Chapter Fifteen
Guinevere. Gwenhwyfar’s half-sister who could have been her identical twin. Gavin watched her covertly as she and Chloe exchanged hugs. He had never considered that any of the women from Arthur’s court were Immortals. He wasn’t even sure if any more of the knights existed, having only met Lancelot during Templar times.
Except for the modern clothing, Guinevere hadn’t changed much. She still wore her honey-colored hair long, her hazel eyes were fringed in naturally dark lashes, her generous mouth pink enough not to need lipstick. Like Gwenhwyfar, she had an unaffected beauty that only grew in the eyes of the beholder.
She had wrecked havoc at Court.
Not that it was her fault entirely. Half the knights were infatuated with the queen and most have them had mistaken Guinevere for Gwenhwyfar on more than one occasion, since they often delighted in dressing the same. Most of those hoaxes had been the queen’s idea, he suspected, to divert unwanted amorous attention, but it hadn’t always played out well. Guinevere had been light-hearted and playful, which led to rumors and accusations that eventually made Arthur send her away.
Gavin had just achieved knighthood and thought it un-chivalrous to ban her from court, although even at his young age, he was aware of troublesome quarrels brewing among the older knights.
Guinevere looked at him now, her smile friendly, no trace of recognition in her eyes. “I’m Jennifer. Please come in.”
‘Thank you.” Disconcerted, he followed them in. A small kitchenette, the single counter littered with mail was to his right. At the end of a very short hall was the bathroom. To his left was a small living area. Guinevere—Jennifer now—hadn’t recognized him. Of course, she probably hadn’t even noticed him back then. He’d barely turned seventeen and both his hair and eyes had darkened after he was turned. Still, he wondered if she knew who she was. Maybe he was only meeting a reincarnation of her.
He took the seat she gestured to…a well-worn, but surprisingly comfortable rocker. An eclectic assortment of furniture filled the room: different styles of small tables sat beside equally mismatched chairs and a sofa covered in a dark blue throw emblazoned with silver stars and half-moons that probably doubled as a bed. Various sizes of candles in different states of meltdown decorated a round glass table-top whose pedestal was a dragon. Sandalwood incense wafted from a small metal bowl perched precariously near the edge. Gavin looked around. A bookcase lined one wall, its contents mostly strewn-about, battered paperbacks, along with several astrological charts. Another wall held framed posters of Sixties icons: Beatles, Stones, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead, Doors. Gavin wouldn’t have been surprised if there were black lights and beaded curtains somewhere too.
“I’m afraid I never really outgrew the Sixties,” Jennifer said with another smile.
He shifted uncomfortably. Had she read his mind? He didn’t want to take a chance on trying to mesmerize her at this point, but he would have to keep his guard up. If Jennifer were immortal, he didn’t know which side she was on. She had no reason to love anything connected to King Arthur after she had been banished. Balor could have gotten to her.
“The décor is interesting,” he managed to say.
“I think it’s cool!” Chloe said. “Mom has stayed true to her principles.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” she said and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze. “It’s not principles so much as not wanting to put up with roommates. It interferes with my work.”
Gavin wondered what she meant by “work”. Chloe had said she read Tarot, but was her mother involved in more arcane—and perhaps dangerous—work as well? Witches, warlocks, sorcerers—even vampires—preferred to work alone.
Was Guinevere immortal? If so, did Balor know? Was he looking for her? He had sic’d Sigurd on Chloe—maybe it was Guinevere who Balor was really after. Had they just led him to her?
God’s Blood! Guinevere was Chloe’s mother.
* * * *
Chloe sensed the tension building in Gavin since they’d entered her mother’s apartment. Outwardly, he gave the appearance of calm, cool confidence, but Chloe had spent enough time with him—well, to be truthful, time spent fantasizing about his various body parts—not to recognize how stiff his broad shoulders were or how he kept his hands clenched to his muscular thighs, but it was his intense, scrutinizing gaze that made her wonder what was wrong.
Her mother might be a bit unorthodox living like a retro-flower child, but there was nothing mysterious or dangerous about her. So why was Gavin alerting on her like a bird-dog scenting quail?
“It’s good to see you again so soon, dear,” her mother said and glanced at Gavin. “Have you brought me news of a wedding engagement?”
