Twenty-Seven
A few weeks later, Griffin arrived with Emily at the museum for the Masterpiece Ball.
The sight of Emily in her new, floor-length emerald gown had nearly stolen his breath. It was immodest in the modern fashion, baring her arms, neck, and décolletage. He was bedeviled by thoughts of kissing her all over, and especially at that tender place beneath her ear that made her give a little moan, but he took satisfaction in knowing he would be able to do that later that night or the next morning, and again and again in the coming days and years.
He himself wore a special black outfit, a tux . It had seemed strange to him to rent garments for a special occasion, but Emily had assured him this was a common practice, and they had purchased gleaming black shoes to go with it. She had very much approved of his appearance, too, and he held his head high as he strolled in with her on his arm.
The stark Modern Art wing had been transformed into a magical space with gold and magenta lights, and filled with guests—mostly older, but some in their twenties and thirties, milling around with drinks in their hands before dinner. Flickering candles and arrangements of creamy camellias decorated the tables draped in white.
They found Rose, who’d brought her brother, Ryan. Griffin was glad to meet the man in person and thank him for the clothes he’d donated when Griffin had first come back to life. Terrence arrived with Scott—who, with his red beard, indeed looked like a Scot. Griffin was glad to no longer count the Scots, whom he had battled in his day, as enemies. Nor did he judge that the men were married to each other, which Emily had explained. It was strange to him but not the strangest thing he’d encountered in this new era. Having suffered so much, he couldn’t think ill of anything that brought joy and did no harm.
“You are a professor of law, I hear,” Griffin said to Scott, shaking his hand. “I am sure your Latin is far better than mine.”
Scott laughed. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“I’ve never been to such a fancy party,” Emily confessed to the group, looking around.
“Nor have I,” Griffin said, “except for the one after the coronation.” It did remind him of the feast after the crowning of Henry V, when he’d still been but a squire. He’d always been proud to tell people he’d been in attendance…but when Emily shot him a quizzical look, he realized his error.
“I am joking!” he assured them. “I was not invited to the last coronation.”
“Me neither,” Ryan deadpanned. “I don’t know what I did to piss those guys off.”
Rose said, “After all the drama lately, it’s nice to just relax and have a good time.”
“There’s Jason,” Terrence said with a nod. “Working the room.”
Griffin turned to see the man, in a midnight blue tux, moving from one little group of people to the next. He shook hands with one and then patted another on the shoulder, saying something that made them laugh.
“He’s good at that,” Emily said.
“Oh, yeah,” Terrence agreed. “He’s pretty active at getting donations, too.”
Griffin supposed Jason had to be, since he, along with his secret friends, were acquiring art with magical powers. Who were those colleagues? How had Jason gotten involved in it? He’d interviewed both Griffin and Emily, but whenever she asked a question, Jason had managed to distract her, turning the focus back onto them.
A few minutes later, when Emily and Griffin left the group briefly to go back to the bar, Jason intercepted them.
“My contact sent Christie’s some initial photos of the armor,” he said quietly. “She’s very excited. She wants to put it in an auction in a few months called Made in Britain .”
Griffin sighed. “Must we wait so long?”
Jason quirked a smile. “This isn’t like putting a couch on Craigslist.”
Griffin supposed this Craig was a merchant and was about to say that perhaps they should talk to him, but Emily told him, “A few months isn’t long.” She asked Jason, “Is the auction here in Chicago? I always wanted to go to one of those.”
“ Made in Britain ? It’s in London.”
“Right, duh. Shoot,” Emily said. “I wish we could afford to go.”
Jason said, “Well, listen—”
“I wish that, too, sweeting,” Griffin said and kissed her temple. “It would be a great pleasure to see that city again and marvel at how it has changed.”
“We’ll go someday,” Emily promised.
Jason gave an impatient shake of his head. “They’re starting the bidding at one million pounds.”
“Oh my God!” Emily exclaimed, loudly enough that nearby partygoers looked over. Griffin didn’t know what a pound could buy, but her reaction was encouraging, and a million of anything was probably a lot. In a quieter voice, Emily asked, “Is that too high?”
“No. They think they’re going to break the record for an armor auction. There’s literally nothing like it on earth.”
After a dinner that included roasted halibut and colorful little pastries called macarons, but before the mystery musical performance outside in the giant tent pavilion, Jason gave a brief speech thanking the donors and the organizers of the event and inviting them to get a sneak peek of the Medieval Might exhibition.
