Vision

by Beth Elisa Harris

  It’s okay. I’ll catch you.

  Who are you? Is that you, Stuart?

  There’s no time for prattle. Jump, Layla.

  So like Sarah, I hurled myself off the cliff in a leap of blind faith and then realized the voice could have been imagined – a residual piece of lingering dream. The headlines would read: Consecutive bad choices finally kill Layla Stone.

  But instead of plummeting, my body was caught and held in a cradle carrying me up and away, across the water to the adjacent island of Oronsay, where we touched down softly on a grass clearing lit only with moonlight.

  I smelled him first.

  “Hello, love,” he whispered.

  “Fairchild.” I didn’t hear a response before I collapsed deeper into his arms.

  It was the dark before dawn when I opened my eyes. We lay side by side wrapped together in his long wool coat like pretzels. I should have been shaking from the cold, except the heat exchange was intense. “Hi again. Staying conscience this time?” He kissed my nose.

  I blinked. He was gorgeous. “How long was I out?”

  The sigh was long, filled with fatigue. “Not long.”

  I met his eyes. “Really, please. Are you an eagle, or Superman? I’ve narrowed it down to those two, so tell me which one.”

  The index finger and thumb from his perfectly formed hands squeezed his nose bridge. “None of the above.”

  “Then I need answers.”

  He nodded.

  “Good,” I continued. “First question. Was there a man after me or was it my imagination?”

  “Jasper Branson.”

  I rose up on one elbow, tilting my head and pinning his gaze. “Excuse me?”

  “Andre’s father – a world class jerk and high up in the Bane circle.” He nuzzled my neck.

  I stifled my moan so he would know I meant business, but the distraction was still a fight. “Uh, why me, Fairchild?”

  He paused long enough to complete a full sentence. “Because love…they know you have – powers that could bring them crashing down.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Yeah, right. I’m just a struggling student who can’t even get her mother’s devotion.”

  This time he really stopped, looking me dead in the eye with utter seriousness. “Not to them.”

  “How did he know I was here? How did he find me?”

  Stuart shook his head. “No one knows yet, love.”

  I remained confused. “I couldn’t read you. I wondered if you were…”

  “No, I’m not. My guard was up, on purpose. But you read me before you jumped.” He reminded me reassuringly, gently brushing hair strands from my eye before brushing his mouth across my forehead.

  I remembered something else. “Did you…send me something…when we were on the Waterloo Bridge?”

  He let out an irresistible, husky laugh. “Depends. What did you hear?” He smiled the crooked one that made me weak.

  Can you hear me now? He sent.

  I rose further, sitting on my knees, delighted my head hearing was working at full capacity. “Yes! I can hear your head!”

  He rose to his so we faced each other. “Happy?”

  I nodded. “Delirious. I thought something was wrong with me.”

  He hugged me. “Now you try.”

  I gazed at him curiously and then kissed before responding. “What?”

  “Think something,” he said.

  “Fairchild, are you a Clear too?”

  “No…I’m a…we’re a…” He glanced in the distance then back to me.

  The realization was staggering. I gulped dry air. What a dunce. “You’re my guardian. You sent the charm.”

  He smiled. “Yes, and that’s Guardian with a capital G. It’s a ‘thing’ apparently.”

  I laughed. My head is spinning, Fairchild.

  Passing out again?

  Maybe. How did you…what did you…?

  I can feel you from far away, sense you, smell you…and I can sort of swoop and fly when necessary. It’s part of my ability as your…

  When I came to, again, I was inside Abbey’s laying down on the bed. Dawn was breaking. Stuart had transported me in a matter of seconds back to the white washed house. He assured me Jasper was long gone. I tried to pepper him with questions but he insisted we rest for a while.

  But I was restless, and needed something to drink. Shuffling into the kitchen, I noticed the lights were on as they had been before the visit. It was as if little time had passed, except a few hundred years. “Stuart?” Opening the fridge, I grabbed a bottle of water at the same time he stood behind me, his warm breath steaming up nearly non-existent space between us.