If Chloe had not already been sitting on the sofa, she would have fallen onto it with her mother’s words. Geez. She thought she had made it perfectly clear when she’d called that Mr. Smith had hired them. Why in the world would her mother come up with—oh. Oh, no. Chloe got a glimpse of that special gleam in her mother’s eye that meant she was plotting something. Please, Mom, no match-making. She felt her face flame. How utterly embarrassing when Gavin didn’t even find her attractive enough to have sex with, for pity’s sake. He’d probably think she put a possible engagement notion in her mother’s head.
But instead of glaring at her, he was looking oddly uncomfortable too. Maybe it was his proper English breeding that didn’t want her mother thinking he was anything but a gentleman, even if they were traveling together. Chloe felt an almost hysterical urge to giggle. If this had been some Regency romance, Gavin probably would be honorably proposing marriage by now.
Marriage. Chloe had never even considered it. She could support herself. She had friends. Her mother hadn’t needed marriage. Why ever did Chloe let that silly idea enter her mind? Gavin was a super-hot hunk with a sexy accent and broodingly dark, good looks that spelled “bad boy” in caps. Even in her wildest fantasy scenes, she couldn’t imagine him saying “I do” and settling down to hearth and family.
Family? Geez. She really was getting crazy ideas today.
“I thought I told you that Mr. Myles…” Chloe almost smiled as Gavin lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Well, she could be formal too. “…is an investigator with Scotland Yard. He’s tracking down a Celtic relic that was moved to the States for security reasons over a hundred years ago.” She’d already filled her mom in on the details of Jake’s death and the other disappearances. Chloe gave her mother a no-nonsense look—no more match-making.
But Jennifer just smiled. “Forgive me, sweetie. It’s just that you haven’t brought any of your other…friends… home before.”
Chloe could have sworn that Gavin squirmed, but it was so fleeting, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know if she should enjoy seeing that unflappable English reserve dented or if she should feel sorry for him.
“Mom. I thought maybe you could check out the Tarot and give us a clue as to where to look for the platter. I did tell you what we were looking for, remember?”
“Of course.” Her mother rose and went to bookcase, removing a carved wooden box that she brought back to the sofa. She took out the silk bag that held her cards. Closing her eyes briefly, she chanted softly as she shuffled them and then fanned the pack at Gavin.
“Choose one.”
If Gavin thought her mother’s ritual at all weird, he didn’t give any clue—he was probably just glad she had gotten off the track of marriage. He selected a card and handed it back.
“The Knight of Pentacles.”
Chloe didn’t need to be a Tarot reader to see that the card represented Gavin. It was a picture a knight astride a black horse.
Her mother laid the card down on the table. “You have a sense of purpose and duty. You take responsibility very seriously.”
Like Chloe could have told her that. She wondered what would happen if Gavin ever let down his guard and had some fun. Then she bit her lip remembering that he certainly seemed to enjoy Morgan’s company. Damn it.
Her mother reshuffled and cut the deck, taking off the top card and placed it to the left of the knight. Three of Pentacles. “This is an important mission in which other people are counting on you.”
Like they didn’t know that either. Chloe frowned. Usually her mother’s readings were a little more insightful.
“Patience, dear,” she said as thought she’d read her mind. She withdrew another card, putting it to the right of the knight. “The Ace of Pentacles. This one is your mission.”
Chloe leaned over, looking at the hand extending from a cloud, holding a golden pentacle. Below it was a field of grass with a hedge of shrubbery forming an arch through which distant mountains could be seen. “What does it mean?”
“The Pentacles suite represents earthly riches,” her mother said. “In this case, it’s pretty obvious the pentacle is the platter. The archway suggests to me that you will enter through something like that.”
“Like church or museum doors?” Chloe asked. “Gavin thinks the platter may be hidden in plain sight.”
“It could be. Pentacles represent the earth, though, and with the mountains in the background on this card, the platter may be buried.”
“We’re planning to follow the Route 49 Mother Lode road if things don’t pan out here in Frisco,” Chloe said.
“Do you have suggestions to where we might look while we are here?” Gavin asked.
Her mother hesitated, although her hands still shuffled the cards. “Mission Delores is the oldest intact building in the city and has the oldest cemetery. The De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park is the oldest museum. You might start with those.” Jennifer took out another card and placed it at the top of the knight. “The World. A Major Acana card.” She looked up at Gavin. “Whatever you seek is of vital importance.” Withdrawing another card she frowned slightly as she laid it beside the Three. “Hierophant, but I pulled him upside down.”
“That’s reverse meaning, right?’
