Charmed

by Catherine Hart

  She continued with the introductions. “Dad, I’d like you to meet Silver Thorn. Thorn, this is my dad, Henry Swan.” The men shook hands. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Swan,” Thorn stated formally.

  “Likewise,” the older man said. “But friends and family call me Hank. That or Dad will do nicely. Let’s go on into the kitchen. Paula’s in there cookin’ up a storm, and there’s no way I’m gonna pry her out of there anytime soon. Don’t want to, either,” he added, patting his stomach.

  As they entered the kitchen, Paula wiped her hands on a dish towel and held one hand out to Thorn. “Forgive the flour. I just can’t cook without making a mess of myself. Welcome to the family, Thorn.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Swan.” Thorn took her hand rather awkwardly, not entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t used to greeting a woman in this manner.

  Sensing his discomfort, Paula helped him off the hook by saying, “Call me Mom, or Paula if you prefer. These first meetings are so blasted difficult, aren’t they? Just give me a hug, Thorn, and sit yourself down.” She tugged him into her arms for a quick, hard embrace. “I hope you’re planning to stay for supper. We’re just having a pot of spaghetti since we’ve got such a big meal tomorrow. Sam is coming by in a little while.”

  “So is Sheree,” Nikki said. “I hope you don’t mind. She’s pitching a fit at having to wait this long to meet Thorn.”

  “She’s welcome anytime.”

  “Do you want some help, Mom?” Nikki offered.

  Paula nodded. “You can toss the salad, if you would, and get these two helpless men a cup of coffee. Otherwise, they’re just bound to get in the way.”

  The two men drank their coffee while the women cooked and Nikki related the day’s activities. Comments and questions flew back and forth, and soon everyone was much more at ease. Half an hour later, at precisely 3:30, a car barreled into the barn lot and stopped with a squeal of brakes.

  “That’s got to be Sheree,” Nikki commented with a grin. “Little Miss Speed Demon. Believe it or not, Thorn, her driving is much worse than mine.”

  Thorn looked doubtful, but replied prudently, “Then I do not think I will ever wish to ride with her.”

  Everyone laughed and agreed with him, and Nikki headed for the door to greet her friend.

  With scarcely a how-do-you-do to Nikki, Sheree hurried into the kitchen, took one long look at Thorn, clasped both hands over her heart, and sighed dramatically, “You’re everything Nikki said you were. Under other circumstances, I’d ask if you had a twin; but I’ve seen pictures of the Prophet, and frankly the idea of coming face to face with him gives me the willies. You and Tecumseh must have inherited all the good looks in the family, not to mention the brains. Welcome to 1996, Thorn.”

  “Thank you. Also, for being such a loyal and trustworthy friend to my wife.”

  Sheree shrugged off his compliment. “It’s nothing, really. Nikki would have done the same for me.”

  Nikki poked Sheree in the arm and teased, “Hey! You must be slowing down these days. I expected you at least ten minutes ago.”

  Sheree screwed up her face. “I would have been here sooner, but I remembered at the last minute that my gas tank was edging on empty and I had two video tapes to return before they were overdue. But I did make good use of the delay.” She reached into the large satchel hanging from her shoulder, withdrew three tapes, and handed them to Nikki. “I rented these for you. They’re the only ones I could find on archaeology. You can make copies of them and Thorn can review them at his leisure. Just make sure these are back at the store in two days. I’ve been late returning tapes so often they’re ready to revoke my card if it happens again.”

  Sheree plopped into a chair. “So, Thorn, tell me how you like the modern world so far.”

  This provoked another lively round of conversation which carried into the dinner hour. Sam, who was notoriously late for everything but a free meal, arrived just as the ladies were placing the food on the table.

  He didn’t wait to be formally introduced, but walked right up to Thorn, stuck his hand out, and said, “Hi. I’m Sam, Nikki’s youngest brother. I live right down the road.” Before Thorn could reply, other than to shake his hand, Sam claimed a chair and bellied up to the table. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  “Samuel Swan!” Paula scolded. “Where are your manners? You know I taught you better than that, and I don’t appreciate your making me look bad in front of Thorn. Goodness! What he must think! Now, go wash your hands.”

