by Kat Bastion
A sunny wide clearing opened up, and Isobel slowed as she approached Brigid who stood at the far end. Beyond them toward the west—across a rocky chasm and another swath of verdant forest—stretched Brodie Castle’s one-of-a-kind curtain wall, its corners anchored with magick stones quarried from Skorpius’s world. Faint sounds of swordplay carried on the wind, into preternatural ears able to hear far beyond the capabilities of any human.
Skorpius eased into the dark shadows that fueled his unique magick, maintaining a greater distance from his apparent target and her nascent time-bending powers. He needed to test Brigid’s sensing ability while he masked his presence.
By the wild gesticulating and animated postures, it appeared the two females were engaged in heated conversation, expressions tense, breaths shortened. But Brigid failed to react to his distant presence.
And the threatening power surge? Had faded to a low hum. For now.
With his obscured vantage point, and the distraction between the two of them, he’d gained the space to observe. He took rapid mental note of everything, the mundane and special. Including that neither wore the period’s feminine daytime garb of flowing dresses in muted colors. Instead, the two wore custom-made animal hides—that didn’t hide a thing. Coming from rebel Isobel, the discrepancy didn’t surprise him. But the scandalous outfit on Brigid, one born into the clan’s ruling family? Noteworthy.
Then again, of the handful of times that he’d visited to monitor Isobel’s progress, he’d never noticed Brigid doing any normal female task. He didn’t recall noticing much about her at all.
“I’m noticing now,” he murmured.
As if to punctuate her defiance, Brigid paced away from Isobel, nocked another arrow and aimed midstride, drew back, then released. Before the arrow sank into the truck of a slender tree, she rapidly loosed a second arrow. Then a third. The tip of each subsequent arrow shaved bits of feather from the prior one’s fletching before piercing the bark in tight formation.
Well done. Brigid exhibited skill that nearly defied the laws of physics. And probability.
The imperceptible background noise of swordplay from the castle ceased. And the moment it did, Isobel tilted her head, as if she’d detected the difference. But Brigid also tilted her head, narrowing her eyes to the slightest degree. Ah, you noticed the change as well.
Evidence continued to mount: Brigid no longer remained just human.
“What have you become, Highlander?” he murmured. “And how. And…why?”
The reasons had to be virtuous. Brigid’s life depended on it.
Until Skorpius judged the matter, life everywhere in every time hung in the balance.
Isobel stepped into the line of fire as Brigid nocked a fourth arrow. Brigid moved to the side a few degrees—like a normal human—then took aim once again. Isobel shook her head, then began to gesticulate at Brigid again.
Skorpius rolled his shoulders and stretched the arches of his wings up as he concentrated on their discussion.
“Regardless of the amazing skill you’ve shown, Bridge”—Isobel gave a nod toward the impressive display in the tree trunk—“I still disapprove…in every way.”
Brigid loosed the arrow, then leveled a heavy stare at Isobel. “You canna speak a word of this to Iain.”
Skorpius recalled what he knew of Iain, Isobel’s husband, Brigid’s brother, and their laird. The man was fair and wise. Committed to the protection his clan. The courageous leader had nearly sacrificed his life once to protect them. Skorpius had every confidence the valiant man would do the same again for them, one and all. For Brigid to want—or need—to hide something from her brother, meant she sought to circumvent all Iain stood for.
“You promised.” The expert archer loosed two more arrows. Each sank into its target with the same precision. When Isobel failed to respond, Brigid huffed out a lungful of air and stared off at some point above her archery target. Tension drained from her shoulders and her voice. “You know what drives a woman to go to battle for her man.”
“That was different,” Isobel countered, tone also tempering as she propped her hands on her hips. “I had nothing to lose. And I knew where Iain was. You have no idea where Fingall is. Or if he’s…even…”
Brigid shot a hardened stare at Isobel, daring her to speak the worst.
Oh.
Fingall.