“Yes. Right side up, he represents sacred mysteries and arcane principles which he teaches people to use wisely. Upside down, these very things can be used for selfish purposes or even evil intent.”
Chloe threw Gavin a startled glance only to see that he was staring at the cards. He had told her this Adam Baylor person wanted to destroy democracies. Could that card implicate him? She turned her attention back to her mother as she heard her gasp and then looked down at the card beside the Ace.
“The Devil,” Gavin said in a strangled tone.
Her mother frowned. “This is going to be very dangerous for both of you.”
“I will not let anything happen to your daughter.”
Chloe gave him a second startled glance. His jaw was rigid, his eyes practically blazing. Lord, he really did sound like a knight of old.
“You have my word,” he said and this time he looked at Chloe. She swallowed hard, feeling an irresistible pull toward him. Her mind must be playing tricks on her—for a moment, she actually saw him sitting on that black horse, encased in armor.
She shook her head to clear it, forcing her attention back to her mother. “And where do I fit into all this?”
Jennifer held out the cards. Chloe took the one that seemed to extend out from the pack. Turning it over, she felt the blood rush to her face and then drain away.
Lovers.
* * * *
Even though the sky was overcast and fog hung over the city, Gavin adjusted his dark glasses as he rang the bell to the Victorian the next morning. Thankfully, Jennifer had insisted Chloe spend the night with her. The attic apartment was too small to have a spare room for him which had allowed him to hunt. Synthetic blood was usually sufficient, but working in the light for days was beginning to take its toll. He needed real blood. San Francisco had its share of homeless people who were easily accessible but their blood was often tainted with drugs or alcohol, so he only took the minimum he needed. They would wake in the morning with extra coins in their pocket and a programmed memory that some stranger had been generous.
When the door opened, both Chloe and her mother stepped out. Chloe eyed his glasses and he hoped she would not make any comments on vampires. Until he could figure out if “Jennifer” really was Guinevere, he’d prefer to keep talk of any kind of immortals out of the conversation.
“I am glad you could join us, Ms. Whitney.”
“Please call me Jennifer,” she said, “and thank you for inviting me.”
“My pleasure.” Gavin had still not seen any look of recognition from her, but spending some time with her—much as he usually avoided anyone’s relatives—was the only way to determine who—or what—she really was.
“Mom can guide us,” Chloe added, linking her arm to her mother’s. “Where shall we start?”
“Let’s go to Buena Vista Park,” Jennifer said. “The view is spectacular from there. Maybe I’ll get a sense of which area to search.”
Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Are you a psychic?”
“Not a dependable one,” Jennifer answered with a smile. “Sometimes, I get impressions or images of things that don’t seem to have any connection to the present day or to what I’m doing.”
“You see things from the past?”
“Do you mean ghosts?” Chloe asked.
“No. I meant do these visualizations seem to be set in the past?”
Jennifer knit her brows. “I’m not sure exactly. They’re not complete scenes or anything. Just stuff that drifts through my mind at totally unexpected times.” She glanced up at him. “I don’t talk about it much. I’m not even sure why I mentioned it just now.”
“She’s not crazy either,” Chloe said defensively, “even though some people get all freaked out even with just the Tarot.”
“I was not entertaining that idea,” Gavin said. “Scotland Yard has been known to use psychics, although it is done overtly.”
“I tried helping the police once with a serial rapist that was loose,” Jennifer said, “but I can’t control when the pictures come. I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a curse.”
Or perhaps it really was the past she was seeing. Gavin had not been able to detect any scent of evil from her. Tasting her blood would help, but he could hardly attempt what he had on Morgan. However, if Balor were searching for Guinevere, they really should not extent this visit. Gavin had little doubt that Sigurd would attempt to locate Chloe.
They walked down the hill and turned right on Haight. Unlike most women Gavin knew, Chloe didn’t seem much interested in the exclusive boutiques and trendy restaurants, but she practically danced as they got into grittier area of vintage clothing stores and second-hand shops.
“That’s where Mom works,” she said, pointing down a side street toward a small shop with a New Age motif and a flag of deep blue with silver crescent moon and stars. “Maybe we can stop in on the way back.”
“Perhaps,” Gavin said noncommittally He was getting a strange sense of being followed, although when he turned around all he saw were shoppers milling about, but a crowd was the perfect place for a spy to hide.
They continued the few blocks to the park, Gavin glancing over his shoulder at intervals, and climbed the steep trail leading upward.
