by Olsen, Lisa
“If you say she has to go naked, I’ll put my size nines in your ass.”
“What is it?” I asked, trying to keep an open mind.
Andri looked mildly startled by Bridget’s threat, but shook it off. “You can’t stay there, in the past. You’re already there, it could be a bad thing to run into yourself. One of you might cease to exist, and I don’t know which one it would be.”
I’d seen enough time travel movies to accept that on his word without argument. “Then how do I get back?”
“Blood. You have to come back to the stones here and spill your blood before the next full moon. No need for any fancy ritual, simply make sure the circle is unbroken there too.”
“I can do that. How much blood?”
Andri swallowed. “All of it.”
“No deal,” Bridget growled, and I held her back from giving him a pounding.
“You might’ve mentioned that before.” How was I supposed to survive bleeding out completely? Sure, I’d technically be alive, but nothing more than a husk. “Can’t I hide out until the past Anja comes here and goes back? Then I can step in and take over again.”
“It don’t work that way. You have to come back to where you started, or you might end up in a kerfuffle.”
“Ker – what now?” Bridget’s face scrunched up in confusion again.
“Bad things could happen,” he simplified.
“Bad things like what?”
“You could change the world you know into something unrecognizable.”
“Oh, I get it,” Bridget nodded in understanding. “This is like that thing where you end up in an alternate dimension. Like it looks normal, but people use fish for money, or Snoopy’s our president.”
“Gotcha, so I have to come back,” I accepted the fact. “But how does that work? If I spill all my blood I’ll be too weak to survive the trip. What happens if I come back and it’s daylight and I burn to a crisp because I’m too weak to get out of the way?”
“If it works right you’ll come back in almost the same instant you leave,” Andri explained.
“So I’ll have your back then,” Bridget volunteered. “You come back and I’ll load you up with yummy blood and you’ll be good as new.”
“You don’t have to keep offering me your blood.”
“Yeah, I kinda do,” she insisted with a sad smile.
“That’s how it works,” Andri cut in. “Your immortality is the price to open the door, your blood will close the door.”
“And what if something happens where I can’t come back?”
His mouth opened and closed again without a response, and then he shrugged. “I don’t really know.”
“Okay, let’s rethink this whole travel through time thing,” Bridget scowled, but I couldn’t lose my nerve now.
“I have to do this. If there’s even a sliver of a chance to save him, I have to take it.”
“But Anja...”
“No buts, I’m doing this.”
“Right then, you ready?” Andri’s eyes flicked back and forth between us, and I nodded.
“I’m ready.”
Andri produced a pocket knife, the blade winking in the moonlight as he opened it with a snick. “I’ll need some of your blood.”
“You said she only had to bleed to get back,” Bridget frowned.
“I don’t need much, only three drops in each of the shells.”
“It’s fine,” I agreed, taking the knife from his hand and jabbing my finger over the first shell. I had to cut myself again at each shell, the wound healing in the short time it took me to walk to each stone. “Now what?” I asked, handing the knife back over.
“Now we get to the fun part,” Andri grinned, turning his face up to the moon. He started to hum, his arms stretching out at his sides.
“Wait, shouldn’t you and I get out of the circle?” Bridget wailed, but he shook his head.
“Nah, it’s tied to her blood, we’ll be safe enough. Now shut it, I have to concentrate.”
“I’d feel better about this if he was old enough to shave,” she murmured, and I gave her hand a last comforting squeeze. But inside I was all jumbly with nervous anticipation, chest tight, and I forced myself to take deep, even breaths as the tingle of magic in the air made the hairs on the back of my neck stick up. Young or not, Andri had power.
The air grew thick and crackling with current from the hum issuing from his throat, like nothing I’d felt before. Building and building as the tone dropped lower and lower, to a deep bass rumble I felt in my chest. The vibrations from the tone spread through me, down to me feet, anchoring me to the ground. A burst of panic sliced through me as I realized I couldn’t move a muscle.
