Stopping Time: Paranormal Fantasy Young Adult/New Adult Romance (Kerrigan Chronicles Book 1)

by W. J. May

  All night she’d been awake. Talking it over with Devon. Trying to work out a plan.

  The premise was simple enough. A tatù couldn’t exist in a vacuum. If she had the ability to time-travel, that meant that someone in this time had to have such an ability as well. The ancestor of whoever she’d accidentally mimicked the ink from. Perhaps even the person themselves.

  Someone who could control it. Someone who could help them get home.

  Now all we have to do is find them.

  “Come on, Molls.” Rae ducked around the baker’s cart and side-stepped a puddle of raw sewage. “The sooner we find this guy, the sooner we get back to our own time. And coffee.”

  She’d said the magic word.

  With newfound energy, the friends picked up the pace. Striding down narrow streets that were better suited to horses than cars. Tottering precariously over roughly-hewn cobblestones that were better suited to soft leather boots than dress shoes and stilettos. Remaining intensely, willfully oblivious to the fact that they didn’t have any idea where they were going.

  All around them, the city of London was coming to life.

  Doors were opening, canvas awnings were coming back up, wet laundry was draped from every window to dry. The smell of porridge, cider, and freshly baked bread hung deliciously in the air, chasing after the scores of men who were heading off to work.

  Some had tools strapped to their backs. Others had already been up for hours and were bringing baskets of goods back into the city. Still others were herding animals through the streets.

  The animals were of particular amusement.

  Short of whatever fantastical beast Rae occasionally shifted into, the last taste of ‘wildlife’ the friends had gotten was at a petting zoo they’d taken the kids to a month before. There had been a moment of crisis when Molly stepped on the foot of a goat, and they’d vowed never to return.

  Yet here they were—right in the middle of it. Watching with wide eyes as a flock of sheep wandered down what would later become the interstate. Luke took a secret picture with his phone.

  In a strange way, it reminded Rae very much of a London morning in her own time.

  Only then, people were queued up in front of the local Starbucks instead of the local baker’s. They were living amidst a sea of strangers instead of knowing their neighbors by name. And they were glued to their cellphones instead of gazing up at the bright English sky.

  It was also unlikely to have a run-in with a goat.

  “This is so unreal,” Luke murmured, watching with wide eyes as an unruly stallion was fitted with an iron shoe. “I feel like I stepped inside a Jack London novel.”

  As if on cue, a stout aproned woman burst out of a nearby house, smacking her cowering husband over the head with a rolling pin as a trio of chickens scattered in alarm.

  “Just one more in a long line of debilitatingly surreal life moments,” Gabriel replied casually, stepping aside to make room for an angry man leading a donkey. “We should start a support group.”

  “But only for the truly unhinged,” his sister added brightly. “Barriers of entry?”

  “Oh you know, the usual.” He pulled an apple out of his pocket, shining it absentmindedly on his sleeve. “Night terrors, self-portraits... an irrational fear of cats.”

  “I keep telling myself it’s a stress reaction,” Julian muttered under his breath. “I keep telling myself that I’m not actually related to these people.”

  The siblings shot him a look, then Angel tossed her wedding ring carelessly into the dirt. As Julian knelt automatically to retrieve it, Gabriel gave him a hard shove.

  In the meantime, the others were beginning to question their fearless leader.

  “Sweetheart?” Despite his lack of tatù, Devon moved gracefully through the street to catch up with his wife, ducking his head quickly to avoid getting hit by a fast-moving cart. “Do you have some kind of destination in mind?”

  He and the others almost ran into her when she came to a sudden stop, pointing up at an arched doorway with a beaming smile. They stared for a moment, then followed her gaze.

  “I sure do,” she said proudly. “And Molly’s going to love it...”

  DEVON TURNED TO RAE with a shrewd stare. As if this might be the reason she’d jumped them through time all along. There was a moment of silence, then he lifted his chin with a solemn vow.

