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Sara shivered, even though it was not cold. “Jerusalem. Solomon’s Temple. So is that what the Templars were really searching for?”

“Who can say? What matters is that they found the Hallows and when Acre fell, escaped with them to France and eventually to Scotland. And then, with the Inquisition, to the United States.”

They were both silent for a long time, thinking about it. Finally, the old man handed Sara a piece of paper.

“From what I can tell, this would be a place to start using the ‘first’ and ‘last’

sentences, you have another riddle to solve. Or at least an order to do it in.

Sara looked down at the paper.

“Seek first the Spear

And then, the Sword

Last, the Dish

And the Grail will appear.”

The professor suppressed a yawn. “I believe I’m ready for a nap. Not as young as I used to be.” He reached over and squeezed Sara’s hand. “If you trust your young man, share this with him.”

She felt herself blush. “He’s not my man.” She chided herself at the unbidden memory that arose by being enclosed in his arms, by his mouth close to her ear, tickling her senses. Heat pooled in her lower belly and she stood quickly. “I’d better be going.”

She let herself out. Robert was nowhere in sight, but she had heard water running earlier and figured he was probably drawing a bath for Professor MacDonald.

As she drove down the driveway, she smiled to herself. Lucas. Her man. What would it be like, having him? How would he take her? Fast and hard? Easy and slow?

He was definitely all alpha, sheer animal magnetism about him, but he had a gentle touch. How she’d like to find out just what he’d do. The thought sent fever and chills to every nerve ending. Her whole body tingled.

She didn’t even notice the black car that waited just down the street.

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 38

Sara was still pondering the possible meanings of the verses that Lucas and

Professor MacDonald had put together as she sprinkled rose petals into the tub late in the afternoon. Soaking in the bath, clearing her thoughts, and breathing in the fragrance of Venus’ flower, prepared her for ritual ahead.

Not exactly the way most single women would spend a Friday night, she thought

as she dressed in the green robe that was associated with both Venus, the goddess of love and the new growth of spring. She smiled. The real fertility ritual wasn’t until Beltane, still weeks away. The night, in ancient times, when men and women abandoned their inhibitions and coupled beneath the stars. Her thoughts turned to Lucas suddenly.

She could see him, bare-chested, his skin bronzed by the light of the need-fire, his tawny hair blown back by the night breeze as he stood, splay-legged, high on a rugged Scottish moor. Those intriguing amber eyes glowed in the soft light and he reached out and drew her to him, his mouth slanting over hers in a deep, demanding kiss …

Stop this! I’m not a schoolgirl! But what was it about him that made it seem so natural to put him into such a medieval setting? He seemed to belong there. And she, independent, self-sufficient twenty-first century woman that she was, had an

overwhelming desire to submit—submit!—to him and let him have his way with her. Let him take her any way he wished, as often as he wanted. Goddess, I must stop this!

Maybe Michael can talk some sense into me.

She was more than glad to see that he was already waiting near the shore of the lake in the county park that the Sisterhood met in. He was the only male allowed to attend, for he would counter-balance the feminine powers when needed. Tonight he was dressed in Druid’s white.

“Hi,” she said as she hugged him. “How’s everything going with the business?”

“Good,” he said. “All twenty of your clients had full-time jobs this week. No complaints other than I don’t get to see you enough.”

She picked up just the hint of flirtation. She and Michael went back a long way.

They had met in college, in a course called Comparative Religious Thought. He had played the Devil’s Advocate through much of the heated debates that arose. He had a dry sense of humor, and seemed unusually aligned with her thoughts. But it wasn’t until one evening, when she’d arrived at class tired and stressed-out from trying to get her business started, that he had touched her and she felt the energy vibrating from him. “Warlock?”

her mind had asked and his dark eyes had flashed mischievously.

