Truth Seeker Read online

  "Your phone number?" she asked, holding her phone. Now she burned with curiosity. He was a cop? What kind of place was Decatur?

  "You just got ambushed by two vamps and two were-bats. I'd be a terrible cop if I didn't accompany you."

  "You're a policeman?"

  "Yes, a Lieutenant. Special detective, actually. Well, here they call us investigators. I'll give you the whole story when we talk on our own."

  She tore her gaze away from his lips. His smile reminded her of someone, but she couldn't figure out who. "Suit yourself. I'm not going far."

  They chatted like two regular people as she walked to the Asian fusion place around the corner.

  "How long have you been in town?"

  "Just got in."

  Then, when she picked up two orders, he asked, "Who did you travel with?"

  "Don't you know?" she teased as they walked out.

  "I only heard about you." His tone had dropped an octave, and she shivered, but in a good way.

  "I have a human with me. He's injured, and he needs food." She didn't want to say everything, of course.

  "Understood." He didn't seem jealous or curious. She ignored the swirl of disappointment in her gut. "Let me have your number, and I'll give you mine, and we can chat later. I've got a secure app—both in terms of modern and less than modern spies—I use with my team. I'll text you the link."

  "Okay." Secure apps? Mini-stake-throwing crossbows? She'd been making do with whatever technology she could find or cobble together, so she hoped she could at least get some of that information from him.

  They exchanged numbers, and he walked her to the condo entrance.

  "Good night, Margaret."

  Damn, those lips. She focused on his bright blue eyes. That wasn't much better for keeping her heart rate down.

  "Good night, Lieutenant MacKenzie."

  "You can call me Charlie."

  She almost replied with, "And you can call me anytime." But stuck with, "And I'm Maggie. But never Mags."

  "Understood." He stepped back into the shadows and watched her key in her code.

  She resisted the impulse to turn and wave once she was inside. Her steps echoed the mantra in her thoughts—idiot, idiot, idiot.

  When she reached her door and opened it, she walked in to find Philippe standing behind the table and lighting a candle. He'd apparently done some exploring and found a red tablecloth, candles, and nice dishware. And flowers had appeared from somewhere—she thought they might have been in one of the bedrooms, but she hadn't paid that much attention.

  "Oh, good, you're back." He gestured to the table. "What do you think?"

  "I…" She took another look at the romantic setup. "I don't know what to think."

  Without another word, she set the bags down on the kitchen counter, walked into the largest bedroom, and closed the door before he could see the tears of frustration and grief that she'd always be alone.

  "Was it something I said?" Philippe stood outside of Maggie's door. He thought he heard her crying, but he wasn't sure. What had he done wrong? He'd only tried to set a nice table. Okay, it did look romantic. Was romantic. But was it wrong to keep trying?

  Finally she opened the door, and he stepped back when he saw her red, puffy eyes. Yep, she'd been crying. He moved to hug her, but she stopped him with a palm against his chest.

  "No. I've told you. We have to keep this professional." The tears had made her voice husky, and it only drew him in more.

  "Can I at least ask what's wrong?"

  She squeezed past him and gestured to the table. "A candlelight dinner? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Remember the curse."

  "I'm dying anyway with the locket in my stomach." He shrugged. "Why don't we just make the most of the time I have left?"

  She looked back at him over her shoulder, and the coldness in her gaze punched him in the solar plexus. "Because I'm not interested in you that way."

  "Is there someone else?" He hadn't mentioned it, but he'd been looking out of the window and had seen her walking across the street with a blond guy dressed in all black.

  "No. There can't be." She flicked the lights on.

  "Oh." He didn't believe her, but he walked to the table and blew out the candles. "Well, I guess we should just eat, then. Like two normal human beings. It will have to do for now."

  "Except I'm not normal," she muttered and took the food out of the bag. They each fixed their pho and sat at the table. Maggie seemed lost in thought, but Philippe's disappointment wouldn't let him be silent. If she was going to keep putting him off, he needed all this to be over and to go home.

