“And the fact that I’m in love with another man?”
“A mistake. You are, after all, only human.”
“Love isn’t—”
The sudden crack of King’s hand slapping the table made her jump. The sharp edge of the mirror fragment cut into her fingers.
“Don’t lecture me on love!” he shouted, and stood up so quickly his chair fell back against the wall. His face began to change, arteries bulged from his neck. She could see him struggling to rein in the demon. He paused and with a great force of will, returned to humanity.
“The priest tried that this morning,” he said in a thinly controlled voice. “He shouldn’t have interfered.”
“You didn’t....” Dear God. Not Father Cavanaugh.
“He was a fool. Even until the very end, he spouted his endless drivel about love and redemption. Telling me what I can and cannot have. Nothing in this world is given freely. You have to take what you want, before the world takes it from you,” King said and then seemed to realize he’d said too much. He squared his shoulders and pulled his glove back on. “He was an obstacle between us. I simply removed him.”
She felt sick again, but would be damned if she’d show him weakness now. “So you killed him.”
“Regretfully.”
“Regretfully? Is that the demon or your soul talking? Or can you even tell the difference anymore?”
“Do not speak of things you don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how someone with a soul could do the things you’ve done.”
“I did what was necessary,” he said, anxiously moving around the room, teetering on the edge of madness.
“Necessary for what?”
“For us to be together.”
Elizabeth steeled herself. It was a gamble, but, after all, she was a gambler’s daughter. When you’re dealt aces and eights, the only thing you can do is go down fighting. She played her last card. “We’ll never be together.”
“We are. We will be,” he said like a plaintive child. “Forever.”
“No, we won’t. You can take my body. You can kill me. You can turn me into a creature like you. But you will never get what you want.”
In one quick movement he crossed the room. His fingers dug into her shoulders, and he jerked her to her feet. His dark eyes flared. “I will!”
Elizabeth wanted to scream, to turn away in revulsion, but she’d made her final stand and wasn’t going to back down now. “You can’t make someone love you,” she said and saw the uncertainty flicker across his face. “And if you really loved me, you’d let me go.”
His fingers dug painfully into her arms, as if he could control his demon by controlling her. “Let me go,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
The strong line of his jaw clenched and unclenched. Finally, he lowered his gaze and released her arms. Hope flared in her chest. She held her breath, only aware of the pounding of her own heart and the incessant tapping of raindrops on the windows.
He stared down at the small bit of carpet between them. “You will love me,” he said quietly, then raised his eyes. “It’s fate.”
* * *
The rain was as unrelenting as the man. Simon prowled the streets of Manhattan hour after hour. Sometimes swept along in the crowd and at others shouldering against them, but always searching. He’d even gone back to Mulberry Street and pounded on Rosella’s door. He should have tried the psychic earlier. Now, it was too late and there was no answer. Everywhere he went there was no answer. Every straw he grasped slipped between his fingers until he was raw with the effort. Every minute that passed hollowed him out that much more, until the hope he’d clung to was frayed to a single, gossamer strand.
Saturday night bled into Sunday morning. Hours slipped by as Simon scoured the city. Torrential rains pounded down from above. People scurried past, dashing from cover to cover, as Simon walked on. Block after block. Dead end after dead end. Exhausted, but unable to stop moving, Simon kept searching.
Sunday afternoon disappeared into night.
Oblivious to everything but finding Elizabeth, Simon ignored the chill that soaked through his clothes and the muscles in his legs that threatened to give way. His vision blurred and he leaned against a brick wall, pausing for a moment. Where in God’s name was she?
“Here,” came a woman’s voice in the distance.
His head snapped up, and he saw her through the driving rain. A slim figure in a green dress barely discernable through the striated landscape. She waved happily in his direction before turning to knock on a door. The wall opened and she stepped inside.
“Elizabeth.”
He ran down the almost desolate street and skidded to a halt, nearly falling on the slick pavement. It was only a wall. Brick and mortar.