  The others chuckled as Sam raised his hands and waggled them in front of him. “I already did, Mom. See? Clean as a whistle. I didn’t even stop to pet Shep on the way in. Do I get an extra serving of dessert for being such a good little boy?”

  “You keep tormenting your Mom, and you’ll get a knot on your head,” Hank predicted good-naturedly.

  Thorn had never eaten anything resembling spaghetti and was not altogether sure how to get the long strands from his plate into his mouth without feeding his lap. The others, seeing his problem, graciously offered instruction. Though not terribly proficient with a fork, he soon learned to twine the spaghetti onto the utensil with the aid of his spoon. Within minutes, he was actually getting more in his mouth than was falling back onto his plate. To his surprise and delight, the strange looking meal was delicious. He especially liked the thick, chewy Italian bread, which had been brushed with butter and garlic and toasted.

  When Thorn professed a desire to learn to drive, Sam immediately volunteered to teach him. “Nikki will be busy at school; and now that the crops are all off, I’ll have plenty of free time.”

  “That’s fine, son, but don’t forget we’ve got that old combine to repair. It barely made it through the season,” the elder Swan put in.

  “That reminds me, what ever happened to those lottery tickets of yours, Nikki?” Sam inquired. “The ones you were going to redeem to help me put a down payment on a new combine. Remember?”

  “Oh, I’d forgotten about those.”

  “They are here,” Thorn said, pulling his spirit bag from beneath his shirt. He opened the little pouch and extracted the tickets. “I believe these helped to bring me forward to the correct year, which is why I retrieved them from Neeake’s letter to you.”

  “Well, if they did the trick once, maybe they’ll be lucky a second time,” Sheree suggested. “You know you can still check the winning numbers at almost any lottery sales location, and the tickets are good for six months.”

  “It would probably just be a waste of time and energy,” Nikki stated. “What are the odds of having a winning ticket? I don’t know why I bothered to buy them.”

  “No matter what anyone else claims, I say your odds are always fifty-fifty,” Sam challenged. “You either win or you don’t. If you don’t want to check on them, I will—for a cut of the winnings, say forty percent.”

  “Ten,” Nikki said.

  “Thirty.”

  “Twenty, and that’s final,” Nikki stated.

  “Sold.” Sam held out his hand, and Thorn handed him the tickets. “Now, won’t you be surprised if one of these does turn out to be a winner?”

  After dinner, Hank loaned Thorn a jacket, and he and Sam showed Thorn around the barn lot while the women cleared the table and did the dishes. Then Nikki suggested that they leave.

  “We still have to go shopping, and I have to fix a couple of dishes for tomorrow’s dinner. Besides, I need time to rest up. It’s going to be a madhouse with Jack and Denny and their families here, and I want to come early and help Mom finish the meal.”

  Department store shopping was another amazing revelation to Silver Thorn. Though he hadn’t realized it at the time, that tiny bakery had only been the tip of the iceberg. It was mind-boggling to view all this merchandise under one roof! The colors, the fabrics, the varying array of items—everything from ready-made clothing to plants, from toys to tools, the uses for many of which Thorn hadn’t the foggiest notion.

  With
Thorn stopping every few feet to examine one object or another and asking dozens of questions, it took them the better part of two hours to outfit him with a sheepskin jacket, three pairs of shoes, jeans, dress and sport shirts, slacks and belts, and a pair of winter gloves. Nikki winced at the total, but resolutely whipped out her handy charge card.

  They exited the store pushing a fully loaded cart. “I’m bushed!” she declared wearily. “Still, it was better to get this done tonight. Traditionally, the day after Thanksgiving, which officially kicks off the Christmas shopping season, is the busiest retail day of the year. From then until Christmas, the stores will be thronged with holiday shoppers, not to mention the passel of kids lined up to talk to Santa Claus.”

  “Who is this Santa Claus that all the children wish to speak with him?”