  "When is Lucia going to come back and examine me? Wasn't that the plan?" He couldn't imagine what a magical examination would be like, but he didn't think it would be pleasant.

  "She already did. She's likely back at her place researching to see what can be done. She'll call when she finds something."

  "Oh." He was never going to figure all this stuff out. "I just want to go home."

  She finally looked up from her food and gave him a soft expression. Sure, her face showed pity rather than love or attraction, but he'd take it. "I'm sure you do. This has been a lot."

  He nodded, his throat tight. "This can be fixed, right? I can be healed and go back to normal."

  "I hope so." She returned her attention to her bowl. "But some things can't be fixed."

  He sensed she no longer spoke about his situation, but he didn't feel like asking questions he wouldn't get answers to. They finished up in silence, and she sent him to bed while she cleaned up.

  "You need to conserve your strength. It may not feel like it but the locket is poisoning you inside."

  "So you've said." He tried not to sound irritable, but he didn't want the reminder.

  "Philippe, please." She walked over to him and put a hand on his arm. "The poison isn't just physical, but emotional. Please be careful. Try to guard your dreams if you can."

  He nodded but didn't say anything. If she wasn't going to tell him what he needed to know—like the identity of that blond man she was walking with—then he didn't want to bother with her advice. He jerked away and walked into the second bedroom. The last sound he heard before he closed the door was her sigh.

  Fine. Let her be frustrated for once.

  Someone had stocked the bedroom and bathroom with pajamas, clothes, and toiletries for a guy. He cleaned up—the shower felt so good after the hospital and airplane—and put on the pajamas. They fit him perfectly, but an itchy wave of annoyance washed over him, starting from his stomach. How dare they—whoever they were—tell him where to go, what to do, even what to think and wear? He turned down the bed and flopped into it. Okay, that didn't suck. He'd get a good night's sleep and figure out what to do in the morning.

  The man in the airport had been wrong—some things weren't worth fighting for. He wrapped the cozy flannel sheets and comforter around him and fell fast asleep before his brain could have another thought.

  Philippe found himself back in the coffee shop in the San Antonio airport. The red tile outside the glass windows seemed duller, and the scene lacked the sunlight of when he'd last been there. When he tried to walk out of the shop, something invisible blocked him.

  A shot of adrenaline made his heart gallop into his throat—had they finally caught him? Would Niniane appear and rip her locket from his stomach?

  A noise behind him made him turn, and he saw the man in the gray suit he'd spoken with earlier.

  "I'm sorry, did I startle you?" The gentleman smiled but didn't show his teeth.

  "Yes." Philippe turned, his fists clenched. "Who are you? I'm tired of these games." Maggie had said to guard his dreams, but he didn't know what to do.

  The man held out his hands palms-down in a placating gesture. "I only want to help. You've gotten yourself in quite a pickle, I see."

  It was hard to fear a man who used phrases like "gotten yourself in a pickle," but Philippe remained wary. "Yes, I'm dealing with som
e stuff."

  "More than just some stuff." The man sat at one of the small tables and gestured for Philippe to join him.

  Philippe sat but remained half-turned. Not that he could get far, but at least he could jump out of the way if he needed to. "Okay, a lot of stuff."

  "But having a good woman by your side can make it all worth it." He snapped his fingers, and an image of Maggie appeared beside the table. She smiled like he'd just told a funny joke, and Philippe wanted to hear her laugh.

  "She's not for me." Philippe turned his head so he'd only see her from his peripheral vision. "She said she's not interested."

  "She's a strong, determined woman." Her image disappeared with another snap of his fingers. "I've known her for quite a while. She's convinced herself that she is not worthy of love."

  "What?" Philippe couldn't imagine that. "How? She's strong, brave, smart…beautiful."

  "But she has a past, as we all do." The man drummed his fingers on the table, and the light sparked off a large ruby in an intricately carved ring on his left ring finger. Although clear, the stone looked like crystallized blood.