And then the low rumble stopped and words of power spilled from his lips in the melodious Romani language. The same four lines over and over again, gaining in volume as the air swirled around us, until he shouted into the dizzying vortex. It sucked the air away from me in a whirlwind, and I was grateful I didn’t have to breathe in the sudden vacuum. The inky swirls grew too thick to see through, and I heard a scream that might’ve been Bridget, but it was too far away to tell.
And then everything went black.
Chapter Seven
“Ow.” Something sharp poked into my side as I came to, and probing blindly, my hand brushed against a spike. Why was I lying on a spike? Opening my eyes with a groan, I spotted the full moon and the circle of standing stones. The spike moved, digging deeper into my side, and I shoved at it, surprised to find it attached to a shoe, the shapely leg inside bare up to the short leather skirt.
“Bridget?” I squeaked, sitting up.
“I used to be,” she croaked. “Where...?”
“We’re in the circle,” I replied, sitting up higher. The shells were all gone, and so was Andri. Son of a biscuit, had he ditched us or had the spell worked?
“Ugh, where is that little weasel? I did not sign up for this,” she groaned, rolling up to a seated position. “Shit, it didn’t work?”
“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes, extending my senses to the surrounding countryside. “He’s nowhere around here, that’s for sure.”
“So either we both came back two months into the past or the guy slipped us a mickey and did... whatever with us while we were out.” She looked pretty sick at that notion, but I shook my head.
“No, the spell worked, I know it did. Didn’t you feel that?”
“I felt something alright. But how come I ended up here too then? He said I’d be safe in the circle.”
“That’s not all he said,” I realized, snapping my fingers. “Remember he also said it’s all about my blood.”
Bridget’s eyes widened as she caught on. “And I had some of yours tonight. Shit. Probably should’ve mentioned that to him, huh?”
“Probably,” I agreed, climbing to my feet. I still felt slightly dizzy, but it faded the more I moved around.
“What do we do now?” she asked, brushing the dirt off of her behind as she rose beside me.
“I guess we hoof it back to the city.”
“Screw that, these ain’t hiking boots.” She held out the spiky heel that’d been dug into my side.
“Why’d you wear heels into the countryside?”
“Because they make my ass look incredible.”
“You do have an incredible ass.” I couldn’t argue that point.
“Hey, just because we shared blood doesn’t mean I want to be all lesbodian with you,” she snickered. “No offense, you’re not really my type.”
“None taken,” I said with a faint smile, scanning the countryside. “Let’s walk back to the road. We can flag a car down as soon as we get to the M20, and I’ll compel us a ride into town.”
“Good, cause ain’t no way I can make it all the way back to London on these babies.”
“I can always carry you.”
“You just want to get your hands on my fabulous ass.”
“You know me too well, Bridge,” I said with
a sigh, but I felt lighter. We’d done it, I could feel it. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but something had definitely happened in that circle.
We hiked back with Bridget complaining the whole time. I was about to either pick her up and carry her whether she wanted me to or not, or compel her to sing show tunes instead when the road came into view. Well, it was a road, not the road we were looking for. For one, it was deserted, and more importantly, it wasn’t paved, so it couldn’t have been the M20.
“That’s weird,” Bridget frowned. “Did we walk in the wrong direction?”
I pulled out my phone, trying to locate our position on the map, but there was no cell service. “Well...” I looked to the sky, as if I could tell direction from it. “I think that’s the north star.” Or possibly a satellite, I had no idea. “This road has to go somewhere, right? We’ll just follow it to civilization.”
Bridget grumbled at that, and I took the opportunity to send her a gentle compulsion, telling myself it was for her benefit as much as mine. “Your feet don’t hurt. You like walking in the moonlight, this is an adventure.” She was a much happier camper after that.
The dirt road stretched on for miles and we didn’t see a single soul. Sure, it was late, but weren’t there always people going somewhere?