The disappeared Viking.
Skorpius clenched his jaw. But only for a moment. “Couldn’t be helped,” he muttered, still unapologetic for his maneuvering act to bring the Traveler forth. When Isobel had come into her own destiny, the timeline had demanded the pivotal action. For her, and for countless others.
Brigid strode toward her target, then yanked out her arrows one by one, every movement filled with quiet aggression. Isobel trailed after. Once the last arrow had been stowed in Brigid’s quiver, Isobel placed a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Additional tension eased from Brigid’s stance. She angled her face to catch Isobel’s gaze. “You doona choose my path, no more than I choose yours.” She turned and stared off into the distance once again.
Long seconds of silence followed.
A low hum of energy crackled into the air; Brigid summoned some amount of low-voltage substance from the ether.
“Summer’s fadin’,” she continued, with near-indecipherable inflection that hinted at deception. “Months have passed, but no one searches for Finn. Iain’s done more than abandon the huntin’ parties; he refuses to hear even a word from me. I’ve been needin’ to tell him what my dreams showed me, what my wakin’ mind couldna see. But Iain? Och! He’ll hear none of my ‘nonsense.’”
“Her dreams,” Skorpius murmured. A vision?
And what portion of Brigid’s plea to her friend rang false, concealed some hidden truth?
More important, why lie?
Isobel sighed and shifted around Brigid, then gave her a consoling hug. “Iain has our clan to protect. That includes us. Our borders are becoming more dangerous than ever; he’s decided to settle things with our neighbors, one way or another, through treaty or battle. No one can blame him for taking strict protective measures. Not even you. Especially not you.”
Brigid turned to face his way again and gave Isobel a weak smile before she frowned. “Iain’s my brother. You’re my friend. But your loyalty should remain with him as your husband and Laird before all…even before me.”
Isobel scoffed and folded her arms. “Fat chance. You’re both family to me. Have I voiced strong objections? Yeah. But you are your own woman. You’re strong. Independent. Capable. And no matter what you do, I will always support you.”
Brigid’s expression brightened a little. “You’ll keep my secret, then?”
“I won’t lie. But unless Iain directly asks, I’m not your keeper. And he never forbade me to train you in the weaponry of men.”
Traveler, you are a handful of trouble for your husband.
To back up the evidence of her weapons training, Isobel turned and, with lightning speed, arced a short sword up toward Brigid’s throat.
Brigid materialized twin daggers and thrust them outward to deflect the sneak attack. The piercing screech of blade scoring blade rang out until both weapons slid to a safe resting point. Isobel tipped a respectful nod toward her opponent.
Brigid gave a clipped nod in reply, then stepped back and sheathed her daggers in fluid motion. Then she manifested a short sword of her own.
From where? His eyes narrowed in suspicion as the pair of warrior females parried and thrust, without pause. The hum of slight baseline magick remained, but hadn’t flared. And if Brigid had done something surprising to Isobel, the Traveler hadn’t made any sign of notice.
Have you learned to mask your ability from your friend?
The energy subtleties Skorpius detected came from innate ability and millennia of experience. But for Brigid to exhibit them, a newcomer to magick? Defied explanation.
Without any ready answers, he observed t
heir actual swordplay. Which was impressive. The females were equally matched. Great skill drove every action.
For the moment, whatever magick Brigid had harnessed earlier, had dissipated back into the ether.
Yet with a brief glance within, Skorpius determined the timeline rift still remained. However, upon further examination, he discovered that something else lay at the heart of the incessant pull tethering him to the human.
Or rather, two somethings.
A sudden coolness fogged over his bare back accompanied by the faint scent of vanilla. “Enjoying yourself brother?” teased a low, lyrical voice.
“Hello, Cass.” The rare visit from his favorite sister surprised him, but thawed a small part of his icy heart. “Sure. Angel-to-human stakeouts keep me riveted.”