  “Well, he’s rather a combination between a real man who lived many years ago named Saint Nicholas and a mythical character who is supposed to live at the North Pole and makes toys for children. He drives a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer, and on Christmas Eve he delivers toys to all the good little boys and girls the world over. He’s fat and jolly, with a white beard and . . .” Nikki stopped in mid-sentence, drawing in a harsh breath. She stood as if turned to stone, staring across the parking lot, her mouth working soundlessly.

  “Neeake, what bothers you?” Thorn inquired worriedly. “Neeake? Answer me!”

  She pointed a shaking finger. “Th . . . there! I saw . . . I saw . . .”

  “What? What did you see?” Thorn prompted anxiously.

  “The Prophet!” The word emerged as a muted, strangled shriek. “I saw him, standing right over there, by that green van.”

  Thorn’s head snapped around in the direction she was pointing, but he saw nothing but cars and a few ordinary twentieth-century citizens. Abandoning the cart for the moment, Thorn took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “That is not possible, Neeake. Surely your eyes and your mind are playing tricks on you. These past days have been most busy and trying.”

  Nikki got mad. “Damn it, Thorn! He may not be there now, but he was. I know what I saw. And my brain is fully intact, thank you! It was him! I know it. There couldn’t be two men that ugly, that fearsome. It was Tenskwatawa. He’s here!”

  “But how can that be?” Thorn wondered. “It was nearly impossible for me to come to your time, and my powers are much greater than his. How could he have managed it?”

  Nikki’s violent shiver had nothing to do with the falling temperature. “I don’t know, Thorn, but he did. Somehow, he did. And it can only mean trouble for us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  When they arrived home, they found Macate pacing the house and growling. His tufted ears were on the alert for the smallest sound.

  “See?” Nikki said. “Even Macate knows something is up. Now do you believe me?”

  “It is not that I doubt your word, Neeake, but perhaps that I don’t want to believe that Tenskwatawa has followed me here. The entire reason for sending you home last summer was to keep you safe from him. And now, somehow, I have led him to you again.”

  To further agitate matters, Nikki found a message from Brian on her answering machine.

  “Hey, babe! Brian here. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you need me. Don’t get mad, but I’ve done some more checking on your long-lost hubby and I’m still coming up empty. Chances are, he fed you a line of bull twelve-miles long—false name and all; and despite what he led you to believe, I’m willing to bet your marriage to him isn’t even legal. Face up to it, babe. The phony’s been stringing you along. He’s probably done the same with other women; and if he hasn’t shown up by now, he probably never will. Good riddance, I say. Now, how about giving me a break, doll? I’m busting my butt trying to help you, and all I’m getting is the cold shoulder. Call me.”

  “When Hell freezes solid,” Nikki muttered angrily. “Lord, but I wish he’d poke his reporter’s nose into someone else’s affairs! We don’t need him making any more waves. We have problems enough.”

  “I would like to give him a break,” Thorn commented curtly. “I would take great pleasure in breaking his face.”

  After an extremely restless night listening to Macate’s endless pacing, it was a relief to escape to the farm again. There, Nikki and Thorn were immediately enveloped in the warmth and security of her loving family. Denny and Jack, with all their clandestine collaboration, were eager to present them with the fruits of their efforts. The others were equally eager to be included in the conspiracy, and their Thanksgiving holiday soon resembled more of a high-tech defense council than the average family get-together.

  “Here’s what we’ve got,” Jack told them, spreading several documents out on the coffee table. He selected one and presented it to Thorn. “This is your birth certificate, complete with the official state seal. It’s bogus, of course, but no one will ever know that. The stamp is an exact replica.”

  “Now,” Denny chimed in, “you’ll need a certified copy of that in order to apply for a social security card. This may create a slight fuss because they aren’t going to be able to locate your original birth records in the Xenia courthouse. But, thanks to Jack-the-Hacker, when they check the state computer records—voila! They’ll hit paydirt! With your birth certificate and social security number, you can apply for your driver’s license. By then, Sammy should have you ready to take your driver’s test.”

