by C. A. Szarek
Fae Realm?
Rift in time…
Jules couldn’t muster words. She dug in her pocket. Her shaking hand slid the scroll across the table.
Bree accepted it; unrolled it, but didn’t look down long enough. “I canna’ read. Wha’ does it say?”
“You can’t read? Then how did you know to call me?”
“I saw Lady MacLeod’s picture in the...the…newspaper, a man called it. I showed it to him. He dialed his…his…strange device. Yer voice came from it.”
Jules smirked. “Cell phone? You’re really not from around here, are you?”
Bree swallowed and shook her head. “Nay. I was born in the year of our lord sixteen hundred and forty-eight.”
She gasped. “I don’t believe this.”
“What does the scroll say?” The woman looked back down at the words Claire had carefully inked onto the fragile parchment.
“It says that my sister went back in time, to 1672. It says that she’s going to miss this guy, some Duncan MacLeod dude. It says that she doesn’t regret anything, but wanted him to know she loves him. That she didn’t regret marrying him. It’s written to him, but she gave it to me.”
“Then ye know everythin’.” Bree nodded and rolled the scroll tight. She reached across the table and put it in Jules sweaty palm.
“Everything? I know nothing. This is all nonsense. Time travel? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“’Tis true.” Bree’s voice was hard.
“All I know is that my sister disappeared four weeks ago. The damn tour company didn’t bother to call me until days later. They didn’t even call the police. I had to make the missing persons report. Then she appears on the beach and falls into my arms, naked. She gave me this,” Jules pointed to the parchment, “and then disappeared—literally.”
“That’s tha way of it. She went back.”
“What?” She frowned. “You realize you sound crazy, right?”
Bree nodded. “I’ve not been in yer time long,” her voice cracked, “but I’ve learned magic is no longer revered. I canna’ find anyone to ‘elp me get home.”
“Revered? Because it’s not real. That’s why.”
“’Tis real.”
Jules sighed. “None of this is real. It has to be some dream. Some sick joke. I’ll wake up in Texas. Claire will call me and complain about her job. I’ll tell her to quit for the hundredth time, and we’ll set up a lunch date, or plan to see a movie this weekend.” She cursed the shake in her words and met the crazy chick’s gaze.
Bree’s dark eyes were misty. “I need ta get back ta my time.” The words were fragmented; Jules could sense desperation.
“Right.”
When Jules met Bree’s gaze again, she saw no more desperation—only determination. “Ye still doona’ believe? I’ll show ye.”
* * * *
“This doesn’t mean anything.” Jules gestured to the weathered headstone. It was worn, but the etched words were still visible.
Claire MacLeod. Loving Wife to Duncan and devoted mother to her children.
Right above the early eighteenth century date that didn’t make any sense in relation to her sister.
“And we’d better go. I think we’re on private property or something.” Jules’ words were rushed and she swallowed hard.
Bree arched a dark eyebrow, but said nothing.
“I mean, Claire is an English name. It was common even then, wasn’t it?” Jules drummed her fingertips on her bottom lip, her heart thundering.
“’Lovin’ wife of Duncan?’” Bree’s whisper went ignored as she started to pace.
“It means nothing. Duncan’s a common Scottish name. I’m sure there was some other Duncan MacLeod. Some other chick named Claire.”
“This is tha proof ye demanded, since a letter written by yer sister’s own hand isna’ enough.”
Jules stared at the boots she was forcing in the damp grass around her sister’s— “No. Just, no freaking way.” She made a cutting gesture with her hand.
“Nay? There isna’ a date of birth. Doesna tha’ mean somethin’ to ye?”
She stilled, meeting her companion’s deep brown eyes. “None of this means anything to me. Except that Claire is still missing.”
“She’s no’ missin’.”
“She is.”
Bree crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve more I can show ye.”
“Like what?”
Why did you say that, idiot?
You don’t need to feed into her shit.
The chick would see it as a dare.
“There’s no middle name,” Jules blurted before Bree could speak. “Claire’s middle name is Grace. It doesn’t say that on there.”
“Doesna matter.” Bree’s voice was hard, as was her expression.
“It does matter.” She sucked in a very un-cop-like whimper.
It just can’t be.
But repeating it over and over did nothing to change the scroll in her pocket, the headstone on the ground in front of her, and the Irish woman claiming to be from 1672 beside her.
“Ye still doona’ believe?”
Jules shook her head, because a bodily response was she could manage. Easier than words.
“Verra well. I shall take ye to the Faery Stones.”
“Faery Stones?”
Bree nodded. “The portal is opened through the magic of the Faery Stones.”
“If you have that all figured out, why are you still here? Why don’t you just go home? What’s the catch?”
Pink kissed the Irish woman’s high cheeks bones. “I canna’ do it myself.”
“Why?”
“Magic is weak in the Realm of the Humans.”
“Realm of the Humans?” Jules frowned.
“Aye. Only when I was in the Realm of the Fae did my magic come easily for me.”
“Realm of the Fae?” Wait. She said that at the pub, too. “Lady, just when I think I can start to make sense of things, you take it another turn for nutso.”
