“That he is a wizard with the accorded magical life span.”
“How long is that?”
Marrok shrugged. “About a thousand years, I think. I cannot say for certain. I strived to avoid everything and everyone magical after Morganna.”
No big shock there. If she’d been cursed so cruelly, she’d avoid magickind, too. But wait…
“If I’m related to Morganna, even distantly, does that mean I’m…magical?”
“According to Bram’s aunt, you are, and your powers will be considerable.”
His answer stunned Olivia. Wow…If her life had truly become much longer, that put a new, mind-boggling spin on thinking about her future.
“What you’re saying…me, magical and powerful? Maybe she’s mistaken.”
“That is unlikely. They know their own kind. You come from a strong bloodline.”
“That makes a difference?”
“As I understand magickind, it does.”
That made sense, as surreal as it was. A descendant of the Morganna le Fay. If she had even a tenth of the woman’s power, maybe there was another way she could help Marrok…
Olivia sprang to her feet and backtracked down the hall. The book sat on the bed, looking innocuous. She steeled herself against flinching when she picked up the book and it vibrated in her hands as she strode back to Marrok. He watched curiously as she sat with the diary in her lap and grabbed opposite edges of the book. And pulled.
Nothing.
“What if…?” Her idea sounded silly, but how much stupider would she feel if this was the answer and she never tried it? Olivia pointed her fingers at the book. “Open.”
Apparently not.
“Stupid, huh? I just thought…if I’m really powerful, that maybe…But if I was, wouldn’t I have done something amazing by now? I mean, I’ve occasionally had a dream that came true or a wish that happened moments later. But hasn’t everyone?”
“You are not yet five and twenty, correct?”
“Not for about eighteen months.”
“That is when you will…change, and come into the powers Fate has destined for you.”
“Oh.” The fantastic assertions just kept on coming, one more staggering than the next. Where was Ashton Kutcher? She’d lost her virginity to an immortal man and she might be a powerful witch? Forget Punk’d; this was The Twilight Zone.
“What kind of powers?”
Marrok shrugged. “I know not.”
A small beep let her know a new e-mail had arrived for her. It was followed closely by two more. The first one, from a former art teacher, wished her luck but knew nothing. Damn.
The second message was from one of her history professors. Dr. Chastain had always been bookish and new-agey and hopelessly lost in “what if.” But she loved solving academic mysteries. Today was no exception, Olivia discovered as she opened the e-mail.
“Well?” Marrok prompted.
“One of my history professors. The symbol means nothing to her, but I also asked her about Morganna and instruments of her magic. One of her secret passions is Arthurian lore and that, in some circles, there’s talk about Morgan le Fay having created a book that allows the one who controls it to have nearly unlimited power. Do you think she means this book?”
Marrok blew out a deep breath. “Aye, and we cannot let her—or anyone else—know I have the Book of Doomsday. The danger we will be in if anyone discovers that is great, indeed.”
“Sure.” A magical book? It sounded impossible. Then again, she’d thought the same thing about Marrok’s immortality, and that had bitten her in the ass.
Olivia scanned the professor’s e-mail again. “She says something about it being an object of feminine reverence.”
“Which means what?”
She shrugged. “The book must have enormous power. It hums every time I touch it. Something that awesome must be revered by someone, right?”
“At least by one person I know,” he answered darkly. “And likely a lot more.”
“It was created by a woman…Maybe that’s what she means. I’ll ask her to elaborate.”
Olivia quickly crafted her follow-up question and dashed off the e-mail. Then she opened the final piece of correspondence, from Dr. Reynolds. A pompous ass with a sweating head who always insisted on being the smartest person in the room. But he definitely knew art history.
Scanning the e-mail, she gasped. “Dr. Reynolds has seen the symbol! According to him, it appears on writing believed to be by Morganna. The symbol also appeared in two paintings. The first in the fourteenth century of a young unnamed girl. She’s wearing it around her neck. He sent me a scan.” Olivia showed Marrok the open attachment.
The symbol dangling from her fragile neck matched the one on the book.
“For all we know, the girl saw the symbol and fancied it.”
“Maybe.” But she sounded unconvinced. “It’s really unusual. You know, among the things my mother left was something similar. Different shape, but like it might have been made during the same time or by the same craftsman. Even in this painting, the pendant looks old, but fast forward four hundred years…” She opened the next attachment.
And gasped all over again. A man in Regency dress wore the symbol affixed to his lapel. Even more shocking, he had familiar violet eyes.
The caption stunned her. Richard Gray of London.
“That’s my father’s name! His face! Could he be…?”
Marrok glanced at the man in the painting, then at her again. “I know someone who will give me an answer.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARROK GRABBED HIS MOBILE phone off the table and flipped it open, glad Bram had left his number when he’d departed with his aunt. By God’s blood, he had spoken to the wily wizard more in the last week than in the past century.
With gritted teeth, he punched in the wizard’s number. Using the rock had been effective, but too magical for his tastes. He glanced at Olivia. She was magical and perhaps the means to end his curse. But against Olivia’s potent lure and the bond between them, he was weak. That troubled him. Magickind was tricky. For all he knew, she might use his feelings against him, no matter how sweet she looked or felt in his arms.
Despite that, the thought of losing her terrified him. He liked being near her. Her bright smile hit him in the gut like a welcome burst of light after centuries of darkness.
And now he was a bloody poet.
