01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (19 page)

Maggie looked nothing short of
dazed.

His mother turned to Kemble.
“Kemble, call the camp. Tell them the horses will be delivered
tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Kemble said,
frowning. But he didn’t look like he was in a hurry.

His mother raised her brows.
Kemble disappeared.

Tris was relieved. He’d see
Maggie at dinner. Maybe the kids would talk her into a game of
croquet or cards, if they hadn’t grown ashamed of liking such
things. He could watch her. He liked watching Maggie, even if that
was all he could do.

At that moment, Tris heard a
shriek behind him. “Tristram!”

He half turned. Tammy had shot
up in the last year. But her flaming red mane was no tidier, and
she must have spent the summer out in the sun because her freckles
had multiplied. He held out a hand in warning, before she threw
herself on him. “Whoa, girl.”

She screeched to a halt like the
coyote in the roadrunner cartoons. “You’re hurt!”

“Little stove up is all.”

“I
knew
you’d come. You
never got a chance to see Cally, and how well he’s coming along.”
Her mouth rearranged itself from glee at seeing her older brother
into a pout. “And you left without keeping your promise to watch me
jump him.”

Tris saw again Tammy’s face in
the rearview mirror as he drove out in violation of his promise.
“Sorry about that, kid.” He glanced to his father. The argument
they’d had that afternoon had pushed Tris over the edge. He wasn’t
proud of disappointing Tammy, but it had been bound to happen
sooner or later. His father must be remembering too. Was that pain
in his eyes? Not likely.

“Well, he’s way better now.
We’re jumping three feet. So you better not leave again until....”
Tammy peered around Tris at Maggie. “Who’s this?”

“Maggie O’Brian,” his mother
said. “She’s staying the night. Maggie, my youngest, Tamsen.”

“Pleased to meet you,
Tamsen.”

“Pul-eese. Call me Tammy.
Everybody does, except the Parents.” Tammy glanced to the trailer.
“Are these your horses?” She peered inside and gasped.
“Mustangs?”

“Yup. Rescues.”

“Oh … my …
God
. That’s so
cool! Are they still wild? We can put them in the in-and-outs.” She
was talking a blue streak as she took Maggie’s other arm.

“What’s up?” Drew came up from
the path around to the pool. Her long black hair was wet from her
swim. She wore a sleek red bikini covered by some sort of
semi-transparent serape-looking thing with flowers. Jane was with
her, as always, her modest one-piece suit a kind of brownish color,
two shades darker than her hair. The girls had been best friends
since they were children, though Tris was never sure why. Jane was
as self-effacing as his sister was flamboyant. Even now, she hung
back, in the shadows of the huge fern by the door.

“Tristram’s home,” his mother
called over her shoulder. “And this very nice young lady saved his
life and brought him all the way from ... where did you come from,
my dear? Someplace in Nevada?” Maggie shot Tris a panicked look as
she was being swept inside. Tris shrugged. What could you do? His
father stepped aside to let them pass. “Brian, can you make sure
Tristram gets into his room? I’ll be right there.”

Other voices issued from the
foyer. He could hear Kee and Devin. Of course they would be
together. They were inseparable, almost like twins.

Drew gave Tris a once-over.
“Looks like you did it up right, brother. Better get in and let
Mother fix you.” She chucked him under the chin and ducked into the
house, Jane trailing after her. Jane was about the only one outside
the family who knew about his parents’ powers. She accepted them in
her calm way as if being a Healer or an Adapter was a talent like
playing the piano. Speaking of which, Tris could hear the intricate
strains of some classical piece rising and falling in the
background. Lanyon. Tris wished his youngest brother would show up
to relieve the tension that stretched between Tris and his
father.

Brian Tremaine made no move.
Tris felt the accusation in his father’s eyes. His gut churned. “I
came,” he said when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“That’s all you get.”

“I just wish it had been because
you wanted to see your mother, not just because you wanted her to
heal you.”

Tris gritted his teeth. Two
months in a motel room with Vicodin, Jack D, and delivery pizza
wasn’t looking bad about now. “You really think that little of
me.”

The expression that flashed
across his father’s face was ... regret? Not likely. “What I think
doesn’t matter,” his father said, clearing his throat. “I’m glad
you’re not dead.” He looked pained and cleared his throat again.
“We’ve had more than enough shocks here lately.” He looked sad.

