Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel

by Katie MacAlister

  “That sounds like Gypsies to me. Sorry, Romanies.”

  “Society often confuses the two, but I assure you we are as different from the Rom as we are from normal mortal beings.”

  Now, how on earth do you answer a statement like that? I simply smiled, and wondered if she wasn’t feeling her age this morning. Just a bit, since she seemed lucid in other respects. “Who exactly is persecuting you?”

  “Everyone. Anyone. The Watch, in particular,” she answered quickly.

  “The Watch?” Peter had used that word. It was an old-fashioned expression for the police, or so I remembered from a history course. “Isn’t it a bit odd for the police to be persecuting you? I mean, they have accountability and stuff, don’t they?”

  “Not the L’au-dela Watch,” she said with grim finality. “Our people have borne such persecutions for centuries. We are used to it.”

  “Doesn’t make it right, though,” I said, hesitating to ask what I wanted. “You haven’t been persecuted lately, have you? I mean, not right here? Say, last night?”

  The look she shot me should have skewered me up against the back wall. “Last night?”

  “Gregory said that there was a man harassing you last night.”

  She made a tching sound in the back of her throat, and picked fretfully at the material of the chair’s arm. “The Watch was here last night, and they are always troublesome. Never do they leave us be. They must always poke and prod and dig for some incident with which they can damn us in the eyes of the world. I grow tired of such tactics. We came here to be left in peace, and now the old trouble is starting up again. It is most distressing.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help,” I offered, worried by how agitated she had become. It couldn’t be good for her health, and since she was employing me, it behooved me to keep her as chipper as I could. I just wished I knew how to calm her down. “I’d be happy to do what I can. Maybe talk to someone about leaving you alone?”

  “Someone?” That razor-edged gaze was on me again.

  I lifted my hands helplessly. “Yeah, like…I don’t know, maybe a state ombudsman, or something? They’re supposed to fight for the average Joe. I mean, someone has to care if the police are harassing you for no good reason.”

  But there is a very good reason, my ego suddenly pointed out to me. Peter was stabbed here. Perhaps to keep him from finding out something about your employer?

  I shook my head at the question. Until I could talk to Peter, speculation wasn’t going to get me far. Going into town to run errands, however, would suit me just fine—that would give me the opportunity to track down the mysterious Peter and find out just what he was up to. Assuming he hadn’t been attacked again…

  Mrs. Faa sighed again, and waved me away. “It seems easier to let the explanation of what has happened go until another time, Kiya Mortenson. I am tired. You may leave now.”

  As I was momentarily gripped with a horrible mental vision of Peter lying dead somewhere in the wilds of the Umpqua Forest, it took me a minute to process what she was saying. I wanted badly to ask what exactly had happened last night, but since she was evidently calming down enough to entertain her midmorning nap, I said nothing, and tiptoed out of the RV, relishing the fact that I’d have a few hours to myself once my chores were done.

  Gregory’s car was gone, I noticed as I left the RV. That didn’t surprise me, since it hadn’t been present earlier that morning, when I returned to camp after losing both Peter and Gregory. “I’d like to have a word or two with him about leaving me with that deranged motel woman,” I grumbled, then made an attempt to organize my thoughts so I’d have the maximum amount of free time. “Run into town, pick up dog food, make appointments for vet and doggy spa day, and then a couple of free hours to find out what happened to Mr. Gorgeous Eyes,” I murmured to myself when I hurried across the open space toward my tent. As I passed them, I waved at three of the kids who were sitting in a small plastic wading pool that had been filled with sand. The kids stared at me with the same faintly appalled expression that their mothers wore.

  I hurriedly changed into a pair of walking shorts and a light gauze shirt, grabbed my wallet and phone, and was about to leave the tent when a low male voice spoke right outside the tent.

  “You have seen him? Alive?”

  “Hsst. That’s the woman’s tent.”

  “She is with Mother and those little monsters. Answer my question—you have seen him with your own eyes?”

  “Yes, he survived.”