  “I’m going to start him out on farm lanes and old back roads,” Sam contributed. “It might seem odd that a grown man in this day and age doesn’t know siccum about driving, and that way there’ll be less chance of attracting attention.”

  Next, Jack gave Thorn a small book. “Your fake passport, listing all the different countries you’ve worked in,” he explained. “It’s totally worthless, so don’t try to use it for any foreign traveling. I just thought it might come in handy, in case someone decides to get really snoopy, like that reporter, for instance. It looks authentic enough to pass a cursory inspection, but I wouldn’t chance presenting it at any actual international port of entry.”

  He selected another document, handing it to Nikki with a flourish. “This is yours, sis.”

  It was a marriage certificate, stating that one Nichole Anita Swan and one Thorn Silver had been wed at 4:45 P. M. on the tenth day of June 1996, in some unpronounceable town in Mexico with at least twenty letters in its title. Likewise, the registrar, or priest, or whoever had supposedly performed the ceremony, had a full eight names and terribly illegible handwriting.

  Nikki had to laugh at her brothers’ ingenuity. “I’ll treasure it always,” she told them.

  Next, Jack sorted out several pages and presented them to Thorn. “I took the liberty of creating a resume for you. It lists all the places you supposedly worked, and for whom. As an added precaution, I included several written references from your former employers, and I must say you’re an exemplary employee,” he tacked on with a chuckle. “Needless to say, these chaps, working as they do in the outback of nowhere, are ridiculously hard to find when it comes to verifying references and such. Hence, the written recommendations. You’ll need them, and the resume, when you try to get a job here in the States.” Thorn nodded. “I intend to find work of some type as soon as possible that I may support my family. It would not please me to do nothing while Neeake teaches at her school.”

  This led to an intense discussion on what sort of position Thorn might hope to find.

  “What did you include on his resume, Jack, concerning his education?” Nikki inquired.

  Jack chuckled. “Leave it to the schoolteacher to ask that. Don’t worry, sis. I’ve got it covered. Thorn’s mother taught him via mail-order courses similar to the home-study programs available now. He concluded high school in that manner with the equivalent of a GED from somewhere in Australia. Very hard to verify that, naturally. As far as his professional expertise is concerned, he learned his trade from his archaeologist parents as he grew up a
round the digs and in the wilds. You can’t beat hands-on experience in a career like this. He’s more or less a parental-taught, self-taught expert, very well respected by his fellow archaeologists, as proven by those glowing references.”

  “But surely he had some formal schooling in the profession,” she argued.

  “From where?” Denny questioned. “The minute we list a university he’s supposed to have attended, anyone can check the school records. Not to mention yearbooks, old professors and classmates, et cetera. It’s too risky. Much better the way Jack and I devised it.”

  He turned to Thorn. “So, what sort of work would suit you? Preferably, something that will put your natural skills to good use.”

  “Which ones?” Sheree interposed. “His Native American skills or his supernatural ones? He’d make one heck of a magician, you know. Big money there, too.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch from archaeology, though, don’t you think?” Mari put in. “Wouldn’t people wonder why he gave up his life’s work, something he’s so good at, to do something so drastically different?”

  “I believe I would like to try something similar to this archaeology,” Thorn said thoughtfully. “But I do not want to travel and be away from Neeake.”

  “What about something to do with museums?” Danielle suggested. “Their Native American exhibits, in particular. Don’t they usually employ someone to verify the artifacts, or at least consult an expert in that field?”

  “That’s a marvelous idea, Danni,” Paula commented.

  Everyone echoed the sentiment, including Thorn.

  Denny grinned and gave his wife a hug. “Have I ever told you how much I admire your brain? I love your body, too, but it’s your brain that really turns me on.”

  “It strikes me that nearly every town, no matter how small, has some sort of museum or fort or historical site. This part of the country abounds with them,” Hank pointed out. “Maybe Thorn could get a position as a regional consultant on Indian relics.” He frowned and asked, “Is there such a profession, I wonder?”