Tris waited. He wouldn’t
ask.

“Victor was murdered a few days
ago.”

Shock wasn’t the word. Victor
was almost part of the family. “How?” Tris asked.

“Throat cut in Las Vegas. Police
are clueless.” His father frowned, his lips a thin line. “My
private resources aren’t having any luck either.”

Tris didn’t know how to respond.
He shook his head. Finally he said, “So, you’re glad I’m not
dead.”

“I mean I’m glad you came.” This
last was mumbled as his father pushed open the door wider for Tris
to pass. As Tris hobbled by, his father hesitated, then patted him
twice on the back.

What was that all about?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Maggie felt as though she was at
the center of a twister of Tremaines. She clutched her hat as
though the whirlwind might snatch it. It seemed her only point of
reference.

“So where did you get the
mustangs?” Tammy was asking.

Before she could answer, Mrs.
Tremaine waved to a very solemn-looking Japanese man just coming
out of middle age, as he emerged from the huge kitchen at the back
of the house. He managed to make a sport coat and slacks look like
a military uniform. “Mr. Nakamura, can you bring us some
refreshments out on the back deck? Miss O’Brian must be in need of
sustenance after driving all day, not to mention putting up with my
son.”

If Mrs. Tremaine only knew how
exhausting sitting next to her delectable son really was. Actually,
if she knew what Maggie always seemed to be thinking about her son,
Mrs. Tremaine would probably throw her right out on her ear.

Mr. Nakamura nodded crisply. “Of
course. And perhaps I can take Miss O’Brian’s hat?”

How did he know her name? And
how could she give up her hat? Mr. Nakamura took one look at her
face and his own grew, if possible, more impassive. “I could put
the hat on the table by the front door, for easy access,” he said
carefully.

“Uh....” But how could she
refuse? You couldn’t carry a hat around all the time if you were
staying the night. She managed to let go of the battered hat with
one hand and extend it. Mr. Nakamura took it very gently and
disappeared.

“Bring some of those lemon
cookies, Mr. Nakamura, please!” Tammy called after him.

“Just what you don’t need,
Tammy, a sugar high,” the older sister said, disapproving.

Two more Tremaines came down the
stairs, a boy and a girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen. “What’s all
the fuss?” the girl asked.

“Miss O’Brian, I’d like you to
meet my middle daughter, Keelan, and Devin.”

This was the handsomest family
Maggie had ever seen. Keelan had hair as shade more chestnut thana
most of the other Tremaines, but worn long and hanging in thick
waves down her back. And the same light eyes, hers a kind of
blue-green. They were all pale with beautiful skin. Maggie didn’t
count Tammy’s freckles as a defect. Tammy’s hair was red, but her
features were unmistakably Tremaine, her eyes almost turquoise like
her mother’s. Only the boy, Devin, was different: tan, blond hair
streaked from the sun, and melting brown eyes. He was gangly, but
he’d grow to be killer handsome in his own right, just different.
He must be the distant cousin the Tremaines took in. Was he an
orphan? Mrs. Tremaine hadn’t called him her son, but she had said
she had seven children. Maggie’s gaze shifted to the girl in the
taupe bathing suit drifting in the shadows under the staircase,
just outside the circle of Tremaines. She had plain brown hair and
straightforward brown eyes, as well as a decidedly upturned,
non-Tremaine nose. Not nearly as beautiful either. She hadn’t said
a word so far.

“Nice to meet you, Miss
O’Brian,” the two Tremaine newcomers said, almost in unison. The
boy had an accent. New Zealand? Aussie? The girl said, “I’m
Kee.”

“Call me Maggie.”

“And please, call me Brina,”
Mrs. Tremaine said as she swept Maggie through the house.

