Gregory leaned over to see the text on the small phone.
No records for person with the name Gwen Byron. Are you sure it’s not an alias?
“Hmm,” Gregory said, mulling that over. “I have a pretty accurate mental lie detector, and it didn’t seem to me like she was giving me a false name.”
“It’s a bit odd that there’s no record whatsoever,” Peter said, frowning at his phone.
“But not unknown. After all, the Watch doesn’t maintain a database of all individuals in the Otherworld. It didn’t have me in it.”
“No, but you said that the lawyer had killed Gwen. The first time, before you rescued her. That would imply that she had something to do with him.”
“She isn’t Magdalena Owens. She’s not old enough, according to what Dalton told us yesterday.”
“That’s only because he found some updated records from a few months ago when there was a mix-up in an arrest of someone who was erroneously thought to be Owens. Your Gwen might be Owens wearing a glamour to look different. Younger,” Peter suggested.
Gregory shook his head. “No. I’d have known once she touched me.”
“She touched you?” Peter looked surprised. “After you saved her?”
“No, tonight. She’s here in the park.”
Both of Peter’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a bit of a curious coincidence, don’t you think?”
“How so?” Unreasonably, Gregory felt irritated by his cousin’s suspicion, and then was irritated at his irritation. He wasn’t so new to either women or the Watch that he couldn’t separate his own emotions from facts.
“She shows up two days ago when we were supposed to find the Owens woman. And now, after Owens has kidnapped a mortal, she’s here in the park at the same time.”
“There is a festival going on,” Gregory pointed out, gesturing at the people still present. “She probably lives around here. There had to be at least six or seven thousand people here tonight.”
“I’m just saying it’s a bit of a coincidence.”
His temper got the better of him, something that seldom happened. “Yes, all right, it’s a coincidence. And it’s true that Gwen is hiding something. It was quite clear that she had some motive for dragging me across the width of the park, but just because she didn’t inform me of her every concern and worry doesn’t mean she was up to something nefarious. She could have been uncomfortable about the nearness of an old lover. Or afraid of the dark. Or hell, maybe she just wanted to put her hand on my arm and that was the only way she could think of to do it! There’s any number of reasons she should be in the park on this night, and obviously keeping some secret from me! It doesn’t follow that she has anything to do with our case!”
Peter’s round, startled eyes gave Gregory pause.
“Did I just rant?” he asked.
“Yes.” Peter looked thoughtful. “Interesting. Very interesting. You don’t . . . uh . . .”
“Of course I do. She’s got a magnificent ass. But that is neither here nor there.”
“I don’t know,” Peter said as they continued forward toward the rides. “I think it’s pretty here. But I suppose your interest in the woman whose life you saved—again, I feel obligated to point out at the risk of your own life, your job, and possibly my job—being present at the park at the same time as the Owens female doesn’t necessarily mean they’re related. She dragged you across the park?”
Gregory laughed at the incredulity expressed in Peter’s last sentence. “She did. She was trying to be subtle about it, too, so I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by letting on I knew she was doing it. So I simply allowed her to pull me where she wanted me.”
Peter gave him an unreadable look, started to say something, stopped, then finally shook his head and spoke. “We haven’t known each other for long—obviously, I knew of you and the other members of Lenore Faa’s family—”
“Of which you’re one,” Gregory interrupted. Although Peter and Lenore, their grandmother, had somewhat made their peace, it was clear that Peter still didn’t feel that he was truly a member of the family. And given his past, and their uncle’s and a cousin’s actions of late, Gregory didn’t blame him one bit. But since they had started working together, he felt it important to remind Peter that he was, in fact, part of the family.
“Yes, thank you, of which I’m one.” Peter grimaced slightly before continuing. “Regardless of the length of time I’ve known you personally, I feel obliged to discuss something that could have an impact on your career.”
“What have I done wrong now?” Gregory asked wearily. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if being a member of the Watch was going to be worth all the sacrifices he was making.
“Don’t make that face,” Peter said, pointing at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt that you do.”
“Then you’re fooling yourself. You’re thinking that you’re a Traveller, renowned through the centuries for your ability to manipulate time and lightning, and that it goes against your nature to deny access to both powers as you have been asked to do for the last few months.”
“I understood the rules of the Watch when I joined,” Gregory said carefully. Then he added with a wry smile, “All right, you knew what I was thinking. I only admit it because I know damned well that you think the same way. You just have better control over yourself.”
“And that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about—control. I don’t question your dedication to the job at hand, and yet despite your desires to the contrary, you let a woman you hardly know haul you all over the place. You have to ask yourself why you did that, and whether you’re allowing your emotions and desires to rule your mind. I’m sorry to say that if so, it will affect your future as an investigator for the Watch.”
Gregory was silent while he struggled with his inner self, hating to admit that his cousin was absolutely right, and yet the truth was that he did feel resentment toward the loss of his natural talents. Why was he expected to deny his true nature, when other members of the Watch were not? Oh, he was used to being persecuted for who and what he was—Travellers had always been outside of society, both mortal and immortal—but the demands placed on him by the Watch had been more onerous than he had imagined.
