by Beth Trissel
With unaccustomed gallantry, he accompanied her. “After you.” He pulled the chair back, waiting as she settled on the seat and even helped her adjust it, useful with her full skirts. “Thank you, kind sir,” she offered.
He swept her a bow. “At your service.”
“That’ll be the day.” Shaking his head, Stan slid in next to her, and the preoccupied wizard sat on her other side. “Moron.”
“You talking to me, bro?” Ignus demanded.
“Who the heck else?”
“I said I was sorry—”
Guy interrupted their argument by striding to the table bearing the platter of pasta laden with the delectable sauce. He lowered his savory creation, sprinkled with aromatic herbs, onto a hot pad. “Eat, then fight.”
Avery brought her hands together. “Agreed. Molto bene,” she said, trusting it meant very good and applied to food.
“Si. Molto bene,” Stan echoed.
“Eccellente,” Ignus offered, not to be outdone.
With modest acknowledgement, the chef shifted his gaze between the three of them. A smile tugged at his mouth.
“You are spoiled for choice, Signorina.” At her arched stare, he nodded significantly at her luncheon companions. “Two gentlemen favor you.”
His pronouncement spoken against a chorus of Jingle Bells shocked her so much she almost toppled off her seat. “Oh, no. I’m nothing special to them. They scarcely notice me.”
Guy shook his dark head beneath the cap. “Only a foolish man is blind to you. Mr. Guthrie sees your worth.”
“We’re just friends—”
Ignoring her protest, the cook/former clown soldiered on. “This one,” he said, swatting Ignus on the shoulder. “Needs a smack upside his head to see.”
Stan colored and Ignus was obviously baffled. Too flustered to reply, she stared at her hands clasped in her lap. Dear God, had she made a total fool of herself in front of Ignus? And why did Stan seem so ill-at-ease? He didn’t actually think of her that way, did he?
Guy lightly brushed her arm. “You will accept a gift from me?”
She glanced questioningly at him. “What is it?”
“For you.” He undid the necklace and medallion from his neck and handed it to her. “Saint Christopher, the guardian saint of travelers, will keep you safe.”
“Fitting.” She’d need every bit of divine aid she could get, and reached out, taking the necklace, still warm from his skin. It must be quite old and precious for him to wear it near his heart. “How kind. Thank you so much.”
He nodded, then inhaled appreciatively and kissed his fingertips. “And you smell stupenda, Signorina,” he added, which she was pretty sure meant stupendous.
“Again, thank you. Grazie,” she said, remembering the elementary Italian.
Ignus startled, then smacked his hand against his forehead. “She didn’t spill the perfume on herself, did she?”
Guy gave him another swat and strode off. “Idiota.”
Stan eyed his friend narrowly. “For a genius you can be a real nimnode sometimes.” He glanced at Avery. “Remind me, why are we following him again?”
“Because he’s a brilliant time traveling wizard and he needs us. And we don’t know the way.”
“We wouldn’t be fool enough to go on our own. But you’re right about him needing us.”
“Your bib, sir.” Guy returned and presented Ignus with an enormous white napkin. “To tuck under your chin so you do not stain your fine clothes while you eat.”
She smiled. “Better bring me one, too. I’m messy. And if you have any more Saint Christopher medals?”
He nodded. “Si, Signorina. For Mr. Guthrie and the manboy.”
Ignus sputtered. “I wish you’d stop calling me that.”
“The very instant you are grand’uomo, a big man.”
Yearning tinged the gaze he raised to Guy’s, and it occurred to her that this adopted Italian was the nearest he had to a father, and he craved his approval. And the advice Guy dispensed was his way of trying to keep the impulsive young man, and now her and Stan, alive. Then she pondered the other two people the boy wizard had brought on board. Miss Bloom bore a remarkable similarity to an aunt, and Mr. Silvestre to an uncle.
