All in Bad Time

by Yvonne Montgomery

  "So he wasn't sending the message directly to you, Max?" The irritation in Kerry's voice was clear. "Quit the fuddy-duddy discretion and just tell her."

  Eve looked from one to the other. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that—"

  Max interrupted her. "She thinks I'm not being forthright with you. Charlie and I work together and we communicate with each other the same way you and he do, Eve. Until this moment, however, I didn't realize he was able to do so. We've always been the only two."

  "Who could be in touch mentally." Eve gave him a long look. Then she frowned as a thought occurred to her. "So why are you and I having to talk out loud?"

  "I haven't a clue." Max pondered the thought. "We know so little about psi functions and the range of talents individuals have within them. You and Charlie apparently have an intensely strong link allowing you to have complete conversations with one another. Charlie and I do fairly well, but our communiqués aren't nearly as detailed."

  Kerry stirred in the chair. "The amazing thing is that Charlie knows when you're in danger and can send his thoughts to you. It makes me wonder. Do you have any kid of visual impression of him? Because he might have of you."

  Eve shook her head. "The only awareness I have is of his voice. I feel it. As I told you, I knew he was under pressure that one time. I could tell by his voice he was worried about me. He seems to get me, if you know what I mean."

  Kerry nodded. "That's so cool, as long as he's a good guy. It would be scary as hell if he weren't."

  "There's a thought." Eve's voice weakened.

  Max shot Kerry an annoyed glance. "So reassuring."

  Kerry's cheeks reddened. "Sorry. We start talking about this stuff and it's hard to fight off questions, you know?"

  Eve nodded. "Basic reality has turned upside down ever since I got here. You're not the only one asking questions. I have one for you. What's Charlie's last name?"

  "Pierce." Max smiled. "I don't have a photo of him, but I can tell you he's a bit over six feet tall, has auburn hair he keeps short. His eyes are blue-green and his humor is wicked."

  Eve's gaze fell to her hands. "Um, that's very interesting." At Kerry's laugh, she glanced up at the two of them. "Don't get any ideas. But you try having someone wandering around inside your head and see how you react."

  "I'm sure it's difficult to get used to." Max looked to Kerry. "I'm sorry, but if I keep smelling that food without eating any of it, I'm going to fall into despair." He stood up and headed for the kitchen.

  Kerry rose as well, looking down at Eve. "You've been through a lot, even for life at Wisdom Court. Take it easy and we'll help you get caught up on what's been going on. Maybe you'll feel like reading Caldicott's journals tomorrow."

  "I'd like that." Eve nestled down under the blanket. "Once I get the lay of the land, I'd like to help with what you're doing to deal with all this stuff."

  "We can use all the help we can get." Kerry gave Danica a pat or two and then waved a hand as she went in pursuit of Max.

  That went well, Eve thought, her eyes slowly closing. It helped a lot to know some of the things going on at Wisdom Court. She took a deep breath and let it out. She was still afraid, and had good reason to be. But for the first time she felt a part of the group. That would make it easier to contend with whatever was behind the madness. On the thought she fell into a peaceful sleep.

  Eve didn't hear the snatches of discussion from the kitchen as Aura Lee supplied Kerry and Max with food. She didn't feel the gaze of the glowing eyes watching her from the shadowy corners. She slept and did not dream. Danica growled low in her throat at the shifting of the drapery over the large window at the end of the room.

  Chapter 17

  Brenna turned her head back and forth on the pillow. Her eyes were closed and images moved behind the lids. Tiny creatures, millions of insect-monsters were cascading, swarming, trying to climb the legs of her bed, coming to get her.

  We are coming for you. We are coming for you. We are coming for you.

  Stir the cauldron, feed the fire.

  Masses spawning in the mire.

  Speed the message, whet the knife.

  Flesh under torment, end the life.

  The chanting voices beat against her eardrums, the rhythm pounded out with a drum. An unknown stench floated by her nose and her face crumpled in disgust. Back and forth went her head as she fought the clinging vines of sleep.

  I know I'm dreaming. Let me out, let me out.

