Timeless Vision (3 page)

She remembered the electric mix of fear and excitement when the dagger had officially become her responsibility. Her earliest memories involved watching her father use the dagger for opening mail at the pub as had his father before him. When it was her turn, he’d sat in that tiny office and handed over the dagger along with a far more serious version of the family fairytale.

Her mother, Siobhan, had been at his side, her hand on his shoulder while he’d revealed a new and solemn chapter to the story she’d learned as a child. The truth, as he’d put it, was an ongoing war of light versus dark, gallant knights and treacherous sorcery, and an unquenchable determination to see that good prevailed. By accepting the dagger, she’d been charged with keeping the potent relic safe. Her mother, eyes misty, quietly added that Tara should contact Nick if anything strange happened to her or the dagger.

The exchange had rattled her, haunted her day and night. For weeks she jumped at shadows, paranoid she’d be the first O’Malley to fail the family. Siobhan, seeing straight to the heart of the matter as was her habit, reminded her that the O’Malley dagger had been safely passed from each firstborn to the next since the sixth century. Tara merely had to maintain the status quo.

Whoops. First girl in the line and she screwed it up, though she’d believed she had everything under control. As months passed without any trouble she’d relaxed, focusing more on the honor and joy of her new business challenges, and releasing the stressful burden of safeguarding the heirloom with a murky, mystical history.

Like most of her siblings and cousins, she’d taken the tale of the grand O’Malley family origins with a grain of salt as she’d grown up. The idyllic notion of an ancestor in service to Gawain the Gallant of King Arthur’s Round Table striving against dark forces to create a peaceful, just world offered an excellent way of illustrating valuable life lessons. Precautions and dire warnings aside, she’d never believed she’d come face to face with a knight from the past.

Yet, if Nick wasn’t playing games, Gawain the Gallant was standing right here, glowering at the city she loved and braced for a battle she couldn’t fathom. She glanced again at her cousin. Nick couldn’t seriously believe this was
the original
Gawain the Gallant. There had to be another explanation.

Amid twenty-first century progress, the world was advanced and complex and no amount of exceptional storytelling could convince her that an antique dagger, in the wrong hands, could release some great and terrible evil. A quick scan of daily headlines proved that sort of trouble already oozed from every nook and cranny of the world. The O’Malley dagger couldn’t possibly have any influence over those tragedies, big or small.

Still, it was a terrible embarrassment to be the first O’Malley to
lose
the dagger. Yesterday, the dagger and the supporting tale seemed like a grand fairy tale perpetrated by her elders to ensure the O’Malley ruby stayed in the family, some sort of insurance against the family fortune. She knew firsthand it was hard work and diligence that kept the very modern, very successful businesses going strong.

Now, faced with this rough-edged, antiquated man with the dreamy blue eyes and handsome greyhound at his side, she wondered what else Nick knew that she didn’t. He’d accepted the man’s shocking appearance, the accent, and the name readily enough.

Gawain the Gallant
. Seriously?

She shook her head to clear the persistent cobwebs. The fanciful little girl deep inside her heart wanted to believe it, but this man couldn’t possibly be the same Gawain who’d campaigned with King Arthur. She had to think of him as Wayne, a 21
^st
century actor dedicated to earning his pay. Despite her Irish heritage, she couldn’t wrap her brain around the concept of a visitor from 1500 years ago. If all of it were true, if she accepted a time-traveling knight, she had to accept other aspects of the tale. The terrifying elements she’d rather not consider.

To her, the stranger was a walking nightmare. He frightened her, stalking across the street and demanding information they didn’t have, his lean, attentive dog at his side. She’d tried to believe it was chance, some random stranger suffering a delusion, but that was even more improbable than the reality her cousin had just begun to explain.

“There is no time to waste. I need answers immediately,” Wayne said. “How was the dagger stolen?”

Nick winced at the demand and Tara leaped to his defense. “Are your ears full of cotton?” She was tall among the women of her family, yet Wayne’s dominating form made her feel petite. “Nick said he’d explain when we have some privacy.”

“That is enough out of you,” Wayne shot back. “This isn’t your business.”