  “I will not now, nor will I ever... wear tights.”

  The seven friends were standing together under the same crooked sign, seemingly united, but a clear line had formed in their ranks. The men were on one side, the women were on the other.

  Only Luke stood in the middle, looking inexplicably pleased.

  “Oh, would you stop,” Rae silenced him. “This isn’t about that.” Although the thought most certainly crossed my mind. “I took us here because—”

  There was a hard impact, followed by a flash of crimson. A second later she was stumbling backwards, a pair of skinny arms locked around her neck.

  “You don’t have to explain a thing, you precious girl!” Molly trilled, trembling from head to toe with excitement. “A dress shop?! From the seventeenth century?!” She let out a squeal at a pitch usually reserved for canines. “It’s like you’ve been reading my dream journal!”

  There was a beat of silence, then six pairs of eyes flew in opposite directions.

  It was a testament to how well Molly was both loved and feared that the others said not a word about this revelation. They simply checked to see if their ears had begun to bleed.

  “Of course the place we really want to be is Paris,” she babbled on, completely oblivious to the fact that Rae had begun to turn blue. “I’m a fan of the empire silhouette myself, but who can argue with a classic English mantua?! Especially when contrasted against the riding habit—”

  She broke off in surprise when Rae started tapping frantically on the back of her hand.

  “Oh, sorry.” She released her with a breathless giggle. “You’re so much easier to break now that you don’t have Devon’s tatù.”

  Behind her back, Julian gave his friend an appraising look. Then a tentative shove.

  “Enough!” Devon staggered backwards, struggling to regain his balance. “And would you guys tone it down? We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile!”

  Says the guy walking around seventeenth-century London in an Armani suit.

  “We need to keep our heads down and stick together,” he continued, glancing up and down the street. “The last thing we need is to draw unnecessary—MOLLY!”

  His hand shot out, but for once the little redhead was too fast for him. She blurred past in a cloud of crimson chiffon, babbling incoherently about petticoats as she vanished inside the shop.

  For a second, they simply stared. Half-stunned that she’d escaped Devon. Half-stunned by her speed. Then they did the only thing that made sense.

  They went running after her.

  IF RAE HAD EVER IMAGINED what it would be like to step into a garment store in the 1600s, she wouldn’t have imagined anything like this. To start, the place was more of a house than it was a store. Several tiny rooms opened into a communal space, there was a bed pushed into the far corner and a round oak table sat squarely in the center, remnants of tea and porridge scattered across.

  Clothes were stacked or hanging in every spare inch of space, creating a slightly manic aesthetic, but it wasn’t the garments that caught her attention. It was the other things lying around the store instead. The personal effects. The likes of which had faded slowly over time.

  There was a bellows for the fire. A stack of kindling in a leather pouch. Two solitary books, worn from overuse, and a pair of spectacles bound in linen. A mortar and pestle. A raw-hide canvas baked by the sun. And enough candles to effectively light Notre Dame.

  The shopkeeper’s entire life was on display. Everything, right there in the open. The only thing Rae didn’t see was her best friend.

  Molly!

  She called
out telepathically, then remembered she no longer had that set of ink. Just like Molly no longer had her lightning, or any other means of taking care of herself.

  As usual, her husband seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  “Molly Elizabeth,” Devon hissed, his bright eyes roving about the store. She may have been a married mother, but a part of him would always see her as that fifteen-year-old girl he’d met at Guilder. Sparks at her fingers and ribbons in her hair. “I swear, she does this just to age me.”

  Luke and Rae shared a secret smile as the big brother in him went on high alert.

  “—no regard for personal safety. It’s like trying to reason with a hummingbird.” He ran a manic hand through his hair, moving further inside. “No matter how many times I try to—Molly!”

  He caught a glimpse of her flaming hair and swept down the hall, the others on his heels. A look of sheer exasperation flushed his handsome face as he grabbed her by the sleeve.

