Time Weaver

by Jacinta Maree

  “Oi! Are you going to pay for that?” The store clerk stepped out from behind the counter. Elizabeth fled into the dense channels, travelling deeper into the cesspool that was the Pitts. She knew every crack and nook of the backstreets, hiding in places where no one looked and waited for night. Sunlight lowered, drawing out the yellow glow from the lamps lining the roadways. Darkness helped hide her most of the way into Rosefire and up to Harry Smith’s front door.

  She knocked urgently. “Mr. Smith? Mr. Smith, are you home?”

  Movement shuffled behind the door panel. Moments later, an anxious Harry answered, first peeking through the gap in the curtain before swinging the door wide open. “Miss Wicker?”

  “I’m so sorry.” Elizabeth whispered. “I didn’t know whereas to go.”

  #

  Catherine scrambled back up. It didn’t make sense. Her brain couldn’t work out the science behind the trick, trying to understand how Elizabeth and Nikolas could disappear within inches of her. All that was left were the throbbing points where Nikolas had grabbed her wrist. People helped her stand and started gossiping about witches. Catherine walked out of the winery, calling for Klaus.

  Klaus slowed from pacing the dirt track. The air around him chilled, filling up with the coppery scent of Nikolas’ dark magic. No! Impossible! Klaus glanced toward the vineyard for signs of his prowling gremlins. Nikolas is here? How did he find me? In the next moment, a strong metallic taste climbed up his throat and red hives covered his left hand. What? What is this?

  “Klaus? Klaus! Klaus where are you?”

  Klaus turned at Catherine’s desperate calling. He rushed back to her to find her panicked and sweaty. Catherine’s cheeks flushed red. “Where on earth were you?”

  “I’m here now, what is it?”

  “Nikolas was here! He has Elizabeth!”

  Klaus’ heart dropped to the bottom of his chest. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised that Nikolas went to Elizabeth the moment Klaus was gone. Of course he would, but still, the confirmation only further set in Klaus’ fear. The hives on his hand and the taste in his mouth suddenly made sense. The taint. She’s made a wish. Klaus swallowed, trying to keep his composure. “What happened?”

  “He attacked me, tried to take the bone shiv. Elizabeth was with him, and then they vanished. Teleported away.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then what good are you?” Klaus snapped.

  Catherine placed her hands on her hips, equally as irritated. “A lot more useful than someone storming off and sulking like some child.”

  “I wasn’t sulking,” he growled and shook his head impatiently. “What were her exact words?”

  “Something like, oh God please just stop him.”

  Well, that didn’t help at all. “She must’ve been thinking of something, something she wanted bad enough that Nikolas would feel compelled to grant.” Klaus mumbled under his breath and started to pace again. They vanished, teleported, meaning Elizabeth was thinking of a certain place when she said those words. If Nikolas really was attacking Catherine, she would be scared. Panicked. Where would her mind go if she were frightened? The thoughts clicked. “I think I know where she is.”

  “Let me come too. I can help.”

  “Clearly you can’t.” Klaus cleared his throat to correct himself, remembering Elizabeth’s scolding. “Sorry, yes, maybe you can help. Find out what you can to unfreeze my arm. I will go get her.”

  “But where is she? Where did they go?”

  Klaus sighed uneasily. “Home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five:

  “Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here, Harry.” Elizabeth sat down and wrapped herself up in a blanket to fight off the cold. She dared not go near the windows or the front door in fear of being spotted again. She picked up her tea cup and took a long drink, trying to settle her nerves.

  “Is everything alright? I thought you were travelling with Sir Dietrich and Lady Rose-Wicker across country.” Harry set up his tea next to his arm chair. “I worry about you being here, there is a lot of unrest regarding the Beaumont’s and politics.”

  “I can see.” Elizabeth reached over and picked up the paper. Her name was plastered on every second page. “Look at this. He parades my name around like some sort of trophy. I don’t intend to give Arthur the chance to drag me back into his clutches.”

  Harry reached over and gently touched her shaking hand. “Where is Sir Dietrich?” he asked. “Shouldn’t he be looking after you?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve been separated.”

