“No one knows. That’s where the story ends.” Lucas frowned and picked up the sheet with the verse on it. “If it actually was the Hallows Spear, then searching for buildings or sites three hundred years old wouldn’t make sense. The manuscript would have to have been written much more recently.”
His host looked worried. “You’re saying the paper is a fake?”
“I don’t know. The cylinder that held the manuscript was from the sixteenth century, as were the other artifacts. The medieval Gaelic was authentic. It’s possible, I suppose, for a present-day scholar to have written it.”Or a general who believed in reincarnation and was well-versed in the classics.Had Patton been a Templar in another life? Lucas couldn’t remember meeting him, but he did remember suddenly that the trees surrounding the dig had been smaller than others nearby. If someone had buried the manuscript there fifty years ago…
“Oh, dear.” Mr. Smith wrung his hands. “That means that none of the Hallows are probably here in the United States. I hadsowanted to find the Holy Grail.”
“Not necessarily,” Lucas said. “The Spear has a way of resurfacing on its own.” He couldn’t very well tell his host that the reason was because the Spear, of all the Hallows, had been fashioned from a branch of the Tree of Life by himself when he had still been Lugh.
“I still think the Sinclairs, as Guardians, removed the relics to a safer place during the Scottish Inquisition. If the pit at Oak Island were built as a decoy, no one would think to travel on to America. My guess is that the Spear might have been found somehow and, when the right person recognized it, he or she buried it and left the note in medieval script to make it look authentic.”
His host stared at him. “But who in the last half-century would have knowledge of such a thing?”
Besides Balor and me?“The Sinclair family has heirs,” Lucas answered, “and the Templars are still around, although many of the traditions have been lost. Then there’s the Prieuré de Sion.”
Mr. Smith looked startled. “Like inThe Da Vinci Code?They’re real?”
“They’re real,” Lucas answered and wondered again if Patton had been a member. “And that inner circle would have enough esoteric knowledge to recognize a Hallow. They’d also have the expertise to produce the manuscript and leave an encrypted message.” He remembered now that the anonymous message left at the museum in Glasgow, alerting them to the location of the dig, had been written in very formal English reminiscent of the late Renaissance period. It should have been a clue.
Benton knocked on the open door and both men looked up.
“Excuse me, sir,” the butler said, “but there’s a young man on the phone inquiring about Miss Kincaid. When I told him she was not here, he asked to speak to Mr. Ramsey.”
Lucas picked up the phone on the desk. “Hello?”
“Michael here,” the warlock said without preamble. “Where’s Sara?”
The back of Lucas’ neck began to bristle. “I thought she was with you.”
There was a short silence. “I talked to her yesterday afternoon. I was running late and told her to ask you to take her home.”
The guy was cocky, Lucas thought.So sure of himself that Sara might not be tempted? What was I supposed to do? Wait until he got there and then leave? Still, Sara didn’t say anything. Then he remembered he hadn’t exactly been civil yesterday. A pang of guilt shot through him. He hadn’t even given her the Shield he’d brought back.
“She didn’t say anything,” he said and endured another pause on the other end.
“So you two had an argument?” Michael asked.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Lucas answered.
“Right. But I guess she didn’t tell you, then.”
“Tell me what?” His wolf was beginning to pace restlessly.
“Nothing happened, man. Not that I would have minded, but I slept on the sofa.”
The guilt twisted in Lucas’s gut like a sharp knife. She had tried to tell him, but his wounded ego hadn’t let him listen. Now she appeared to be missing. He could already feel the wolf trying to break out.
“Did you go over there?” he asked and willed the wolf back down.
“Yeah. I drove by last night, but the place was dark and her car was there, so I figured you had taken her somewhere, maybeto eat. Then this morning, I called and there was no answer, so I drove over. The place was locked up. I just got back.”
Every nerve ending was screaming for the beast to be released. Lucas sensed danger and its name was Balor. There had been no forced entry the other night, either. How could he have been so stupid, letting damn male pride get in the way of protecting her? Centuries of Templar discipline and he’d let jealousy overcome him. No more. He and the warlock would have to work together if they were to find Sara.
“We have a problem,” he all but growled. “Get over here.” He could have sworn the rumble that preceded Michael’s voice sounded like a panther.
“On my way,” he said.
****