  The face behind her eyes was cut from stone-hard ice. Sharp angles, hot eyes half-lidded and alight with vicious glee. Black hair framed features twisted by hatred.

  Long mouth opened, showed bloody teeth, the voice of doom chanted: We are coming for you. We are coming for you. We are coming for you.

  Savage drums thundered. The fire flared higher, its smoke reeking of burnt flesh. A vortex of flame and rising voices and throbbing shapes spun in madness.

  Melody cut through her mind, a baby's lullaby.

  Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby.

  When you wake, you will find all the pretty little horses.

  A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek.

  Chickie, sweet girl, you're safe. You're safe.

  Brenna heard the beloved voice and her eyes shot open. "Gran?"

  She was in a shadowed room where a dim light eased the darkness. It reflected from an oval mirror and she remembered. Andrea had lent her room to her. She'd come back from the MRI prescribed by Jerri Williamson and had gone directly to bed. Aura Lee had been checking on her all evening.

  Brenna let herself ease back into the pillow. It had been a horrible dream, and yet she'd heard her grandmother's voice. She could almost hear it still. It was the first time she'd dreamed of her as she'd been before Alzheimer's disease had destroyed her. "Oh, Gran," she whispered, her hand over her mouth, trying to keep tears at bay. "I miss you so much."

  A sob escaped into the silence. I will not cry again. I won't. She inhaled to calm herself and froze. Exhaling slowly, she paused and took a deeper breath. There it was again. Floating over her face, riding the barest movement in the air was the scent of Wind Song, her grandmother's favorite perfume. "Gran?" Her whisper was little more than a sigh.

  Brenna reached toward the left pocket of her jeans, then the right. Where had she left her cell phone? Through the aching of her head she tried to remember. She'd had it in the tunnel; she'd taken pictures but had no service for calls.

  Pushing against the mattress, Brenna turned onto her side and looked at the bedside table. The dial of the landline phone was outlined by a blue glow. Slowly she extended her hand and picked up the receiver. She punched in Dink's number and waited through three rings.

  "Hello?" His voice was rough, tired.

  "Dink?"

  "Bren?" Surprise edged his voice. "Is that you?"

  "Yes." She swallowed at the lump in her throat. "Listen. I need you. Things are bad here, scary. I need you to be here with me." Her voice was breaking under the rush of small sobs rushing to get out.

  "Hey, wait a minute, what's going on?" He listened to her attempts to stop crying. "Tell me what it is, babe. Talk to me."

  "I'm messed up. Hit my head in the tunnel." Brenna paused, the weight of trying to explain everything too heavy for her to deal with. "Has the restaurant reopened? Can you get here without making problems for Sandoval?" Her voice trembled.

  "Screw that." Dink was scared for her; she could hear the concern clearly. "I'll try to get the next plane out of here. Things are under control, but I'd come even if they weren't. Do you have someone taking care of you?"

  Brenna nodded her head and the movement sent pain down her temples. "Yes, Aura Lee keeps creeping in to see if I'm okay." She felt a pang of guilt at asking him to upend everything to come to her. "I'm not dying, it's just that I needed to have you here. So much has happened."

  "It's okay, don't worry. Tell them not to let you out of their si
ght. I'll be there as soon as I can."

  "What about pickup?" fretted Brenna. "I can't drive, everyone else is up to their eyebrows—"

  "They've got shuttles, right?" He paused. "Bren, don't worry about me, just take care of yourself. I'm coming, okay?"

  Brenna struggled not to cry again. "Okay, okay. Love you."

  "Love you, too."

  The connection ended and Brenna replaced the receiver. "He's coming," she whispered. "He's coming."

  * * *

  Max and Kerry stared at each other blearily over the nest of throws tucked around them. The living fireplace glowed with red coals and the only sound was Eve's deep, even breathing.

  "I guess everyone went to bed," Kerry whispered. Beside her Max nodded.

  "What woke you up?" Max murmured. He tucked her head under his chin and tightened his arm around her shoulders.