  “Honestly, Skye, it’s like having another kid!”

  She gave no indication that she’d heard him. She gave no indication of having seen him at all. Instead, she was rooted to the spot. Arms limp at her sides. Mouth hanging open in wonder.

  “I found it! The mothership.”

  About two years earlier, Rae and Devon had come home from a mission to find that instead of merely watering the plants as they’d asked, Molly had hijacked Devon’s home office. Floors had been carpeted, the walls painted a demure shade of cream. Chrome furniture and proprietary PC technology had been relocated to the front lawn, and a beautiful rosewood desk—gifted to him from the crown prince of England—had been ‘repurposed for better use.’

  She’d turned it into a sewing room.

  There were bolts of fabric hanging from the wall. A giant work table stretched across the center. Shelves mounted above the door with barrels of buttons, ribbons, and lace. Devon’s flat-screen television had been pasted over with hand-drawn sketches for seasonal evening wear, and an army of terrifying naked mannequins stood ready and waiting in the corner.

  The fight that had ensued put all others to shame, but now, standing in the middle of a seventeenth- century replication, it was impossible not to admire the finished effect.

  The sheets of linen draped across the ceiling. The complicated drawings with patterns and measurements nailed into the wall. Enough undergarments and petticoats to effectively clothe all of London—and there were the seven friends standing in the middle of it. Looking a little lost.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  Rae and the others whirled around to see a stately woman standing in the doorway. Tall frame, grey hair, and hands permanently cemented on her hips. It was impossible to tell how long she’d been watching them, but judging by the slight curve of her mouth and the knowing twinkle in her eyes Rae would guess she’d been there the whole time.

  “I’m so sorry,” she began nervously, well aware that they had burst into this woman’s home without so much as a knock, “we were just—”

  “—admiring your store,” Molly interrupted in a reverent hush. Her eyes were shining and her hands were clasped as if she’d strayed into some kind of wonderland. “It’s just extraordinary.”

  There was an awkward pause, followed by a silent sigh of relief.

  Whatever hesitations or concerns the woman might have had vanished on the spot. It was impossible to be suspicious of such devout sincerity—no matter how strangely it was dressed. The lines on her face smoothed in a second of surprise, then creased into a warm smile.

  “Thank you, child. It has been in my family for years. Passed on from mother to daughter.”

  Rae glanced around again. What her mother had passed on was an impossible family legacy and the ability to spontaneously burst into flames, but the shop was nice as well.

  “We’re so sorry to intrude,” she interjected smoothly, taking over the conversation before Molly could volunteer for some kind of indentured servitude. “But we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a strange situation and we need your help—”

  “I can see that.”

  Before she could finish the woman strode forward, her long apron swishing over the stone floor. She looked the friends up and down in a way that reminded them of Madame Elpis, those sharp eyes missing not a single detail. Then she grabbed the front of Devon’s coat. “What in the world happened to your clothes?”

  A second later, she was taking measurements. Running a pair of practiced hands over every inch of his body, committing every number to memory as she murmured them aloud.

  “Broad shoulders, better for a fitted cuff. Waist, about thirty-one inches. Chest is closer to forty. Bring in the sides to create a longer sleeve...”

  Rae opened her mouth, then froze, one finger still raised in the air.

  Not exactly what I meant.

  Even if she’d managed to speak, it would hardly have mattered. The woman, who had yet to introduce herself, was a force of nature. Tunnel-vision focus. Fingers blurring with speed.

  Molly’s eyes glowed as they gazed upon her new hero, but Devon was not as pleased. He stiffened in alarm as a pair of gnarled hands locked onto his chest, trying to feel skin through the shirt. When those same hands drifted down to his in-seam, he jerked away in a mild panic.

  “Uh, Rae?”

  “Right.” She broke out of her trance, trying very hard not to smile. “Sorry.”

