Wilde Omens

by S. E. Babin

  I gave him a sharp nod, rummaged through my dresser for some pajamas, and brushed by him on my way to the bathroom. Even though I didn’t touch him, the hair on my arms stood up as I walked past him. There was something…electric about Watson. Wild and untamed. Yes, he reminded me of a lion, but there was something tightly coiled and shoved down far inside of him. A foreboding tingle told me it probably had to do with my father. A quiet rage simmered inside of him, and as I turned to glance at him before I shut the bathroom door, I noticed him staring at me. His eyes were narrowed and his nostrils flared, almost as if he tasted the air around me and decided he didn’t like my presence there.

  The door shut with a quiet click and I leaned against it, trying to take in deep, gulping breaths of air without him noticing. That was…intense. With my eyes shut, I stayed there for a moment, trying to get the image of Watson out of my brain, but it was seared there, maybe indelibly. Today. Ugh. I was so ready for today to be over. Not only did I find out my biological line was a lie, I probably had a total stranger watching me sleep tonight so I didn’t get into any mischief.

  Watson really did think I was an infant. I was oddly disturbed by that and more than a little angry. How would he feel if his life had changed in an instant? I blew out a breath, stepped away from the door, and let out a soft groan as I saw the train wreck that was myself looking back at me in the mirror. I slipped into some soft pajamas and scrubbed my face with the olive oil in the glass jar by the sink. After rinsing it off with a hot washcloth, I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, and didn’t bother looking in the mirror again before I pulled open the door and padded back into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring Watson still brooding in the corner of my room.

  I grabbed some of the homemade chocolate chip cookies Mom made me a couple days ago and poured myself a large glass of milk. I walked back into my room, set my goodies down, and grabbed the Kindle off my dresser, still ignoring the man who wouldn’t go away. A quick glance at the clock told me it was only eight p.m., but I didn’t care. I was tired and mentally exhausted. If Watson wanted to judge me for having elderly bedtime hours, he could spin on it.

  I opened my Kindle to one of my favorite parts in Bridget Jones’s Diary and while it might not have been that Mr. Darcy, I was content enough with Mark Darcy to settle into my make believe world and slowly forget about the attractive lion across the room from me. Before I grew more comfortable, I noted, with detachment, Watson had settled himself into one of my leather lounge chairs, one leg crossed over the other and his head leaning back, exposing a lean, tan neck filled with tension. I swallowed hard, ripped my eyes away, and forced myself to concentrate on my book.

  “Eating cookies in bed is truly quite disgusting, I must say.”

  His voice startled me out of a particularly juicy part closer to the end of the novel, and I glared at him. I picked up the other cookie and shoved half of it into my mouth, not even bothering to clean up the crumbs that dribbled off the side.

  Watson snorted, and my heart skipped a beat at the crinkled crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. Father hadn’t given him the serum when he was twenty-five. Watson must have been closer to thirty or even thirty-five by the time he’d been dosed.

  I dared him with my gaze to say anything, but he just leaned his head back and closed his eyes. I struggled to swallow the rest of my cookie and discreetly brushed the crumbs off my sheets when I thought he wasn’t looking.

  When I managed to choke the ill-eaten cookie down, I said, “You don’t have to stay. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  Watson didn’t move. “You have in your hands a priceless time travel device and just discovered your father isn’t a fictional character after all. Forgive me if I don’t believe you."

  I couldn’t really argue his point. Though, if he knew me, he’d know I wasn’t prone to hysterics or crazy acts. Mostly I just rambled on, talked to myself to work my problems out, or drowned myself in fiction. There was no problem that couldn’t be solved with a handsome hero and a plucky female heroine thrown into the mix.

  Except, as I stared at him, I began to wonder. My life wasn’t fiction and I didn’t think I could fix this problem like Bridget Jones could.