“I’m no’ a lady.” Bree sighed and cast her eyes upward. “I know no’ wha’ ta do to have ye believe wha’ is right before yer eyes.”
“Nothing. None of this is real. But for you, and what you’ve got going on here,” she gestured to Bree’s mismatched outfit. “Well, they have meds for that.”
Dark brow knotted, Bree stared.
Is she insulted, or is that confusion for real?
“Perhaps I’ve made a mistake seekin’ ye ou’.”
“Look, I just want to find my sister.”
“I’ve tol’ ye I can take ye to her. Ye’ve but to believe.”
“Believe? What does my belief or disbelief have to do with anything?”
“Everythin’. If ye doona’ believe, ye canna’ help me.”
“Help you? I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”
Bree sighed as if Jules should’ve known exactly what she was talking about. Maybe she would’ve if they both lived in Looneyville.
“I canna’ open the Faery Stones without yer help.”
“What?”
Chapter Three
Jules couldn’t quit shaking her head, even as they trudged away from their little illegal trespassing venture to the private Clan MacLeod cemetery. “What now?” She jogged to catch up to Bree, who was walking faster despite the too-big boots.
“I need ta go home.”
“Why so urgent? Can’t hack the twenty-first century?”
Bree paused to throw a glare at her. “I doona’ belong here.”
“Claire—if any of this crap is true—doesn’t belong in 1672, either.”
“She does now. She found love. Wed the laird.” Her voice broke, and those dark eyes clouded.
Jules’ gut said Bree lost someone close to her, but if so, why was she in such a hurry to get back? Wouldn’t it make more sense to run from the pain?
Then again, there’s a huge difference in our times, even the basic stuff. I mean, if she’s not
lying.
The woman opened and closed her fists, holding them tight to her sides. Grief flipped to anger and slid across Bree’s face, but she schooled her expression so fast, Jules could’ve been seeing things, even if her police instincts noted it.
“You okay?”
A nod was all the response she got, then Bree clunked through the ground cover, until fields bled into sand and rock. They were headed toward the beach.
Jules could hear the waves crashing, and crisp sea air teased her nose. “It really is beautiful here,” she whispered.
“I prefer the Emerald Isle, meself.”
“Of course, we’re always partial to our homeland.”
Again, Bree nodded and silence fell, except for the swoosh-swoosh of her pants, and their collective boots crunching pebbles.
“Where are we going?” Jules asked after they’d jumped down an incline and hit deeper sand. Wind blew her hair in her face and she tossed her pony tail over her shoulder. Wisps of hair that’d escaped tickled her forehead but she ignored the urge to shove them away.
“The Faery Stones.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t matter that Bree had explained what the supposed portal was.
God, I’ve lost it.
On the other hand, had she really?
It wasn’t like she believed any of Bree’s crap.
Then why are you following her like a lost puppy?
Hanging on her every word?
“I’m not hanging on her every word,” Jules whispered.
“Pardon?” Bree glanced over her shoulder.
“Nothing.”
A dark eyebrow arched, but soon she was discarded, and the Irish woman traipsed on.
“How am I supposed to help you, anyway?” Jules asked.
“I canna’ open the Faery Stones withou’ ye.”
“Pardon?” she plucked the word Bree had used earlier.
No answer.
Irritation rose from her gut as she followed Bree. But her desperation was equal, so what could Jules really do?
She didn’t believe any of this stuff, so what harm could come from sticking around just a little while longer?
They walked down the beach until Jules’ calves burned from exertion. She bit back the ‘are we there yet?’ playing on the tip of her tongue.
When Bree finally stopped, it was too-quick and Jules almost plowed the shorter woman over. “Geez, maybe you should warn a chick,” she muttered.
The woman threw her an apologetic look. “Sorry, when I leave fer a while, I always have ta seek the Stones out again. Somethin’ of the protection spell must remain. The location is hazy until I am standin’ a ’fore it.”
She didn’t answer as Bree slid forward toward a crack in the cliff side in front of them. The Irish chick felt around, both palms to the rock.
A gull screeched overhead and Jules glanced over her shoulder to watch it swoop down to the choppy water. Another bird answered the call and joined the fishing expedition. She jumped when Bree called her name.
Bree gestured and Jules forced one combat boot in front of the other to answer the woman’s beck and call, chiding herself at the same time. “Where are we going?”
Irritation flashed in Bree’s dark eyes. “The Faery Stones, as I’ve told ye.”
“Where exactly are they?”
“Inside. Come forth.” As she spoke, Bree inched into the crack in the cliff wall. She turned sideways, but there was some clearance in front of her body.
“Inside?”
“’Tis a cave.” Her words echoed as she moved forward.
“A cave. What about…animals? I’m not going in there.” Jules groaned. Whining wasn’t her style.
Man up, and get this shit done.
Maybe I can check Bree into the psych ward when we’re done, and manage to not fill the bed next to hers.
She slipped her backpack off. Wouldn’t fit through the narrow opening wearing it. She unzipped the small pocket in the front, grabbing her flashlight and grumbling as she followed.
“’Tis safe,” Bree called. Her voice sounded deeper, but clear. She said nothing more, but Jules could hear the scrape of her boots on the ground.