When she had extended her offer of assistance in researching the symbols on the diary, he’d been stunned and warmed. But the fact she was a le Fay and suddenly being helpful…two plus two did not equal five. He would do well to remember that.
Bram finally answered in a groggy voice. “Marrok? It’s the middle of the night. Is something wrong with Olivia? Are you calling to break your mate bond?”
The bloody cur. “Nay.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Aye.”
Alive and well and looking very fetching, in fact. Marrok could almost forget that he had found cataclysmic release a mere hour past, that she was new to sex, and that he should be avoiding further entanglement with her. Desire scalded his veins. His skin felt too tight as he peeked at the shadow of her cleavage and visually devoured her. She had the softest skin, and made the most enticing little moans when she—
“She’s alive, really? You were finally able to—”
“None of your bloody business.”
“You know, if you want a favor from me, you could be a tad more polite.”
Marrok gritted his teeth again. At this rate, he’d be chewing with nubs.
“I do not seek your assistance; I ask it for Olivia. She is one of your kind. Help her.”
“We’re magical, not Martians. The way you talk about us, it’s as if you think there’s little difference.”
Marrok didn’t bother to answer that. “We’ve located a nineteenth-century painting of a man named Richard Gray. Know you if the rendering is of Olivia’s father?”
“Is the man in the painting violet-eyed and wearing Regency dress with a lapel pin that matches the symbol on the front of the Book of Doomsday?”
Tricky bastard. “That sounds accurate, except I have not the faintest clue about the symbol, since I have not seen the book in question.”
“Right.” Sarcasm colored Bram’s voice. “I don’t know if he’s Olivia’s father. I spoke with Richard Gray just once. He rang me, inquiring about the Doomsday Diary, in fact. At the time, I knew nothing and I told him so. Since I know him only from that brief phone conversation and what I’ve read about the man, I don’t know how to find him. But I’ll bet he’s her father and that he knows something about that symbol.”
Marrok silently agreed.
“I’ve searched for Gray, but…he’s not going to pop over for a visit,” Bram said.
“Why not?”
He lowered his voice. “I haven’t told Olivia this; she would only run into danger if I did. Richard Gray is hunted by the Anarki. He was once one of them and turned traitor. In fact, he was Mathias’s second in command.”
Damn! Marrok wasn’t surprised in the least; Richard Gray was a le Fay.
Aware of Olivia’s rapt gaze on him, Marrok turned his back to her, mind racing. There would be time to hear more about Gray later. Best to get the facts, then plan a strategy to keep Olivia from rushing into a search that could endanger her. Besides, he had already shocked her enough for one day.
“Should you hear more, advise me,” Marrok requested. “Also, Olivia needs someone to run her shop while she recovers.”
“I could ask my sister. Sabelle would be perfect. She’s very knowledgeable about art. Tomorrow soon enough?”
A witch? Somebody was better than nobody. “Aye.”
“There’s a catch…”
“Naturally.”
“I’ve been planning a gathering. Since Mathias is back, magickind must band together. Olivia should attend to meet, as you put it, her own kind.”
“A party?”
“Of sorts.”
Marrok’s gut clenched at his mental picture of Olivia in a skimpy cocktail dress, leaning on Bram’s every word as he introduced her to the magical world. “Nay.”
“The poor girl has to put up with a dour mate. She knows little about her roots or magic, much less her coming transition. She’ll need information. The fact she’s a descendant of one of the most ancient and powerful bloodlines in history will make her an instant celebrity.”
“Smashing for you, but she needs no strangers gawking at her. We send our regrets.”
“Are you certain? I’ve been reading more of my grandfather’s dusty tomes. How fortuitous that I’ve come across several passages about what the symbol means to the diary. I think you’ll be very interested, and I would be willing to share the information if you and Olivia pop by on Friday, say about seven?”
“That is extortion.”
“Yes.” He sounded pleased. “I’m sure you both need appropriate clothes. I’ll drive over in a bit and leave a car for you.”
Click.
Squeezing the mobile phone, Marrok actually hoped the damn device would shatter.
But what if Bram truly had information about the symbols and what they meant? Something that could end his curse? Eternity, even if he did have a beautiful mate capable of giving him ecstasy, was not something Marrok wanted to endure.
“Bram has invited us to a party day after next.” He sighed, swallowing a lump of fury that nearly choked him. “We will be attending.”
Olivia looked puzzled, but shrugged. “Fine.”
“Grant me a favor.” He cut a hungry glance in her direction. “Do not wear anything skimpy and black.”
Bram’s car arrived shortly after the sun rose that morning. After quick showers, they approached the flashy black sedan. Earlier, they had loaded the boot with as many of Marrok’s carvings as would fit. Now that he had to get into the car…He stared at it, trying to hide a shudder.
“Can you drive that contraption?”
“Me?” She pointed at herself. “Not well. You people drive on the wrong side of the road.”
“Since I do not drive at all, you must take your argument up with the other louts who maneuver these infernal machines.”
“You’re going to make me drive?”
“Do you have a license?”
“Well…yes.”
“That settles our disagreement, for I do not.”
“You can skewer a thousand people in battle, but not steer one little car?”
“Aye.”
“Have you ever learned to drive?”
He shook his head. “Would you care to take your life in your hands and have me start now?”
“Oh, hell no. Where are the keys?”
“Mayhap we should not go into the city today. You are barely recovered—”