  Chapter 5

  Sleep was elusive, but by the time I woke up the next morning, the mysterious John Watson was gone. I was surprised I didn’t find him lying dead of boredom on my bedroom floor. I spent the night immersed in British literature...for the most part. When I remembered who was lounging on my chair, my heart would do an uncomfortable skip and I found my eyes darting over to his lean form against my will.

  I lay there for a few minutes, lost in thoughts about Watson. I couldn’t imagine the things he’d seen or done. I wondered if the Sherlock stories were true—if someone sat down with him, listened to those wild stories, and transcribed them into fiction. Yesterday, I woke up as a normal person. Today, I woke up with my mortality hanging over my head like a scythe.

  Of course, I wouldn’t knock the fact that immortality sounded pretty darn cool. I could go anywhere, see anything, and the odds of me dying were close to nil. While I could see it being a blessing, I could see the other side of the coin as well. Who would be left for me when I failed to age? When my hair never turned gray, when laugh lines never formed around my lips?

  I wasn’t normal any longer.

  I was a freak of nature.

  Related to one of the strangest men on the planet.

  And my mother had been an international spy.

  I groaned and flung an arm over my eyes. Maybe I could just sleep the day away. I could deal with this problem tomorrow, couldn’t I? I looked over at the clock. It was a little after seven and I had to be at work in less than an hour.

  I flung the covers off, rummaged through my closet for some appropriate work attire, and then took the world’s fastest shower. I left the bracelet on even though I pondered the possibility of electrocution. Surely, the world’s most renowned genius would have taken appropriate precautions with a priceless time travel device?

  “Let’s hope so,” I murmured as I washed my hair.

  I dressed as fast as I could, grabbed a quick cup of coffee, and was about to open the door to head out when a voice interrupted me.

  “Surely you don’t think you’re just going to work?”

  I dropped my head in frustration. “I have rent to pay.”

  I turned away from the door to face my father. He sat on the edge of my couch, curiosity written plainly on his face. “You find out your entire DNA is about to go through a miraculous change and that you’re a time traveler, and you still decide to get up in the morning and go fetch someone’s coffee?”

  The disbelief in his tone pissed me off. I drew a long breath through flared nostrils. So my father was apparently a yuppie. I could deal with that. “Unlike some people, I have bills to pay and a desire to be a productive member of society.”

  He snorted. “Penelope Wilde, you are the daughter of Sherlock Holmes. Surely that affords you some prestige within the community.”

  I tossed my keys onto the end table beside me and set my purse down. “Sure, Dad,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “let me just go into work, tell people about my new paternity, and see how they bow down and worship me.”

  He inhaled a deep, aggrieved sigh. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”

  “There’s always a need for sarcasm.” I leaned against my front door and glanced casually at my watch. “I have half an hour to get to work. Am I excused?”

  His mouth thinned. “Your mother seems to have never taught you proper respect.”

  I stood up straighter. “My mother appears to be just as crazy as you are, so excuse me if I don’t fling myself at your feet in adoration.”

  My father stared at me, a tic beating in the corner of his left eye.

  Good. I smiled at him—all teeth and zero affection. “Unless you are planning to pay my rent, utilities, and student loans, I really must excuse myself.”

  “T
hey’re paid,” he said shortly.

  Before I could digest this infuriating tidbit, my father continued. “I hear Watson visited you last night. He’s quite the prickly sort, takes some getting used to. I take it the visit went well?”

  My mind was still processing the fact that my father had pretty much just purchased my life. I stared at him in disbelief. I’d busted my ass to get through college, worked my fingers to the bone to get what little I had, all the while trying my best to avoid scrutiny, and this man just pops into my life and wipes everything away? I brushed past him into the kitchen and turned the faucet on full blast. I scooped up a handful of water and tried to scrub the anger off. It didn’t work. The water poured over my hands as I stared into it, attempting to quiet the rage against him. I wanted to snatch those stupid goggles off his head and beat him with them. I wanted to rip that damned device off my wrist and stomp it into a thousand pieces. But most of all, I wanted to rewind to before yesterday when this man stepped into my life and screwed it all up.