Since then, every year on Beltane, he had asked her to perform the Hieros Gamos, the old rite of Sacred Marriage that united a king to his land through sex with a priestess of the Goddess. Sara knew, that even today, such a ritual would draw in powerful energy, but World Peace would have to wait until she had the courage to be naked and in the throes of climax in front of eleven other women. An image of Lucas standing in front of the fire in those rugged Highlands flashed through her mind. What kind of an energy charge would they ignite if Lucas thrust his hard, swollen manhood into her willing, wet SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 39

core? She was suddenly glad that Nim was confined—for some unknown magical

reason—to her home and workplace. The faerie would have a field day with her fantasy.

Her thoughts were cut off as three cars approached, bringing the other women

who were dressed in robes of light blue—the color for spiritual truth. She took notice that Morgan, their youngest and newest member, looked at her in envy. Whether it was because Sara, as the officiating priestess, was the only one who could wear Venus’ color or whether it was because she was standing beside Michael, she wasn’t sure. Morgan had made no efforts to hide her interest in the dark-haired, dark-eyed warlock.

Sara greeted her best friend, Brianna, who was the real Seer for the group and into anything New Age. They complimented each other well for Sara’s love of history lent itself to bringing back the Celtic goddess while Brianna wanted to move forward into the age of self-enlightenment. The Age of Aquarius.

Sara handed the rest of the sisterhood small, blue glass globes, each of which held a white candle. They assembled into their circle, plain silver diadems on their heads.

She placed her own coronet on, its three moonstones dangling on her forehead. Then she nodded toward Michael.

He stepped inside the circle and faced south. Sara gave him a startled look.

Calling the quarters was always done facing east first, where dawn and Time began. But Michael had closed his eyes and lifted his arms.

“Tanio, God of Fire, I call you to join us.”

The candles in the women’s hands flamed to life. Inside Sara’s flame a

salamander took shape, a good sign that the elementals were attending the ritual.

Michael turned toward the west. “Llyr, Master of Water, be with us.”

Behind them, the water stirred and waves rippled toward shore. Small, green-

haired asrai splashed near the surface, their webbed feet keeping them afloat.

Pivoting north, the warlock proclaimed, “Pridd, Lord of Earth, I summon you.”

A rack of antlers appeared in the ethers above Michael’s head and a small gnome skittered behind the nearby trees.

Then Michael faced east. “And mighty Awyr, Commander of Air, come forth!”

All around them, tree leaves rustled and a gust of wind nearly blew out the

candles. Sylphs, their butterfly wings shimmering, hovered in the air.

Sara was amazed. Never had all the elementals heeded the call to Quarters

before. That had never happened before. Michael had broken tradition by calling the eastern quarter last instead of first. Sara widened her eyes. East. Sunrise. Lugh. God of the Sun. The Light-bearer. Keeper of the Spear. The hallow that they were searching for. She glanced at Michael to find him watching her with a knowing smile. She hadn’t even told him yet!

She bent to pick up the silver goblet she had set at her feet and moved toward the lake. The other women did the same. It was still dusk, the perfect ‘between time’ and the moon was just rising, casting its illumination across the now still water. She knelt to dip the goblet in and then rose to watch as the golden sphere slowly rose in the sky and turned to silver.

They reformed the circle and she took her place in the middle of it. Holding the goblet with both hands she raised her arms. “As the moon lights the sky, and guides our path this night, we each seek enlightenment. We ask to receive for the good of all, with harm toward none.”

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 40

She lowered the cup to catch the reflection of a moonbeam and felt the calming influence of the Goddess wash over her. Blurring her eyes, she gazed into the water and her breath caught in her throat.

A warrior, mounted on a powerful golden destrier, charged across rough terrain.

He was turned from her and she couldn’t see his face, but long, golden hair streamed out behind him. He guided the horse only with his thighs, for in one hand he held a shining spear and in the other, a white wooden shield with a square red cross painted on it. She glimpsed a similar cross sewn unto the white mantle that he wore. A Knight Templar.