He fought the urge to laugh. Was he going mad already?
Footfalls echoed to his right and a man rapped smartly on an indistinct door. The peephole slid open and the man muttered, “Bee’s knees.” The mysterious door slid open and the man stepped inside.
He must have misjudged the distance. Elizabeth was inside that door. Simon pounded his fist against it until the slot opened and a pair of hooded eyes gazed back.
“Let me in,” Simon rasped.
“Password?”
He’d just heard it and already it was fading from his mind. He heard Elizabeth’s voice in his head, “Oh, Simon. Find something and grip it.”
“Bee’s knees,” he said and bounded into the dark, smoky room as soon as the door opened.
He wiped the rain from his face and scanned the room. She was at the bar, but even before she turned around, he knew it wasn’t her. Maybe he’d known all along. She didn’t look anything like Elizabeth. It was a frightening testament to his desperation, and he felt his grip on that single thread slip. He leaned against the bar and rested his head in his hands.
“You want somethin’?”
“What?”
The stocky bartender slammed a bottle of bourbon onto the bar and scowled. “I said, you want somethin’?”
“No.”
“This ain’t a flophouse. You drink or you get the hell out.”
The rich amber of the alcohol sloshed against the side of the bottle, inviting him into oblivion. He took out a dollar and laid it on the bar. The bartender grinned. He must have known he had a live one. He poured the first drink and shoved it to the edge.
The bourbon burned all the way down, but Simon scarcely felt it. He wondered if he’d ever feel anything again. He knew following the woman into the club was delusional at best. Glancing around the bar, the people were no more than shadows, vague images of life blurring around him.
He drank two more shots in quick succession, throwing them back without thought. Tired, hungry and soaked to the skin, the alcohol blind-sided him. His elbow slid off the bar and he barely caught his head before it smashed into the hard wood.
“Watch it buddy,” a man groused to his left.
Simon lifted his wobbly head and glared as best he could with double vision. “Piss off.”
The man shook his head and turned away.
“Hate this bloody city,” Simon growled. “Give you something then take it away. Poxy, fucking, sodding city. King Kashian... Bloody bastard!” Simon nearly knocked over his glass. “Thinks he can take her away. Thinks I won’t find him. Oh, but I’ll find him. King! King Kashian!” he called out, spinning away from the bar.
The crowd fell silent as he staggered forward, an instant pariah. People pulled away as he shouted, “King!”
Simon felt a hand clamp on his shoulder and tried to pull away. “Let go of me!”
“Vinny, show this palooka the door.”
Another hand gripped him. Before he could even begin to struggle, the pavement flew up to meet his face.
His head hit the concrete with a sharp crack, and the pain shot straight through to his neck. He touched his forehead and felt the lump already beginnin
g to grow. He managed to push himself up and looked down the oddly tilting street. A few shuffling footsteps later he clung to the cold, wet side of a building.
He pushed himself along and heard the echo of footsteps trailing behind. They stopped when he stopped. Was he still being followed? Whirling around, he nearly lost his balance and a strong hand reached out to steady him.
“Careful there, son.”
Simon narrowed his eyes, blinking through the rain. The black night slowly encroached, shunting out what little light there was. Through the shrinking tunnel of consciousness he stared into the kindly face and choked back a sob. It couldn’t be.
“Grandfather?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tea—Chinese Gunpowder. The smell was unmistakable. Strong, slightly bitter and somehow the essence of peace. This must be a dream, Simon thought. A counterpoint to the nightmare images still dancing across his mind. A magic lantern show of the macabre.
He took a deep breath, and the insistent odor forced him back the last few paces to consciousness. Blinking against the bright pinpricks of light that stabbed his eyes, he rolled onto his side, and a new fragrance filled his senses. Elizabeth. Soft and fading, but one he’d know among thousands. Hope flared in his chest and then died a premature death. An empty bed and no Elizabeth. The last twenty-four hours fell back upon his shoulders with a crushing weight. He buried his head in the pillow and breathed in the sweet smell she’d left behind.