Ignus had collected a family around him, an unusual way to do it, but he’d provided companionship and assistance for his mother, while offering richer lives to those he’d transported. The daily existence of an early-mid twentieth century maid and butler was hard, and a clown’s lot never easy. The others he’d gone back in time to aid remained in their own era, or were guided to the light as they died. For all his oddities and self-centeredness, he had greater depth than she’d realized. She weighed the role she and Stan played in his life with the disappointing realization he probably considered them his siblings. He wasn’t likely to fall in love with his sister/pal.
The white lady was different. Helen had no place in any of this family stuff. Was Ignus experiencing his first love, obsessed by her, or under an evil spell? Whatever it was, he could not triumph over her alone.
Avery fastened the clasp at her neck. The silver chain hung partway down the front of her bluish black jacket. She rubbed the medal between her fingers and prayed Saint Christopher’s protection of travelers covered those going back in time to encounter dark forces.
A strong hand squeezed her shoulder. She looked into Guy’s warm gaze. “I pray for you.” He waved at the house. “All will.”
She nodded.
He served a portion of streaming pasta and sauce onto her plate. “Eat now. Eat every chance you get, Signorina.” He gestured at the other two. “You also do this.”
Ignus stared at the mature man.
“You never know when you will eat again,” he emphasized.
If it hadn’t dawned on him they were going back to great uncertainty, it soon should. The somber look in Stan’s eyes revealed his awareness, and furthermore, he was venturing there and encountering this possibly insurmountable risk for her. Sure, he’d be there for Ignus, too, but this was about Avery.
Chapter Four
Shudder. Her Highness sat propped on a chair before the hearth. Those brown eyes seemed to hold a chill when they considered Avery. It must be her imagination. Portraits couldn’t change expressions.
Could they?
Goosebumps prickled down her spine, even in her wine-colored wool coat. Despite ice water and a second cup of coffee at lunch, her mouth was dry. She needed a mint, and a heck of a lot more than that for what lay ahead.
Ignus, with Stan’s reluctant assistance, had taken the painting off the wall. She’d swear the ghostly woman’s entreating gaze fastened onto the youthful wizard. Was there a hint of triumph in her soulful brown eyes?
Yes. No! Paintings couldn’t alter their original state. Artwork remained the same.
Doubt crept over her, and alarm twinged. The Weeping Angels in Doctor Who moved nearer whenever you blinked. Granted, they were a fictional race of predatory creatures who only resembled angel statues. But this painting struck her as equally sinister. Never mind it had the appearance of a beautiful woman. The truth lay in her eyes.
What had Mrs. Burke said about the smell of black magic? An acrid scent clung to the portrait. She could practically taste the bitterness on her tongue, and she’d scarfed the last dollop of Guy’s chocolate mousse. The chocolaty sweetness should linger, not this fetid whiff from the fumes of Mordor.
A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but the disagreeable odor went beyond the mustiness associated with the age of some things, mostly old books. And this was no antiquated leather-bound volume. Paintings didn’t generally reek. Had she grown more sensitive to the smell, or was the proximity of the portrait the reason she was affected? Or something far more ominous…
When/if they returned from this journey, she planned to toss her Highness into the fire, unless Mrs. Burke still objected to destroying the painting. Ignus was too entranced for a reasonable discussion. It was like Invasion of the Body
Snatchers with him.
Not entirely. He wasn’t deranged, but not himself. Maybe if she hadn’t known him before his bewitchment, she wouldn’t be as aware of the alteration in his personality. He used to be a lot more fun.
She sought Stan’s reassuring presence. His hair might change color, and he didn’t need the glasses he wore to enhance his geekiness, but he remained steady. “Here goes nothing, or freakin’ everything,” she said.
He eyed her from beneath his brown bowler. “Something, for sure. Whatever you do, for God’s sake, don’t blink.”
Her jaw dropped. “Not the Weeping Angels again? Are you thinking what I am?”
A smile twitched at his lips. “Great minds.”
“Don’t go there. Nothing could be worse than them.”
All humor faded from his face. “Never say never.”
Warning tolled in her tight chest.