  With the utmost caution she approached the strange woman, who was currently in the process of trying to unbutton her husband’s pants. She had to tap twice on her shoulder before she was rewarded with an irritated, “Hmm?”

  “We didn’t actually come here for new clothes.” She caught the look on Molly’s face and was quick to add, “although I’m sure we’ll take a dress or two. What we wanted was information.”

  The woman paused, her hands frozen on Devon’s belt, then turned around curiously. The two of them locked eyes and Rae pulled in a deep breath, laying it all out on the line.

  “I was wondering if you’d ever seen something like this before.” She gestured to the three men standing in tuxedos behind her, then to the women standing by their side. “I know it’s a rather strange way to be dressed... but you didn’t seem very surprised.”

  The dressmaker had been a wild guess, but after a night of brainstorming it had been the only thing that Rae could come up with. If they had landed in this part of London it was safe to say the time traveler had landed there, too. And if he’d come from their time, it would stand to reason he’d have to change his clothes as well. The local clothing boutique was a good place to start.

  “Has someone been here before? Someone who looked like us?”

  The others froze, catching on to the plan at the same time. It wasn’t much of a lead, but for the moment it was the only one they had. Everything depended on it.

  Come on, lady, say yes. Just say yes.

  It was quiet for a moment, then a flash of recognition danced through the woman’s eyes. It was only there for a moment, but it told Rae everything she needed to know.

  “When?” she asked quickly, breathless with anticipation. “When did they—”

  “I cannot recall.”

  The momentum came crashing to a halt as the conversation froze. A whispered hush fell over the room as the smile slid off Rae’s face.

  “You can’t...you can’t recall?” she repeated incredulously. “But you just—”

  “I’m sorry, children.” That warm smile was gone, replaced with shrewd calculation. “I know you came all this way just for information, but I simply cannot recall.”

  Rae shot Devon a backwards glance and he stepped forward as well. As thrown by the change in tone as she was. Trying hard to rein in his frustration.

  “Listen, ma’am, I don’t know if you understand the urgency—”

  “This is a nice coat.”

  A quiet voice put a stop to the argument, and the others turned around in surprise.

  Gabriel was stan
ding near the window, examining an embroidered jacket. His fingers traced lightly over the material. A gesture just as casual as his voice. Only his eyes told a different story.

  A story that was anything but casual.

  “I may need to get one for myself,” he continued in that same thoughtful voice, utterly unperturbed by the suffocating tension all around him. “My friends might also.” His eyes locked on the woman, freezing her in place. “Would you be able to recall then?”

  There was a pause, during which the two of them stared at each other. A pause during which neither seemed particularly inclined to back down.

  Then the woman stepped back with a smile. “I most certainly would.” She opened her arms wide and gestured to the room. “Why don’t each of you pick out something you’d like, while I try to jog my memory...”

  It wasn’t phrased as a question; then again, she hadn’t really been asking. She had been offering, however. Offering a simple choice. One they had no choice but to accept.

  One by one the friends drifted away from each other, wandering aimlessly up and down the racks, pulling out items at random without really understanding what went where. Only Molly was excited by how things had turned out, darting happily through the aisles, and only Luke was spared. Rae watched with surprise as the woman caught him by the arm and led him to a chair.

  “All except you, darling. You look quite dashing as it is.”

  As she walked away, he flashed the rest of them a smug look over her shoulder. Settling down in his ballet clothes with the world’s most ironic smile.

  “Now who’s dressed inappropriately?”

  “WE MUST NEVER SPEAK of this again.”

  Devon was staring at his reflection in a piece of shined glass, looking like all the stars in the heavens had aligned against him. One hand was fiddling with his waistcoat, while the other raked through his freshly combed hair. Of particular concern was the silk vest. He tugged restlessly at the edges, shifting uncomfortably in his new leather shoes. He was so distracted, he didn’t even notice his wife come up behind him. Not until her slender arms wrapped snugly around his waist.