“Okay,” she murmured. But the
thought of being so familiar with the woman who was mistress of
this house as to use her first name was horrifying. Her boots on
carpets that must have cost more than the mortgage on Elroy’s place
was shocking enough. Maggie glanced around and got an impression of
understated opulence: hardwood floors, oriental carpets,
comfortable, overstuffed furniture, and artwork everywhere. The
only art she recognized for sure was a Remington, the bronze statue
of the cowboy riding a bronco. She wouldn’t put it past them to
have an original cast. Still, the place looked lived in. The rooms
were open to each other. She could see Mr. Nakamura moving about in
the kitchen. The dining room had a huge old wood table which must
seat twelve. A lovely room with a fireplace had newspapers and
magazines strewn around and an easel with a half-finished tiny
canvas in bright colors. Somebody painted.

The sound of a piano she’d
thought was a record stopped in mid-phrase and yet another Tremaine
poked his head in, this one a shaggy boy, fifteen maybe? He had
devilment in his blue eyes. “Who have we here?” he asked. “Packin’
a six-gun, ma’am?”

“That’s Lanyon, my youngest
boy.” Brina waved at him as she ushered Maggie through French doors
and out into a large and well-tended garden. “Though I’m ashamed to
admit it.”

“Pay no attention to him,”
Keelan said. “We don’t.”

The deck was set with
upholstered teak furniture weathered to an elegant silver under a
pergola covered with bougainvillea. Across a broad lawn, bluffs
plunged a hundred feet to a rocky coast that showed a series of
coves stretching south. Catalina Island loomed some miles offshore.
To the north, the beach cities of Los Angeles ringed the huge bay
all the way around to what must be Malibu. Planes hung in midair as
they lined up to land at LAX.

This family actually
lived
here?

“Have a seat.” Mrs. Tremaine
gestured to a sofa with big cushions and pillows. They were
upholstered in white with green vines.

“I’d get those dirty, ma’am.
I’ll just sit over here.” She moved toward a wooden bench.

“You won’t be able to reach the
lemon cookies from over there,” the older sister drawled, “and our
dear Tammy will get them all. That would
not
be good.” She
patted a chair next to hers.

“Never mind about the
upholstery, my dear,” Mrs. Tremaine said. “I always say a house
should look lived in.”

Indeed, the table was strewn
with strangely marked cards, and another easel was set up next to a
table out in the grass with paints and brushes scattered across it.
A game of croquet had apparently been abandoned in mid-stroke. A
dartboard hung on the wall of the house. Hummingbirds clustered
around several feeders, and some small brown birds were splashing
in a birdbath set in a nearby flower bed. The garden did look lived
in, just like the house. Maggie sat gingerly in the chair next to
where the elegant older sister was draped over a chaise lounge.
What was her name again?

As if reading her mind, the girl
leaned forward and held out a delicate hand. “Drew,” she said. “We
weren’t properly introduced.”

Maggie found her handshake
surprisingly firm. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is my friend Jane Butler.”
She gestured to the girl in the taupe bathing suit sitting behind
her in the most shaded part of the pergola, where some kind of vine
grew thick above her.

“Hi,” Jane said. Her voice was
soft and kind. She looked like she didn’t belong in such grand
surroundings either.

“Hi.”

“You all get acquainted. I’m
going to see my son settled.” With that, Mrs. Tremaine sailed back
into the house.

All eyes turned to Maggie. She
was acutely conscious that her cheekbone sported a purple and blue
bruise.

“So, you ride Western?” Tammy
asked eagerly.

Relief washed over Maggie. This
was a question she was prepared to answer. “Mostly. Sometimes
dressage.”

“Dressage?” Tammy squeaked.
“Isn’t it kinda boring? I’d rather jump.”

Maggie couldn’t help but smile.
“Makes you learn real balance, how to position your horse. Most
people who jump don’t bother to learn it. But if you ride dressage
between the jumps, you’ll really have an edge.”

“I never thought of that.” Tammy
got a competitive gleam in her eye that Maggie recognized from the
mirror.

“They don’t ride much dressage
at the rodeo.”

Maggie jerked her head up to
find the oldest brother, the one his mother had called Kemble,
standing with his arms folded, leaning against a post of the
pergola. This must be the Prince of Wales. His khakis were pressed,
his loafers gleamed, and even though his blue-striped button-down
shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up on his
forearms, he looked exactly like he belonged on the cover of
GQ
. In fact, he looked just like Mr. Tremaine. His face was
a mask of disapproval right now. “How’d you know I rodeo?” she
asked.

“The Internet is a wonderful
thing.”