Elizabeth nodded. “The anthropologist.”
Simon fixed her with a piercing gaze, the flickering light from the fire reflected in his eyes. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Not a lot of Crosses in our field,” she pointed out. “I saw his name and got curious.”
She looked back at the photograph. “I read a few of his papers,” she continued. “He was—”
“Insane?” Simon’s voice was sharp, almost accusing.
It caught her off guard and she slid him a careful side eye. “I was going to say eccentric. His papers were…unique.”
Simon laughed. A cold bitter sound. “That’s the kindest assessment I’ve heard.”
Oddly, she felt the need to defend this man she’d never met. Sure, some of his theories were out there, but there was something so genuine and charming about the way he wrote. “The papers were very interesting.”
“If by interesting you mean they were disparaged in academic circles, you’d be correct.” He crossed over to the fireplace and carefully set the photo on the mantle.
In the two years of seeing him battle the impolitic politics of university life, she’d never seen him this defensive or wounded. “I didn’t mean that, Professor Cross.”
Simon gripped the edge of the mantle and stared into the blazing fire. The muscles of his back, tense and formidable, stood out in relief against the taut fabric of his sweater. A loud, crackling pop accentuated the silence.
“I know it’s none of my business,” she continued, throwing caution to the wind. “But if you want to talk, I’d—”
“You’re right.” Simon turned to face her, any sign of his turmoil replaced with an implacable hardness. “It’s none of your business.”
Stung by his rebuke and feeling foolish for having tried, Elizabeth said the only thing she could. “I guess I should be going then.”
Simon clenched his jaw, a deep frown furrowing his brow.
Elizabeth waited for another tense moment, courting the hope that he might ask her to stay. Finally, she gathered her wits and the shreds of her dignity. “Goodnight, Professor.”
She was nearly at the foyer when she heard his voice, demanding and pleading at the same time. “I’m—I’m sorry, Miss West. That was rude of me.”
She stopped and slowly turned to face him.
Simon glanced back at the photo of his grandfather, as if he could find the answer to some unspoken question in the faded Kodachrome. She’d never seen him like this—so at a loss. It was strangely appealing and more than a little unnerving.
“There’s something I’d like to show you,” he said and indicated that she should come back into the living room. “That is, if you don’t have another engagement.”
Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. He was actually asking her to stay, and she knew him well enough to know it cost him dearly to ask. Trying not to appear too giddy at the prospect and failing miserably, she said, “I’m all yours.”
He nodded, the ghost of a grateful smile in his eyes. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the sofa.
Simon waited until she’d taken her seat before he sat opposite her in the overstuffed wingback. He looked down at his hands, and the silence stretched out between them. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Can I offer you something to drink? A glass of wine?”
She wondered if the earth had shifted on its axis. Two apologies from Simon Cross in under a minute.
“Only if you’re having one,” she agreed, and he excused himself and went into the kitchen. Elizabeth couldn’t imagine what had come over him. One minute he was distrustful and caustic, the next he was a gracious, even nervous, host.
She glanced around the room and hoped to find some clues to explain his aberrant behavior of the last few days. Vases and more picture frames poked out of the crates. Small statues, one of them a very well-endowed fertility god, were strewn about the bases of the boxes. They all looked to be almost discarded, as though he’d gone through the crates looking for something in particular. That’s when she noticed an ornate box made of deep, rich mahogany on the coffee table. At first, she’d thought it was just decoration, but a small bit of packing paper was caught between the lid and the body. It had clearly come from one of the crates and now she wondered if it was what he’d been looking for.
An intricate gold and porcelain inlay of a globe adorned the lid. As she leaned in to get a better look, Simon came back into the room and handed her a glass.
“I’m afraid I only have Cabernet,” he apologized, but she hardly cared.
Elizabeth took a sip and leaned back into the sofa cushions. Curious what he’d say, she indicated the box on the table.
“That’s beautiful.”
Simon glanced down at the small chest. “It was my grandfather’s. All of this was his.”
She knew from what little she’d read about Sebastian that he’d died nearly thirty years ago. Why were the belongings just now being passed on?
As if sensing her question, Simon lifted his eyes to hers. “My aunt died last week and the family sent these along.”
That certainly went a long way in explaining some of his behavior the last few days.
“I’m sorry for you loss,” Elizabeth said. “Were you close? To your aunt, I mean.”
“Hardly,” Simon said. “She had a unique talent for making you feel very, very small. My family wasn’t exactly what you’d call…” He frowned searching for the right word. “Functional.”
“Functional is relative. Sorry, bad pun.”
Simon took a sip of wine and set his glass down. “I wasn’t very close to my family, except for my grandfather. I spent my summers away from boarding school with him in Sussex.”
“He’s the reason you teach occult.”
It wasn’t any great leap of logic, but he seemed surprised she’d come to that conclusion. He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment. His expression eased from surprise to reluctant admiration. “He specialized in anthropology of the supernatural. And, not surprisingly, was ignored and ridiculed for what most saw as a specious field of study at best.”