And yet the reason for his being there with Peter was compelling, and one that he knew was right. Travellers as a whole were an insular group, not mingling with outsiders unless such contact could not be avoided. Over the last few centuries, they had withdrawn even more into their own society as the mortal and immortal worlds had grown more fearful of their powers. The mortals saw them as Gypsies, Romany folk whom they were unable to distinguish from the similar—but quite separate—Travellers. The members of the Otherworld were little better, viewing Gregory and his kind as thieves and worse.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said slowly, knowing in his heart that he couldn’t go back to his life of just a few months ago. Too much had happened since then; he had seen himself and his family through his cousin’s eyes, and he knew that he had to make a stand against the old way of life. “I can swear to you that I’m devoted to the job. To the Watch. To the idea that Travellers must be held accountable for their actions. But at the same time that I fully agree that our people must cease reveling in their status as outcasts, I recognize that it is our very nature to do so. To go against nature itself seems impossible at times. Perhaps you are able to control your need to use your powers because you are . . .”
“Mahrime?” Peter asked, his eyebrows rising slightly.
Gregory’s shoulder twitched at the word. “Mahrime” could mean simply an outsider, one who was not a Traveller, or when applied to one of their own people, someone who was unclean. Tainted. Impure. “I was going to say that you and Kiya have distance, growing up outside of the Traveller society, whereas I do not. To us, acting in accordance to our true selves is as natural as breathing.”
“You don’t need to lecture me about that. I’ve ha
d ample proof that Travellers go blithely about their way regardless of who they hurt or how many laws they break.”
“And I don’t condone either. I’m simply trying to explain that what you see as impulsiveness is my way of coming to grips with this new way of life. It might be easy for you to not steal time as you go throughout your day, but I assure you that I’m aware every time I pass by a mortal of the potential to steal just a few seconds.”
To his surprise, his cousin gave him a swift, rough hug. “I know it’s hard fighting what is an automatic reaction.”
Gregory’s expression caused Peter to laugh. “Where did that come from?” he asked when the laughter died down.
Peter made a face and nodded toward the carousel. “Kiya. She says I need to hug more. She thinks it’s good for me to be more open with my emotions. She is probably right.”
“Possibly, but if she convinces you that you need to kiss me next, I warn you that I have a mean right hook.”
“Noted. Now—”
“Well, well, well. What a coincidence finding you here.” The voice that drifted through the blare of music was filled with suspicion. Gregory turned to see its source, his fingers tightening when he beheld a slight woman in a smart cherry red wool suit coat and skirt. The light flashed off the lenses of her glasses as she eyed first him, then Peter. “Two Travellers? How very interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know the location of my client, would you?”
“Who’s this?” Peter asked, sotto voce.
“Reclamation agent,” Gregory answered out of the side of his mouth before turning to face the woman, who now stood with her hands on her hips. “Good evening. To whom are you referring?”
“That woman who died on the rocks a couple of days ago. The one you were standing over.” Her eyes narrowed. “The one who was stolen from me a few seconds later.”
Gregory spread his hands in a show of innocence. Employment with the Watch prohibited him from lying except in the most dire of circumstances, and while he might have been inclined to play a little fast and loose with that rule in private, he couldn’t very well disregard it in front of Peter . . . especially coming on the heels of the grand speech he had just made about his dedication to the job. “I have stolen no woman, dead or alive.”
“Of course you haven’t. But have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”
He chose to answer the second question, since he could do so truthfully. “I have no idea where she is.”
“Odd,” the woman said, giving them both another once-over. “According to my sources, Owens was seen coming to this park in the company of another woman and a mortal.”
He exchanged a startled look with his cousin.
“Owens?” Peter asked. “What is your interest in her?”
“I just told you. She owes me a soul!”
“Are you saying that the woman who died on the rocks a few days ago was Owens? Magdalena Owens?”
“Yes, of course. Although I thought her first name was something else. Oh, it doesn’t matter. She’s the one, all right.” The woman made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to find that woman and take what she owes me.”
“I don’t know for certain,” Gregory said with a nonchalance he was far from feeling, “but I suspect that she’s not going to want to give up her life just so your records will balance. Or whyever it is you are pursuing her.”
“Look, I have a job to do, one simple little job: I collect the spirits of those who’ve passed on. I’m responsible for those spirits, and when someone goes and gets herself resurrected”—here she gave them both a very stern look—“then I can’t go back to my boss and say, ‘Oh, well, that one got away.’ I mean, he’s Death! He’s just not going to understand! Plus it does throw the books out of balance, and the accountants get all pissy if you mess with their books. You wouldn’t know how to resurrect someone, would you?”
Gregory smiled a grim, grim smile. “I have no knowledge of resurrection at all. I believe that is the purview of necromancers.”
“Mmm.” She eyed Peter, then made a dismissive noise. “Very well. But I expect to hear from you if you see her. Drat, who’s this calling?” She moved away a few steps to answer her phone.
She could expect all she wanted; he had absolutely no intention of turning Gwen over to Death’s minion. Not when she was wanted by the Watch.
