Page 37 of Enchanted Warrior

Tamsin didn’t want to talk about it, but decided it was better to unburden herself after all. She would need a clear head once they reached their destination. “I was thinking about my father. Waller told me he didn’t actually die in a car crash. He disappeared from Carlyle when he came to find these same grimoires.”

Gawain sat back with a huff of surprise. “Interesting that the Elders kept that to themselves.”

At his words, a dam burst inside Tamsin, flooding her with hurt. “How can they do that to us?”

Tamsin turned the wheel none too steadily and had to correct her direction. “Waller said we hadn’t really buried a body, that they just wanted to give the coven closure so nobody went looking for him.”

“Do you think he is alive?” Gawain asked carefully.

“No. If he was, my father would have come home. He loved us.” She slammed on the brake just before she ran a red light.

Gawain cast her a sideways look. “If you are upset, we could stop the car for a time.”

“I’m fine to drive,” she snapped, and then instantly regretted her temper. “I’ll be all right in a moment, but I have to tell you I hate the Elders right now. I hate them for lying and never bothering to find out the truth. I’m supposed to be able to trust them, but instead I’m afraid of what else they might do.”

He put a comforting hand on her knee, his presence big and warm and solid as a rock beside her. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the streets around her. “This is a lot to take in on top of everything else.”

“I understand,” Gawain replied. “I swear to you, on my honor as a knight, that I will do everything possible to help you find the truth.”

“So do I,” said Beaumains from behind them. He’d been silent up until now, but he leaned forward with a clink and rustle of gear. “Trust me, that’s how the Round Table spends a lot of its time—getting to the bottom of mysteries. You might say we’re experts.”

His confidence made Tamsin smile despite her mood. “Thank you.”

The conversation took them to the bottom of the rise that marked the edge of the Henderson property. Tamsin parked several blocks away to avoid attracting attention, and they walked around the perimeter until Beaumains found a track that climbed through the brush to the main part of the grounds. Tamsin found the trek hard going, especially when her feet seemed to find every crackling leaf and snapping twig possible. Despite their size, the two men moved almost in silence, stopping often to listen. At those moments, Tamsin would freeze, her breath misting in the fading light, and spread her senses wide. The information Waller had given her was obviously correct. The house sat on a nexus of natural magical energy such as Tamsin had never felt before. Any spell cast on these grounds would carry a wealth of power, although only an expert could safely harness the full strength flowing from the rocks beneath. There was little wonder why Mordred chose this particular house to make his own.

The path led them to a break in the trees on the west side of the house. Tamsin crouched, making herself small as she viewed the huge Victorian mansion. It was beautiful, a mass of gingerbread and wrought iron that rose up three stories under a clear indigo sky pinpricked with the first stars. “This is definitely the place from my vision,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

Gawain gave a single nod and pointed toward the back of the house. According to the plans, there was a rear door that led from the kitchen garden into the old scullery. It was the entrance best sheltered from casual observation, but its secluded position make it impossible to guess how many people were inside.

Beaumains drew his dagger and ran a few yards toward the back of the house. As Tamsin watched, he seemed to disappear, using his dark cloak to blend with the shadows. There was a tense moment of waiting, and then he signaled that it was safe to follow. Once they caught up, he set out again. After a few minutes, they were in position, the entire process smooth and efficient. The knights had obviously done this before.

The scullery sat straight across from where they hid. Now it was Tamsin’s turn to take the lead. Bent nearly double, she scuttled between a series of raised beds, her feet silent on the paths strewn with straw. She had an impression of winter vegetables and cold frames, and then she was at the door.

It was an ordinary door with a dead bolt, but she probed for magic. Finding none, she spelled the lock open and raised a hand to signal her success when it clicked open. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered this was going too well, but there was no time to listen. Gawain and Beaumains appeared at either side of her, silent guardians. Gawain drew his sword carefully, making no sound.

The three of them exchanged glances. Gawain was solemn, whereas his brother’s eyes danced with excitement. Tamsin reached for the door handle and turned it. The door drifted open on silent hinges, and they stepped into a darkened room.

A moment later, she understood why the house didn’t have alarms. Mordred didn’t need them.

ChapterFourteen

“No!” Gawain spun around just as the door vanished behind them. He’d been prepared for weapons, guards, hellhounds, or even just an empty house, but not this. They’d stepped through a portal and now there was no telling where they actually were. “Magic,” he growled, taking a tighter grip of his sword.

A pale, ambient light seeped from the scum growing along the walls. It was just enough to make out the fact that they were underground. Tiny caves and corridors rambled in all directions, making him think of a rabbit warren. The prevailing smell, however, was of something dead.

“How did we get here?” Tamsin said in a barely audible voice.

“The doorway was a portal,” Beaumains explained. “This is fae work. I’ve seen this kind of tunneling before.”

“A portal? I didn’t feel anything like that when I checked the door for spells.” Tamsin shook her head. “But then I’ve never seen a portal. Witches don’t know how to make them anymore.”

Gawain used his sword to poke the wall where the door had been, but all he got was a shower of dirt. They were in deep trouble.

“What now?” Beaumains asked.

“We look for a way back,” Gawain replied, trying to sound as though he did this sort of thing every day. Well, he had, up until Merlin had put them all into the stone sleep. He started down a corridor, signaling the others to follow.

Roots poked through the walls and ceilings as if a forest grew above them, but he noticed the pale, twining fingers twitch whenever someone drew near.

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