  “Then we must see to it that he does not remain that way.”

  A chill ran down my back as I clutched my wallet. I knew, I just knew, they were talking about Peter.

  “I said I would take care of it,” the second man snapped. His voice was lower, and harder to pinpoint, but I was pretty sure it was Andrew. Although it did kind of sound like Gregory….

  “And yet you failed miserably last night after swearing the same thing.” That had to be the ever-sneering William. “If I cannot trust you to do a simple job—”

  “I’ll do it all right,” Man Two snarled, and I jumped when his shadow flickered briefly against the wall of my tent. It had to be Andrew. It was shaped like him. Wasn’t it? “He’s gone to ground, but I’ll find him and take care of it.”

  “Now. Take care of it now. I don’t want him snooping around here again.”

  A second shape was briefly silhouetted against the tent before melting away, the voices fading, as well.

  I unzipped the door to my tent and stuck out my head, thankful once again that the tent opening was faced away from the RVs.

  “I’ll go into town and find him just as soon as I’ve taken a little from the woman,” drifted back to me as soft as the wind.

  “Andrew. Has to be Andrew. Gregory knew where Peter was last night, and he didn’t try to kill him then. Of course, I was there, and he might not have wanted a witness. And then Peter disappeared. And Gregory disappeared. Oh, holy hell, it could be him. Crap. Well, whichever one of them it is, all I can say is over my dead body,” I whispered, and pulled out my scant supply of cash and sole credit card, all of which I stuffed into my bra. Take a little from me, indeed! Unless he hadn’t meant money…but no, that didn’t make sense. I didn’t have anything else Andrew might want. Or Gregory. Damn. I wish I knew which one had been speaking.

  I waited until I could hear nothing more, then crawled out of the tent, my mind awhirl.

  Across the empty space, Andrew and Gregory stood together. Gregory appeared to be arguing with Andrew, who stood listening with his arms crossed.

  Which one had been talking to William? And did it really matter? If I needed any proof that Mrs. Faa’s family had been behind the attack to Peter, I had it. The question was, what was I going to do? Go to the police? To Peter? To Mrs. Faa? Maybe the pugs could do something about it…. I shook my head at that bizarre thought, but before I could ask my inner self—ego, id, and superego—what was up with the odd thought processes, the world seemed to shimmer and shake and spin, making me blind for about three seconds.

  When my vision returned, I was stunned to find myself in the middle of washing a cup, the very same cup I’d been drinking out of a few minutes before. Even worse, I was speaking familiar words. “I can’t believe in this day and age people have that sort of prejudice against Gypsies.”

  “Gypsies?”

  I spun around and stared at Mrs. Faa as she snorted, gave a grunt, and got to her feet.

  What the hell?

  “We are not Gypsies!”

  I felt the cup start to slip from my fingers, clutched it tightly, and with infinite care dried it off and set it in the cupboard.

  “I’m sorry,” I said slowly. “You’re not a Gypsy or a Romany.”

  “No, of course I’m not. I’m a Traveller, just as you are.” She gestured toward my arm as she made her way over to her recliner, two pugs following.

  “This is so utterly bizarre.”

  “What is? No, Cloth
ilde! We do not lick ourselves there. Come and lie down with Mama.”

  I looked around the interior of the RV, and wondered if I had gone insane. “Nothing,” I murmured.

  Once again those dark, piercing eyes studied me. “Where is your family?”

  “Dead,” I said, not bothering to give the explanation that I knew I’d just given almost minutes before. “I have a foster mom.”

  “Tch.” Mrs. Faa lay back, closing her eyes, one hand absently stroking the nearest pug. “That tells me much. It is easier to let the explanation go for now. Another time, Kiya Mortenson.”

  I stared at her for a good eight seconds, then turned on my heel and walked resolutely out of the RV. I passed the kids playing in the sandbox. I didn’t wave, but it didn’t matter—they still gave me the same look they’d done a few minutes before. I looked at my tent, then down at myself. I was wearing a gauze shirt and walking shorts. My left breast itched. I pulled out my shirt enough to see the tops of a couple of bills poking out from where I’d stuffed them.