  “You can always try and contact your aunt, Lady Rose-Wicker?”

  Elizabeth chewed on her nail. “But I’m a stranger. Why would she want to help me?”

  “You are family.”

  “I’m the estranged love-child of a brother she didn’t like very much. I cannot burden her with my problems.” As she flipped through the papers, she noticed one of the pages had been torn out, leaving only the shredded spine behind.

  “Well, you are more than welcomed to stay with me, but I worry you’ll be discovered here. Arthur Beaumont has a lot of men working for him.”

  “But I also can’t hide forever.”

  Harry thought on it for a moment. “I think I may be able to help. I have friends outside of the country who can help you out.”

  “I could not ask—”

  “I insist.” Harry walked over to his phone book and started thumbing through the pages.

  She spent most of the night listening over Harry’s conversations. Each phone call ended the same. Sorry, but we can’t help. Sorry, but we don’t have the space. Sorry, we don’t have the money.

  “I have my inheritance. I can compensate them for their help,” Elizabeth offered.

  Harry smiled. “We can pay you for your troubles…. You will help? Oh, thank you, bless you sir. I will call you back to discuss details.” Harry set the phone down, his exhausted voice gone dry. “Your father’s cheque book should be in here.” Harry motioned to a large box set aside with William Wicker’s belongings. They were mostly things from his clinic, as most of his other possessions went up in flames at the Wicker estate. They searched through the box when Elizabeth noticed a crumpled piece of paper hastily shoved behind the tea set they were using. She picked it up and unfurled it as Harry continued talking. “Mr. Brighton lives at least four hours east of here. His lovely wife has recently started a book club and I’m sure she will enjoy your company—”

  “Harry?” Elizabeth whispered as her eyes trailed down the page. “Is this true?”

  Harry glanced over and slowly lowered the folders back to the desk. The missing page went into details of a scandal of a love-child. The kiss and tell of a woman who birthed a Beaumont son. Arthur’s son. Though blurred, there was a picture attached to the block of writing. A woman’s face with too much familiarity.

  “Miss Wicker.” Harry started with genuine concern. “Please, pay no mind to gossip. Arthur Beaumont is not a man of proper morals.”

  “A love-child.” Elizabeth whispered. “Just like me.”

  Harry closed his mouth quickly. “I did not mean to imply that.”

  “But is it true?” Her chest squeezed. Tears surfaced, threatening to spill. Harry shuffled forward, pained and confused by Elizabeth’s emotional reaction.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Wicker. I tried to hide it, but I didn’t know you were coming here. I’m sorry this news has hurt you.”

  Elizabeth quickly shook her head. “You misunderstand Harry. I believe I know this woman.”

  #

  Nikolas watched his large hands shake. The loss of freewill resurfaced old memories, pulling him back into wars he never wanted to fight, to assassinations, to cheats, to liars and the cruelty of man’s greed. His hands felt warm, uncomfortable, and sticky. It doesn’t make sense. The Collector’s code flared within his body, overwhelming him. It had been so long since he had felt overpowered by it and the aftershock numbed hi
m. She had only whispered, yet her voice rang as clear as bells.

  He couldn’t follow her. The moment they both stepped out of the shadow plane, Nikolas disappeared. He fled into the bulk of the crowd, quickly becoming lost among the criss-crossing paths of the locals. He collected the time owed to him, but paid no attention to whom he stabbed in the busy market street. It didn’t matter. His plan had taken a step backward, separating him from Klaus and tearing his brother out of his reach. Due to Elizabeth’s influence.

  Nikolas felt out of place amongst a city he once called home. Before he had noticed it, night had crawled overhead. The streets emptied. Nikolas glanced up at the large golden gates wrapped around Divin Cadeau. His mind traced back to the first time he set eyes on it. On her. The sparkle of green in her eyes. Her light blue dress against her figure. She had been mean to him the first time they met. She mocked him for picking the wrong apple from a large batch.

