For the next hour, Maggie tried on every pair of shoes Noah gave a nod to and paraded up and down the aisle to see how they felt.
He really liked eight pairs.
Two of them hurt her feet, but she let him buy the other six.
They were on their way back through the lobby with their purchases when another familiar face appeared in front of her.
"Hello, Ms. Harrison."
"Hello," Maggie said with a bright smile. "I don't believe you've met my... employer. Noah Nash, this is Lillian Davenport's assistant."
The dark-eyed woman instantly held out her hand to him. "Esmeralda Mercedes Martinez, but you can call me Mercy. It is truly a pleasure to meet you Mr. Nash. I'm a big fan."
Noah shook her hand and grinned. "Thank you, Mercy, and please call me Noah."
"We were just heading to your office," Maggie said. Then, as though she didn't know the answer, she asked, "Any chance Ms. Davenport has a minute to spare for us?"
Mercy giggled. "Boss won't be in the office today or for the next week. She's going away on holiday... for the first time in thirteen years. I gather the two of you had something to do with that."
Maggie was more than a little surprised and phrased her question carefully. "She told you what happened?"
Mercy giggled again. "Oh, no, we're not that close. She asked me to go by her suite to pick up a file and I just happened to see the card she'd written to the two of you. I also got to meet the reason she's suddenly willing to take some time off." She stepped closer, took one of each of their hands into hers and whispered, "You did a great job. Thank you from all of us." She stepped back and, in a normal tone, asked, "Will you be able to join them for dinner at six this evening?"
"Yes, that was why we were headed to your office," Maggie replied.
"We're looking forward to it," Noah added.
"Excellent. I'll let her know." As she walked away, she added, "Don't you just love happily-ever-afters?" Then she winked at Maggie, just like Reynard had.
"How odd," Noah said with a thoughtful expression, as Mercy walked away.
"You mean 'odd' like not appropriate, or odd like creepy?"
That made him chuckle. "Odd like Reynard pretending not to know what we were talking about. She didn't admit to knowing how we helped and she could have been thanking us on behalf of the hotel staff, but I'd bet my next royalty check Mercy is in on all the big secrets around here."
Maggie shrugged. "That's the feeling I got too. Maybe Reynard isn't the only hotel employee who reports to a supernatural entity." Her eyes widened as she considered that. "Maybe the entire staff is—"
Noah squeezed her hand. "Sh-sh. Let's keep that conversation for somewhere more private."
Maggie nodded her understanding then asked, "So, where shall we go next?" She watched his expression quickly change to one she now knew very well.
"I think we should go back upstairs and take another look at our purchases... just to make sure you don't want to exchange the gray boots for the red ones."
Fortunately, they had the treehouse elevator all to themselves.
They were watching the moon inch its way across the sky through the dome in the master bedroom before Maggie remembered something Noah had said earlier. "Are you ready to tell me about the new book idea yet?"
"Well, I can tell you it's not a horror."
She perked up immediately. "I like it already. What else?"
He grinned. "I'm not saying I'm done writing horror, I'm just going to add a different genre to my bibliography. I was thinking about a time-travel suspense... with a hot romance to spice things up."
In response, she planted kisses all over his face. "I love it! And wait until I tell you about Moira's life story before we met her. I'll bet you can use it somehow. I was absolutely amazed and I even thought about how you should write it someday."
He held her face still to get one good kiss. "I take it you're happy with my decision... which is good because I'm going to need help from someone familiar with that type of story."
"I'm definitely your girl."
Noah gave Maggie a longer, deeper kiss. "You certainly are, Sugarlips."
* * *
The First called The Council of Abstracts to order. I believe the event correction regarding Moira Flanagan was concluded in a positive way. Are there any objections to recording Maggie Harrison's and Noah Nash's mission as a success and instituting the human upgrade? When no one spoke The First addressed the three Abstracts most involved in the case. Justice?
Satisfied.
Karma?
Satisfied.
Love?
Very satisfied. And thank you, Justice, for getting the fox back in his cage.
You are welcome. Just be more careful next time.
The First recorded the success as confirmed and closed The Book with a dramatic thud. According to the established rules, The Human Experiment will continue. However, this session is now open to a discussion of the adjustments that should be made to those rules for future tests. The First withdrew its thoughts so as not to influence the debate that arose.
With the fate of humanity out of jeopardy for another century, The First turned its attention to an issue unrelated to The Human Experiment. This particular matter fell under The First's supreme jurisdiction and thus did not require unanimous approval by The Council.
Because Maggie and Noah had focused so much of their attention on the spirit known as The Weeping Woman, that entity had grown stronger. The First saw the future clearly. It would not be long before other, less intuitive, humans would hear her pleas as Maggie had. Credible testimonials would then demand investigation. The result would not only draw undesirable elements to the Davenport resort, it could be cataclysmic for the Crystal Island portal.