“Unlike today, when it’s so revered,” she teased him, thinking of their constant battles with the grant department, the minuscule office they were forced to share and a hundred other indignities she’d seen him endure at the hands of people who thought Occult Studies the bastard child of interdepartmental parents.
Simon lifted his chin and his glass in acknowledgment. Then he took a drink and spent a long moment in thought before he said, “My grandfather was an extraordinary man.” And just like that, the reticent Simon Cross started sharing.
Elizabeth nursed her drink as Simon recounted his summers with his grandfather. She didn’t dare interrupt with any questions, afraid he’d stop. The most personal thing he’d ever said before was that, in his opinion, Thousand Island dressing was an abomination. She sat quietly with rapt attention as the unfathomable Professor Cross revealed fathom after fathom.
The old man had told him stories of his adventures with everything from the anthropomorphs of ancient Greece to the zombies of eighteenth century France.
“And, like any young boy would be,” Simon continued. “I was enthralled. His ‘brunch with the death eaters of Peru’ was a personal favorite.”
He seemed to retreat inside himself, as he slowly ran a long finger against the smooth edge of the mahogany box. “I was never allowed to touch this when I was a boy.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity, as it was wont to do, got the better of her. “But you’re not a boy anymore.”
He glanced at her.
“No,” Simon said, his voice stronger and his eyes clearer. He paused only a second and then he took a small key from the table, slid it into the lock and opened the box.
There were dozens of small items resting on a red velvet covering. Jewelry, charms, and coins. He picked up a small pouch by its leather strap.
“A gris-gris,” Elizabeth said, barely able to contain her excit
ement.
“Typical of turn of the century voodoo practitioners, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, handing the charm to her.
He picked up another item from the box, a small silver coin no larger than a dime. He held it to the light. “This is odd.”
Elizabeth pulled her attention away from the gris-gris. “What is?”
Simon gave her the coin. “What’s wrong with this?”
Elizabeth examined it as he’d taught her.
“Well, it’s Greek. A griffin on one side and the head of a bull on the other. It looks authentic enough, but—” Her eyes rounded as the realization sunk in. “No signs of wear at all. It looks newly minted.”
Simon reached for the next anomalous item, but he stopped and then slowly drew his hand back and rubbed his jaw. His eyes were locked upon a beautiful, gold pocket watch.
“I remember this,” he said, his voice not as strong as it had been a moment before. The cords in neck worked as he swallowed down some unwanted emotion and reached for the box again. “Grandfather always carried this watch with him, but I never once saw him open it.”
Simon’s hand trembled as he took the watch out of the box. “I remember some men coming by the house asking about it not long after his death. I never did find out who they were.”
He looked across at her and cocked his head to the side. “Strange, don’t you think? Sending four men after a simple pocket watch.”
“Collectors?” she asked.
He shrugged, his eyes clouded with worry and a tinge of fear.
Elizabeth set down the coin and moved to stand next to him. The watch case was etched with an intricate replica of the Mercator globe. He turned the timepiece over and summoned the courage to open it. He flexed his fingers and carefully undid the small clasp.
The interior face was ringed by two thin bands, each marked with N, S, E and W. The face itself was a complex configuration of dials. Some dials were numbered with the standard one through twelve, while others were in increments of ten to one hundred. Near the stem was a cutout inset where the phases of the moon were displayed. The illustrated moon was full and there was a small black disk slowly moving across its face.
Simon’s finger brushed against the crown. The stem clicked and extended. Elizabeth wasn’t sure, but she thought the hand on one of the smaller dials had changed position. Very carefully, Simon pushed the stem back into place.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, peering over his shoulder.
Simon nodded, but he was clearly lost in the watch.
Wanting to leave him to his private memories, Elizabeth peered into the box. “May I?”
Simon glanced up. “Certainly.”
Elizabeth picked up a small, Egyptian scarab ring. The scarab itself seemed genuine enough, although there was a crack down the beetle’s back, but the band and the setting were far too modern, probably from this century. She was about to comment on the irregularity, but stopped when she saw how carefully Simon was inspecting his grandfather’s watch.
Clearly, he had an emotional connection with it, and she absolutely understood. There were times when she’d be sailing along just fine and then come across something of her father’s and it would abruptly alter her course. Most of the time, it’d make her smile, but other times, finding his lucky cufflinks or his favorite deck of cards sent her into a tailspin. This was obviously one of those times for Simon.
She watched as he caressed the case, his fingertips tracing the vaguely familiar contours of the elegant design. The design…
She frowned and looked at it more closely, then closed the small chest and studied the lid. The design on the watch was the same as on the lid.
“They have the same inlay,” she said and moved back to look over Simon’s shoulder. She squinted down at it again.
“Interesting,” he mused, holding the watch out next to the box’s inlay.
Carefully, he opened the watch and she noticed a small black disc on the face click forward. “How does it know we’re having a lunar eclipse tonight?”