And then a cloud of darkness mottled the picture, causing the warrior to grow

dimmer until all was swirling darkness. Her throat constricted as a man dressed all in black, riding a black horse, charged toward her. His face was swarthy and hidden by a beard. A patch covered one eye. As he came closer, Sara could sense evil and chills invaded her bones, her hands growing stiff with cold. In his hand a spear threw bolts of lightening that destroyed everything in its path. Closer he came, his eyes flashing red fire, his lips bared in a feral grin, showing deadly fangs. Sara gasped for air and collapsed on the ground.

When she came to, Michael was holding her, the women gathered around with

worried looks on their faces. Only Morgan hung back, looking petulant.

“Are you all right? What happened?” ten voices clamored.

Sara shook her head weakly and reached for Brianna’s hand. “Did you see?” she whispered. Of two of them had experienced the vision …

Brushing back her golden hair, Brianna nodded and leaned down. “A Templar,”

she whispered back. “And he was overcome.”

“Let’s get you home,” Michael interrupted. “Brianna, would you drive Sara’s

car? You can follow me.”

Morgan stood at the edge of the group, silently staring into her own small glove of fire as Sara was belted in the front seat of Michael’s car. As they drove off, she lifted her head, her face hard.

Michael was silent for most of the way back. As they neared the city lights, he glanced at her. “Want to talk about it?”

Slowly she nodded and told him what she had seen in the cup, then she told him about the manuscript, and the appearances of Alan Caldwell and Lucas Ramsey.

“So you trust these guys?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Alan Caldwell has not even mentioned the

manuscript. It could be a coincidence that he showed up to do an article on medieval weaponry. In spite of my boss using the name ‘Mr. Smith,’ his collection is known to certain sectors of society.”

“And the other guy? Ramsey?”

She hedged. Instinctively, she wanted to trust Lucas, but she didn’t know how much of that was governed by her lust for him. And, Goddess help her, even after numerous lectures and admonishments to herself about her lousy track record for picking the wrong men, she was incredibly drawn toward Lucas. Lust was a part of it, but not all.

She just couldn’t put her finger on what the other part was.

“He was honest about saying why he followed me to Dallas,” she finally said.

“Hmmm. Could be a red herring.”

“Why?” she hoped her voice didn’t sound bristled.

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 41

Michael gave her a quick look, but his voice was calm. “What could be more

beguiling than saying someone’s out there who wants to destroy the world and you want to save it? Sounds a little much to me. Let’s suppose Ramsey has a personal reason for wanting the Hallows. After all, power corrupts and total power—”

“He’s not like that!”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Personal interest?”

“No,” she said quickly and tried to push away the earlier picture of Lucas’ bared broad chest and well-muscled arms. Arms that she would love to feel around her, holding her tightly, pressing her breasts against him, relieving the achy need that was building just from thinking about him. “No,” she said again and changed the subject.

“You called the east quarter last tonight. How did you know about the Spear of Lugh before I even told you?”

He grinned at that. “I’m a warlock, remember? Your psychic shields were down.

I just tapped in.”

Sara mentally raised a shield regarding Lucas and Michael stopped smiling.

“Maybe I should meet this guy,” he said as he pulled over in front of her apartment.

There were problems with having mind-reading warlocks for friends. He’d

sensed the shield and now his curiosity was hooked. And he could be tenacious, if nothing else.

“Whatever,” she said with a shrug and hoped she looked nonchalant. “So … back to the spear thing.”

He gave her a tight smile that said he’d go along for the moment. “Well, when I saw the image in your mind, I just put the symbols together. Spears—wands in the Tarot—are symbolic for Intuition. The element for that is Air. The quarter for air is east.

It’s spring. Spring’s direction is also east, signifying beginnings. If you’re starting a search. … I just thought having the god of Air and Light might be more powerful for your scrying if he came in last.”

“You outdid yourself there,” she said wryly as she opened the door and stepped out. “I could have done without that black monster riding at me.”