  “Rotten,” she had lectured, biting back a smile. “It wouldn’t last the day.” Nikolas smiled over the memory. The bond was a delicate instrument. No thicker than a piece of string, but with the strength of unbendable steel. It could come in an instant. In the lock of eyes, the glimpse of a smile. It was spontaneous. Addictive. A drug to both build him up and tear him down. Lady Claudia did not perish at the Beaumont reckoning, but knowing she was still unreachable was just as much as a death sentence.

  Nikolas’ attention fell upon the left-over flyers littering the streets. The flutter of white the only movement in the quiet night. Arthur Beaumont fights for the truth. Betrayal within high-society. Seeking justice for the murder of Governor Beaumont. The exciting announcement of the new Lady Elizabeth Beaumon. Opportunity sparked. Of course. The whispers of Elizabeth’s return. A new villain to defeat.

  There were only a few places for Elizabeth to hide. The shack was one of them. Nikolas sent him gremlins to the tiny hut to find it cold and deserted. He redirected himself, knowing she’d also visited the Raps Rips in the docks recently. But again, there was no sign of her. Nikolas pondered on the thought, before remembering she once took refuge in a place in Rosefire. He sent his gremlins across and immediately picked up her scent pacing the front door.

  Nikolas smiled and teleported through the shadows to the manor. A new plan formed. Another hook to reel Klaus to him, and invite the heart-pumping danger into their game. Can’t hide forever, Elizabeth Beaumont. I’m sure your husband is worried.

  #

  Darkness pushed against his eyes. The last thing Klaus could remember, before the swell of black swallowed him whole, was nauseating pain. His shoulder ached. His arm felt compressed, tethered to his side. The poison was spreading faster than he could walk. Klaus caught a ride with a travelling group of soldiers heading back to the small army town of Landmark. On arrival, he made his way to the train station eager to catch the last train back to Divin Cadeau.

  A young man stood on the empty platform beside him. His face was concealed behind a hat and the collars of his coat turned up, covering his cheeks and mouth. Klaus barely glanced at him, but took note of the stuffed bag he held with his left hand. He didn’t place it on the floor, but held it, despite knowing the train was still fifteen minutes away from docking.

  Klaus’ eyebrow perked. The man felt Klaus’ attention and quickly glanced over, only to give him a brief smile and nod. “Evening.” Klaus didn’t respond, his mind too preoccupied with staying conscious. Darkness circled in. The pain doubled. “Are you alright?” the man asked.

  “Ja,” Klaus said.

  The man nodded and looked straight again. “War wound?”

  “What?”

  “Your shoulder.”

  Klaus glanced over as the man pointed to his injured arm. “The way you’re carrying it, looks like you’ve broken it. Whoever set it for you has done it all wrong. The arm should be set naturally along your waist line, holding it up can cause blood flow problems.”

  “And you’re a doctor, are you?” Klaus mumbled.

  “I was a medic,” he confirmed. “Volunteer for the war.”

  Klaus looked him over once more, noting the strict military stance and the badge of service he tried concealing in his breast pocket. “You’re also a solider.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Klaus motioned to his pocket. “That’s a badge of service, is it not?”

  “Can’t a man be both?” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look so well.”

  Klaus’ vision blurred. He swayed, barely able to balance himself. Sweat coated his entire body, the temperature beneath his skin skyrocketing. He tipped forward onto the tracks. He didn’t feel any pain when he landed, only the heavy thump of hitting the ground. The man scrambled across and leapt down onto the tracks after him.

  “Sir? Sir!” He quickly turned Klaus over onto his back and checked for gashes, broken bones and a heartbeat. As he pulled Klaus’ collar aside to check his pulse, he noticed the discoloration of his skin. He peeled the shirt back further, following the black veins to the puncture point in his shoulder. His arm wasn’t set in a sling, but had crystalized against his body.

  “What on earth?” He glanced around before hoisting Klaus up. “Don’t worry, I can help.”

  #

  Klaus woke to a fever burning across his forehead, dampening him in old sweat. A light moved across his eyes, crossing from left to right, back to left again.

  “Sir? Can you hear me?” The man’s voice echoed above. Klaus’s sore eyes fluttered.