  Closing the door I whirled around. “After the scary night I had, you really shouldn’t sneak up like that.”

  In silence, his hands grazed the length of my arms barely touching my skin, creating trails of bumps as he moved down to my hands. My back leaned into the counter and Stuart moved closer, until the remaining space between us vanished.

  His long fingers formed handcuffs around my wrists. “What are you doing?” I moaned.

  “Mmmm?” The vibration in his throat shot shockwaves of shivers, nearly buckling my knees as his sweet breath brushed my ear. If he didn’t touch me, really touch me soon I would explode. Small hurricanes formed in my gut, winds of desire impossible to contain. “Touch me, Fairchild.”

  “No,” he murmured, his mouth buried in my hair at the nape of my neck, fingers still clasping my wrists in place.

  “Please…I’ll pass out again.” I managed to mumble a moan of a threat, my neck exposed to encourage full contact.

  Stuart pulled back enough to reveal his marble black eyes in the low light, swirling with so much desire and lust I was certain my heart would pound open my chest. With only a sensation of contact, his lips breezed by mine, causing delicate waves of aches to spread everywhere.

  I opened my mouth for him, and he released my wrists, moving his hands to my face where he swept his fingers lightly across my cheeks, raking them through my hair before he cradled my head.

  Our lips met, and the world around me dissolved until there was nothing but us, Stuart and me, exploring each other boldly, gasping for breath as we did.

  His hands found my waist, my hips, tucking his fingertips into the waistband of my jeans. I tugged at his shirt, eager to feel his skin. I moaned uncontained into his mouth and he loved that, responding by pulling me closer, teasing me mercilessly with his kisses.

  He lifted me onto the counter and I crossed my ankles around his back. His lips found the groove behind my ear and other places I never thought about. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he slid his hands under my blouse, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts.

  My dramatic gasp made him chuckle in a smitten way, satisfied he was driving me to the brink of insanity. The heat between us intensified, smoldering with each caress.

  I managed to eek out a sentence while he nibbled. “Let’s go to the bed.”

  “Nuh uh, not yet.”

  Maybe he didn’t understand. “But I want to; it’s just more comfortable…”

  He stopped just after he planted a final kiss on my chin. I had never felt such intense pleasure, and wanted him as much as I knew he wanted me. The smile he gave me was both sexy and reassuring, and I wasn’t sure what was on his mind at that moment. “I mean not yet, not yet. It’s too soon.”

  My heart fell eleven stories straight down. “But…I thought…didn’t you…?”

  A light went off as he backed away from our encounter, and he understood we were on two different highways. “No love,” he nearly laughed, “God, I’m not rejecting you. I could quite easily undress you right now. There’s just more of the story I want you to know before we take that step.”

  I sighed with relief. I suppose having a boyfriend who doesn’t pressure you to have sex is somewhat chivalrous, but no less frustrating. “Okay, sure.” I hopped off the counter and took a long chug of water, offering
him the bottle. “Then you need to cough up the 411 Fairchild and I do mean everything. Let’s go sit…if I can walk.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “The sun will rise soon. Start talking. By the way, can you fly us home? How do you do that anyway?” I snuggled next to him on the sofa, as close as I could get, my arm through his, head resting on his shoulder.

  He chuckled. “I’m almost certain I can’t do that unless you’re in danger. But I’ll fly with you…on the plane.”

  I smiled, satisfied, and he continued.

  “I…don’t know how I do it yet. It’s a new thing, since we…met.” He kissed my forehead, nibbling his way to my ear, trying to initiate another round. It was hard to resist, but I did. Too many unanswered questions hovering.

  He let out a long, groaning sigh when I denied him. “Okay…here goes.”

  “Helllooo!”

  I didn’t hear her come in, and jumped a little, making Stuart smile.

  “Abbey?” Wow, any earlier and we would have had an embarrassing situation.

  “It’s me dear.” She walked in the sitting room looking radiant and flushed from the cold. “I thought you’d be in bed!” That’s what I thought too.