  "Don't know." Kerry's stomach growled and she suppressed a laugh.

  "Want me to get us a snack?"

  Kerry smiled into his eyes. "That would be great. Don't make any noise, though."

  "What d'you want?"

  "Brownies and milk," she answered promptly. "If there are brownies left."

  Max rose from the sofa slowly and stood beside it until he could move easily. Kerry reached for his hand. "Your leg stiff?"

  He nodded. "It's not a problem."

  Kerry's smile was off center. "You wouldn't tell me if it were, would you?"

  Max kissed the back of her hand. "I'm not so noble as all that. My sister tells me I complain more than anyone she knows."

  Kerry stared at him in surprise. "You have a sister?" She realized how short a time it had been since his arrival. He could be the youngest of a dozen children and she wouldn't know it. They'd shared so little of their stories.

  Max's expression was rueful, aware of her thoughts. "We just haven't had time, have we?"

  She shook her head sadly. "I'm tired of going through all this. And of being scared all the time."

  "I as well." He turned but looked down at her. "Coming across you has been the plum in the pudding."

  "Don't you mean pie in the sky? You're just sweet-talking me."

  "Not in the slightest."

  Max headed for the kitchen and Kerry slid down under the covers. She was almost asleep again when he came back. He paused at the big couch where Eve slept and listened to her breathing for a moment. When he reached Kerry, he put a saucer on the coffee table and handed her a glass filled with milk. He set a book beside the glass.

  "Thanks," she whispered and sipped at the cold liquid.

  "My pleasure." He crawled into their nest and tucked the blankets around them.

  Kerry nibbled her brownie and washed it down with milk, relishing the mix of flavors in her mouth. When she was finished she handed him the dishes and he returned them to the table.

  "Are you sleepy?"

  Kerry shook her head. "I was, but not now. Wish we could read for a bit."

  Max slid the book on the coffee table his way and handed it to her.

  "Cottie's journal?" Kerry started to open it. "It's too dark to read in here."

  "I brought a torch." Max slipped it from behind his pillow and flicked it on. "We can't read aloud, but we can share this and go through it together."

  "You're a genius."

  Max kissed the tip of her nose. "I continue to tell you that."

  "Okay," Kerry breathed, skimming over the pages they'd already read before Eve arrived. She glanced up from the journal page. "Quick summary," she whispered near his ear. "Caldicott renamed herself Anna Collins and went job hunting so she could provide a cover for the money she had coming from the German bearer bonds. After the first job with the furniture manufacturer ended in her being sacked, she was out of work for six months and then met the Russian bookshop owner, Arnie Zdretzer." She looked down at the journal once more. "We stopped reading at the point when she decided to get Arnie to help her create a new life."

  "All right. Let's see what she has to tell us about that."

  It was difficult for me to tell Arnie about my past. I trusted him because I had witnessed how careful he was in his efforts to help the immigrants who continued to approach him. His reputation would not be so sound if he'd betrayed any of these poor people.

  No, while I wanted to tell him everything, a strong part didn't want to share anything with him or anyone else. I'd been hiding for a long time, and I'd lost a great deal. As long as I kept it hidden, I didn't have to see myself as one of the wounded refugees who sought out Arnie for guidance. I didn't have to admit to myself that I, too, had been a victim of the monsters who had nearly destroyed our world.

  However, I underestimated Arnie. He recognized in me the similarities with his other clientele. The day he decided to broach the subject with me was filled with petty frustrations and I was upset at not being able to finish a mailing.

  "Miss Anna," he said as he came into the small room that served as my office. "I have need to talk with you."

  I barely looked at him, merely shoved a pile of papers toward the corner of the desktop and opened one of the large drawers holding the envelopes and labels. "What is it?" I'm certain the tone of my voice was barely civil.

  Arnie sat down heavily in the chair beside my desk. "You have trouble?" he asked kindly. When I looked at him in surprise, he surveyed me closely. "You are pale from too much time with dusty books." He pointed at the open drawer with his deformed hand. "You do not smile and you do not talk to me over coffee as before." He poked his chest with his thumb. "I do not see reason for this so I must ask you." Then he sat silent, waiting for me to answer.