Among a few hundred other guests, Emily and Griffin made their way through the museum to the gallery. They admired the intricately carved Aztec club, edged with obsidian blades, and the samurai helmet and breastplate. When they reached the Essex armor, Griffin froze, and his blood chilled in his veins.
The helmet had been cleaned, the gilding reapplied, and now he could see the etching of the jackdaw with its baleful staring eye—the death-bird, the emblem of Mordrain’s house. When he’d seen the armor before, he’d been exulting in his newfound life, and he’d been too distracted to notice that the shoulder plate was missing.
“I still get the worst feeling about it,” Emily said quietly, staring along with him.
Griffin pointed at the place where a round disk should be. “This piece broke off in the tournament when I knocked him from his horse, and it was trampled underfoot.” He turned to her. “This is Mordrain’s armor.”
She paled. “Seriously? Are you sure?”
“That is not his sword, though,” Griffin added.
“No, we just gave him that.” She said to the armor, “Fuck you, bastard.” A nearby couple exchanged judgmental glances and stepped away. Griffin knew that was vulgar language, which Emily rarely used, but because she used it to address his enemy, albeit posthumously, it sounded sweet to his ears. “Fuck you and your magic.”
Griffin surprised himself by letting out a hearty laugh. “What does it matter now?” His voice rose along with his sense of triumph. “He is dead, and I am alive!”
Emily clutched his arm with a little gasp. He looked down at her, then followed her shocked gaze. The sword arm of the suit of armor raised slowly.
Mordrain! Or his ghost…
With a wild swing, the armor wrested itself free of the stand, which crashed to the floor.
As it took two steps toward Griffin, he shoved Emily to the side and behind him, so hard she stumbled right into a man whose back was turned. “What the hell,” the man said sharply, but it was almost lost in the exclamations of the crowd.
Jason’s voice carried over the excitement. “Oh, shit.”
The armor—no, Mordrain —raised his sword with both hands over his head. Griffin took several steps back as a shriek tore from Emily’s lips, reverberating with other screams from the crowd.
“A sword! I need a sword!” Griffin shouted at no one in particular as Mordrain advanced. He brought his blade down in the direction of Griffin’s skull.
Griffin dodged it completely, picked up the Aztec battle club, and fended off another blow. That weapon hadn’t been designed to deal with armor, though, and while the sword in Mordrain’s hand was dull, it was steel, and heavy. Griffin could only survive for so long without a proper weapon…
Then Emily was at his side, holding the elegant Ethiopian sword. Griffin released the club to grab its hilt without missing a beat. “Run!” he shouted at her.
She darted away just in time to avoid Mordrain’s sword thrust. Griffin blocked the next one, albeit awkwardly—he wasn’t used to the slim curved blade. For once, Mordrain had the advantage.
“What are they doing ?!” a woman shrieked as Griffin and Mordrain exchanged two more blows. “They’re going to damage those!”
“Yeah, this isn’t cute,” someone else said.
Mordrain’s spirit had probably been enraged to hear Griffin crowing about being alive. Maybe he’d been angry, too, to see Griffin with an adoring woman on his arm. All this time in Chicago, while Griffin had been enjoying life to the fullest, Mordrain had been frozen in rage…
Griffin knew what that was like. It was hell.
Time slowed down for him, as it always had in the heat of battle, his vision and hearing sharpening, as he noticed every movement, the sound of his own breath, the pounding of his heart. He and Mordrain circled each other, trading blows, trying to get past each other’s defenses. They neared the Bruges window—and Terrence planted himself in front of it, his hands balled into fists, clearly willing to risk life and limb to defend his handiwork.
“Put down that sword right now !” Laurie yelled from somewhere in the crowd, in a tone she’d probably perfected as a mother.
Behind Mordrain, Emily darted forward, the Aztec club in her hand. Griffin’s heart lurched. He let his gaze slide right over her, not allowing his expression to change, so Mordrain wouldn’t turn around, but he wanted to shout at her. She didn’t know what she was doing. The weapon was too heavy for her. She ran toward Mordrain’s back—
And tripped on the edge of her gown.
Mordrain spun around as she fell to her knees almost at his feet.
No!
Mordrain raised his blade over her. Almost blinded by terror, Griffin rushed forward and grasped Mordrain’s sword arm.
At the same time, Emily smashed the club into the groin of the armor.
God’s bones. Mordrain dropped the sword and hunched forward. Griffin tackled him from behind, getting his left arm around his neck in a choke hold, as Emily, to his relief, scurried out of reach.