  Her smile widened when she shifted her vision to Stuart. “Stuart. Finally we meet.” She walked over and they embraced like they were long lost friends.

  My mouth dropped, unsure whether to speak or scream. Abbey plopped in the oversized chair across from where we sat, exuding simultaneous youth and wisdom. “I take it Sarah paid you a visit?” She winked, her wide mouth bending with secrets.

  I stared at her then nodded slowly. “Uh, yes…how did you know?”

  She chuckled in memoriam. “Oh child, Sarah and I go way back.”

  As polite and sweet and lovely as Abbey was, and as crazy with mad love Stuart made me, I still jumped to my feet, the lump in my throat exploding into sound. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

  And I had to ask.

  Abbey knew Sarah because they were best friends, cousins actually, so Abbey and I were related too in some weird way. “I’ve been alive a long time, Layla. I’m a bean sidhe.”

  After many minutes of me pacing, insisting bean sidhe were stuff of folklore and legend, Abbey and Stuart sat in slouched exhausted silence until I finally resigned. I plopped down defeated next to Stuart. “Seriously, a bean sidhe, like a screaming banshee chick when people die?”

  Abbey nodded. “Yes, like that. Banshee is the phonic pronunciation. My husband George was a soul escort. I wailed, he herded.”

  Drenched in disbelief, I could only think of one question. “Do people here know who you are?”

  She laughed brightly. “They all die before they figure anything out. That’s why I like it here. Small population.” Stuart chuckled.

  “Uh huh.” I know there are other more burning questions to ask, but my mind was literally blank; a rare, cosmic occurrence.

  Stuart’s closed his eyes from fatigue, his slightly tilted head resting on the top of his loose fist.

  Abbey addressed the silence. “Layla, souls are eternal. Did you know that?”

  I shrugged. “I guess.” In truth, I was generally neutral about these things. It was easier to be unsure than to believe stories.

  She continued. “When Jonathan was killed…”

  “Oh god…you were alive then!” I interrupted.

  Abbey patiently nodded. “Yes, but I wasn’t here on the island. When he was killed, George was able to immediately escort his soul into a new being, a baby about to be born in Morocco.” She saw me start to speak again and lifted her hand in a signal to let her finish. “During transition Jonathan’s soul requested eternal life for he and Sarah due to their unfinished life together, as a way to compensate them for the loss of the unborn child. Jonathan begged George for another chance for he and Sarah. He wanted the special ability to remember their time together, and find her without losing all of his memories as souls do when they travel from body to body over time. The request is rare and seldom granted, but his soul was desperate with grief so strong George could not ignore his pain. So, George gave Jonathan’s departed soul what it wished. The soul went into the new body. But Sarah’s soul didn’t adjust as well and George couldn’t guide her anywhere. He granted the soul eternal life anyway, but she, it wandered aimlessly for many, many years…until now.”

  The tightness in my jaw caused massive head throbbing. Maybe the pieces were coming together, but nothing seemed remotely plausible…in the real world. But I knew my existence resembled nothing close to what defines normal beyond these walls.

  I looked at Abbey and then at Stuart, who hadn’t moved positions but had opened his eyes, returning my gaze, waiting for the realization to hit.

  And it did.

  “This is what Sarah meant by you are me, isn’t it?” No one answered. The question really was more rhetorical. “Her soul,” I gulped the dry air in my throat, “her soul went into me.”

  Abbey’s lit up. The corners of Stuart’s mouth twitched slightly upward.

  “Stuart…you…you…have Jonathan’s.” Tears streamed silently down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. Many more would follow. Stuart shifted now, turning to hold both my hands, steadying the queasy sensation he sensed in me. “Just how old are you, Fairchild?”

  He smiled and cocked a brow. I was pretty sure I knew the answer. I just wanted to hear it and not speak it myself. “I was born immediately after Jonathan’s death, in 1731. So…bloody old.”

  I made a mental note to pass out again later. “Abbey – how old are you?”