Water dripped from somewhere in front of them, echoing as Jules entered darker territory. She let the beam of her light lead the way, and the path opened up after a few feet. Air fluffed the wisps of hair around her face, so there was probably a crack or entrance on the other side, though she couldn’t see much, including Bree.
The further she went, the more space she had to move around. The place was sizable, with a humid warmth that made her skin prickle, but the air smelled clean, not dank.
“Bree?”
“Here.”
Jules zoned in on the voice.
Bree was flitting around the cave, lighting candles. “The cave looks different in my time, but it’s as large as then. The entrance has changed. Was much wider.”
“It’s been a long time, probably erosion.”
“Erosion?” She paused, holding one candle above the other. They looked as if they were modern-day stick-candles found at any department store, but Jules didn’t ask how Bree had gotten them.
“Natural wearing, from weather and stuff.” Jules looked around as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, scanning the open space.
For a cave, it looked lived-in.
“I doona’ have much, but—”
“You’ve been living here? Sleeping here?” Jules frowned. Blankets were piled in one corner of the cavern.
“Aye. I’ve nowhere else ta’ go.” Bree’s voice shook. Nervous, in a way that belied the confidence she’d displayed since they’d met.
Jules almost felt bad for her. “So where are these Stones you’ve been talking about all day?”
“There.” Bree gestured to the left.
“Geez, how did I miss them?” she whispered, inspecting the odd sight before her.
Five stalagmites rose from the cave-floor, one in the center of a semi-circle of the other four, and a few inches taller than the rest. That wasn’t the weird part—after all, they were in a cave.
The semi-circle was perfect, as if it had been placed there, not grown. And each of the natural pillars had a large crystal on top of it. Actually, the crystal was the top of the stalagmite, as if the formation had melded into a crystal as it’d grown.
“Weird.”
“Faery Stones.” Bree’s voice held reverence. Her chest rose and fell as if she panted and her hands opened and closed at her sides.
“You okay?”
“Aye.” She fidgeted in her too-big clunky boots.
“You sure?”
Bree nodded. “I will get home, with yer help.”
“And I’ll get my sister with yours.”
“Aye.” The Irish woman smiled. Too bad the wild look in her eyes offset it. Screamed crazy.
“There you go again, cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs just when I think you could be normal.”
Shoulders tight, Bree cocked her head to one side. “What?”
“Never mind. What’s the next step?”
“I am goin’ ta open the Stones.” Bree darted forward, whispering something Jules didn’t catch. She caressed the crystal in the middle, then tapped the others in what had to be some pattern. The woman crooned to each one.
Jules rolled her eyes.
Really, this chick is nuts.
“I need ye ta’ come here,” Bree said after several minutes of repeating her actions with no result Jules could see.
“Oh yeah? What for?”
The woman frowned, but said nothing.
Jules sighed and approached the stalagmites. She buried her hand in her jeans’ pocket, squeezing the small scroll when she found it.
“Touch tha crystal in the middle, then the others, right ta left one after ‘nother.”
She did as she was told.
Nothing.
Bree made a noise deep in her throat. “It has ta work this time.”
Jules didn’t answer, but saw frustration in her companion’s eyes when their gazes met.
“Let us try together,” Bree declared.
Shrugging, Jules followed Bree’s lead when the woman touched the Stones in order again, one of her hands on each Stone when Jules’ fingers rested there at the same time.
Humming startled her. It too was a pattern, one echoing the other in order. “Oh my God, is that from the crystals?”
“Aye. Do it again.” Bree’s words were rushed. Beads of sweat bathed her forehead.
She didn’t argue, nor did she fight the Irish woman when Bree took one of her hands in hers, moving in the pattern and chanting louder.
Wind kicked up from nowhere, knocking Jules’ backpack over with a thump. But Bree had her hand, so she couldn’t grab it if she wanted to. “What’s happening?”
“It’s workin’!” Bree had to shout above the whistling gale.
The crystal beneath their joined hands lit up. Jules squinted against the radiance. Moving air whipped her pony tail in her face.
“Put yer other hand on tha’ one.” Bree ordered without looking up. She was chanting again under her breath.
Jules swallowed and clutched the small scroll to her sweaty palm. She should put it back in her pocket, but didn’t want to take the time. She commanded her shaking hand to the crystal to her right. Finally, her fingers made purchase, the parchment stuck between her palm and the bright mineral. At her touch, it shone like she’d hit some on switch.
Bree’s chanting became yelling.
The crystals were humming together now and heating up, like they were water on the stove, on the way to a slow boil.
A shudder made its way down Jules’ spine, but she forced her concentration on the Irish woman, battling revulsion against the fascination that was creeping up from her gut. Was she seeing magic?
Real magic?
“Wha’ ever ye do, doona’ let go!” Bree’s shout brought Jules’ gaze to hers.
She gasped. Bree was radiant, glowing like the five crystals. Her hair was flowing around her face, and her pants sounded like a parachute as the wind buffeted them.
“Won’t be long now!”
Jules didn’t get a chance to ask what she’d meant. Cool air smacked her face and dried her eyes. She had to squint.
