The Bone Conjurer (23 page)

“Not really. More frightened.”

“Garin said he was the one to throw it in the well. You wanted to keep it?”

“Did he say that? Never. I was distraught, Annja. I had just been responsible for the destruction of innocents. I was not in my right mind. I’m grateful Garin was able to think straight and dispose of the thing. I was thankful to lose it. I’d thought Garin was, too. But obviously not.”

“So do you know about its origins?”

“The necrophilic liaison?” Roux chuckled.

“You don’t buy the Templars were involved?”

“Didn’t say that. I don’t need to buy anything, Annja. I just
know
it works, no matter if it was birthed because of a macabre copulation, or if it came from aisle nine in Wal-Mart.”

“I’m going out on a limb to guess you’ve never graced the aisles of Wal-Mart.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“No, just too rich to bother. So, anyway, the legend is supposed to be the origin of the skull and crossbones.”

“Pirates were not the first to use the symbol, nor, I suspect, were the Templars. It’s a bit before my time, you’ll recall. But does it matter?”

“It does to place it on a time line, and verify it is actually this skull we all believe it to be.”

“Annja, you tire me with your skepticism. You’ve seen it work.”

“Yes.” She sat back again. “Sorry, I can be a little stubborn on the uptake sometimes. Where are we headed?”

“To my hotel. Are you all right with that?”

“I could use a nap.”

“I’ve got a suite, and I promise to be quiet.”

“Then let’s go!”

T
HE GUEST BEDROOM
was standard luxury hotel fare. King-size bed, 900-thread-count sheets and rich jewel colors. Nabbing the mints placed on a silver tray on the pillow, Annja quickly downed all three.

She set the skull on the bed between her feet. Eye sockets facing away from her, she leaned forward, tapping the skull gently.

“You’ve been handled rather poorly in the past few days,” she said to the ancient artifact. “Sorry about that. I intend to get you on your way home.”

Leaning to the side, she turned to her laptop and brought up her e-mail program. Maxfield Wisdom had replied to her request for his phone number. She grabbed her phone and dialed.

As it was ringing, she calculated what time it must be in Venice. It was early evening in New York. That would make it around midnight there.

A groggy male voice answered. Annja winced. “Sorry, Mr. Wisdom?”

“Yes. Is this Miss Creed?”

“Yes, I just got your phone number. I apologize for waking you.”

“S’all right. Needed to answer the phone.”

At least he could find the joke in it, she thought. Then it occurred to her, if Ben Ravenscroft knew she had communicated with Wisdom, could he have seen this same e-mail?

“First let me ask, has Benjamin Ravenscroft been in touch with you?”

“No. What would be the reason?”

“The skull. He’s hot on the trail for it.”

“I suspected he was more interested in it than should be.”

“Don’t worry,” Annja rushed to say when his tone wavered through the phone line. “I’ve got the skull.”

“Excellent. I could catch a flight in the morning and be there before nightfall tomorrow.”

“That would be great. In the meantime, I hope you don’t mind if I take lots of pictures and document the skull as completely as I can?”

“Be my guest.”

“I’d like to have it properly dated, but haven’t been able to find a contact who can do it.”

“It’s still in one piece, I hope?”

“Yes. Been joggled a bit, but it’s a survivor.”

“Much like you, I wager. I did some online research on you, Annja, after you contacted me. You’ve got quite the impressive résumé.”

“I travel a lot for the TV show.” Fingers crossed he hadn’t stumbled across the nudie pic.

“I like a woman who’s comfortable anywhere in the world, with the dirt as her bed and the sky her ceiling.”

Did he now? Annja hadn’t done the same research on Wisdom, but had assumed he was an old coot after reading his claim to have held the skull for generations. But she realized that didn’t necessarily make him old. His voice did sound young.

“Perhaps we can spend an evening discussing the skull when you get here? I know a great restaurant in Manhattan I’ve been eager to try.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had in months,” Wisdom said. “I’d be delighted.”

“I’ll make sure a car is waiting for you at the airport when you arrive,” she said. She could finagle something with Doug if she made him believe this was research for a show on…Venetian…mermaids. Yeah, that would work. “E-mail me with your flight information when you have it.”