  "What kind of past?" Philippe leaned forward.

  "Has she told you who she is, really?"

  "No." Now Philippe's frustration with her returned. "She's good at dodging the question."

  "She is Margaret of Cornwall, the aunt of King Arthur who was lost to historical record once she joined the Truth Seekers, an interdimensional organization that fancies itself our law enforcement."

  "Inter-what?" His mind tripped over what the man had just said. He'd accepted she was a cop, but the lost aunt of King Arthur? "That's not possible. I remember those stories. There was no Margaret of Cornwall, and even if there was, she'd be fifteen hundred years old by now."

  "She has been allowed to not age, although she could retire and continue a normal human life span, find a lover, have children… But she believes herself to be cursed."

  "She's said that."

  The man stabbed a finger into the wood of the table. "But curses are as much in a person's mind as they are in their body and soul. She could break it if she so desired to put forth the effort to find out how. But her biggest obstacle is herself."

  The warmth of hope blossomed in Philippe's chest. "So if she figured out how to break the curse, I may have a chance with her."

  "Right. She's not open to love from anyone as long as she believes she can't break the curse." He folded his hands. "I believe you are the one who can change her mind."

  Philippe recalled her reaction to his attempt at a romantic dinner. He shook his head, but the seed of hope the man's words planted wouldn't quit. "But I don't even know if I've got the rest of a human life to live." He gestured to his stomach. "I've got to get rid of this thing."

  "I will assist you when the time comes. First allow Margaret to set up her ritual. You'll know what to do from there."

  "Wait, what ritual?"

  But the dream faded, and Philippe found himself back in the bed in the condo. Maggie's voice came through the door, but he couldn't make out the words. Now wide awake, he decided to apologize for being an ass.

  9

  Maggie cleaned up the dinner dishes after Philippe went to bed. The repetitive domestic motions soothed her. Whereas she'd heard most people hated doing chores, mundane household tasks provided oases of normalcy in her otherwise strange existence. Granted, today had been unusually odd, but she hadn't ever lived what could be called a normal life. Not that she'd ever wanted to. From the time she was little, she'd played more with the boys and eschewed traditional "girl" things, as much as she was allowed. She'd left feminine activities to her older sisters, Morgause and Igraine, and her parents had indulged her, the youngest child.

  She scrubbed the dishes harder when the memories of what had come next popped into her head—priestess training on Avalon under Niniane. Her studies had given her discipline, but she'd never lost her sense of adventure. And that's what had gotten her in trouble and why she still had to atone.

  A chirp from her cell phone brought her back into the present, and she took a deep breath. She'd long since figured out that beating herself up wasn't useful, but her thoughts slid down that hole when she wasn't careful.

  The text told her Lucia had arrived and waited to be buzzed in. She did so, but now her dark thoughts turned to the present. If Lucia needed to give her the news in person, it couldn't be good. She wondered if she could get the charming Lieutenant Charles Allen MacKenzie to share access to his secure communication system so she and Lucia could use it.

  "What are you smiling about?" Lucia asked when Maggie opened the door. "It's not an expression I see on you often."

  Maggie sighed. "Oh, the usual. A nice guy I can't pursue anything with."

  Lucia inclined her head toward the second bedroom, her brows lifted in a question.

  "No, someone else I met today." The image of Charlie's lips came to mind. "He reminds me of someone. Of course, I've lived so long that most people remind me of someone I've met in the past, but this feels significant."

  "Ah. I'm sure you'll figure it out." Thankfully she didn't persist. Lucia knew about the curse but hadn't been able to give Maggie any help or direction with it. "I have done some reading and a divination ritual about the young man's problem."

  "Tea?" Maggie always preferred bad news to be delivered with or immediately prior to a hot beverage. She was English, after all.

  "Yes, please. Orange spice if you have it. It's too late for me to drink caffeine."

