The Dragon of Cecil Court (The Treasure of Paragon Book 5) Page 4

  “Can you answer me one thing?” Laurel asked from the shadows. “Did you ever love him, or was it all just…?”

  She didn’t finish the question, but Clarissa knew what she meant. Nathaniel had been her muse. Still, she froze at the word love, the faces of foster families rushing through her mind. She couldn’t even remember most of their names. And then Nate. Darkly handsome Nate. How tempting it had been to curl up with the devil in his magical estate back then, when he had become her everything. Until when? Until the ceiling caved in on her, or he returned to the place he’d come from and said goodbye. Did anyone stay in love with the person they loved when they were twenty?

  She cleared her throat. “Laurel, I learned many things living here. Magic is real. Dragons are real. Nymphs like you are real. I learned that I am a witch and during a full moon, I can feel the night itself like warm velvet against my skin. But there is one thing I know down to my soul, and it’s something I learned long before I ever came here.”

  “What’s that, miss?”

  “Love isn’t real.” She lowered her eyes, slipped into her room with her bag trailing behind her, and closed the door.

  Chapter Five

  Avery Tanglewood wanted her sister, Raven, back, and the best way she knew to make that happen was the professor she was about to meet in a place called the Latner Room, Saint Peter’s College, Oxford University. Beside her, Rowan hugged a book to her chest. Avery still had trouble coming to terms with the fact the woman could transform into a dragon and that her seven brothers were exiled princes of a realm called Paragon, but two of those brothers had been captured with Raven. No one wanted to get them back more than Rowan.

  They’d come under the guise of showing the professor a book Rowan’s gallery had procured, a rare seventeenth-century text on dragons.

  “I still don’t understand why you wanted me to pose as your assistant,” Avery said. “Nick is stronger and probably knows more about your business.”

  “Nick wants to touch base with his contacts in the London Police Department. Besides, I have it on good authority that this particular professor has an eye for young women. No offense to Nick, but I think you are the better honey to catch this fly.”

  Avery straightened the neck of her blouse, not exactly comfortable with being visual bait. Still, she couldn’t deny she was the only practical choice. Maiara was so new to the modern world she still couldn’t stop herself from playing with every light switch she came across. The Native American healer was Alexander’s mate and only recently returned to her human form after centuries of soul-inhabiting her hawk familiar. Tobias’s mate, Sabrina, was undoubtedly beautiful, but as a hybrid vampire she preferred to sleep during the day. Besides, she hadn’t reached London yet. At least Avery knew Raven’s egg was safe under the watchful eye of Alexander back at the apartment. The egg, or Li’l Puff as she’d started to call it, was her first priority in her sister’s absence.

  “I don’t know anything about history. Just pray he doesn’t put me on the spot,” Avery warned.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll do the talking.”

  “What’s this guy’s name again?”

  “Dr. Peter Wallace, professor of medieval history with a specialization in mythology and folklore. He has an interest in dragons. Wrote several papers on the cultural role the wyvern myth played during the European witch trials.” Rowan stopped in front of a lovely old building and caught the door as a man in a suit hurried out.

  Avery followed her inside and to the room where a wiry and ancient-looking man sat at a ridiculously large conference table.

  “Professor Wallace?” Rowan extended her hand when the man gave her a nod of greeting.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Valor. I must say, when I spoke to you on the phone about the piece you found, I wasn’t expecting such a lovely young woman to be behind the call.”

  Rowan offered him a smile worthy of a car salesman. “Well, I’m older than I look and old enough to know a valuable manuscript when I see one.”

  They laughed together for exactly three beats, and Avery folded her hands like an awkward teenager.

  “Oh, Professor, this is my assistant, Avery.”

  The moment Professor Wallace’s gaze fell on Avery, his demeanor seemed to change. His easy smile sagged and his eyes narrowed. Avery got the immediate sense that he hated her. An instant and inexplicable loathing that likely had nothing to do with her personally but hurt just the same.

  “Avery, you say?”

  “Avery Tanglewood,” she filled in, adding her last name in the hopes that her full introduction would chase the cobwebs of abhorrence in his eyes from whatever memory her presence was drawing up. “I’m Rowan’s assistant.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Well, two lovely young women… My year is made.” He turned away from her. “You’ll excuse me for not offering you a drink, but I don’t believe it would be prudent until I’ve assessed the authenticity of what you’ve brought me.” He gave a low rumbling laugh.

  “I own a gallery in New York, Professor. I can spot a fake from across Manhattan. I promise you, you won’t be disappointed.” Rowan placed the bundle she was carrying on the table and pulled on a pair of white archival gloves. The leather-bound volume was swaddled in soft white cloth, and she unwrapped it to reveal the rich mahogany of the ancient volume.

  “My, the binding does look authentic,” the professor mumbled. He drew his own pair of soft white gloves from an inner pocket of his jacket and gestured for Rowan to move out of the way. Carefully, as if he were handling a bomb, he lifted the cover and opened the book to the first page. “My word, is this…?”