“Oh, don’t sound so glum. You know it makes me have to work harder to cheer you up.” Her pure white feathers brushed against his inky black wing in a nudge of warm affection. Her head tilted a fraction as she gazed out in the same direction, toward the two human females. “Reconnaissance, then.”
“Of a sort.” He glanced over and cast a brief smile at the composed guardian angel. All beings from his realm adored Cass. The snowy beauty had an arresting charm and unyielding brightness. He arched a brow at her. “What brings you from your guard post? Lose your soul?”
“Hardly.” She ruffled her pristine feathers, as if dislodging the ridiculous notion. “I’d been released. My latest wayward soul chose a moral path fairly quickly. Lately, the human race has been embracing hope with only a gentle shove from me. How goes the time-bandit business?”
“You make it sound as if I’m stealing time. Humans waste plenty, but their idiocy has nothing to do with my influence.”
She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “So those two female warriors you’re eavesdropping on. They’re in some way tied to your mission? Are we gathering intelligence?”
He hedged her question with a more important one. “Cass, have you ever been tethered to a human without orders?”
Pale blond hair shimmered across his shoulder as she cocked her head in thought. The heavy pause got his attention, but he waited for her input. He trusted Cass more than any soul on any plane, besides their brother Orion. Else they would not have been conversing at all.
“No,” she finally verified.
And Cass’s experience matched the information he’d come to understand in his. He’d never compared notes with another, never asked…never needed to.
“Specific instructions always come with human-guardian assignments.” Her tone softened. “I know it’s been a long time, Skorpius, but surely you remember…”
Remembering had been devastating for so long. And Cass knew the suffering he’d endured. She knew why his heart had iced over.
“I remember.” The words came out flattened, devoid of all emotion. Survival had forced him to strip his soul bare. Only one thing remained. The protocol. His purpose. The rest no longer mattered. “Something unusual has come to my attention, but I’m getting to the bottom of it.” He cast her an unyielding look. “Do not worry over my affairs. I’ll solve the mystery soon enough.”
“Well, good.” Cass straightened to her full height of seven feet, a good half-foot shorter than the rest of angelkind. A great sculptural beauty in appearance, his sister was a deadly warrior, as were they all. Their species had been crafted from the start into hardened perfection.
Skorpius rolled his neck, then stretched his wings overhead with a final glance toward his unusual and unexpected project.
A sheen of perspiration beaded across Brigid’s brow as a steady breeze blew her hair back. Bright sunlight illuminated her coppery locks, which appeared to set the very wind on fire.
The incessant dual tug within his chest twanged as he resisted its pull, planned to leave.
But if his suspicion rang true, the aching pain that anchored him to the human would be dull and tolerable. For now. The second connection—the timeline tether that had been triggered by the power-induced quake—had quieted to a low hum as well.
Both directives still remained, however. Clear and strong. Opposite and undeniably vying for his attention.
“Brigid, what are you up to? And why in the worlds does it concern me?”
The moment the angel’s fiery energy vanished, Brigid straightened.
“He’s departed.” Better to focus on the frustration about the unwanted angel than on the uncomfortable guilt from the lie she’d been forced to tell her dear friend and sister. One wee lie, atop so many half-truths. ’Tis the pilin’ up that makes the next all the easier.
Isobel narrowed bright-green eyes at her, then glanced toward the forest’s edge near where the creature had hovered in the shadows, watchin’. “You feel Cupcake? The…angel?”
“Aye.” There’d been no need to identify “Cupcake” as the angel; they’d talked of him before. But that had been Isobel’s tale, of fightin’ for Clan Brodie. When the two warriors, Isobel and the angel, had saved her brother Iain. Brigid had never mentioned any personal encounter with the warrior-angel. “But…different, this time.”
Isobel blinked at her in surprise. “There’ve been other times? When? Where?”
“Aye. Everra night, for a fortnight. In my bedchamber. A flash of male other energy. But when I awaken, ’tis only air snappin’ and cracklin’. The dark angel’s no longer there.”
