Page 16 of Enchanted Warrior

She heard his indrawn breath. She hadn’t exactly said she would help him, but she’d given him hope. A mix of emotions made her palms go clammy. Agreeing to this meant spending more time in his company, and that was a terrifying prospect. Worse, it had a dark appeal that made her insides grow warm with anticipation. Tamsin wasn’t sure how far she trusted herself.

Gawain found a second chair beneath a stack of files and sat. His eyes were on her face, reading her every expression. “Go on.”

“There might be another way,” Tamsin said slowly. “I came to Carlyle because rumors say there is a collection of ancient books of magic in town. I want to find it and study what’s there.”

Gawain frowned. “You don’t know where it is?”

“No. Strange as it may seem to outsiders, that’s common among my people.” She took another sip of her chocolate. “Covens guard their archives jealously. Most of the real information on magic was lost after the war against the demons. Merlin’s spell compromised our powers and, well, let’s just say magic users weren’t popular after he was through. Years of persecution followed and most of our books were burned.”

Tamsin paused, wondering if she should be telling him her plans. At the same time, an idea was forming as she spoke. “The only books that survived were well hidden. Scholars like my father, and now me, have to talk our way into collections to study the materials. There is no coven in Carlyle, which makes me think the books I’m looking for might be in a private library.”

“And what does this have to do with the tombs?” Gawain asked, the tension around his eyes reminding her of how little he liked magic.

She set the cup down. “I’m getting there. The rumors say the books were originally part of this church’s property and came with it when it was moved. They might have belonged to Merlin the Wise himself.”

That got Gawain’s attention. “You seek Merlin’s books?”

“I do. Since Merlin enchanted your tombs, the books may help us find your knights. I could try locating them by magic. One seeking spell might even find both at once.”

Gawain didn’t speak, but leaned forward in his chair, waiting for her next words.

“So that is how I can help you,” Tamsin concluded. “Now I’ll tell you how you can help me.”

His response was clipped. “Name it.”

Tamsin took a deep breath, bracing herself. “A seeking spell requires an object connected to the thing or person you’re looking for. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to those tombs.”

“You want to use me?” Gawain bolted from the chair, blue eyes wide with wrath—or maybe it was alarm. “I am to take part in your witch’s spell?”

“It’s up to you,” Tamsin said, her throat so tight it hurt. “How badly do you want to find your king?”

ChapterSix

It was dark when Gawain arrived at Tamsin’s apartment building a few hours later. His steps slowed as he approached the front walk, for he did not want to be there—not at all. Not when the reason for the visit was to cast a spell. He would rather have faced an enraged ogre than be in the same room with a witch at work—and yet somehow he had agreed to it. That had to be proof of his desperation.

Gawain knew well enough that magic could heal as well as harm. If the stakes were high enough, he could and would endure its presence for the greater good. After all, he had allowed Merlin to turn him to stone so he could follow his king into the future. It was just...

Memories of his childhood crowded in. His mother, Queen Morgause, had been as beautiful as a night-blooming flower—or at least that’s what the poets had said. All the recollections Gawain could dredge up were of nightmares. The nameless, many-legged things she kept in her workroom and called her pets. Her deadly potions. The sight of her strangling his hound so she could use the unborn pups for a curse. And then there was the way she had died—slain by her own son, Agravaine. Gawain’s younger brother. His mind had not survived the twisted evil in their home.

Alone of all his brothers, Gawain had inherited the potential to create that darkness anew. That was not a future he was willing to accept. As soon as he was old enough, he’d picked up a sword and ridden off to serve the young king, believing an honorable death would cleanse his soul. He’d survived, but never allowed himself to use the least hint of his inherited magic. Not after—well, he refused to think about certain events.

Which begged the question of why he was knocking on a witch’s door, about to help her with a spell. If there was another way to find the Round Table in time to destroy their enemies—anything at all—he’d have leaped on it like a wildcat upon a hare.

Gawain reached the front door of Tamsin’s building and found it locked. He knew enough about modern times to search the panel beside the door for Tamsin’s name. He pressed the button next to it and waited.

“Hello?” Her voice crackled out of the speaker, making him jump.

He cast a glance around, hoping no one had noticed his less-than-manly surprise. “It is Gawain.”

“Come on up.”

The door clicked, and he tugged on the handle. This time it opened, and he stepped into the lobby. Fortunately, he’d already learned about elevators and made his way to her floor.

The door to Tamsin’s suite was open, letting out the scent of herbs and good food. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he was hungry. He lingered on the threshold a moment, savoring the aroma.

A moment later, Tamsin put her head out of the tiny galley kitchen and gave him a bright smile. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s just about done.”

“Dinner?” he asked suspiciously. “I did not expect this.”

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