  I waited, too, for the courage to reveal myself, to put myself in his hands. I sneaked a peek at him and let myself recognize the compassion in his steady gaze. "All right." I cleared my throat. "All right. I have some things to tell you. Will you have dinner with me tonight? I will explain."

  He nodded, his thick lips curving in a smile. "I would be honored to break bread with you." He pushed himself out of the chair and stood looking down at me. "You need not be afraid." He turned and left my office.

  For once I went home early, stopping at the butcher shop to buy a beef roast. Potatoes, parsnips, and apples, along with a loaf of rye bread, all from the nearby grocery, filled my bag. I took the time to bake an apple tart. And when Arnie knocked on my door, I greeted him and helped him out of his overcoat.

  As he sat on my sofa, a glass of burgundy in hand, I hurried to the kitchen to lower the heat in the oven. We would talk and then we would eat.

  As I came back into the small living room I said, "I'm not who you think I am, Arnie."

  "No one is, dorogaya." He drank wine and put the glass on the coffee table in front of him. "Tell me."

  I told it all, the story of Clara, the barmaid's daughter always being told to improve herself. I recounted my love affair with Duncan and when I dabbed at the tears in my eyes, Arnie used his large handkerchief to wipe at his. And as I told him about my escape from the little English village where Duncan was born, Arnie sat a little straighter and the interest in his eyes intensified.

  "You were smuggled out in Gypsy wagon?"

  I nodded. "Along with a fortune in German bearer bonds." I waited for his response, but he stared at his deformed hand and said nothing. Finally he lifted his head and met my eyes. "You have lived much for one so young," he said in a low voice. "I am honored you share your story with me. You are very brave."

  Those few words released a storm of tears. I found myself beside him on the sofa, one of his tweed-covered arms around my shoulder. He murmured to me in Russian as I cried out my fear and pain, feelings I had hidden even from myself for long, lonely years.

  As my crying ebbed, he reached for the glass of burgundy and held it to my lips. "Drink a bit of this, dorogaya. It will help you."

  I finished the glass and thanked him with a kiss on his cheek. When I rose from the sofa he started to protest, but I waved away his words. "It's time
for dinner. Come into the kitchen and we'll eat."

  Arnie ate as if he hadn't for a long time. I had taught myself to cook roast beef after I settled in New York. We'd never had enough money to eat meat often and my mother wasn't the cooking sort. For a sharp, sad moment I wished I could fill a plate for her and watch her eat the food I'd prepared.

  Mopping up the last of the gravy on his plate with a chunk of bread, Arnie shot a smiling glance at me across the table as he stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed with enjoyment and wiped his lips with his napkin. "You are good cook." He placed the napkin beside his plate and reached for his empty glass. "Let us have more wine and share further about your life." At my nod he rose from his chair and carried his glass with him into the living room.

  I took the bottle and my own glass and we settled in to talk. I expected him to explain to me how he could help protect my money and guide me do something with it, but that was not what he was thinking about.

  "You tell me more about the Gypsies you met in England, yes?"

  I stared at him, not understanding why he would focus on that part of my story. Frowning, I told him the truth. "I met Andras and then his father and mother. Her name was Miriam, and she was the one who set the protective spell on the talisman that was in the bag Duncan gave me, the bag with the bearer bonds. That evening was the only time I've ever had anything to do with Gypsies. Why do you ask?"

  He looked at his glass, brooding silently. When he raised his head to meet my eyes, his face was lined with pain. "All of us who remain have gone through terrible things. During the war, I lost members of my family as my wife did. Killed by the Nazi swine. Her people were Russian Gypsies."

  I stared at him in surprise. "I'm so sorry."

  "Several of her cousins in Germany died in the camps. One family crossed the border into France and, I learn later, made their way to England. I search for them since war ends, but what I find of them..." He dusted his hands together. "Neechevo."

  "Do you think Andras and his people might have met them? Or perhaps offered them shelter in their group?"