In this circumstance, a time rewind would create more problems than it might resolve. The only solution was to permanently silence The Weeping Woman before it was too late. To accomplish such a drastic measure required the exceptional opening of the portal and the involvement of one particular, independent Abstract.
Unfortunately, Death could not be controlled and seldom played well with others.
The End
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Want more from Marilyn Campbell?
Here's an an excerpt from
IT'S ABOUT TIME
The Lovers in Time Series
Book Four
~
In all his years of partying, Sam never remembered feeling this bad. His eyes burned like hell and felt glued shut; his head seemed to have been split down the middle by a hatchet that was left in place; his arms and legs felt weighted down, and the nausea and dizziness were far worse than he'd ever experienced with the flu.
What the hell happened last night? His mind strained to remember against the physical pain. The first image that came through involved a beautiful blonde with a body that made him not care how young she might be. He bought her a drink, maybe a few, still not enough to be this hung over. Could she have dropped a little something extra in his glass?
What was her name? Brittany? Tiffany? Emily? He was fairly sure it ended with an "e" sound, just like a lot of the others he'd hooked up with in the last two years.
Where was that? It took him a moment to remember being at the LIV Nightclub in the Fontainebleau Hotel, but that made no sense. He never partied where he worked... but he didn't work there any more; he'd given his notice that afternoon.
Why would he do such a stupid thing? He gave himself
a mental forehead slap as the reason came back to him—after eight years of climbing the kitchen staff ladder on Miami Beach, he'd just been hired to replace the retiring executive chef at the Davenport Resort on Crystal Island! That was why he'd been celebrating so hard.
Before he could congratulate himself again on his achievement however, he recalled driving north on I-95. His Porsche's top was down, an intense full moon illuminated the clear night sky, and the blonde in the passenger seat kept urging him to go faster. Then her hand slipped between his thighs and his foot pressed harder on the gas pedal.
The last image that flickered in his mind was the back of a semi that seemed to appear out of nowhere...
His recollection was cut off as a hand gently touched his and a woman with a very soft voice—definitely not the "e" girl—spoke close to his ear.
"It's okay, soldier. You're safe now. My name is Milly and I'll be one of the nurses taking care of you. The doctor needs to examine your injuries, so I'm going to give you a nice dose of morphine to help you get through that. When you wake up again, we can talk if you'd like."
Sam felt a needle prick his forearm and a few seconds later the pain and all his questions went away.
* * *
"Where's this patient's file?" Captain Norwich called out to no one in particular.
When Milly saw the other two nurses hustle away from the doctor's line of sight, she had no choice but to respond, but she would not abandon the soldier whose wound dressing she was changing. "I'll be right with you," she said as she continued her task. Hopefully Norwich was as tired as he appeared and would forego his usual round of dirty jokes and crude invitations. On the other hand, if he thought she wasn't giving him his due respect, he would likely make her life uncomfortable in some other way. That thought made her pick up her pace.
As she crossed the long ballroom that had been converted into a hospital ward lined with beds, she reminded herself to slouch. There were plenty of men who found her height and full figure attractive qualities, but Doctor Norwich wasn't one of them. At five-foot-ten, she could look down on his bald spot, which he tried to hide with brown strands of hair from the side of his head. Added to his short stature, his very large waistline always made Milly think of the Humpty-Dumpty nursery rhyme. His less than ideal appearance was possibly the cause of a personality that ranged from unpleasant to rude.
But he was a decent doctor and her superior, so she slouched.
He made her wait for a full minute, while he studied another patient's chart, before giving her his attention. "What's the story with that one?" he asked with a nod toward the patient whose entire head and a good portion of his body was wrapped in bandages.
"He was brought in on a transport yesterday morning with three others who were wounded in Normandy two weeks ago. They were patched up at a field hospital before being shipped here for rehab, but only one of them seems healthy enough to be released any time soon. That one's been unconscious the whole time."
The doctor shook his head. "Damn shame it cost our boys so much, but at least it's looking like they helped turn the tide in France. So where's this one's file?"
"There wasn't one," Milly replied. "And no dog tags either. I've already requested a search for both, but nothing's come in yet."
"Did you change any of his dressings?"
"No. They all looked clean, as if they had been changed right before he was brought in."
"Well, clean or not, without any notes, they've got to come off before I can suggest treatment."
Milly took the small scissors out of her uniform pocket and began carefully snipping away the bandages as Captain Norwich stood by. The moment she began revealing the patient's wounds, she felt the doctor's lecherous gaze undressing her. She wished she could slap his face or at least walk away, but that wouldn't help the injured man. The only choice she had was to pretend she didn't notice. A few minutes later, she no longer had to pretend because every bit of the doctor's attention was focused on the man's battered body.