  “OK, this is too much. Something seriously weird is going on here.” I walked resolutely back to Mrs. Faa’s door, mentally rehearsing how I was going to ask her if she had just had the biggest case of déjà vu ever, when the masculine rumble of voices had me pausing before I could knock.

  I looked over my shoulder to see William, Andrew, and Gregory clustered together near my tent. William snapped something I couldn’t hear, and marched off without a look in my direction. Andrew and Gregory continued to talk, although they stopped when I stumbled toward them, both their faces devoid of expression. I watched them for a second or two, trying to make up my mind about which one of them I had overheard, gave it up as a lost cause, and went over to my car instead.

  Something odd was going on, something that involved a murder attempt, persecution by the police, and a weird brain attack on me.

  “Whatever it is,” I told Eloise as I climbed in through her window, “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one little bit, but I can promise you this—it’s going to stop. What on earth?”

  Something was digging into my hip as I settled into the driver’s seat. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out eight shiny silver dollars. I stared at them in silent disbelief for a few seconds, then carefully tucked them into the pocket on the side of the car door.

  I was ready to swear that there were no silver dollars in my shorts when I put them on earlier.

  It took me little more than half an hour to drive into Rose Hill, collect the giant cases of expensive dog food, make a couple of calls to arrange for the vet visit and doggy spa appointments (I was assured the blueberry facials were very popular amongst the canine clientele), and pick up a few nonperishable food items to stock my scanty larder.

  I had stored the groceries on top of the dog food where it sat on the backseat, and was about to conduct the intricate ritual that was the act of starting Eloise’s engine, when a shadow fell over the front window, and a man leaned into the car.

  He held a gun, which was pointed at me.

  “Where is the vial?” Peter asked, his eyes a flinty shade of violet.

  “A vile what?” I asked, looking between the very real black gun and the man about whom I couldn’t seem to stop thinking. “Is that real?”

  He frowned as I gestured toward the gun. “Of course it’s real. You don’t think I go around waving toy guns at people, do you?”

  “I don’t know, perhaps you do. Any man who leaps out at women in forests, and bleeds all over their air mattresses, and then disappears mysteriously when someone tries to help him, just might be the sort of man who sports a fake gun.”

  “Come with me,” he said imperiously, waggling the gun at me.

  “To where?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” He had the nerve to look annoyed by my question. “And since I have a gun—a real gun—and you don’t, you will do as I say.”

  “And if I refuse?” I asked, curious as to what he’d say next. It was odd, my superego said to my ego, that we weren’t at all afraid of him despite the fact that he had a gun aimed at us. My id murmured something about his eyes being the eyes of a gentleman, not a madman, but the egos would have nothing to do with that. They bickered back and forth about whether or not it would be wise to continue contact with Peter. I ignored all three and watched with pleasure as an indescribable look crossed his face.

  “Then I will force you to come with me,” he said finally.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said, wiggling my fingers against Eloise’s red leather steering wheel. “You’re attempting to kidnap me.”

  “Of course I’m not kidnapping you. I’m with the Watch! We do not kidnap. We detain and question.”

  “And you wish to detain and question me about something vile?”

  “A vial. It is an object, one that you removed from me last night while I lay insensible in your tent. You will return it to me now.”

  “Why? Is it valuable?” I asked, making myself comfortable, greatly enjoying the conversation, bizarre as it was.

  “For the love of the saints, woman, will you get out of the car and do as I say?” he all but yelled. I could tell by the way he shifted that he was getting tired of leaning through the window. He suddenly stood up and called loudly, “No, stay in the car. You’ll be safer in there.”

  I didn’t see anyone in his car. Maybe he had a dog with him? I searched for signs of a companion, furry or otherwise, but my gaze was caught by the sight of a familiar red car cruising slowly down the main street. Two heads were silhouetted in it, which meant that either Andrew or Gregory was in town to hunt down Peter. Most likely both.

