Waiting for Magic (13 page)

“Pardon my rudeness, miss and sirs. My name is Green. Allow me to take your coats.”

As they stripped off dripping coats, including Devin’s suit jacket, Kee had time to look around and marvel. The place was quintessentially Victorian, paneled in dark wood and floored with giant black and white tiles. Gigantic pots held lacy ferns. Several carved and uncomfortable Tudor settees lined the walls. Portraits of stern-looking men and women from other centuries frowned down on them. One was almost certainly
a van Dyck. And that painting of the gentleman in the ruffled collar could be a Diego Velásquez. Kee spotted a medieval triptych in very good condition. It might be Russian. What a treasure trove. She glanced to Devin and Kemble. Kemble at least recognized that he was in the presence of a potentially astounding collection. She saw reflected in his eyes her own growing hope that such a collector might well have something as precious as a Tarot Talisman.

“This way, please.” Green gestured to one of three doors in the foyer and led the way into what was obviously a library. Kee squished behind him in her wet shoes. Bound volumes lined the walls from floor to very high ceiling. A moveable ladder allowed access to the upper shelves. This room was considerably more cheerful. A crackling fire filled a very large grate flanked by lion andirons. True, there was a desk at one end, but the room was largely filled with comfortable overstuffed furniture in burgundy and black patterns, and a black and red Turkish carpet with enough wear that it was probably antique. The ever-present ferns drooped gracefully over hammered brass pots on stands. A sideboard held half-empty crystal decanters of copper and bronze liquids and a variety of glasses. Newspapers were scattered on the end table and a game of chess, half-played, sat on the low table in the center of the chairs and couches. This was a room Mr. Pendragon used every day. It would be positively ordinary except that a stunned Kee saw what was unmistakably a blazing Turner ship on choppy waves hung in an ornate frame on one side of a window in the only wall not covered with books. On the other side might, might be a Rembrandt portrait, tiny and dark. Surely not!

The man himself entered through one of the other doors. Kee was utterly surprised. She had expected a wizened ancient, but the man who came through the door was virile, perhaps forty-five or edging into fifty. He was dressed in a black silk oriental smoking jacket embroidered with fanciful dragons and carried an ornate silver walking stick on which he leaned heavily. His hair was blond and slicked back against his head, leaving a broad forehead and a face dominated by eyes that might be gray or blue or green. He was a handsome devil.

“Hello, hello, Tremaines,” he said in hearty tones, holding out his hand to Kemble. “Welcome to Caerleon, my humble abode.”

Kemble was the first to recover his senses. He shook Pendragon’s hand. “Thank you.”

Pendragon’s glance slid to Kee. There was something secretive, almost sly about it. The shiver that went down her spine might have been due to the cold outside. An old house like this would be drafty. “This must be the lovely Keelan.” He reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. “
Enchante
.” His eyes never left her face as he kissed her knuckles. They were old eyes. That was the only way she could describe them. To her surprise his glance then slid to Devin. The way his gaze assessed Devin reminded Kee of the way an artist dissects a subject into light and shadow, color and depth of field. “And who have we here?”

“Devin Tremaine,” Devin said with a note of defiance in his voice. Kee realized he had been clenching his fists as Pendragon kissed Kee’s hand.

“Ahh,” Pendragon breathed. “
Née
McDonald, I believe.”

That made all three of them exchange glances. Pendragon knew Devin was adopted.

Pendragon chuckled. “Oh, I do my research. All magic is based in knowledge. So it wouldn’t do not to have all the facts. Now why don’t we all sit down and have a drink to warm your insides while Green tells Mrs. Holmes that we’ll eat in half an hour.” He flicked his wrist at Mr. Green, who nodded gravely and ducked out (literally, because he was so tall) a side door.

“Oh, Green,” Pendragon called.

The man turned, still stooped.

“Get Miss Tremaine some suitable slippers. I’m afraid she is most uncomfortable in those lovely but soggy shoes.”

Green nodded and without another word, closed the door behind him.

“That’s not necessary, Mr. Pendragon.” Kee moved over to the fire, rubbing her arms.

“Don’t worry, child. He isn’t going to bring you some stuffy sheepskin clogs.” He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a cut glass, and held it out. “Scots whisky, Mr. Tremaine?”

Kemble leaned forward and took it with a gruff acknowledgement.

“And you … Mr. Tremaine?” He inclined his head toward Devin, who jutted out his chin.

“Sure. I’ll have some. And you can just call me Devin.”

“Very well.” The liquor was poured.

Kemble sipped and looked impressed. Of course it was good stuff, look at the paintings.

“Now, what for the lady? In defiance of good manners, I’ve saved the best for last.”

“No, thank you,” Kee said primly.

“Not much for whisky. How about Madeira? That’s more the thing, I expect.”

Kee had never had Madeira. She’d always been curious about what ladies drank in the last century. This would be good Madeira.

“I see the answer is yes,” Pendragon said smoothly and selected another decanter with liquid rather more a reddish nut-brown in it. He filled her glass much fuller than the other two and handed it to her. “Now, what really brings you here tonight?”

CHAPTER SIX

Devin sure wasn’t going to volunteer an answer. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. Kemble cleared his throat and Kee just blinked.

“As we said, Mr. Pendragon,
” Kemble finally began, “we’d like to discuss the possibility of showing some of your collection in the Tremaine wing of the art museum.”