“I will. I look forward to tomorrow night.”

Now all she had to do was make sure no necromancer or business mogul got to Wisdom before she did.

It was easy to track Maxfield Wisdom’s moves online. Ben had spent his teenage years building his own computers and hacking into local banks, the DMV, and he’d even made it through the CIA firewall for about four seconds before they’d sicced their security on him. He knew his way around online security and there wasn’t a firewall that could keep him back. He could find anything he wanted on any person.

Wisdom had booked a flight to New York early this morning. He should arrive at LaGuardia Airport in less than six hours.

Interesting. He distinctly remembered Maxfield telling him that his vast collection of ephemera had been acquired mostly through gifts and inheritances because he rarely traveled.

Something in New York must be worth the trouble, Ben mused, but little humor found its way into his expression.

M
AXFIELD
W
ISDOM LANDED
at LaGuardia with a nasty case of nausea. He numbly navigated his way through customs and barely arrived in the men’s lavatory before losing the contents of his stomach. Thankfully, he was the only one in the bathroom at the time.

As he washed his hands and patted them over his face, another man entered, nodded and headed for the urinals.

Wisdom rarely traveled for this very reason. He had a loose stomach and an even looser brain. Didn’t take much to joggle it around and make him ill. Equilibrium was a precious thing he battled to maintain.

He couldn’t take a date on a romantic gondola ride. The waves made him dizzy. Same with nightclubs. The raucous music mixed with flashing lights and pounding beats worked a number on his system.

He hoped Annja Creed preferred more subtle forms of entertainment. He did look forward to meeting her. She was gorgeous, and had led such an interesting life. She had visited most every country, and was never afraid to get her hands dirty, and learn all she could about the culture, people and its history.

Very well, so they would never travel the globe together, but Maxfield could dazzle her with his esoteric knowledge of the skull. Knights Templar. Necrophilia. Supernatural powers. What wasn’t to love about that hodgepodge of legend?

A night spent conversing with an intelligent woman was something he looked forward to.

Tugging out a brown paper towel from the machine, he pressed it to his face. Perhaps he’d extend his stay in New York from an in-and-out two-day trip. He needed time to recover his bearings and prepare for the return flight. Maybe he could manage some sightseeing. The Statue of Liberty was not to be missed—and, oh, why not, a Broadway show could be the thing to lift his spirits.

He’d traveled with only his carry-on bag, and followed the signs to the ground-transportation desk where he was directed outside to the area where Miss Creed had promised a driver would be waiting.

He liked Annja Creed. She was a good person to want to see the skull swiftly returned to him. She hadn’t asked to keep it, only to be allowed pictures for further research. She said a professor at Columbia University had been able to map out the carvings on the interior.

Maxfield looked forward to seeing that map. He’d oft pondered over the meaning of the carvings, never able to discern their completeness for the limited view through the foramen magnum. Perhaps they were Celtic or Templar related. It would be exciting to learn more about the artifact his family had owned for well over a century and a half.

But magical? Hardly. He’d never once sensed the power the skull was rumored to possess. Giver of all good things? Maxfield had a good life; he saw the world as a blessing and his every breath a gift. He didn’t need more good things, so if the skull was to up and offer him the prize, he’d politely refuse.

Gripping the cuff of his sleeve he wandered toward the bright sunlight that beamed through the windows along the pickup bay. The light made him woozy. He needed a nap in a dark hotel room before calling Miss Creed.

Spotting a female figure walking toward him, he wondered if it was Annja. The sunlight shone from behind her, shadowing her face and body. Tall, slender and nicely curved. She wore a dress and high heels, which didn’t seem to fit the adventurer he had familiarized himself with, but then he had no clue how she liked to dress when not on digs.

“Mr. Wisdom?”

“Yes. Annja? I wasn’t aware you were going to meet me.”

The woman stepped under the overhead awning and beamed a bright smile at him. Her hair was redder than the brown he’d seen in the pictures online at the
Chasing History’s Monsters
site.

“Is there something wrong? Did you have a good flight?” she asked.