“Drink this,” came a voice from behind him.
Simon spun around on the bed with such force he thought his throbbing head would fly off his shoulders.
He was sure it had all been a dream, a delusion. But there, not more than five feet away, in their little apartment, stood his grandfather smiling and holding out a cup of tea. He blinked a few more times and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was still dreaming?
“Come on, lad. Drink your tea.”
His wits slogged through the mud of hazy memories. His hand took the offered cup, but his mind could barely manage to cobble a thought. “How did you...?” he asked before trailing off, unable to cipher out just one question.
Sebastian Cross smiled patiently, his grey eyes crinkling at the edges. “Ah. How indeed?”
He retrieved his own cup and sat down at the small table. “As to the tea, Mrs. Larsen graciously offered her hotplate and tea service. Delightful woman. Lives in 304, I think. Second cousin to Amundsen. Good man, Amundsen. Brilliant explorer,” he said and took a sip from his cup. “And as to the tea itself. First rule of time travel, my boy. Always bring your own tea.”
Simon stared at him blankly. “But you’re—” He couldn’t finish the sentence and shook his head.
His grandfather looked just as he remembered him. The herringbone suit, the knot in his tie off-center as it always was. White hair unruly as ever. Exactly as he was that last night thirty years ago. How many times had Simon wished to see him again? So many things left unsaid and not one of them would come to mind.
“Are you real?” Simon asked, sounding every inch the little boy he felt.
“Quite.”
Simon placed his cup on the end table and stood, but his legs weren’t up to the task and he faltered. As he had been so many times before, Sebastian was there to steady him.
“Take your time, son.”
Simon looked into the weathered face smiling back kindly and swallowed the lump in his throat. He held on to the older man’s arm, afraid to let go.
They stood together for a moment, the decades falling away. Years of longing settled in the dust. Simon gently squeezed his grandfather’s arm and when he found his voice, it was roughened with profound emotion. “It’s good to see you.”
Sebastian patted his cheek. “And you too, my boy,” he said softly before clearing his throat. “Now grab your cuppa and come have it at the table like a civilized person.”
Obediently, Simon did as he was told, although he never took his eyes off the older man, sure he’d disappear if he did. “There are so many questions. How did you find me? What are you doing here? I—Elizabeth!” Simon said, the fog finally beginning to clear. Nearly spilling all of the tea, he thrust the cup onto the table. His head pounded even louder from the quick movement, and he gripped his forehead.
“Easy there, lad. You’re in no shape to go running off after her now.”
That caught him off guard. “You mean you know? About Elizabeth?”
Sebastian nodded gravely. “I do.”
“But how?”
“All in good time. Drink your tea before it goes cold.”
“I don’t want any bloody tea.”
“Simon,” he said in stern voice. “Sit down,” he added more gently. “Please?”
Grudgingly, Simon did as he was asked. “How do you know about Elizabeth? Do you know where she is? How did you even find me?”
Sebastian put up his hand to halt the stream of questions. “As to the latter, I’ve been following you on and off for some days now. Or rather, following the man that was following you. Queer business, that. Very troubling. As to how I arrived here,” he said and took out a gold pocket watch. “The watch. And if I’m not mistaken, yours will have the same scratch, here below the engraving.”
Simon took out his watch and, sure enough, the same mark marred his watch. It was, after all, the same watch. But how could it be in two places at once? Simon’s already spinning head couldn’t begin to fathom the complexities of time travel. He cleared his mind as best he could. “But why are you here now? Are you here to help me?”
“An assignment from the Council. I had assumed you were here for the same reason. I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t recognize you straight away. I saw you at that club, Charlie Blue’s. You’re quite the scrapper,” Sebastian said proudly.