“Isn’t this cool?” Chloe asked when they reached the small grassy area at the top of the hill. She spread her arms and twirled. “Look—you can see the bridge and Golden Gate Park over there and the ocean. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of see the water.” She ran over to the eastern area. “And down there is China Town and Union Square.”
“And the Mission District,” her mother said. “Mission Dolores was originally named for Frances of Assisi, but the Californios dubbed it Dolores because of the name of a nearby creek.” She turned to Gavin. “If you think this platter may be in plain sight, you could start there, although I don’t remember seeing anything like that. Still, it’s the oldest intact building in Frisco, dating from the 1780s.”
“The Indians back then ran around naked,” Chloe added.
Gavin started. “What?”
“Yeah. The men only wore small capes of skins and feathers on their shoulders and the women had short little skirt-like things hanging from their waists.” She grinned impishly. “And it gets cold here.”
“Did you get this from a history book, Miss Whitney?” Gavin asked as he tried to banish the thought of Chloe bare-breasted with nipples beaded into hard little knots from the cold wind—or from his warm mouth. Damn it. The little minx had conjured up that image on purpose.
She blinked at him innocently. “I grew up here. Not everything is in a history book.”
“There’s also the De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park,” Jennifer said seemingly not aware that her daughter had not just put erotic thoughts into his head that were multiplying rapidly. “Other than that, I’m not feeling anything.”
Her mother might not be feeling anything, but Gavin certainly was. His groin had tightened painfully at the image of Chloe he couldn’t shake. Worse, he caught a whiff of her unique scent as she swept by him and proceeded down the hill.
* * * *
“And just why are we taking this little detour?” Gavin asked the next day as they left Walton Square and walked down Pacific Avenue. “We’re supposed to be looking for the platter.”
“Well, Mission Dolores didn’t pan out yesterday, did it? We’re now in the Barbary Coast area,” Chloe said. “This was where the first shiploads of gold-rushers arrived. Maybe one of your Priory guys was on one of them.”
“And you thought he might just bury the platter as soon as he got on dry ground?”
Gavin’s voice sounded neutral and Chloe wished she could see his eyes to know if his expression was serious, but he had those blasted shades on again. Geez. Fog hung over the area dense enough to make English pea soup and he wore dark glasses? How super-sensitive could his eyes be anyhow?
“I don’t know, but this street was one of the first trails cut through these hills from the wharf to the original settlement near Portsmith Square. It is possible that the platter could have been taken there, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Gavin said as a peroxide-overdosed woman in stilettos, fishnets, and a skimpy, silver lame dress that made her look like a baked potato teetered toward them, an inviting smile on her heavily made-up face. She tried brushing against Gavin except he moved with lightning speed to avoid the contact. Bright red lips turned into a pout before she moved on.
“Well, that hasn’t changed,” Chloe said as they continued to walk. “This whole area was known for dance halls, saloons, and licentious debauchery back then. I guess with over thirty thousand men descending on the place, working girls made a pretty good living. ”
Gavin shrugged. “There are camp followers everywhere.”
What an odd term for him to use. Almost medieval. “Yeah, well. The tradition hasn’t completely died out. This…” Chloe pointed to the street sign as they turned left on Montgomery, “…was where the first topless bars opened here in the Sixties, according to Mom.”
“Interesting.”
Again, Chloe couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Gavin was probably used to having women fall all over him. Morgan had certainly latched on and Chloe noticed both the covert and more openly aggressive looks of other women since they’d first arrived at the airport. Not that she could blame them. With his long, dark hair, trademark black turtleneck and jeans that outlined a fantastically sculpted body a woman couldn’t help but notice. Chloe was not immune either, damn it. Surprisingly, though, Gavin seemed oblivious to the inviting looks.
Lord, the British were a stoic lot.
They reached Portsmith Square a short time later. Although pretty, it offered no more of a clue than anything else had. “There’s a Buddist church over there,” Chloe said. “I think it’s the biggest one in the States. Maybe we should take a look?”
“Why not?”
Chloe stepped off the curb to cross the street when a MoPed cut the corner short, nearly side-swiping her. Before she could react, Gavin’s strong hands lifted her out of harm’s way, setting her on the sidewalk.
“Are you all right?’ he asked as the cyclist sped away without even looking back.
Her body thrilled from the brief touch he’d made. It took her mind a few seconds to register what had happened and how quickly he’d reacted. Gavin so rarely got close, let alone touching her, that she wished she could have extended that moment.