“Yes, no, er, you’re really Annja Creed?”

“You don’t look so well, Mr. Wisdom.”

“It was a trying flight.”

“The car is waiting.” She pointed over her shoulder. “There’s ice water inside.”

The driver offered to take his bag and Maxfield reluctantly relented. It had served a comfort to hold it to his chest.

Annja smiled at him as she stepped for the back door. “What is it?”

“It’s just…you’re different than I had expected.”

“Prettier?” she asked.

Hmm, not really. And what an odd question from someone he’d presumed rather at ease with her looks and femininity, so much so she didn’t do the hair and makeup thing.

Ah, well, he was no judge of character. But if she was going to dress so fancy tonight, he’d have to send out for a suit coat before dinner.

“Would you be bothered if I asked to sit in the front seat? My stomach is a bit unsettled from the flight.”

“What’s the holdup?”

Maxfield bent to see who had spoken from within the car. A man sat on the opposite side of the backseat. He couldn’t see his face for the shadows. The diamond ring on one finger glinted as he offered his hand to shake.

“Maxfield Wisdom, I am Benjamin Ravenscroft. We meet again. You prefer to sit in the front? Do get in.”

T
HE JARRING BUZZ
from his cell phone popped him out of focus on the back of Mr. Wisdom’s head. “Rachel, sweetie, what’s up?”

“Daddy, I don’t feel well.” The warble in her voice put his heart in his gut.

“Where’s Mommy?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Ben checked his watch. It wasn’t even eight in the evening. “Bring the phone to her, will you, Rachel?”

“Can’t. Her door is locked. Daddy, can you come home?”

Linda had locked the bedroom door?

“I’ll be right there, sweetie. Driver, head home. I need to check on something before we go farther. Just a small detour, Mr. Wisdom, hope you don’t mind.”

H
E WAS ONLY A LITTLE
worried Ravenscroft had made him on Annja. It was expected the client would try to dupe him. He had means to keep the man under his thumb. And he did want to know where all the players in this skull chase were.

Garin speed dialed Roux and, as he did so, wondered why he
had
the man on speed dial. There were so many other people he would place above the old man for his precious one-number dials.

Roux answered with a bored, “Now what? I’m in the air and halfway across the ocean.”

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving so soon?”

“Nothing to keep me there. What’s up? Annja hasn’t lost the thing again, has she?”

“Again? She has it now?” Hell, he hoped not. He could take the thing from her again, but going against a necromancer didn’t sit in his gut at all well. “Of course she does, because you gave it to her. As long as she has the skull you know she’s not safe. I’m stunned you would leave her in the lurch like this.”

“It’s not like you to worry over our girl, Garin,” Roux said.

Our girl? Yes, he supposed she was theirs. In a manner of speaking. They were, the three of them, connected because of the sword. And whether or not he ever again laid hand to the sword, was able to break it or merely claim it, Garin could admit he did have a soft spot for Annja Creed.

Could be because he hadn’t bedded her yet. A challenge, that woman. To his sense of honor, to his will to protect, and yes, to his libido. And yet, once bedded, would the blush slip away? Would he lose all interest?

Never.

“I think someone should keep an eye on her until we’ve either secured that damned skull or seen it returned to the owner,” Garin said.

“The owner is on his way to New York right now,” Roux offered. “I wager he’s arrived and is already shaking hands with Annja.”

“Maxfield Wisdom.”

“Er, yes. You’re not still determined to take the thing from her, are you? It won’t ever get you the sword, you know that.”

Garin sighed and rubbed a thumb along the vein in his temple Roux’s admonishing tone always managed to twang. Even after five hundred years.

“Why did you buy an apartment in the same town as Annja?”

“It’s a rental, and it has nothing to do with being close to her. Christ, Roux, you are one suspicious bastard. Fine. If you don’t care a whit about her, then I guess it’s up to me to ensure she comes out of this one unscathed.”

“Or, at the very least, bruised, but still standing.”

“Exactly.”

“Garin?”

“What now?”

“Do save our Annja. And while you’re at it? Try not to take over the world.”

Garin clicked the phone off and shoved it in his pocket. “Imperious old man.”