  “Now, listen here,” Peter started to say as he leaned into the car again.

  “Get in the car!” I squawked, taking him off guard by grabbing his shirt and pulling him farther into the car.

  “What the hell!” he cried, his voice muffled since I had managed to smash his face up against my chest as I continued to jerk his body in through the window. “Unhand me, you deranged, if lovely, female! I do not care for aggressive women!”

  “Get in the car and shut up!” I grabbed the back of his belt and heaved, successfully pulling his legs into the car. Unfortunately, he was sprawled across me, rather than sitting as I had hoped, but as Gregory’s car got closer, I managed to shove Peter’s head down, flick Eloise’s wires, and slam my foot onto her accelerator.

  SEVEN

  I must have taken Eloise by surprise, too, because the car not only started without her usual dramatics but leaped forward, immediately plowing us into the dark blue sedan that was parked in front of me.

  “By the saints!” came a muffled oath from the direction of my thighs, where I had jammed Peter’s head.

  “Stay down, you fool!” He struggled to sit up, managing to swing his legs around into the area of the car meant for such limbs. I grabbed him by one ear, and pulled his head back down to my lap. “They’ll see you!”

  “I don’t care who sees me. That was my car you just hit!” Peter snarled, and tried to shove away my hand that was holding down his head. “I repeat, unhand me, woman! May I remind you that I am armed?”

  I reversed, shot out into traffic (which consisted of a couple of tourists leaving the gas station), and, pulling a U-turn, sped off in the direction opposite the one Andrew and Gregory had come.

  “What are you doing? Where are you taking me? By the gods, you’re kidnapping me!”

  “Turnabout, fair play, etc.”

  “You cannot kidnap me! I’m with the Watch!” He managed to pry my hand off the back of his neck and sat up, his face red and very, very angry. “I can arrest you for this!”

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to,” I said, not taking my eyes off the road.

  “Why the hell wouldn’t I? Where’s my gun?”

  “Under my left foot. Sec, and I’ll get it for you.”

  He waited until I maneuvered around a hairpin turn, then accepted with ill grace the gun I fishe
d out from the footwell. “Right,” he said, pointing the gun once more at me. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Safety’s on,” I said, glancing at him.

  He made an annoyed noise and flipped the safety switch. “You will now do as I say. Return us at once to the town so that I might see what sort of damage you did to my rental car.”

  “No way, José.”

  I thought his eyes might bug out at that. He ground his teeth for a moment before saying, “You appear to be under the misimpression that you are in charge in this situation. You are not.”

  “I think I am,” I said, giggling to myself. Why, oh why, was I taking such a perverse pleasure in baiting the man? Maybe it was the way his beautiful eyes sparked with ire. Maybe it was because I liked seeing him sputter. Perhaps it was the bossy way he had, or the fact that he smelled wonderful, and I had been possessed with a desire to run my hands over his chest to see how his owies were.

  “You are delusional on top of deranged. Pull over. I will drive.”

  “Look, you seem to be confused about a few things. I am kidnapping you. Yes, I know you can arrest me for that, but since I have a benevolent reason for doing so, you won’t.”

  “What reason could you possibly have for forcing me into this rusted hulk of a car?”

  I glared at him for a moment before turning onto a small dirt pullout. “Look, you can insult me all you want, but lay off Eloise. She’s a good car. She just needs a little work.”

  “Thank you for stopping. Now, get out of the vehicle so that I might drive us back to town, whereupon I will have you detained for interfering with an officer of the Watch in the course of his duty.” Peter’s face was stern and resolute, and for some insane reason, it just made me want to grab his head and kiss the dickens out of him.

  I fought hard to keep my hands where they were, ignoring the way he brandished the gun at me. “And just how do you think you’re going to do that?”

  “Arrest you? Quite easily. As a member of the Watch—”

  “No, drive back to town,” I interrupted. “Just how do you expect to do that?”