“You’re not going to swoon, are you?”
“I’m fine.” Chloe said to hide the fact that her body still tingled.
If only she were the swooning type.
* * * *
Gavin folded the brochure they’d gotten at the De Young Museum and handed it to Chloe as they walked outside. “I am beginning to think my theory of the platter being hidden in the open might be flawed.”
“Well, Mom said she didn’t recall seeing anything at either the mission or here that resembled what you think the platter looks like,” Chloe replied.
Gavin refrained from saying he knew exactly what the platter looked like. He’d seen it once. Merlin had brought it to court, along with some candlesticks, just before Galahad set out on his quest for the Grail. The sorcerer said both had been used in some sort of visionary procession that would help find the Grail. Even though no one had been allowed to touch it except Galahad, Gavin had felt its power resonating.
He hoped he’d be able to detect that feeling again if he got close to it.
“Did you know Golden Gate Park is larger than Central Park in New York?” Chloe asked. “Or that it has buffalo?”
He had a hunch Chloe was trying to make him feel better. When was it that he’d noticed she was almost always cheerful? He glanced at her orange hair with it strange pink strands, more spiked than ever with the strong winds blowing off the water and at her large eyes the color of the bay and forced a smile. “I do not think I have ever seen a buffalo.” And, he realized, he hadn’t. Not in the nearly fifteen hundred years of existence. His time had all been spent in Europe.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding! Tell you what—let’s rent some horses and ride by their paddock!”
He was about to refuse since his senses still told him danger lurked somewhere close and the sooner they left the area the better, but the idea of getting on a horse again was nearly irresistible. All the knights had been superior horsemen. “I suppose an hour or so will not interfere with the travel plans.”
Ten minutes later they were mounted and headed down a bridle trail toward the buffalo area. God’s blood, it felt good to be back in the saddle, even if his horse was not a spirited stallion ready to run like the wind. This wasn’t a battlefield, after all. People weren’t supposed to get hurt.
Chloe had taken the lead on the fairly narrow path and Gavin had to remind himself which century he was in. His basic instinct was to lead, not follow, but then he realized he had the privilege of watching her delectable bottom bounce in the saddle as her mare began trotting. A vision of Chloe naked, astride him, her bottom slapping against his belly, breasts bouncing as she rode him hard made him grip the saddle with his thighs. His horse tossed its head, picking up the signal to run.
“Easy,” he soothed and circled the animal around. The horse had more spirit than he realized and it wanted to run. It probably didn’t get much of a chance. Gavin held him back, waiting for Chloe to put some distance between them, so he could let the horse gallop to catch up. The gelding pranced in place, anticipating. “Soon,” Gavin said, rubbing his neck. “Soon.”
His acute hearing picked up the sound only seconds before two motorcycles careened around the bend, heading straight for Chloe. Her startled mare reared and she slipped backwards, hitting the ground with a thud.
The cycles skidded to a stop, one of the fully-helmeted men jumping off to pull a disoriented Chloe up toward him.
Gavin’s fangs elongated and he was on the man like a flash of lightning. Grabbing the leather collar of his jacket, he flung him aside and turned to the other rider, barring his teeth. The man throttled up and sped off. His partner crawled to his bike and followed him. Every instinct told Gavin to follow them, but Chloe was hurt.
He sank down beside her as she groaned. “Sit still. Let me make sure nothing is broken.” Sliding his hands over her shoulders and slender arms, he felt her tremble. He was all too aware of the heavy fullness of her breasts as his fingers felt her ribs. Forcing himself to concentrate, he ran his hands down the sides of her thighs, resisting the urge to explore anything closer to where he would like to be. He began to sweat, even though the day was cool. Where was the Templar discipline when he needed it?
Chloe trembled again and Gavin drew her close. Her arms went around his neck, clinging as her soft, round breasts pressed against him. He drank in her scent as her warm, pliant lips touched his.
Templar training be damned. Gavin crushed her to him, his tongue probing her mouth, tasting her sweetness as she swirled her tongue around his. He deepened the kiss, his hands splaying down her back, tucking her bottom firmly against his aching shaft. Chloe made a little mewling noise and fitted herself more fully to him. Gavin stroked her back, his hands finally cupping her head as his mouth left hers to trails kisses along her chin and down her throat. He felt his fangs snap.
He only wanted a little sip.