This soldier was taller and more muscular than most of the men she tended, but he was in bad shape. Lacerations of varying sizes and shapes, as well as raw patches of flesh, were all over the man's face, shaved head and body, front and back. The largest cuts had been closed with thin pieces of metal, medium ones had been stitched with such a fine thread that it was barely visible and the smaller ones had been covered by an unusual sort of textured tape. The face was puffy and purplish, especially the area around the eyes, and the lids had been sealed closed with the strange tape.
"This wasn't caused by shrapnel," Norwich stated firmly. "I've only seen one patient with this kind of damage, but it was a man who'd been thrown through a window, not a soldier."
"Maybe he was in or near a building with lots of glass windows when it got bombed," Milly offered.
He frowned at her. "Or maybe those sons-of-bitches have a new kind of weapon. I heard both sides are working on something big. Anyway, I've definitely never seen anything like how this man was pieced back together. Makes me think of Frankenstein's monster, but I sure would like to talk to the doctor who did this work."
Milly had the same thoughts, but she knew better than to give her opinion, even if it agreed with his.
The doctor continued to study the body on the bed. "The other odd thing is how fresh the wounds and bruising look. Like it only happened a few days ago... not nearly enough time for him to be fixed up in a field hospital and cross the Atlantic. The missing file and dog tags could just be a mishap, but when all the pieces are combined, I'd say we are dealing with something highly irregular." Under his breath he murmured, "Curious. Very curious."
Since he had yet to give her any instructions, she asked, "How do you want me to proceed?"
Norwich had to drag his gaze off the patient before answering. "Based on the head injury, we can assume some brain trauma and a helluva headache. When he's able to swallow, give him a couple aspirin tablets every few hours. I don't see any sign of infection but a few doses of penicillin won't hurt. As to the scraped areas, apply that burn salve we got in last week, then just replace the bandages. They were unusually clean, so reuse whatever you can." He started to walk away then added, "Hopefully, the patient will be able to fill in some blanks when he wakes up. Meanwhile, do not say anything to anyone about him or what you've seen. Consider that an order, Fitch."
The fact that the doctor left without giving her his traditional pat on her behind let Milly know just how disturbed he was by what he'd seen.
* * *
Desert-like thirst and a feminine scent of soap and roses finally lured Sam out of the darkness to semi-consciousness.
"Come on, soldier, open your mouth a little."
Soldier? He was a soldier once, but that was years ago. He tried to part his dry lips to speak but only managed a croaking sound before something was eased between his teeth and a bit of water dripped onto his tongue. After a few repetitions, his throat remembered how to swallow.
"Very good," she said. "Now I need to prop you up so you can have a proper drink, but you have a lot of wounds on your back so this might hurt."
Her voice was soft and soothing and made him think of warm béarnaise sauce, which immediately brought to mind the salmon Florentine omelet he'd prepared that morning. His stomach couldn't seem to decide if it wanted food or needed to toss up the bit of water he'd just gotten down. While he tried to figure that out, the woman got his upper body raised with only a little more pain than he felt lying still. He tried to thank her but consonants were beyond his tongue's ability.
"You haven't had anything to eat or drink since you were brought in, which was almost three days ago, so we're going to take this very slow, okay?"
He tried to nod but the movement made the pounding in his head magnify. His hand automatically moved to the source of the new pain but what he felt was not recognizable. Using both hands, he deduced that his whole head was wrapped in gauze, except for nose and mouth holes. That answered the questio
n of why he couldn't open his eyes. Slowly he found his way out of the blurry half-world to relative consciousness. He made some sounds he hoped she could understand.
"One thing at a time, soldier. I'm going to put a straw in your mouth. Try to take a tiny sip."
He took one, then another, but after the third, she withdrew the straw.
"I know you're thirsty but if you force too much too fast, you could throw up and, believe me, your head is not going to be happy about that. I have some pills for the headache once I'm sure you can get them down. The doctor was here yesterday and checked all your wounds. Some of them are pretty bad but there's no sign of infection, which is very good. Okay, let's try a little more water."
This time, she let him have as much as he wanted.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Where am I?"
"The Davenport Rehabilitation Facility."
"Like the hotel?" He heard her let out a soft sound as though she were smiling.
"It is the hotel. The owners were kind enough to allow us to use part of it to help the wounded get back on their feet."
He was pretty sure he heard all her words but they made no sense. "Crystal Island?"
"Yes, that's right. It's off the southeast coast of Florida."
I know that, but why aren't I at Jackson or Mt. Sinai Hospital? And why are my eyes bandaged? His thoughts seemed clear in his head but the only thing that came out aloud was the most important question. "Am I... blind?"
She covered his hand with hers. "You suffered some serious head injuries, but until your wounds heal more, the doctor wants to keep them all covered, including your eyes. Until then, try not to think about what may or may not be. Just be happy you're alive."
He felt her hand slip away. "Please don't leave," he said in a shaky voice.
Some Time Away (Lovers in Time Series, Book 3): Time Travel Romance Page 26