But there was no breath in Mordrain to choke out. The spectral warrior twisted and spasmed with a ferocious strength. He managed to knock the blade out of Griffin’s other hand with his dull sword. Griffin cursed himself for his lapse in focus. He couldn’t pick the sword up without loosing his hold on Mordrain.
How could Griffin win a fight with a ghost? If he disarmed Mordrain and smashed the armor to bits, Mordrain wouldn’t be able to inhabit it. But might he still haunt the museum where Emily worked every day? There had to be a better way.
“Mordrain, listen to me.” A hush fell over the crowd, but Mordrain still struggled like a fish on a hook. “You’ve already taken more revenge than any man has ever taken on another. But now I am free, and you are still a prisoner—frozen like stone, in your own anger.”
Mordrain stilled.
“We were like brothers, once,” Griffin said much more quietly, for Mordrain’s ears alone. “Were we not happier then, roaming the village and the meadows, before pride and ambition poisoned our souls? We were told that our worth lay in our riches and our might. We both suckled on the venom of these lies.”
He never would’ve guessed he’d be able to speak to Mordrain like this. He should want the man to suffer at least a fraction of what he’d suffered. But could there be no end to violence and revenge? Jason had made his way to the front of the crowd, and he silently picked up the sword Mordrain had knocked to the floor, never taking his eyes off the suit of armor.
“I know what it is to be trapped,” Griffin said softly. “There is no worse torment. But only you can set yourself free.”
Warily, he loosed his grip. Mordrain took a step back and turned to face him.
He raised his sword.
Jason and Emily lunged forward, though Emily was empty-handed—
But Mordrain let the sword fall to the floor with a clang.
The suit of armor collapsed into a heap after it, and the heaviness in the air evaporated.
The crowd gasped. Griffin stared at the inert pile of steel, his heart still hammering in his chest. Emily was alive, Griffin himself was alive, and the age of enmity was past.
Emily ran over to Griffin and hugged him. Ah, God, she felt good. He almost squeezed the breath out of her. A few people applauded and cheered. In Emily’s peripheral vision, Jason sidled over to casually set the shotel back in place.
Jason said loudly to the guests, “I hope you all enjoyed the performance. And I hope you’re ready for the next one!” He announced the mystery musical guest and then flashed an apologetic grimace in Emily and Griffin’s direction. The crowd broke out in excited chatter.
Jason slipped over to join Griffin and Emily. “You guys all right?” he asked in an undertone. “I had no idea that thing was going to be violent. Obviously.”
“It did have a bad vibe, though,” Emily said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Next time tell me if something has a bad vibe.”
Emily crossed her arms. “Next time, you and your friends be more careful.” Jason tilted his head, as though to acknowledge this was fair. “But yeah, if anything else creeps me out, I’ll let you know.”
Griffin wrapped his arm around Emily’s waist. “It is truly finished now.”
Jason nodded. “I, uh, I’ve got to go.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the dispersing crowd. They were headed back to the Modern Art wing, where they could exit the museum to the outdoor tent pavilion for the show.
“I have the most chaotic boss,” Emily murmured, staring after Jason. Then she shook her head. “Let’s go out the front doors. I could use a minute.”
She showed her ID to the security guard, who let them out the front entrance. They stood at the top of the steps, and the cool evening air touched their faces. The bronze lions stood guard below, as if ready to protect them from any further threats.
“I’ve never seen you fight before,” she commented, taking his hand. “It was pretty impressive.”
An incredulous huff escaped him. “You were supposed to run. When I saw Mordrain lift his sword over you, my soul nearly left my body.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, but we’re a team.” The museum’s outdoor lights, illuminating the pillars behind them, were bright enough for him to see her mischievous expression. “Anyone who fights you, fights me, too.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Then woe betide any challenger. That was a mighty blow, and you were very brave.” He pulled her closer and brushed his lips across hers.
“You’ve been brave all along,” she said softly. “I know it’s been scary sometimes, being stuck in a new world.”
Griffin looked around them. Cars filled Michigan Avenue, and the skyscrapers glittered like promises.
“I was stuck for centuries, but I am not stuck now. If I could be anywhere, at any time, I would be here.”
“In Chicago?”
He turned to her. “Nay, my heart’s queen. By your side.”
The adoration in her eyes made him feel like a king. “I want that forever. I love you so much.”
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Their kiss spoke of months, years, and decades of joy and sorrow to come, but mostly joy. Crackling and popping distracted them, and they looked up to see the sparkling fireworks shot off from nearby Navy Pier, reflecting in the dark waters of the lake and turning it into a second sky, filled with stars for a thousand wishes coming true.