Page 47 of Knight of the Sword

As he turned in to the parking lot of his condo, he sensed something was wrong. Turning the ignition off, he sat quietly, opening his mind, stretching out with his senses.

Tendrils of human energy zapped back and forth across the empty lot, remnants of what mortals left behind. Mostly normal stuff. Frustration, impatience, and worry ricocheted off the brick walls in flashes of yellow and red. Humans in a hurry to get to work. A slower, wavier line of pale blue drifted above the confused flashes. Someone centered and at peace with the world. A steady stream of green vibrating through the ethers indicated a heart filled with love, maybe a mother with child. Everything seemed to be okay, at least here.

Michael got out of his car, the hair at his nape still prickling. As he walked toward his condo he saw it—a thin, black line snaking across the tiled walk, almost blending in with the grout. Malevolence. Evil. Someone had been here bent on destruction.

Michael raced to his door and tried the handle, not surprised when it opened easily. His wards were gone, their white light totally diminished. Whoever had broken in had powerful magic. He released his senses again. Nothing. The intruder was no longer here.

Stepping inside, Michael scanned the living room. Two original oils by Rubens still hung on the wall. Everything else seemed to be in place too, except for a couple of overturned chairs. He righted them and went into the office. Computer still there, and the plasma TV. The closet had been ransacked though. Boxes torn open and the contents tossed out. He moved to the bedroom and groaned at the sight. The bed was overturned, clothes and shoes from both closets strewn about the floor. Yet several twenty-dollar bills and the gold Templar cross still lay on his dresser.

Michael leaned against the doorjamb, thinking. Whoever had broken in wasn’t interested in material goods, but rather in something specific. Something that could be hidden away.

Like a small dragon.

Understanding shot through him like a bolt of lightning. Sophie’s ex had seen the dragon. It was the dragon Robert wanted. Publicity? Blackmail? Michael didn’t know. Robert had probably taken Morgan along to use her magic to help subdue Pendragon. As if that would work. They’d both have gotten singed good.

Since Sophie seemed to have disappeared, Michael’s condo would be the next logical place to search. But Robert possessed no magic and Morgan’s was still too weak for her to have broken through his wards, much less destroyed them. Whoever had broken in wasn’t entirely human.

Balor? Michael had never known him to do his own dirty work, but if he were desperate to get to Pendragon—and if he picked up the dragon’s scent and followed the trail—

Dear Goddess of Avalon! He had left Pendragon with a middle-aged human woman who would not be able to protect herself at all.

Michael grabbed the gold cross and raced out the door, hoping he wasn’t too late to save Stephanie.

****

“How is it that this warlock keeps eluding you?” Lucifer asked idly as he sipped a nineteenth-century cognac in his ultra-modern living room.

Balor glared at him with his good eye. “Careful, little brother! Even you would be wise not to defy me.”

Lucifer grinned and pushed a blond curl away from his forehead. “It is rather amusing in a warped way. You control some of the greediest political leaders on Earth, as well as bloodthirsty warlords, to say nothing of the insane people you recruited to serve the terrorists, and yet this one warlock—and by my own horns, he works with the Light, which puts him at a disadvantage—manages to keep a step ahead of you. You aren’t slipping, are you?”

For an answer, Balor raised his eye patch. A deadly bolt of lightning slashed through the air, piercing Lucifer’s shoulder and leaving a black, smoking hole in its wake.

Lucifer’s eyes flashed red and then returned to blue. He dusted the soot off his silk shirt and rubbed his shoulder. “That smarted, old man. And this shirt cost several hundred dollars. You might be a tad more careful with your temper.”

“Don’t push me, then!”

“Fine. Drink your brandy. I stole it from Napoleon’s own cellars.” Lucifer settled back in his leather armchair. “Tell me how you plan to punish Morgan for not capturing Pendragon. I’ll be glad to rape her again.”

Balor swirled the brandy slowly and inhaled the vapor before he spoke. “That won’t be necessary. Morgan followed my instructions and called me as soon as they found the house empty. Who knew the Cameron woman would disappear with a broken leg?”

“And Pendragon went with her.”

“He must have. I searched the warlock’s place myself, just to make sure he wasn’t there. But I did discover something else.”

“Oh? What?”

“Michael McCain is not just any warlock. His wards were stronger than any I’ve encountered since Arthur built Camelot. McCain is an Immortal.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows rose. “One of the Round Table knights?”

“I don’t think so. He and Lancelot—Lucas Ramsey—didn’t know each other. Very competitive. I tried to turn that into antagonism once I found out who Ramsey really was, but it didn’t work.”

“Of course it wouldn’t. Lancelot inherited Lugh’s Spear of Light—”

“Don’t remind me. I was only seconds away from retrieving it.” Balor swallowed the bitter bile that rose in his throat at the memory. “That’s why it’s imperative that we don’t let the Sword get away from us.”

“I agree, bro, but first we have to find the Pendragon and the girl.”