  “Ancient Greek and Latin,” Rowan said. “The date in the corner suggests it was transcribed in 1699.”

  Filled with curiosity, Avery leaned forward to get a better look. She’d never seen a book like this or anything written in ancient Greek other than possibly at a museum. The symbols on the page meant nothing to her, but when Wallace turned the page, the illustrations made her inhale sharply. Dragons.

  “Alas, I can read the Latin, but my Greek is a bit rusty. I’d like to consult with a colleague…” Professor Wallace rubbed his silver beard.

  Rowan smiled. “I believe we’re all a little rusty when it comes to ancient languages, but I know enough to tell you what this says if you’d care for the translation of a nonacademic.”

  He lowered his head and stared at her expectantly over the top of his glasses.

  “I believe it’s a health manual written by a group that believed in dragons. There are recipes that include dragon scales, dragon blood, and even dancing with dragons.”

  “Mmm. Yes.” He flipped the page. “Recipes for vitality, or perhaps potions. Belief in dragons was often tied to the early practice of magic and religion.”

  “Were there actually dragons here?” Avery blurted. “You wouldn’t put all this effort into a cookbook with recipes calling for ingredients that don’t exist, right? I mean, according to legend, were they thought to be real at the time?”

  Professor Wallace cleared his throat and gave her an odd look like she was completely daft. “Of course not. Dragons never actually existed, my dear. They were invented for political reasons, to inspire fear among the people and subsequent relief and praise when a monarch slew the nonexistent creature.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “You’re telling me you don’t believe in any dragon-like creature at all? Not an overlarge alligator or a prehistoric sturgeon being confused for the Loch Ness Monster?”

  He shook his head. “It’s poppycock. No more real than the griffins or fairies of yore. Human beings, my dear, have extremely active imaginations. You must never underestimate man’s ability to lie.”

  Rowan placed a hand on Avery’s arm. “This conversation is fascinating. Perhaps you can slake my associate’s thirst for knowledge with some resources on dragon legends in the area?”

  He mumbled something and nodded his head, engrossed in the pages i
n front of him. “This belongs in the Bodleian collection. Are you willing to part with it?”

  “For the right price,” Rowan said softly, and Avery could have sworn the color of her suit became redder as she raised her chin and smiled confidently at the man. All at once, her own navy suit seemed frumpy and ill-tailored.

  The professor removed his glasses and stared down his nose at Rowan. “I will have to consult with the department. Do you mind if I borrow this for a few days for further analysis? I can assure you it will be handled with utmost care.”

  Rowan withdrew a card from her pocket and handed it to him. “I’m staying in London proper for a few weeks, buying for my gallery. My number is on the back. I have a car, so I can be here within the hour when you’re ready to talk business.”

  He nodded and carefully closed the book, rewrapping it in the white fabric.

  Avery cleared her throat. “I’m really interested in local dragon lore, especially areas where the locals believed dragons were real. Can you recommend any places to visit or books to read?”

  He gave her a demeaning look and gathered the book into his arms. “I’m afraid the resources at the Bodleian are only available to fellows. Are you an academic?” The way he asked it, Avery was quite certain he knew she wasn’t.

  “No.”

  Professor Wallace gave her a patronizing smile. “Then I’d suggest you begin with a Google search. It sounds rudimentary, but it will be the most effective use of your time in the short period you are here.” He tucked his chin into his chest. “Now, if you will both excuse me, I must get back to my work. Allow me to show you out.”

  Rowan extended her hand for a firm shake and an exchange of pleasantries. Before Avery knew it, she and Rowan had been ushered back out into the parklike setting around the building with a hasty and rather clipped goodbye.

  “What an asshole! Did you see how he looked at me? It was like he hated me from the moment I walked into the room.” Avery took a deep breath and blew it out in an exasperated huff.

  Rowan twisted a piece of her hair around her finger. “No… He didn’t hate you. It was almost like he thought he recognized you and whoever you reminded him of was not someone he thought kindly of.”

  Avery shrugged. “So now what do we do? He couldn’t have been less helpful if he’d tried.”

  “Yes. That was odd, wasn’t it? We still have an in with him since he took the book, but he almost seemed reluctant to give us any information in return. Did you notice?”

  Avery thought back. “I did. You had to tell him what the book was about. It was rather strange.”

  “Very strange. Have you ever in your life heard of a professor who didn’t love to talk about his area of expertise?”

  Avery shrugged. She’d never had the chance to go to college. She was older than Raven by a year, but when Raven became ill, all her family’s resources had been devoted to making her better and giving her the chance at an education because no one knew how long she had to live. Avery, it was assumed, had plenty of time, was perfectly healthy, and was happy enough to work at the Three Sisters. She knew nothing about professors. Aside from a few dates with young members of the profession who seemed more interested in the physical aspects of their relationship than sharing their intellectual opinions with her, she had no experience at all.

  “Where did you get that book anyway?” Avery asked.

  Rowan did a double take and laughed. “Don’t tell my brothers or Nick, but my claim that my gallery procured it recently wasn’t exactly true by human standards. In fact, I obtained it when it was relatively new. A Scottish gentleman I once… spent considerable time with gave it to me as a gift in the late seventeen hundreds.”