“Maybe we ended up in one of those alternate universes?” Bridget suggested. “And in this reality, aliens snatched everybody up. Or maybe the world is filled with reverse vampires who can’t be out after dark?”
“Why would they not be able to be out after dark?”
“Because moonlight is poison to them or some shit?”
“Then why wouldn’t it be poisonous to me?”
“Because you’re not from here, duh. I don’t know, I didn’t make up the rules of this craphole universe,” she shrugged.
A vibration beneath my feet made me stop, the accompanying sound reaching my ears a few seconds later. “Wait, do you hear that?”
“Sounds like thunder.”
“Shh...” It was getting louder, the vibrations increasing as whatever it was grew closer. And then over the crest of the next hill he appeared, a man on a horse, galloping by at a blistering pace.
“We’re saved!” Bridget whooped.
I would’ve been happier with a car, but the sign that we weren’t completely alone was a welcome sight. I waved my arms in the air to attract his attention, but the rider thundered right past us without slowing or hesitating, his long coat flapping behind him.
“Asshole!” Bridget yelled, flipping him the bird.
“I guess he didn’t see us,” I sighed. “Ah well, at least we know we’re not in the land of reverse vampires,” I added, trying to cheer her up.
“Unless he’s one of the reverse vampire hunters,” she challenged, and we argued that point until we reached the top of the hill.
“Thank Joss and all things holy,” I breathed in relief as the lights of a village appeared in the valley below.
“I’ll thank whoever you want, I’m just glad to see signs of civilization.”
The village itself wasn’t large, with cottages dappling the valley, though they were mostly dark, due to the late hour. There were no glaring fluorescent or neon lights, just cute shops with wooden signs advertising their wares. But I loved the old school style that’d been preserved with the thatched roofs and cobblestone roads.
“How shiny is this place?” I grinned, wishing the shops were open so we could check them out, but they were buttoned up tight.
“I dunno, it’s kinda touristy to me,” Bridget shrugged, unimpressed. “And it stinks like horseshit.”
“That’s what you get in the country.”
“Sure, but where are the cars?” she asked, looking around. “I can dig the country, but I’m not riding a horse back to London.”
She was right, there were no cars, no electric lights on. “I’m sure they’re around somewhere. Maybe they’re having a festival or something?” No pavement or sidewalks, no phone booths or garbage cans. Maybe they’d preserved it as a tourist trap? “People pay big bucks to visit an authentic country village. I don’t remember driving past this place on the way here though.”
“Looks easy to miss,” she said with a sniff. “Let’s go to ye olde tavern and get a drink and call a cab. Adventuring is fun and all, but I’m beat.”
The pub won big points for authenticity, the hand carved sign boasting a cluster of grapes and a loaf of bread. The door was rustic too, banded in iron, and it creaked when I swung it open, the hinges needing a good oiling.
You know that scene in An American Werewolf in London where they go into the pub and everyone stops to stare at them? This was totally like that, everything came to a complete stop, not only the conversation, but the guy behind the bar, the kid poking at the fireplace, everything.
There was definitely some kind of festival or re-enactment going on, because everybody was dressed in old-timey clothes. Knee pants and waistcoats with neckcloths and hats from Regency times, by the look of it. They did a really good job making them look authentic too, with frayed, worn clothes, not all perfect like a costume that’d never seen daily use.
The decor was dead on too, without a hint of an electric light switch or modern beer taps behind the bar. Besides the fireplace, the tavern was lit with cheap, tallow candles and smoky oil lamps. That plus the reek of pipes and stale beer wreaked havoc on my delicate senses, but that was far less uncomfortable to deal with than the awkward stares still aimed in our direction.
“Shit, are we naked? I feel naked,” Bridget mumbled, and I nudged her to keep quiet.