“Quiet. Both of you,” Nick intervened, stepping between them. “You’re drawing attention.”

“In Times Square?” She waved a hand. “Who would notice us over the Naked Cowboy,” she flicked a hand that direction, “or anyone else?”

She clamped her mouth shut at Nick’s sharp glare. She probably shouldn’t piss off the one family member she’d confided in. “Fine. We can take the subway back to the pub.”

“He won’t be happy on the subway,” Nick countered. “And the pub isn’t safe. The thief was there.”

“Well, we can’t walk across the East River either,” Tara said. “Unless that’s another trick you’ve tucked up your sleeve.”

“Do you not have horses?” Wayne asked.

Tara laughed. “We don’t have horses in the city.”

“Trouble,” Nick interjected. He held up his hand, palm facing Wayne. “Can you,
umm
...” He gestured for Wayne to mirror his movement.

The bigger man frowned as he pressed his palm to Nick’s in the slowest high five ever recorded. “What’s that about?” Tara asked. “What are you doing?” Neither man answered her.

Wayne faced one way, his dog the other and she watched the man’s blue eyes travel from passersby to billboards and back again. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, except the man in front of her.

“My arrival has not gone unnoticed.” Wayne sounded proud of himself.

Nick nodded. “Take a cab.” He pressed a key and a card into Tara’s hand. “Take Wayne and the dog to this address and stay with them. Everything he needs is there. You’ll all be safe. I’ll meet you as soon as I can and we can make a plan.”

Her cousin had been muttering off and on about the danger to her since she’d admitted the theft to him late last night. “I can’t just go into hiding. You know I have to get back to the pub.”

“The pub will wait,” Nick said in the tone her uncle, his father, had used to halt many a family argument.

“Is that so?” She cocked her hip and folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll let
you
explain that to Ma.”

The color leached from his face. “You’re not safe until we recover the dagger. Aunt Siobhan would agree with me if you told her, so go ahead.”

Her earlier threat had been all bluster and they both knew it. She had no intention of admitting this fiasco to anyone else in the family or otherwise. “Fine.” She drilled a finger into his chest. “I’ll babysit your new - old - friend. But you owe me answers.” She gave him her back as she hailed a cab.

“You’ll have them.” Nick’s eyes, normally full of laughter, were grim and serious. “He’ll keep you safe,” he said at her ear when the cab stopped at the curb.

Wayne was big and intimidating, but she had her doubts about his ability to fend off a modern-day attack. “I can take care of myself.”

“What is this carriage?” Wayne asked.

“It’s called a taxi,” she said, opening the door. “In you go.”

“I beg your pardon?” He frowned at the vehicle. She shot Nick a dark look. “Oh, this will be great.” Reaching out, she thought better of her intention to touch the man, instead, snapping her fingers for his dog. “Come on, sweetie. This way,” she crooned as she ducked into the back seat.

“You slide in across the bench,” Nick explained to Wayne. “Like a wagon or carriage.”

Wayne’s broad chest rose and fell on a deep inhale and exhale. He closed his eyes briefly, his fingertips resting lightly on his dog’s head. The dog jumped in willingly and after another moment, Wayne followed.

His presence filled the car, and more than that, his tension. “It’s safe,” she said, in a lame attempt to put him at ease.

He gave her a skeptical glance, his powerful hand splayed over the dog’s shoulder, before he turned his attention to whatever invisible dangers he sensed creeping through Times Square.

She gave the address Nick had provided to the driver and prayed they made it across the bridge without any more outrageous questions.

Chapter Two

The cab stopped in front of a stately brownstone only a few blocks from the pub. Her family was big, with branches of O’Malleys all over New York City as well as the northeast, but this house was completely new to her. She decided it was the least of the day’s surprises, considering the things Nick had alluded to both before and after Wayne had shown up in Times Square.

She paid the fare and climbed out of the cab on the street side, rounding the trunk to open the door for Wayne, studiously ignoring the driver’s sexist mutterings about modern women.

“What is a feminist?” Wayne pronounced the word carefully as the taxi drove away.

