But her boss hadn’t paid her to buy jewelry. She was here to bid on an ancient Gaelic manuscript that had come up on Mr. Smith’s database. The teasing lead-in had hinted that the paper might hold a clue to the whereabouts of the Holy Grail, and her employer had been hooked.
John Smith—she grinned at the name since he was one of the richest men in the Dallas-Fort Worth area but insisted on hiding his identity in the art collector’s world—had a penchant for anything that linked itself to the Arthurian legends. His home was a literal museum of swords and shields and chalices and the Goddess only knew what he had hidden in the concrete vaults below his mansion.
She had been working on her own computer in his home when he’d emitted a strange squawk and staggered from his office, a well-manicured hand clenched dramatically to his throat.
“You’ll never believe what I’ve found,” he said breathlessly, his voice pitched even higher than usual. “You’ll just never guess!”
Sara refrained from rolling her eyes. Her boss was given to theatrics, having had a bit part in an off-Broadway play in his younger years. Short, plump and too average-looking to tempt any film producers, he contented himself with capturing audiences in his home. And, since the first love of Sara’s life had run off to Hollywood after taking $5000 from her, she wasn’t inclined to like actors.
“What?”
“The Grail!” He nearly danced as he minced steps toward her and clapped his hands. “TheHoly Grail. There’s a possible map in a manuscript that’s been found. Oh, I must have it!”
And so, here she was.
She showed her passport to register for the auction and received a numbered paddle in return. Then she walked in and looked around. There were several other medieval items on display, including a wooden Shield with white lacquer and a square red cross. The gold card beside it simply read “Circa 1300s: Paris” Quite possibly a Templar Shield left behind when the knights were so cruelly rounded up on that unlucky Friday the thirteenth. Briefly, she considered calling Mr. Smith and asking him if he wanted her to bid on it, but she reconsidered. She had no idea how high the bidding would go for the manuscript; if no one else was insistent, she might have enough funds for both.
She moved on and stopped again when she came to where a copy of the front page of the manuscript lay. It was hard to say how old the yellowed-parchment was, but the script was middle-Gaelic. The page in front of her didn’t contain much more information than a modern title page did, but she made a note that the catalogue number for it was 333.
Her mind clicked on the trivial fact of the Power of Nine. In mathematical terms, if a number were multiplied by nine, the answer would always equate to nine. In the Sisterhood, it meant something quite different. There were nine Muses, nine priestesses of Avalon, nine aspects of the Goddess…and the Goddess was always represented in her triple form which multiplied by itself equaled nine.
Sara returned to her seat. Perhaps the number was just a coincidence.
A thin, young man took a seat a short distance away. He seemed nervous and looked back over his shoulder more thanonce. Sara turned, too, catching a glimpse of a rather bulky man with a swarthy face far to the back of the room. He wore a patch over one eye and could have been a middle-aged pirate, but she knew with the surveillance and security measures that auction houses used, the man would not be armed. She blinked and realized he was gone. It must have been an illusion with the doors opening and casting shadows into the corners of the room. Shrugging to herself, she turned back as the auction began.
Unfortunately, the Templar Shield came up for bid before the manuscript did. The opening bid was $5000 and a couple of bidders drove the price to $6,500 before the gavel descended. The item sold to a good-looking man impeccably dressed in an Armani suit and Gucci shoes. But as she studied him, the clothing didn’t seem to fit his character. His face was sharply angled and his body was tense. He had dark hair that curled over his shoulders, and the look in his dark eyes was alert, as if he were ready to spring at the first sight of danger. This must be her day for oddities.
She turned her attention back to the auctioneer as number 333 was announced. The document was brought out and carefully displayed for a few moments. Several people walked past it to get a look before it was taken away. Again, the opening bid was $5000. To her surprise, the nervous young man beside her cleared his throat and raised his paddle. Sara quickly raised hers, and the young man did the same. They repeated the sequence several times until the price topped $10,000. Just as the auctioneer began to bring the hammer down, the dark-haired man who had purchased the Shield raised his paddle. The auctioneer raised an eyebrow slightly and looked back at her. Sara’s paddle went up.
The young man beside her was sweating now and glancing back more frequently as the price was driven up. Finally, at $25,000 he gulped and gave up. The dark-haired man smiledat her and lifted his paddle once more. Sara gritted her teeth, tempted to hurl a curse at the man. Then she remembered it would return threefold.Harm none.Mr. Smith was not going to be happy with the price, but he would be furious if she let it go. Not that she thought it really contained a message about the Holy Grail. But if her boss thought so and they couldn’t prove otherwise, there would be hell to pay for a long while.
Finally, at $35,000 her tormentor acquiesced. The manuscript was hers.
As she moved toward Purchaser Accounts, the young man brushed against her in his hurry to get out. He looked like he needed some fresh air.
“I’m sorry if I drove the price up so high.”
She turned and looked into the eyes of the man in the expensive suit. He was signing for the Shield and looked down to smile at her.
“Did you really want it so badly or do you just like to irritate women?”
He looked almost affronted. “The Order would never allow that.”
“The Order?” Good Lord. He couldn’t be a monk or a priest!
He gestured toward the Shield. “Some of us still exist.”
A Templar? She knew that a lot of them had gone to ground after that fatal day in 1307, being absorbed by the Hospitallers and the Teutonic Knights as well as the Portuguese Knights of Christ. And the theory that the Masons had descended from them was still alive and well. But…
“I can see you’re skeptical,” the man said. “Perhaps it’s just as well. When your eyes are ready to see—”
“And my ears ready to hear?” she answered and received a fleeting look of surprise before he carefully masked his face.
“Something like that,” he said. “But to answer your other question, no, I didn’t jack up the price on purpose. I was biddingfor someone else and my money ran out.” He nodded toward the Shield again. “This was his. The Grand Master’s.”
Sara wasn’t sure if he was talking about someone living or not, so she decided to let the subject drop. “I was bidding for someone else, too. I’ll just have to tell him a Templar drove up the price.”
He smiled at that and pulled up the collar of his suit. Putting on sunglasses, he picked up the wrapped Shield. “Good luck.”