Isobel frowned. “He doesn’t strike me as the peeping-Tom type.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Different how?”
Brigid concentrated, but shook her head. “I canna place why.” Even so, she made an attempt. “Today, his power burned hot. Sharp-edged. Strong and ancient. Carryin’ the scent of a…spice.”
“Cinnamon.” Isobel nodded. “Cupcake smells like snickerdoodles.”
“Snickerdoodles,” Brigid repeated, speakin’ in slow rhythm as she learned another of her friend’s foreign words.
Amusement sparkled in Isobel’s eyes. “A sweet cookie. Like a crumbly tart but without fruit.” Her expression grew thoughtful, then her brow furrowed. “And the other times?”
No need to think hard to relive them. The cold presence in her bedchamber had flowed forth in an unclear haze, like milky fog at gloamin’. A metallic flavor rolled over her tongue. The power churned heavily of raw emotion: anger.
But only one word made it past tight lips on a hoarse whisper. “Terrifyin’.”
Chapter 2
“Ridiculous.” Skorpius folded his arms and focused more intently on the animated map.
Beside him, Orion ruffled his white wings and canted his head. “Unprecedented.”
Two brothers, insomuch as any could be of angelkind, stood side by side within the cool iridescent mist of the archives, deep within the heart of their world. The domain of angels existed in a vast utopian realm beyond the material world of Earth, yet right alongside it; only a thin veil shimmered between. Humans had named the angelic realm Heaven. His brethren called it home.
Every other angel did, anyway.
For the last half dozen centuries or so, Skorpius crashed there. Sometimes.
Recharged. More often.
And reconnoitered, when an assignment required more details.
Within the archival map they interacted with, vital information from infinite alternate realities floated in an energy cloud. Countless time stamps for events existed in each reality, catalogued only once a directive had been issued from those viewing. Awareness drew the pertinent item to the surface, from the depths of every possibility.
Each mission mandated that Skorpius tug on delicate threads once they’d begun to unravel due to imbalance. By design, his sensitive intuition got him most of the way there. But he believed in supplementing instinct with knowledge. Therefore, the archives had to be accessed. The clues within their immeasurable collection of information had never failed to fill in the blanks.
Until now.
The day’s distinctive mission drew one absolute blank. And a massive amo
unt of disruption. “Still no idea?” Why he’d been sent. And tied to a human.
Pushing the time and distance limits of the tether that bound him to his charge, he’d spent the rest of the day, and well into the night, seeking answers. First, on his own. Then, with the added opinion of one of the rare few he trusted.
“None.” Orion stepped closer to the unique map, examining the details and nuances revealed therein. For the last handful of minutes, they’d analyzed everything that had begun to change on Earth, what had begun to restructure within time itself. “But I’ve never seen a disruption like this. The difference is striking.”
All were cogent descriptions he’d heard before, long ago. About himself. After his fall from grace. Different. Unprecedented.
Orion glanced at him.
Swirling platinum eyes met his. White hair flowed around a near-identical face. Alabaster skin radiated with glimmering brightness. Even a pure untainted heart beat in his brother’s chest.
Whereas his own beat heavier, darker. And everything else matched from the inside out. Burnished. Marked. Black as sin.
A burst of motion within the map captured Skorpius’s attention. He zeroed in on the new development. “There’s another.”
Together, the warriors viewed an interactive aerial of Scotland, as events unfolded in real time, at the pinpoint marker of the anomaly and that which tethered Skorpius to the human female.
Once-human. He couldn’t be certain Brigid remained fully human any longer.
Skorpius gave a nod toward a fresh image that had begun to take shape, blurred at its edges, crisping in the middle, which signified an emerging event, one that hadn’t previously occurred in that specific time. Details sharpened and expanded in response to his concentration on it.
Better to focus on hard evidence, that which he could see and control.