  Avery flashed her a wry smile. “Ooooh. A Scottish lover? Do tell.”

  Rowan bobbed her eyebrows. “Let’s just say that if you ever wanted to know what it would feel like to hold thunder itself between your thighs, you should make love to a Scot.”

  “Considering that’s the word of a dragon, I’m going to take that literally.”

  They both laughed.

  “Seriously, Rowan, where do we go from here?”

  Rowan paused and looked up at the sky. “There are other places to do research besides the Bodleian.”

  Chapter Six

  “Take a deep breath, Albert. I have full confidence you can handle the store without me this afternoon.” Nathaniel leaned against the leather backseat of his car and closed his eyes in frustration as his driver Emory hastened home to Mistwood. He must be patient. After all, the boy was relatively new. Although Albert had been working for him for several months, this was the first time he’d requested the boy close Relics and Runes on his own. He supposed it was a big responsibility for the young man.

  “What ’bout the till?” Albert asked in a tone that rose with his excitement into a high squeak.

  “Leave it for the morning. I trust you.” Truthfully, Nathaniel didn’t need trust. If the boy stole a dime from him, it would be well and obvious the next time he saw Albert. The spell he’d cast would render any thief bald as a cue ball until the sum was returned. Steal a book and the filcher would find themselves with a strange new mole on the hand that lifted it from the shelf.

  “Mr. Clarke, I won’t let you down.”

  Nathaniel could picture the poor chap’s knees wobbling with his words. “I know you won’t. Thank you for doing this. If all is well in the morning, there will be a bonus in it for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He hated to heap this kind of responsibility on the boy without the proper training, but he had no choice. This Clarissa situation must be dealt with as expediently as possible. He took an absent puff from his pipe. The smoke that left his mouth again turned into a dark pink heart. Fuck.

  Frantically, he thumbed through his phone contacts and dialed Warwick.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” The wizard’s smooth voice crooned into his ear.

  “How do I break a blood oath to the Order of the Dragon?”

  “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

  Nathaniel took another calming puff on his pipe, and thankfully his exhale was dark with his anger this time. The smoke ring squeezed in the center in a way that made it look like a skull. His driver Emory’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror and then flicked back to the road.

  “Clarissa is back, and she’s claimed sanctuary.”

  “Bloody hell.” Warwick released a string of curses. “Where did you put her?”

  “Mistwood for now, until I find a more suitable arrangement. This whole situation is more than a little odd. She lost her magic rather abruptly. Wants me to help her get it back.”

  The wizard huffed. “Lost her magic? How?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, you’d better find out for the sake of the order! If it’s catching, we’re all in danger!”

  Catching. Nathaniel hadn’t thought of that. A very strong curse could spread, another reason he needed to get her out of here as soon as possible.

  “Tell me how to cut her loose and I’ll send her packing straight away. The coven will be safe when she’s back in America.”

  He scoffed. “There’s no way except to kill you, Nathaniel. She swore on your blood. Your magic fuels the Order of the Dragon. As long as you are alive, there is a binding magical contract for you to offer her basic protection.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “If it is some sort of a curse, it’s safer for everyone having her there until you know exactly what she’s dealing with. No one in the order has better defenses against malicious magic than you.”

  Nathaniel closed his eyes and ground his teeth. “Very well. She will stay here until I have it sorted.”

  Silence stretched on the other end of the line. When Warwick spoke again, his voice was as firm as a schoolmaster’s. “You don’t have to speak to her. You don’t have to like her. All you have to do is give her just enough to survive. If you want her to leave, I
wouldn’t make things… comfortable for her beyond what’s absolutely necessary under the circumstances.”

  He grunted.

  “You have plenty of my tobacco, I assume.”

  “Should be enough.”

  “Good. That should help you manage your feelings for her.”

  “Should it? So far it’s done little but blow puffy red hearts every time I think of her.” Nathaniel rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Oh dear. I’ll send over a different blend to, uh, calm your nerves. I’ll need more of your blood. My reserves are running low.” It was an unfortunate reality that Nathaniel’s blood was a necessary ingredient in binding Warwick’s magic to the tobacco.

  “I’d appreciate that. I’ll get you what you need.” Nate rubbed a muscle in his jaw that had started to ache.

  “But please, Nathaniel, while you have her there, don’t just cure her, find out what happened to her power. Perhaps we have an enemy. There are those who would love to see the elimination of the order. That coven from Edinburgh comes to mind. We need to know for sure she’s not a Trojan horse.”

  He took another puff from his pipe and was happy the smoke blew in a traditional ring at his command. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good luck, my dear friend.”

  His driver met his eyes again in the mirror as they turned off the road, passed through the protective wards around Mistwood, and traveled up the drive.

  “What do you have to say, Emory? If it weren’t for the mirror, I’d turn to stone under that stare of yours.”

  “I was just wondering, sir… Not to be presumptuous, but might this be an opportunity for Clarissa to heal old wounds?”