  “Ja.”

  “What’s your name? Sir, can you tell me your name?” Klaus clenched his eyes closed in pain, unable to respond. The man continued. “My name is Sam. Can you please tell me your name?”

  Klaus’ thoughts swirled around his head. Name. Name. Everything moved in a hazy facade. He felt numb, light, ghostly. His body tingled, slowing waking from sleep. “Klaus,” he answered, his voice dry and raspy. He felt so far away from his own body, as though he floated above himself.

  “Thank you, Klaus, now can you tell me what’s happened to you?”

  “I’ve been stabbed.”

  “With what?”

  “Poison.”

  There was a moment of pause. “Like…magic?”

  The mention of magic tickled his ears. Instinct was to deny anything to do with magic, to distance himself from the word supernatural, but the agony in Klaus’ body blocked out the voice of sensibility. He was almost pleading. “Ja. Magic.”

  Klaus’ eyes fluttered closed and Sam quickly ducked around him, dampening a cloth and lying it across his forehead. The chilled temperature helped ease the pressure off Klaus’ headache, and he sighed with relief. The young doctor’s jacket remained bundled into a ball, holding Klaus’ neck up as his long body took up the entire of the bench, leaving Sam no choice but to crouch over him.

  “Can you tell me anything else? What type of magic? What did this to you?” Klaus didn’t respond as sleep quickly took him. Sam stepped back and wiped his hands down his mouth, tasting his stress. He paced the aisle of the empty church, trying to think. His hands felt clammy, and he nervously listened over his shoulder for sirens. His thoughts were blurred from the spirits he drank earlier, trying to calm himself down. He had said he would never return there, but still his mind went immediately back to the barracks, to the clinic. But he couldn’t go back, not that they would welcomed him anyway. Abigail. Sam suddenly remembered. Yes, of course, Abigail.

  “Okay, okay, please, just stay here, I will be back shortly with help.”

  Sam ran out into the dead of the night. He avoided the main streets, dodging the street lights and weaving between the trees when cars passed by. Beside the police station, Sam reached the public phone and dialled Abigail’s number. A sleepy voice answered it after five rings.

  “You really must want to be turned into a toad for calling me at this godforsaken hour! What do you want?”

  Sam softly smiled, feeling joy at hearing his friend’s quick t
emper. “And here I thought witches knew everything.”

  A moment of silence passed before the female voice spoke again. “This can’t be you, can it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Why are you still here? Oh no, are you in trouble?”

  “Not me, but I do need your help. Can you come by the Blacklock community church? Bring your witchy spells and potions.”

  “Sam? What—”

  “Please, Abigail. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just, be safe.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much.”

  Sam returned and paced the church aisles again, wringing his hands, watching the sky through the colored stained glass, praying for sunrise to stay away. Klaus didn’t move beyond the occasional breath. Twenty minutes passed and Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the mysterious man. Between the sweat that glistened his hairline down to the unusual cracked skin coating his arm, he had found himself immensely fascinated.

  There was a knock on the door, followed by a voice. “Sam?”

  “Yeah, I’m in here.” Sam met up with Abigail at the front entrance. She carried with her a large backpack of supplies, just as instructed. Abigail’s taller figure loomed her over Sam’s shoulder. She wasn’t exactly above average, it was more Sam was short, his height stunted thanks to a childhood illness. She stepped around him into the church, while rubbing one hand up her arm for warmth. The full length of her vibrant red hair was messily braided down her back. The smoky smell of incense followed her in. Even if she hadn’t burnt any for days, the aroma seemed to be part of her DNA.

  “What is so important?” She glanced around before spotting Klaus. She approached cautiously and knelt beside him. “Who is this man?”

  Sam knelt next to her. “Honestly, I just met him, didn’t speak more than two words to me before he collapsed at the train station. Check this,” he peeled Klaus’ collar back, revealing the infection, “have you seen anything like this before in your voodoo spells?”

  “Watch that tongue of yours,” Abigail lectured. “it is not voodoo, my craft is from the ancestral Celts, but no, I have never seen anything like this before.”