  Maggie filled the electric kettle—one of her favorite modern inventions—and turned it on. "I'm pretty sure they stocked us up with a variety. Ah, here we are." She found the wooden box with the tea bags and pulled out one for Lucia and a strong English Breakfast for herself. She found the mugs easily.

  Lucia stood on the other side of the counter between the kitchen and living room. "One thing I must warn you of is that the young man is being poisoned."

  "We're already aware of that. Niniane's locket is powerful, and I have evidence that she's allied herself with the dark creatures. She wouldn't be able to if she hadn't turned to evil." The thought of her former mentor's damnation still made Maggie's heart hurt. "Do you think she may be cursed?"

  "I don't know. But I'm not sure that's the source of the young man's poisoning. Just please be careful."

  "I always am. Well, mostly. If I've learned anything over the past few days, it's that I need to be more so. I'll talk to him." She poured boiling water into the mugs over the waiting bags. As always, the smells of steam and tea leaves soothed her, no matter how much she'd been through.

  Lucia accepted her mug. "My instinct is that you do not speak with him too much of our plans."

  Maggie looked up from the darkening water in her mug with a frown. "I've already kept so much from him, and I do need him to trust us."

  "Then tell him all that is necessary, but no more." She pulled the bag from her mug and threw the soggy paper sachet into the trash.

  Maggie did the same, and they sat on the couches. Maggie wrapped her hands around her mug. It seemed that lying, or at least telling partial truths, would be part of the job, after all. "All right, what did you figure out? From what I can tell, our options are surgery or ritual. Or both."

  "When I shook his hand, I felt the dark energy to his fingertips." Lucia gave a delicate shudder. "We do not have much time before it eats through him completely."

  "Is emergency surgery warranted?" Maggie had heard of an ER doctor at the nearby Dekalb Medical Center who wasn't quite human.

  "Even if we were to surgically remove the locket, we would need to clear the energy or it will still kill him."

  Maggie mentally sifted through ritual options. "Hmmm, and what do you think about surgery first so we wouldn't be fighting the locket's energy renewing itself?"

  "Once an object like that joins with a human, it has protections. Breaching the human's skin will cause a fatal reaction."

  "Da
mn, I was afraid something like that may be the case. And there are likely protections we don't know about yet. So, ritual it is."

  "Yes. And even that does not have any guarantee." She looked at her watch. "Our best time will be in two hours, in the witching hour before the dark hour."

  "Ah." Maggie nodded. "We're going voudon with this one?"

  Lucia smiled. "And some other things. Are you out of practice with your Celtic magic?"

  Now Maggie shivered. While she enjoyed certain magical perks, she preferred the intellectual detective work park of her job. "Maybe a little. But I guess it makes sense since Niniane is of that origin. I'm sure it will come back to me."

  "Good. I have a place just outside the cemetery where I do my work. It's near enough to consecrated ground that we can go to it for protection, but still neutral enough for workings."

  Maggie listened as Lucia outlined what she wanted to do. The woman was a genius, of that she had no doubt, but she also had a sense of foreboding.

  She'd have to call in backup, and she knew just the guy for it.

  When Philippe opened the door, he saw Maggie sat alone on the couch in the living room, her phone to her ear. Two mugs sat on the counter, and he wondered who had been there. That guy, maybe? A twist of jealousy joined the weight of the locket in his gut.

  "Hi, Charlie?"

  She was talking to another man! Philippe stepped back into the bedroom but kept the door cracked so he could hear. He clenched the doorknob with his left hand.

  "Yes, I know." She laughed. "I didn't think I'd need your assistance again so soon, but we're planning a ritual tonight. Uh huh, at eleven."

  Again? What had she been doing while he'd waited here for her? A dark well of anger opened in his gut near where the locket sat. The image of her kissing the guy popped into his mind, and the lock on the doorknob bit into his palm.

  She told the man where they would be—somewhere near the cemetery. Of course. Could this situation get any creepier?