea and the Waterford crystal glass sitting on the mahogany Chippendale side table.
A silver tray of dainty, crustless sandwiches rested beside it along with a smaller plate of petits fours.
“I’ll be just fine. I just want to thank you again for sending someone to get me. ”
“Think nothing of it, my dear. Princess loves you.” He smiled as the small dog jumped up to curl into a ball next to Sophie.
“I think you made a wise decision to come here. Even if your ex-husband isn’t as revengeful as you think, it would hardly be proper of Michael to move in with you for a month.
Ladies still have reputations to protect. ”
Sophie smiled at him. He might be an eccentric, but he had old-fashioned chivalry in his heart. Of course, if Mr. Smith knew about those exotic dreams of having Michael’s naked body pressed up against hers, cock hard, he might not think her virtuous at all.
“Still, I wish there were some way I could pay you,” she said.
“Nonsense. I’m glad to be of service. I’ve arranged for a physical therapist to come every morning so you won’t have to go out.
Christina will be your personal maid. You have simply to page her with that electronic thing there.
” He waved his hand at the small remote.
“She’s been relieved of duties so she can attend solely to you. ”
“I’m not used to having a maid,” Sophie said with a smile. “You’re being so kind to me. I hate to ask for one more favor, but it’s important.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I know Benton told Michael I wasn’t here when he called, but he really can’t know that I’m here. Robert will probably hire a detective to follow him, so it’s safer for Michael if he doesn’t find me.”
Mr. Smith frowned. “I really didn’t care to have Benton lie to him when he called here, but I agree.
If we can throw Robert off the scent, so to speak, then he won’t follow you once you start the search for the Sword.
And,” he added in a more serious tone than Sophie had ever heard him use, “perhaps we can throw Adam Baylor off your scent as well.”
****
An exhausting seventy-two hours later, Michael was still no closer to finding Sophie than he had been the day she disappeared. Even Brianna could not find her with the Sight.
After leaving the clinic, Michael had spent that first day tailing the ex-husband.
The guy had returned to his office, then went to lunch and spent the afternoon in court.
He’d taken some blonde with Playboy boobs out to dinner and spent the night at her place.
So much for Robert’s sincerity in wanting Sophie back.
But the man had gone to his house this morning and Michael was headed home.
As he turned in to the parking lot of his condo, he sensed something was wrong. Turning the ignition off, he sat quietly, opening his mind, stretching out with his senses.
Tendrils of human energy zapped back and forth across the empty lot, remnants of what mortals left behind.
Mostly normal stuff. Frustration, impatience, and worry ricocheted off the brick walls in flashes of yellow and red.
Humans in a hurry to get to work. A slower, wavier line of pale blue drifted above the confused flashes.
Someone centered and at peace with the world.
A steady stream of green vibrating through the ethers indicated a heart filled with love, maybe a mother with child.
Everything seemed to be okay, at least here.
Michael got out of his car, the hair at his nape still prickling. As he walked toward his condo he saw it—a thin, black line snaking across the tiled walk, almost blending in with the grout. Malevolence. Evil. Someone had been here bent on destruction.
Michael raced to his door and tried the handle, not surprised when it opened easily. His wards were gone, their white light totally diminished. Whoever had broken in had powerful magic. He released his senses again. Nothing. The intruder was no longer here.
Stepping inside, Michael scanned the living room.
Two original oils by Rubens still hung on the wall.
Everything else seemed to be in place too, except for a couple of overturned chairs.
He righted them and went into the office.
Computer still there, and the plasma TV.
The closet had been ransacked though. Boxes torn open and the contents tossed out.
He moved to the bedroom and groaned at the sight.
The bed was overturned, clothes and shoes from both closets strewn about the floor.
Yet several twenty-dollar bills and the gold Templar cross still lay on his dresser.
Michael leaned against the doorjamb, thinking. Whoever had broken in wasn’t interested in material goods, but rather in something specific. Something that could be hidden away.
Like a small dragon.
Understanding shot through him like a bolt of lightning.
Sophie’s ex had seen the dragon. It was the dragon Robert wanted.
Publicity? Blackmail? Michael didn’t know.
Robert had probably taken Morgan along to use her magic to help subdue Pendragon.