“She lied to me,” he said to Peter in a soft voice. It hurt to say the words, and he couldn’t understand why that was. Yes, Gwen—Magdalena—had betrayed his trust, but it wasn’t as if he’d invested any time or emotion in her. So why did it feel like he had? “She lied to my face. Looked me straight in the eye and said she wasn’t Magdalena Owens.”
“It’s been known to happen,” Peter said, his gaze on the reclamation agent. “I’m sorry to hear it, but on the other hand, it explains a lot. And will make it easier for us to catch her. Now we know exactly what she looks like.”
Gregory ignored the sense of foreboding that settled over him with those words. He didn’t like to contemplate what the Watch would do to Gwen (as he still thought of her) when they turned her over. Most likely she’d be banished to the Akasha, the place of punishment from which no one escaped. He hardened his heart. He couldn’t allow sentiment to taint his duty. Gwen had broken the laws, those governing both mortals and immortals, and she had to pay for her crime. The fact that she was a barefaced liar was just proof that she wasn’t to be trusted. “I won’t let her fool me again, that’s for certain.”
“Bah. I must go scour the park before the others get here.” The reclamation woman tucked her phone away and glanced around with distaste.
“Others? What others?”
“The mortals. The ones chasing her. I ran into them outside some psychology place yesterday.” She gave a little shrug. “They said something about a debt she owed them, but I didn’t pay much attention. The debt she owes my boss is much greater, and naturally takes precedence.”
“Naturally,” he said, thinking furiously. Someone else was chasing Gwen? A mortal someone? It didn’t surprise him—anyone who would kidnap a mortal certainly would have no qualms about double-crossing other mortal beings. But still, the idea that people other than him—and the annoying reclamation agent—were tracking her filled him with unease.
“I wouldn’t like to meet them in a dark alley—and I’m immortal,” the woman finished, flicking a piece of lint off her sleeve.
That didn’t bode well. Not for them, and certainly not for Gwen.
“Do you know the names of these other people—” Peter started to ask, but he stopped when the police scanner squawked to life. The first few words were lost in the noise of the carousel, but a man’s voice suddenly spoke with unfortunate clarity. “—Owens seen heading toward the Cardiff Shopping Centre. Units are in pursuit.”
Peter didn’t hang around to ask his question again. He simply ran for the carousel, gesturing at his wife.
“The game’s afoot!” cried the red-suited woman. She spun around, racing off into the night without another word.
Gregory swore at the timing of the police scanner, swore at the unknown people who were so threatening that even Death’s minion quailed at meeting them, and swore at his own stupidity for allowing a pretty woman to fool him.
By the gods, things were going to be different from here on out. He’d be damned before he believed a single word that came out of Gwen’s delicious mouth.
FOUR
“Left. Go left!”
“If I go left, we’ll end up in the bay,” I said through gritted teeth, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight it hurt. I spun the wheel and we took a corner on what felt like only two wheels, a municipal sign pointing out the location of the Cardiff mall.
“Your other left!”
“That would be right, Mom.”
“Of course I’m right, I’m looking at Mrs. Vanilla’s drawing. She has it all mapped out.”
The wail of sirens behind us
grew louder as another police car shot out of a side road, fishtailed wildly for about five seconds, then did a three-point turn and fell into place behind us. About five blocks back, two other cars raced toward us. They were closing fast. I figured we had a matter of seconds to make the mall and get into Anwyn before the mortal police got too close to avoid.
“A slowing spell! That’s what we need,” Mom Two said, and rolled down her window.
“Mom Two!” I yelled as she thrust her torso out the window, facing backward so she could cast her spell. “Get back in the car. The mall’s straight ahead!”
The words of her spell were whipped away on the wind, or drowned out by the siren as the nearest police car, with a burst of speed, zoomed up almost to our bumper, but I had no doubt that she was fully intent on buying us a little time. I grabbed her belt with one hand while slamming my foot down on the accelerator, forcing my mothers’ car to its limits as it shot across the last intersection, tires squealing when I swerved to avoid traffic, and into the mostly empty parking area outside the mall.
“Get back inside the car!” I bellowed, my eyes scanning the front of the mall. My mother had sworn that the Krispy Kreme—and I had a moment of mentally shaking my head again over the fact that someplace as mythical and renowned as the Welsh afterlife had an entrance in a doughnut shop—was open twenty-four hours.
Sure enough, at the far end of the mall there were a few cars outside a lit storefront.
“Done! I think that should help us,” Mom Two said as she pulled herself back into the car. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The police car had stopped, the driver banging his hands on the wheel in frustration.
“You could have been killed,” I chastised Mom Two as I spun around a barrier and headed for the lights. We rocketed past a security patrol, who instantly flipped on his lights and started to follow. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic, since most everyone was still at the park or at home, so I blatantly disregarded proper driving lanes as we hurtled toward the entrance of the doughnut shop. “OK, as soon as I stop, I want everyone out and into the store. I’ll decoy the police away—”
The Art of Stealing Time t-2 Page 5