“Ah... hello,” I said with a friendly smile, nodding at a few of the men, who kept staring. “I’m wondering if I can borrow a phone or...” My eyes lit on the barkeep, a chubby guy with shaggy, prematurely white hair, whose doughy face remained slack, as though he didn’t understand the question. “Or maybe a hot drink?”
His thick lips turned downward at my request. “Don’t serve your kind here.”
For a split second, I wondered if he meant vampires, but then I clued into the fact that there were only men in the bar. “You mean women?”
“Whores.”
“Excuse me?” Bridget’s voice ratcheted up an octave or two.
“This here’s a clean town,” another man called out. “You’d best get up to Brandyburg to ply your trade. Five miles up the road.” There was a general murmur of agreement.
“We’re not prostitutes,” I said carefully.
“Why else would you be dressed so scandalously?” the barkeep asked. “In men’s breeches no less.”
“Shameful,” one of the others agreed with a shake of his head amid more murmurs from the crowd.
“I’ll give you britches,” Bridget growled, and I caught hold of her hand before she launched herself at one of them. I sent a burst of compulsion her way to calm her down, and over the room in general while I was at it.
“We’re not ladies of ill repute,” I insisted, my will smothering theirs one at a time until the weight of the room shifted in our favor. “Our car broke down, we can use a bit of help.”
The guy who’d called us shameful changed his tune. “Can’t you see these are ladies of fine quality? They’ve obviously been waylaid and had a fright.”
“Had a fright,” Bridget snorted.
“Yeah... um, yes. We were... waylaid,” I agreed, deciding to play along. “Our coach and all our valuables were stolen save these... servant’s clothes.”
“I thought as much,” he said with a kindly smile, and this time murmurs of pity echoed through the room. “Come by the fire now and warm yourselves. Fetch us a pot of tea now, be a good lad,” he added, shooing away the boy who’d been poking at the fire.
“Our coach?” Bridget hissed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just go with it.” This town was either deep into play acting, or there’d been an even bigger kerfuffle than we’d thought. There was only one way to find out.
&n
bsp; “So, Mr...”
“Davis, miss,” he said, showing us to two empty seats at the end of the trestle table closest to the fire.
“Mr. Davis,” I nodded, taking a seat. “I thank you for your kindness, it has been most distressing.”
“I can imagine, miss.”
“Evans. You may call me Miss Evans, and this is my companion, Miss Russo.”
“Pleased to meetcha, Miss Evans, Miss Russo,” he replied with a pleasant smile.
“Charmed I’m sure,” Bridget smirked. “Hey, you think I can get a belt of something stronger than tea?”
I kicked her under the table. “For medicinal purposes,” I added with a smile.
“Of course. Mr. Bowles, a bottle of your finest brandy,” he called out to the pudgy bartender.
“How kind, sir. I’ve always relied upon the kindness of strangers,” Bridget simpered in a saccharine southern drawl, batting her eyelashes at him outrageously.
“Don’t overdo it,” I whispered when Davis turned to give a few coins to the barkeep in exchange for the bottle.
“What, it’s fine when you do it, but not me? This whole place is nutso, I don’t think anyone will notice.”
“They’re noticing more than you think,” I murmured, noting that while conversations had picked up again, most of the patrons’ attention was still fixed on Bridget and me. “So, Mr. Davis, is the village expecting a festival or a faire soon?” I asked, wondering about the outfits.
“No, not in these parts,” he shook his head, pouring out a jot of brandy for each of us. “Not until the harvest. Then we’ll have us a celebration the likes of which you’ve never seen,” Davis grinned.
“I’ll bet,” I mused aloud, feeling more and more kerfuffley by the moment. “Sadly, I don’t expect we’ll be around by then. We’ve pressing business in London. Is there a public conveyance that can take us there?”
“You’re in luck there. The coach will be through tomorrow morning. It comes through twice a week now,” he added proudly.
“Isn’t that lucky,” I replied, my stomach tightening with worry. “And how long of a journey is it to London from here?”