Oblivious of their exchange, Ignus stood, intent on the portrait. An olive green bowler topped his head and he gripped a well-worn silver knobbed walking stick. He beckoned to them. “Hold hands and stay together.”
Stan exhaled between his teeth. “Are we in kindergarten?”
“No choice.” He was firm. “We don’t know for certain where we’re going to wind up.”
“As some of us have pointed out,” Stan reminded him.
“Well, sure. But this is how it has to be.”
“Debatable.” He adopted a stoical demeanor. “Okay, kids, form a line and let’s get on with it.”
Ignus extended his free hand to Avery. “Come on, sport.”
Annoyance flashed in her. “Sure thing, manboy.”
His face reddened. “Point taken. You stand in the middle.”
Mrs. Burke saying she was the heart of the trio came back to her. “Sure. Awkward to hold hands with this to carry, though.” She indicated the carpet bag by her feet containing their many supplies.
“Give it to me.” Stan picked up the bag, secured her left hand in his grip, and stepped forward with her. The men both wore longish brown coats, buttoned down the front.
With the purse over her shoulder, she took Ignus’ free hand. “We’re in a line, mighty leader. Let the mumbo jumbo begin.”
“It’s not Latin. You know the drill. Although, this will be a little different,” he admitted.
Stan gave a low whistle. “The understatement of the year, I’m betting.”
She had the same suspicion. The shifting eyes, portrait reeking of black magic, was a hint.
Ignus tapped his walking stick for attention. “Observe absolute silence. No talking from this point forward until we’re through the portal.”
That put a stop to any nervous blathering on her part. “Okay. But be careful,” she cautioned him.
“Aren’t I always?”
Stan snorted.
“Shhh.” He touched the end of his cane to the painting. “Helen, take us where you want us to be with you in this house.”
An agony of suspense seized Avery and…
Nothing.
Would this be one of those occasions when it took a while for something to happen?
Nope. She’d wondered too soon. A cauldron-green glow lit the portrait from within. White, gold, or blue light would have been more heartening.
Was she delusional, or was the image growing?
Not her wild imagining. It was definitely increasing in size. Helen’s face grew with each passing second. Scariest freaking thing she ever saw.
Choking back the scream rising in her throat, she clung to the guys. Stan squeezed her hand. She turned her head at him. His tight lips and taut face told her he shared her heart-pounding fright. His unwavering gaze said I’m here. No matter what.
‘Hold on,’ he mouthed.
She blinked twice for yes, a code they shared. Then she glanced at Ignus. He stared straight ahead.
Was he aware? Did he see what they did?
Bam. She jerked her head at the crash. The chair the painting rested on had toppled over. End tables were pushed aside by the expanding portrait. Old-fashioned Santas fell like soldiers under fire. The cat shot out of the room, its fur standing on end.
Smash. A gorgeous leaded-glass lamp splintered on the floor. The Christmas tree crumpled in a tangle of bubble lights and tinsel. Shattering glass balls added to the wreckage. The star on top of the evergreen disappeared beneath the boughs, and the model train careened off its tracks.
Avery gasped. Would Helen destroy the entire room? The distinct foul stench accompanied the destruction. A sickening sight and scent.
Avery riveted her horrified gaze on the expanding portrait, watching as the ginormous face formed a filmy doorway. The eyes were immense. The triumph hinting in their depths now dominated her expression.
Terror churned Avery’s stomach. Run for our lives!
Too late. An invisible force pulled them forward. No need to wonder who lay behind it. When Ignus tapped the portrait and uttered the words, he must’ve turned a key in a Pandora’s Box that should have remained shut. Forever.
The portal sucked the three of them through a liquid curtain. Strangely, her dress and skin remained dry, as if anything could be weirder than what was taking place. Pungent smoke enclosed them and hazed everything. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the parlor was on fire.
The smell worsened. And they were in a portal between times, not the front room.
Slam! Her head swirled like a merry-go-round. She lost her bearings and wasn’t certain which end was up. She’d reel helplessly into space if the handholds didn’t prevent her. Were the other two also affected by dizziness, or was she the only one?