“You were there? The fight was days ago. Why didn’t you say anything? Come to me?”
“I didn’t know who you were. I saw you with the watch and assumed you were sent by the Council. But why they would send another member was puzzling. I sniffed around a bit, asked a few questions. When a man told me your name, I was absolutely gobstruck. I shouldn’t have been. I always suspected you might join the Council, follow in my footsteps. You never did care that others thought I wasn’t batting on a full wicket,” Sebastian said with a laugh.
“But the more questions I asked, the murkier it all became. And your direct involvement in the culture was a clear violation of the prescripts of the Council.”
“What council?” Simon asked, and rubbed his temple. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with Elizabeth?”
“The Council for Temporal Studies. I’m in the anthropological department with emphasis on occult studies. It’s a fine organization, if a bit overzealous on occasion.”
“There are others like you?”
“I’d like to think I’m unique,” Sebastian said with a wink. “But, yes. There are several other field operatives. Temporal explorers. What I can’t understand is how you came by the watch if it wasn’t given to you by the Council.”
“Elizabeth and I...” Simon started, “It was an accident.”
“Ah. The waitress. Your wife?”
“Yes. No. Not exactly. It’s a long story.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Sebastian said in a voice that was nearly impossible to refuse.
“There isn’t enough time. I have to find her,” Simon said, as he looked out the window. It was still raining. The skies darkening. “What time is it?”
“Nearly four o’clock.”
“The eclipse is in five hours,” Simon said, pushing back his chair. “I have to go.”
“You don’t know where to look. Why not sit down and regain your strength? My back’s killing me. You must weigh fifteen stone now. You should probably have that head looked at. You’ve got quite a lump.”
“There isn’t time for that.”
“Rest for a few minutes. Sit down and tell me what’s happened. Together we’ll fi
nd a solution.”
Sebastian’s calm resolve battled its way through Simon’s fear, just as it had when he was boy. Slowly, he let himself be led back to his seat. “Since I arrived here, I’ve been counting down the hours till the eclipse and now that it’s almost here... What I wouldn’t give for more time.”
“Time’s odd that way, isn’t it? Drags on interminably when you want it to pass, and it’s gone in the blink of an eye when you want it to linger.”
“I should have been more aware. More careful. I knew he’d probably try something like this,” Simon said more to himself than to Sebastian.
“Who?”
“King. He’s kidnapped Elizabeth. Taken her God knows where.”
Sebastian’s tea cup clattered on the table. He cleared his throat and arched a bushy eyebrow in forced nonchalance. “King Kashian?”
“You know about him?”
“He’s the reason I’m here. My assignment was to study him and what happened at...” Sebastian’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s why I went to the pub. Our records showed he frequented the establishment. Was part owner, I think. I had no idea he was involved in Elizabeth’s disappearance.”
“He is.”
“You’re well acquainted with him, I take it?”
Simon clenched his fists. “You could say that.”
“Is it true then? Does he have a soul?”
“He thinks so.”
“Fascinating. Did he tell you how it happened? It’s most unusual.”
“I don’t care about King,” Simon bit out. “All I want is Elizabeth back. And to go home.”
“Of course,” Sebastian said too quickly. “But perhaps some things are better left to their proper end.”
“What do you mean?”
“We mustn’t interfere with the period we visit. I understand the lure of involving yourself in the lives of those we study. All too well. But you shouldn’t muck about in such things.”
“I’m not here to study anyone. I told you it was an accident. Elizabeth and I were examining the watch when it activated.” Every mention of her name made his heart break into another piece.
“That must have come as quite a shock,” Sebastian said in sympathy. “I wish I could see the faces of the Council when they find out not one, but two people have managed to break their security. They’re really quite strict about it. What I don’t understand is why they didn’t confiscate the watch. I assume, in your time I’m dead.”
Out of Time Series Omnibus (Out of Time: A Paranormal Romance & When the Walls Fell) Page 29