As if that would work. They’d both have gotten singed good.
Since Sophie seemed to have disappeared, Michael’s condo would be the next logical place to search. But Robert possessed no magic and Morgan’s was still too weak for her to have broken through his wards, much less destroyed them. Whoever had broken in wasn’t entirely human.
Balor? Michael had never known him to do his own dirty work, but if he were desperate to get to Pendragon—and if he picked up the dragon’s scent and followed the trail—
Dear Goddess of Avalon! He had left Pendragon with a middle-aged human woman who would not be able to protect herself at all.
Michael grabbed the gold cross and raced out the door, hoping he wasn’t too late to save Stephanie.
****
“How is it that this warlock keeps eluding you?” Lucifer asked idly as he sipped a nineteenth-century cognac in his ultra-modern living room.
Balor glared at him with his good eye. “Careful, little brother! Even you would be wise not to defy me.”
Lucifer grinned and pushed a blond curl away from his forehead.
“It is rather amusing in a warped way. You control some of the greediest political leaders on Earth, as well as bloodthirsty warlords, to say nothing of the insane people you recruited to serve the terrorists, and yet this one warlock—and by my own horns, he works with the Light, which puts him at a disadvantage—manages to keep a step ahead of you. You aren’t slipping, are you? ”
For an answer, Balor raised his eye patch. A deadly bolt of lightning slashed through the air, piercing Lucifer’s shoulder and leaving a black, smoking hole in its wake.
Lucifer’s eyes flashed red and then returned to blue. He dusted the soot off his silk shirt and rubbed his shoulder. “That smarted, old man. And this shirt cost several hundred dollars. You might be a tad more careful with your temper.”
“Don’t push me, then!”
“Fine. Drink your brandy. I stole it from Napoleon’s own cellars.” Lucifer settled back in his leather armchair. “Tell me how you plan to punish Morgan for not capturing Pendragon. I’ll be glad to rape her again.”
Balor swirled the brandy slowly and inhaled the vapor before he spoke. “That won’t be necessary. Morgan followed my instructions and called me as soon as they found the house empty. Who knew the Cameron woman would disappear with a broken leg?”
“And Pendragon went with her.”
“He must have. I searched the warlock’s place myself, just to make sure he wasn’t there. But I did discover something else.”
“Oh? What?”
“Michael McCain is not just any warlock. His wards were stronger than any I’ve encountered since Arthur built Camelot. McCain is an Immortal.”
Lucifer’s eyebrows rose. “One of the Round Table knights?”
“I don’t think so. He and Lancelot—Lucas Ramsey—didn’t know each other. Very competitive. I tried to turn that into antagonism once I found out who Ramsey really was, but it didn’t work.”
“Of course it wouldn’t. Lancelot inherited Lugh’s Spear of Light—”
“Don’t remind me. I was only seconds away from retrieving it.” Balor swallowed the bitter bile that rose in his throat at the memory. “That’s why it’s imperative that we don’t let the Sword get away from us.”
“I agree, bro, but first we have to find the Pendragon and the girl.”
“Exactly,” Balor said and set the empty brandy snifter down. “And one dragon can scent another. It’s time to unleash Sigurd.”
Lucifer lifted his glass in mock toast. “And may the white dragon win again.”
****
“Where are you taking me now?” Pendragon griped as he tried to curl himself into a ball that would fit the sports seat in Michael’s car. “I kind of liked that lady Stephanie.”
Michael glanced over at him as they headed back to his condo. “I thought you didn’t like humans.”
The dragon rattled his scales. “Well, this one was nice, once I convinced her I wasn’t going to burn her alive.”
“You spoke to her? I told you—”
“I didn’t speak to her.” He pulled his lips back in a dragon smile. “I put my head in her lap and rubbed.”
Michael almost lost control of the car. “You gave her a hand-job?”
“A head job, warlock. My claws would have torn her skin.” Pendragon looked quite pleased with himself. “She squirmed around and liked it.”
The idea of plump, middle-aged, looks-like-a-grandma Stephanie in the throes of passion was almost more than Michael could imagine. Pendragon had it all wrong. “More likely she was trying to get away from you. Are you sure you didn’t just scare her half to death?”