Simon looked up at her, poised to say something, but he stopped because, as if on cue, the room began to darken slightly. The moonlight filtering in from the window was slowly obscured by the earth’s shadow. Moving in perfect sync, both the disc on the dial and the darkness blotted out the moon.
Without warning, a crackle of energy erupted from the watch. Small blue streaks snaked out, shimmering over Simon’s hand. Like azure lightning, the bolts moved up his arm and covered his entire body.
Startled, Elizabeth reached out to him, and as soon as she touched his arm, the blue light slithered onto her hand and enveloped her, paralyzed her.
The world around her began to vibrate, faster and faster. Like the wings of a hummingbird the motion was so quick the edges of reality began to blur. It was as if the universe were trying to shake itself apart.
And then, it did.
Chapter Three
THE SUN SLICED THE alley in two.
Simon groaned and rolled onto his side, his hand falling into a puddle of warm water. The strange sensation brought him back to the edge of consciousness. The blaring of car horns in the distance grew more insistent and drew him out of the haze.
The acrid smell of gasoline and burning coal filtered between the old brick buildings. He took a deep breath and gagged on the stale, dank air. Bright sunlight stabbed into his eyes, and he brought a hand up to shield his face from the glare. Squinting against the light, his head throbbing mercilessly, he forced himself to sit up.
The world around him finally came into focus. Battered trash bins and discarded wooden crates lay like victims of a firing squad against a brick wall. What in God’s name had happened? What the hell was he doing here? Or was this another vivid dream strangling him with realism?
Days haunted with sleepless nights blurred his memories. The last thing he could remember was sitting in his living room. He’d been going through his grandfather’s things. Decomposing fragments slowly came back to him. He’d settled in for a night of warm whiskey and cold memories, but someone else was there. In his mind’s eye, he saw a flash of auburn hair and a familiar curve of a cheek.
Elizabeth! Good God, whatever had happened, she’d been with him. The aching pain of his dreams, the loss and desperation rifled through his senses in rapid fire succession. He pushed himself to his feet and stood on shaky legs. His mind refused to clear, except for one thought—he needed to find her. Frantically, he scanned the alley, dreading what he might find.
Whatever had happened, if he’d been attacked in some sort of home invasion or kidnapping gone wrong, she’d been with him. She’d called out to him. His heart raced as his eyes focused.
It took him a moment, not long, but long enough for his heart to clench with fear for her, but he found her. She was only a few feet away, lying face down in the shadows. His heart raced faster in his chest as he stumbled to her side, dropping to his knees next to her.
She wasn’t moving. This had to be a dream.
“Miss West,” he said insistently.
Nothing.
He steeled himself for the worst. Perhaps this was a nightmare after all. His hands trembled as he gripped her shoulder and cradled her head in his hand. Carefully, he rolled her on to her back. Her face was pale, as if all the blood had been leeched away. Her body was limp in his hands. An unerring sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him.
“Elizabeth.”
She moaned and rolled her head to the side.
“Thank God,” he whispered and without thinking, stroked her cheek. Emotions whirlpooled inside him. With a shuddering breath, he wrestled for control and finally won.
Her eyes opened and struggled to focus.
“Are you all right?” he asked, clenching his fist to keep from caressing her.
She brought a shaky hand to her forehead and groaned. “Professor?”
He scanned her for injuries. Her pupils reacted to the light. That was a good sign. And she seemed to be coming a
round. “Are you hurt?”
She squinted up at him, grunting a little as she struggled to prop herself up.
“I’m okay, I think. Except for one hell of a headache.”
“It’ll pass soon,” he lied. He felt worse than before. His own head pounded. He wasn’t one to offer false comforts and did his best to ignore the fact that he’d done just that.
She glanced at their bizarre surroundings and shook her head, trying to clear it. “What the heck was in that wine?”
Ignoring her joke, he looked anxiously around the alley and then back to her. They were alone. For now. “Can you stand?”
She nodded and took the hand he offered. He watched her carefully. She swayed a bit and he reached out to steady her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She wobbled and gripped his forearm. “Maybe I should sit down,” she suggested.
Tightening his hold, he put an arm around her back to support her as he helped her make her way to a pile of wooden crates stacked beside a metal door. She sat down heavily, and immediately bent forward at the waist, dropping her head between her knees. For a moment, he thought she might topple over completely and put an arm around her waist to keep her from pitching forward.
“Miss West?” He didn’t want to hover, but he couldn’t help himself. Was she concussed? Should he even have let her move?
Elizabeth turned her head and peered up at him through her hair, and then with a grunt slowly worked herself back into sitting up straight.
“I’m fine,” she said as she looked up into his face. Her pale skin flushed pink. “I’m all right.”
Slowly, more reluctantly than he wanted to admit, he moved his arm from her back. He wasn’t quite ready to let go completely, so he held her arm tightly in his grasp.
“Take your time.”
She gave him a wan smile and nodded. “I’m okay,” she said and then seemed to notice where they were for the first time. “I think. Where are we?”
“I’m not sure,” he said as he glanced around the alley.
“This is definitely not your living room.”
Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery (Out of Time #1) Page 2