What the heck? The unseen force was doing its or her utmost to tear them apart.
Ignus had been right when he’d said to stick together. Stan held onto her as if he were pulling her over a cliff, and she in dire danger of slipping away. She was.
Despite the draw Helen exerted over Ignus, he clasped her hand. He hadn’t forgotten her. Yet.
She wanted to scream, ‘Don’t you dare let go!’ but he’d insisted on quiet.
If they lost their hold on each other, would the violent energy that was Helen hurl them into different centuries? How would they ever get home again? Is this what had happened to Mr. Burke all those years ago? Where was he?
Scant opportunity to wonder in this pandemonium. She bit back every bad word she knew but her mind could not be stilled. ‘Stop it, you bitch!’
Female laughter encircled them, the taking-pleasure-in your-fearful-confusion-and-you-can’t-do-anything-about-it kind of hilarity. Maddening. Infuriating. Avery hated being trapped, especially when she and Stan never thought pursuing Helen was a good idea to begin with.
Did Ignus still think the poor white lady needed their help, or had he realized they were the ones on the losing end?
Impossible to tell. Helen might have him in some kind of mind meld. Avery, and she was certain Stan, hadn’t the faintest doubt it was them hanging by a thread. Helping Helen was an Ignus mirage. She must be destroyed. If he couldn’t or wouldn’t take her down, then they must find a way.
More laughter, and a giant hand reached for her throat.
Dear God. Had Helen read her mind? She wanted her dead!
Stan kicked out. His boot passed through vapor. He thrust again, trying to strike flesh and bone while maintaining his grasp on Avery and the carpetbag. She did the same. Her black pumps kicked into mist. Martial arts couldn’t block the phantom fingers curling around her neck. But she bet they’d choke the life from her.
Help me!
Still, Ignus did nothing.
Did he not care if she died, or was he oblivious of the danger? A lot of good it did having a wizard on your side if he stood idly by while you perished. And Stan would be next.
Before the huge hand cut off her oxygen, it jerked back, as if burnt.
Had Ignus acted?
No. Guy had. The Saint Christopher medal at her throat shone in the smokiness. The sa
cred relic must have protected her. For now. She didn’t doubt Helen would seek another way to get at her and might find the very means inside her own mind.
Avery battled to block the probing tentacles from accessing her thoughts. All the while, a shrieking gale pushed against her, trying to suck out her brain and spew her into space. Her head whirled like Dorothy’s house on its way to Oz.
What could she do? How to fight back?
Wait. Mrs. Burke had said she possessed a gleam of magic. The woman wouldn’t make that up, or give away her alder whistle, unless it were true.
Quandary. She couldn’t reach the whistle in her purse without letting go of vital hands. Not an option.
Instinctively, she knew there was one other way to summon the wind. Her method might be a little unorthodox. She’d break the no sound stipulation but didn’t need words to do it. Did she dare take the risk?
With Ignus too bewitched to be of use, and Stan out of his element, she had no choice. Helen had trapped them in this smoky nothingness. They must escape.
Stan twisted at her side, groaning as if being stung. He was under assault. Anger surged in a molten wave.
Mrs. Burke had said to concentrate. She sensed this was essential. Focusing her energy into pushing Helen away, she put her lips together and blew. A soft whistling escaped her at first, then grew louder. Helen fought with power ranging beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. The malignant entity didn’t relent. Neither did Avery.
‘Get away from us!’ repeated in her mind while she poured her thoughts into the clear whistle.
Where had that even come from? Somewhere deep inside her. The pure sound filled the sulfurous smog passing as air.
Stan seemed to realize what she was doing and tightened his fingers in support. Ignus remained unmoving. He might as well be a statue. Didn’t he hear her?
Avery unleashed the force she never even realized she had until now. A warm wind arose in response to her summons, like a strong south breeze on a summer’s day. The scent of newly mown grass rode in its breath. No putrid stench. Her fresh bluster clashed with Helen’s reeking gale. The two fronts collided in the hazy space where she’d imprisoned them.