“Perhaps,” Pendragon mused as he poured his own whisky and limped over, leaning on his cane, to sit in one of the oversized wing chairs. Did he mean “Perhaps that’s why you’re here,” or “Perhaps I’ll loan some of my collection?” Devin couldn’t tell and he suspected Pendragon liked it that way. “Please, sit down. I insist.” Pendragon leaned his cane against the arm of the chair. It was some kind of metal, dull silver, incised with twining ribbons that appeared to have animal heads and inlaid with tiny jewels in their eyes.

The Tremaines all sat, but they all felt awkward about it, not just Devin. What was it about this Pendragon character that had them all on edge? Or was it just the creepy nature of the house? There was something slimy or sordid about its atmosphere. It made his skin crawl. Devin couldn’t help but wonder if Pendragon lived here all by himself. Well, except for the also-creepy Mr. Green and the cook. He hesitated to think what she looked like. He imagined a hag stirring a boiling cauldron down in some cavernous dungeon.

“What part of my collection interests you?” Pendragon crossed his legs like a movie star in the thirties. “I saw Miss Tremaine—may I call you Keelan?” Kee nodded, big
-eyed. She’d make a terrible spy. “Keelan, then, was examining my art collection. To answer your unspoken question—yes they’re all quite genuine. Astute of you to recognize the artists.”

“I’ve never seen a private collection like this,” Kee breathed. Devin frowned. She sounded like she was half a step away from fawning on the guy. Must be the art. Kee was crazy for good art.

“And you never will again,” Pendragon said. To Devin’s surprise he pulled out a long, ornate cigarette holder and fitted a cigarette to it. He didn’t ask them if they minded if he smoked. He knew he was in the catbird’s seat tonight. “I never loan it out. Surely you knew that. It’s for my private enjoyment only.”

“Our family sponsors the Anglo-Saxon and early Britain collection, Mr. Pendragon.” Kemble was trying to salvage the situation. Good luck with that. They were screwed. Pendragon would never loan out something really precious like a Talisman of the Tarot.

“Call me Magnus,” Pendragon interrupted.

Kemble clenched his jaw and gave a tight smile. “Magnus. We thought the museum could generate better ticket sales with a showing of artifacts that emphasize the period’s Arthur/Merlin/Camelot connection.”

Pendragon shrugged. “Not a bad idea.”

“So, we’re interested in any objects of that period.”

“Arthur’s Britain?” Pendragon’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“And Merlin’s,” Kee added. “I understand that you collect magic artifacts as well as art.”

“Ahh. Yes. I do collect artifacts with a certain reputation for being supernatural. As well as magician’s paraphernalia.”

“We’re not interested in things like Houdini’s handcuffs,” Devin said. “We’re looking for really ancient stuff.”

“Would you like to see my collection? We have time before dinner.” He spoke to them all, but Devin didn’t like the way he focused on Kee. Lecherous old guy. Just let him try to make a move. Devin might actually enjoy teaching him some manners.

“Yes, please.” Kee was blushing under the old guy’s stare.

Pendragon rose. “Well then, come along.” The door opened behind him and Mr. Green ducked into the room carrying a pair of high-heeled black sandals with no heel strap, covered in shiny fabric and fluffy feathers. Over his arm was another silk smoking jacket. He held out the shoes to Kee.

“Miss. I hope these are satisfactory.”

“See, my dear? No dreadful, cloggy things.”

“Uh, thank you,” Kee said, obviously wondering, along with Devin, how Pendragon would have a pair of sexy women’s slippers lying around just for wet female guests.

“I took the liberty of bringing the young gentleman a smoking jacket to assure proper attire for dinner,” Mr. Green said, his eyes so pale and dead that Devin couldn’t imagine he would actually perform an act of kindness.

“Thanks.” Devin took the jacket, which was brown but only slightly less flamboyant than Pendragon’s own, and slipped into it. The pattern embroidered on it was composed of complicated knots. Pendragon’s eyes roved over Devin’s body in much the same way he had ogled Kee. Devin felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl. The smoking jacket fit well. Really, too well. Devin was bigger than Pendragon through the shoulders and a good six inches taller. So that meant he kept smoking jackets in other sizes laying around the house? Big-ass creepy.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes.” Pendragon picked up his cane and his drink and left his cigarette with its long holder burning in the ornate ashtray. “The tour. This way, if you please.” He motioned them through the door and limped after them. “Just down the hall to the left. Yes, that door.”

Kemble opened the door to find that it was an elevator with inner metal doors firmly closed. Pendragon stepped up to an ornate wooden box mounted on the wall and opened it to reveal a very modern security access plate. He punched in some numbers on the keypad.
The inner doors slid slowly to each side.

“I apologize for the
inconvenience of security.”

“I was wondering about all those valuable paintings and antiques. You must have a first-rate security system for the house.” Of course Kemble would be interested in the security angle. “I didn’t see anything outside, though. No security cameras, no access points….”

“Oh, the security was there.” Pendragon smiled and it really wasn’t warm. “Perhaps a little less conventional than you’re used to.” He didn’t elaborate, but limped into the elevator. “I remodeled the house to accommodate my war injury, thus the elevator.” Pendragon turned and pressed the down button. “The collection is in the basement.”

The image of a crypt in the basement or a Minotaur prowling a labyrinth flashed through Devin’s mind. He couldn’t help but wonder which war had given Pendragon his limp. He wasn’t talking Iraq. Vietnam, maybe? Korea? How old was the man?
He really couldn’t tell. And he couldn’t ask, not directly. “How old is this place?” Poor substitute.

“This version of the house was built in the mid-nineteenth century. But this is the site of a much older edifice.”

The elevator moved slowly downward. “Uh, there wasn’t much in southern California before that, was there?” Kee asked. Kemble was frowning.