She noticed he still kept one hand on the dog. For comfort, she guessed, since the greyhound was so well trained. “Progress,” she said. Playing along with Nick’s opinion about this... situation, she rolled a hand in his direction. “I assume women were different in your
time
.”

“They were.” His blue eyes found hers, held hers. “The code of chivalry demands I assist you regardless of the era.”

She had to give the man credit for embracing his role. “If Nick isn’t teasing me about all this impending doom, it sounds like you’ll have the chance.”

Wayne nodded, stretching his arm out to indicate she should precede him to the house. Simple common courtesy, she told herself as she pushed open the gate and aimed for the stairs. This was one of the more affluent streets in Brooklyn Heights and she marveled that anyone in her family had kept such a treasure hidden. Nick’s cop salary never could have covered this at current market value.

“Why do the women now wear men’s clothing rather than proper dresses?”

She laughed, thinking of the many dresses in her closet at home. Odds were good the burly stranger wouldn’t find many of those so proper either while he played this character. “It makes my work easier.”

“What is your work?”

Wayne and his dog flanked her on the wide top step. She felt sheltered and protected and resisted the sensation. “I run the O’Malley family pub.” And she wanted to get back to business as usual.

“What happened to your husband?”

“I don’t have one of those.” She pushed the key into the lock with a little more force than necessary, only to have it stick. There was no reason to get irritated. Whatever Nick might’ve told him, this guy didn’t know her and couldn’t possibly understand how often her family nagged her to marry and procreate. She wanted children and figured a husband - eventually - would make that easier. She just didn’t want to deal with any of it right now.

The lock didn’t budge, despite her twisting and wriggling of the key. She pulled it out, turned it over and tried again. “Damn you, Nick,” she murmured.

“Wait,” Wayne said from behind her. “Step back a moment.” He ran his fingertips lightly over a squared cross pattern at the top of the door. “I know this symbol. A protective ward is in place. Allow me.”

She watched, impressed by his dedication to the role when he closed his eyes and pressed his palm over the symbol. A bright light shone under his hand for several seconds. His shoulders slumped a little. “Try the key now.”

The lock cooperated with a soft
clack
. “Nice trick,” she admitted. Where had Nick found this guy and why bother? Her cousin had to know how bad she felt about losing the dagger. There wasn’t any need for theatrics.

As she opened the door a light overhead flashed on, illuminating the small entryway. When Wayne and the dog joined her inside, she nudged them forward so she could lock the front door again. Wayne held his hand to the door once more and this time the light under his palm glowed in a soothing, deep blue.

“What’s your dog’s name?” she asked, distracting herself.

Wayne shrugged a shoulder, his eyes squinting up at the overhead fixture. “He’s never needed a name.”

“How is he so well behaved if you never taught him his name?”

“My hound is best described as a familiar. Through magic we share a bond that serves us both.”

There was that word again.
Magic
. She gave him points for staying in character. She was Irish, genetically wired to believe in the unexplainable, the unseen. Unfortunately for her, this man and his familiar face were perfectly visible. Whoever Wayne really was, she couldn’t let her misplaced infatuation become a distraction. “Okay. That works for the two of you.” She tugged off her coat and hung it on the hall tree. “What should
I
call him?”

“You should have no need to call him anything.” Wayne’s eyebrows furrowed into a quizzical frown. “He is mine.”

“It’s tradition to name a pet.”

“He is not a pet,” Wayne said, exchanging a long look with the dog.

Tara nipped at her budding impatience. She should let it go. Maybe the dog was more partner than pet, but that only made a missing name more troublesome. Where was Nick anyway? The dagger had been stolen on her watch and she intended to be included in its safe recovery. “People will see him as such. How about we call him Blue?”

Wayne shook his head. “It is bad enough that my name must be different in this era. The dog does not need a name.”

“Hmm. Sterling, maybe.” Tara crouched down, showing the dog the back of her fingers. “Would you like to be a Sterling? Fluffy sure doesn’t suit you.” Time to call Nick’s bluff and poke a few holes in Wayne’s medieval knight routine. “How are you feeling after sleeping so long, sweetie? I bet you’re hungry.”