What had she been thinking, offering him a cup of tea? She should have raced up the stairs and dialed 911, not offered to feed him. She’d clearly been reading too many books, and all of them the wrong kind. Warriors with big swords did not appear out of nowhere, just because a statue fell over. She frowned, thinking hard. It had to be coincidence that he looked like her winged warrior. Stop that, she ordered herself. He was not her anything.
“What have you decided?” he asked, his voice still carrying that almost musical cadence that had convinced her he was safe.
“How’d you know my name?” she demanded, flashing back to the first thing he’d said to her.
He smiled. Dear God, this had to be a dream. They didn’t make real men with smiles like that.
“Of course I know your name. You told me. Besides, I’ve heard that bastard Sotiris yell for you often enough.” He spoke gently, the way you would to a skittish horse. Is that how he saw her? Who cared? He wasn’t real anyway.
“How do you know Mr. Sotiris?” She might as well continue the make-believe conversation. Maybe she’d figure out where her delusions came from.
“Because he’s the one who stuck me in that statue.”
She hit the top of the stairs and turned to face him, their faces nearly even since he stood two steps below her. She blinked. “You’re saying . . .” She shook her head, then forged onward. “You were . . . a statue? My statue?”
His smile widened. “You often ate your midday meal with me. I looked forward to your visits, to hearing you talk. It was far better than the bloviations of that craven sorcerer.”
Anyone could know that, she told herself. At least anyone who was lurking about the statuary room. The cleaning crew only came in once a month, but they could easily have seen her sitting downstairs, maybe even overheard her talking to him. Wait. Did he say . . . ?
“Sorcerer?” she rasped on a throat so dry, she was surprised the word made any sound.
It was his turn to blink in surprise. “Of course. Granted, the magic is thin in this world, but Sotiris seems as strong as ever, despite his evil bent.”
“Magic,” she repeated, then spun around to do what she should have done in the first place—get the fuck away from him, then call for help.
Strong arms came around her, pulling her against a hard, warm chest, surrounding her with that surprisingly fresh scent. “Go easy, sweet Maeve. I mean you no harm.”
It took her a minute to catch her breath, her lungs having stopped working in the short time she’d spent with her back pressed against his chest. When she did speak, she was more angry than frightened. “Let go of me!” She twisted viciously, so surprised when he released her, that she would have stumbled if not for his bracing hand on her arm. She shook him off. “If it’s true that you mean no harm,” she said, sucking in a breath, “then give me your sword.”
He shook his head, that easy smile still in place. “I cannot do that, my beauty. A warrior is never parted from his blade.”
“Maybe you’re afraid I’ll use it against you.”
He didn’t laugh at her ridiculous threat . . . probably because he didn’t know how ridiculous it was. She might admire pretty blades, but she’d never used one. He did, however, lean close enough to whisper, “I could have you helpless with my blade at your throat before you drew your next breath.”
Maeve froze. She believed him.
But then he straightened and said, “That I haven’t is proof of my good intentions, is it not?”
“No, it is not,” she snapped, then turned her back and opened a door directly onto the kitchen. She didn’t trust his so-called good intentions, but she did believe he meant her no immediate harm. Maybe he’d steal her car and go, leaving her to explain to Mr. Sotiris about the broken statue. Though her employer could hardly blame her. It’s not like she could have pushed such a huge piece over on her own, for God’s sake.
The warrior followed so silently that she glanced back as she crossed the kitchen, wanting to be certain he hadn’t wandered. Or maybe to hope that he had. She’d like him to wander far away and never come back. She frowned. Except that she didn’t. Not truly. The thing of it was . . . she wanted to believe in magic, wanted to believe her warrior had come to life, like in a great fantasy story. Moreover, she did believe that some of Mr. Sotiris’s “curiosities” had something strange about them. So why not magic? She’d never touched any of the ones in the Wonder Room—that was her word for the room, not his, and she only thought of it that way because it reminded her of the so-called “wonder cabinets” from sixteenth and seventeenth century Europe. Some of Sotiris’s curiosities seemed quite ordinary, some just unusual. One that stood out in that category was . . . a rock. She knew it had to be more than that, because it was surrounded with extraordinary security. First, it was displayed in a purple velvet box that had clearly been designed for it, since it nestled into the velvet with perfect symmetry. The box, open for display, was locked inside a glass and wood case, and then surrounded by a second glass dome with no visible seams. It had a sophisticated security device right above it, with an independent laser alarm system, and 24/7 visual monitoring. Maeve was a computer nerd, not a security specialist, but she’d done some searching online and had found a system that was similar but not identical to this one. No prices had been listed, which usually meant if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. Maeve had been curious enough to study the display from a safe distance, not wanting to set off any alarm bells. She’d seen it close enough to know there were no inscriptions or symbols, no evidence of artificial polish or shine. And while the shape was roughly hexagonal, it was far from perfect. She’d originally thought it might be a moon rock—one of those pieces smuggled back to Earth and sold on the black market. But the longer she’d worked there, and the more she discovered about Sotiris, she’d known it had to be something more. She just didn’t know what.
Besides, the rock wasn’t the only or even the most interesting treasure. Not for her, anyway. The rest of the room was filled with exquisitely crafted antiquities, many of which she knew would have sold for millions at auction. She hadn’t dared touch those either, and not only because Sotiris had ordered her not to. They were all too rare and beautiful to risk even the tiniest damage, like that from the oil of a careless hand.
But then, the piece that had always intrigued her the most, the only one she’d touched and comforted and talked to like a friend despite Sotiris’s prohibitions, had been her warrior. And now? Now there was this handsome, charming, and oh-so-sincere man, who looked just like her warrior. And she was making him a cup of tea.