Agnes and Phinneas were in danger. But she had known that. Now that she knew the prophecy, she needed the Seer’s guidance to help decipher it. She needed Phinneas. She had to leave as soon as possible.
“Sabine, I can help. Trust me.”
“The guardians guard the elixir,” she said before she could reconsider. She eyed his face to see if she’d said too much.
“Elixir? What is that?” he asked. He flipped the coin in the air and caught it.
“No.” She shook her head fervently. “I’ve said far too much already,” she said. “You’ve asked your two questions.”
“Can you tell me how many guardians there are?” he asked. “Scotland Yard is working on the case, and I’d like to be able to have the police protect them.”
She met his eyes. “There were three. Though only two remain.”
All his questions brought her doubts pouring down on top of her. Seeking the help of an outsider. She was violating one of the sacred rules of her people. A guardian would never have done this—further proof the selection of Agnes had been correct, and she did not deserve to be guardian. It was a significant risk to trust him, but he knew about the map and the prophecy, information she would need in order to protect Agnes.
She had to do what she felt was right, and at the moment, she needed this man’s assistance. So for now, she had to trust herself, and to an extent, trust Maxwell Barrett.
CHAPTER8
Long after Sabine had left his study, Max stood staring at the map. He’d always assumed the inscription buried within the map had been a prophecy foretelling the destruction of Atlantis. But first Justin and now Sabine. It seemed rather impossible that this could be a coincidence. The murders, the letter to the guardian, and what of Sabine and her aunts being descendants of Atlantis?
Perhaps the girl was mad. Caught up in a fantasy world she’d created after reading about Atlantis. But what if? That niggling feeling dug at him. What if she wasn’t delusional? What if she was telling the truth, and not simply what she believed to be true, but the actual reality? If Sabine and her aunts were descendants of Atlantis, then that was his proof. Real flesh-and-bone people whose lineage flowed back to a land that no longer existed. Of course, there was no scientific measure to show their lineage.
“The guardians guard the elixir,” she’d said. Elixir. It didn’t jar any memories. So much about this prophecy didn’t exist in any of his sources. Then again, in the past he’d focused on proving the existence of Atlantis. He’d paid less attention to Atlantean culture. He pulled a few books from the shelf and dropped them on his desk, including the newest from that odd American who claimed Atlantis was the birthplace of civilization. Max didn’t consider the man a true scholar on the subject, but he needed information, and right now he’d take it from nearly anyone.
He opened another book, an ancient text written in Greek, and caught a glimpse of an illustration, a four-tiered fountain in the center of Poseidon’s palace. Some legends claimed that it was the fountain of youth, a wellspring of immortal life. He’d never given much thought to that theory one way or another. Was this the elixir the guardians protected?
Again he stood and read the prophecy, even though those words were imprinted on his brain. He looked down and caught sight of the stitches on his all-but-healed gunshot wound. The pain had completely disappeared. She’d said it was an old family recipe. He just bet.
That ointment she’d used on him was nothing short of amazing. He glanced down at the illustration of the fountain. Fountain of youth elixir.
“Son of a bitch.” This probably meant that one of her aunts was a guardian. Which would certainly explain the thugs at their shop the other night.
He ran his hand over his stitches, marveling at his healing. That elixir could be the proof Marcus required for use of his submersible ship. Somehow Max needed to get his hands on it. Starting tomorrow, he would find a way toborrowsome from her.
She certainly had said all the right words to pique his curiosity. From the wager to everything she’d told him tonight, he was utterly intrigued. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was quite likely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
If someone were to design the perfect woman to distract him, wouldn’t she be just like Sabine, though? Beautiful, aloof, full of mysteries and contradictions. And involved with Atlantis. She was almost too perfect.
In one swift movement, he reached over the glass case to the map and heaved the frame off the wall. It slipped from his hands as he was pulling it away and slid down. The corner of the frame struck the glass case, and it shattered. Glass fragments poured over his feet, and the noise echoed through the room.
His butler came running into the study. “My lord, are you all right?”
“Fine, I just broke the bloody case. Have another one commissioned next week to replace this one. We can’t have this rusty old spear exposed where someone might hurt themselves.” He grabbed the frame again and moved it over to his desk.
He looked up to find his butler still standing in the doorway, a frown furrowing his already wrinkled brow. The old man cleared his throat. “Yes, most certainly, my lord. Anything else?”
“No, that will be all.”
He wasn’t normally so clumsy. He was tired. Thoughts of the little minx had certainly troubled his sleep the previous night. However, he was a grown man and could certainly manage his desires. He was less prepared for having his intellectual pursuits stymied. When he encountered a puzzle, he solved it. When he needed answers, he got them.
Furthermore, people generally followed his orders.
Sabine did not. She did whatever she damn well wanted, regardless of the consequences.
In this instance, she’d insisted on returning to her shop, despite the obvious dangers. There was a killer on the loose, and unless Max was mistaken, the next target was one of Sabine’s aunts. Therefore, the four women should obviously accept his protection until the danger had passed. It was only logical.
But were they here now, at his house, where they would be safe? No. They were not. They were at their shop, where unknown customers came and went throughout the day and countless bumbling thieves trespassed at night, and where their only defense was a single gun in the possession of a woman with poor aim.