  She sang a laugh. “Well, typically old broads like me don’t tell their age but since this is a unique situation…” she paused for dramatic effect…”I was born in 1701, here on the island. Sarah and I were joined at the hip and we went through a lot together. She used to hold me, calm me when I would wail. Clears can hear the beauty in the voices of bean sidhe because they are in tune to the whole being. That’s why it was tolerable for Sarah to be around me. Back then the villagers would steer clear of me for fear they would perish if our eyes met. She and Jonathan and of course George were the only family I had, the only ones who loved me. And Sarah…she was something. It was extraordinary to watch her abilities. Not only was she a Clear but she was a great healer, tirelessly tending to the sick on the island when the fever hit.” She had mentally left the room, her crystal blue eyes remembering hundreds of year’s worth of memories, something no one else could do…well, except Stuart.

  “Where were you when she was killed?” I kneeled next to Abbey, placing a hand on top hers folded in her lap.

  She shook her head, still recalling the past with sorrow. “A couple of days before the murders I saw death come for Sarah and Jon. I could feel the wail forming. I was grief-stricken, inconsolable. I left for London. George met me there after taking Jon’s soul to its new home and we stayed many years. Eventually we returned, but Wilbur had anyone with MacPhie blood kicked off the island permanently – so living here was dreadful back then, even though it was home.”

  She chuckled at another memory. “We probably should have avoided moving to a big city like London. I wailed so much there they thought I was crazy – tried to lock me up several times!”

  Her delivery made us all laugh until we cried, something I had already been doing. Her gaze drifted again as she recalled more. “The letter Sarah wrote – I didn’t know she did that. I had already left but it didn’t really surprise me to find it. She was – extremely talented. I’m certain she must have given Jon a herbal sedative the night of her death so he wouldn’t wake, probably an attempt to save his life. But his Guardian instincts were strong, and he woke up anyway.” Abbey pulled a tissue out of nowhere and blew her nose. “Very talented, she was. To see your birth that far in the future? Astounding.” Then Abbey face turned hard, an expression I had not seen. It was not cruel, but said ‘wake up and smell the damn coffee.’

  And then she said, “Her soul e
xisted nowhere until you came…you do get that, right?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We flew back in an actual airplane and went straight to Stuart’s cottage. I think I was supposed to be doing something in the bathroom when he found me sitting in a ball shape rocking back and forth.

  He leaned against the doorframe appearing casually perfect for a 280 year-old guy. His smirk wasn’t sarcastic, but implied I may be overreacting, which only made me rock harder.

  “Stop being laid back about this. I am so freaking out right now, Fairchild. You’ve no idea.”

  In a flash he was sitting next to me, wrapping his arms around the perimeter of my round shape, pulling me into him. “Sorry. I’ve had longer to process and should have nothing but patience. But is it really that bad? That we found each other? That our souls reconnected?”

  I stopped rocking and pulled my head back to meet his eyes. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you think this is about…us?”

  He shrugged, softly guiding a loose curl away from the center of my face. “What then?”

  “What…okay. Let’s start with what you’ve been doing the last 280 years? Dated much?”

  His brows connected together, contemplating the correct response, I supposed. “Uh…dated? Not so much. I have 20raveled…extensively. I know hundreds of languages. Play many instruments – well I might add…lot’s of practice time…waiting for you.” He glanced from the corner of his eye to gauge my reaction. I wasn’t sure whether to sock him in the arm or smother him with kisses. I preferred the latter, but further interrogation was required.

  “Okay, let’s shelve your many talents for a minute. How old are your mom and dad?” It was a struggle to look at him and avoid the physical pull. I turned my head away waiting for him to answer. He turned my chin back toward him.

  “The age parents should be for having a seventeen year old son. Natasha and I are related. They know all about this hocus pocus stuff. I’ve been with them since the Seventies, when I became Stuart Fairchild. I took their last name.” He softly kissed my mouth, not wanting more, just a nice reassuring touch.