  I was still staring into the water when his voice intruded. “I need you to come with me.”

  I huffed out choked laughter. “Where else do I have to go? I’m indebted to a stranger who just purchased my life with a click of the mouse.”

  “I assure you it was a little more difficult than that,” he said, clearing his throat in discomfort when I turned a furious stare on him.

  His gaze turned unsure before the familiar mask of arrogance settled back onto his face. “I assumed you’d be pleased.”

  Unbelievable. “If I were a woman living in 1870!” The screech of my voice ricocheted throughout the room. “In one fell swoop, you took everything away.”

  His face fell in disbelief. “I gave you everything!”

  “You gave me nothing!” I flung my hand out to encompass my apartment. “You paid for me! All my work—gone! Any feeling of pride I had at building a life with my own two hands disappeared with your debit card or magic money—or whatever it was you used to buy it all.”

  I slammed the water off and turned to face him. “Leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” His familiar green eyes searched mine, confusion and anger reflecting inside them.

  “Either you leave right now and give me some time to process or I swear on my own life I will never, ever do anything for you. Your gift of immortality will have been in vain.” A little bit of hysteria came on as I reached into one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a large butcher knife. “I’m not immortal right now,” I said, my voice deceptively quiet. “Get the fuck out of my house or your line dies with me.” I held the knife up to my wrist, my gaze cemented to his.

  I had no intention of cutting myself, but he didn’t know that. I watched his face struggle with an array of emotions—anger, shock, surprise, and toward the end, a hint of disturbing admiration. He bowed in my direction. “You have twenty-four hours.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Father.”

  He disappeared in a snap of motion. My shoulders fell and I stared around at my apartment, my mouth curling in distaste. I needed to call in to work. That’s the least I could do and it was something I had some control over. After that, I guess I had the next twenty-four hours to wallow.

  I sat at an outside table at one of my favorite restaurants, a cup of cappuccino curled in my fingers. Over the last few hours, I ran the gamut of emotions—shock, anger, depression—until finally settling on a disbelieving ache. I’d unwittingly become a pawn in a game I didn’t understand.

  A brush of air and a familiar smell forced me to sit up straighter. I lifted my eyes from the cup in my hand and saw Watson sitting in the seat across from me, a strange expression on his face.

  “Good morning.” His dry as dust accent washed over me.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Is it?”

  He chuckled, a genuine laugh that made one side of my mouth curl up in acknowledgment. He had a nice laugh. I wanted to hear it more.

  “For you, I suppose it’s not.”

  “Did Father send you? Because if he did, I’m not sure I can take it.”

  He motioned for our waitress to come over. “I assure you, he did not. I came when I heard him come back into the lab.” A grin played over his mouth. “I haven’t seen him that angry since your mother came into his life.” He chuckled again. “He’ll be cleaning up broken glass and fixing machinery for the next month.”

  Served him right. “I don’t like being told what to do.”

  He laughed out loud then. “Obviously.” Our waitress stopped at our table. I watched as she studied him, an admiring gleam in her eye. She stood a little straighter, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and licked her lips. I wanted to slap her and tell her to get some self-respect, but the girly girl part of me couldn’t help feeling a teensy bit jealous.

  He stared right through her as he ordered. “Black coffee, small. Nothing else.”

  “Are you sure?” Her pen hovered over her pad. I bet she was eager to pass out her number.

  His impatient gaze lingered on her anticipatory one. “Quite sure.” He dismissed her with those words, and I tried not to grin.

  She turned away, her lips set in a pout. John Watson was a hard nut to crack. I studied him. His blond hair was still wild—I doubted it could be tamed even with a shower and Bryll cream. He wore a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, exposing tan arms sprinkled with dark blond hair. A pair of worn cargo pants encased his long legs and I noticed he didn’t wear socks with his loafers. He should have looked ridiculous; instead, he reminded me of Indiana Jones—the young, Harrison Ford days. Self-assured and utterly relaxed. I bet he felt comfortable no matter where he went.

  I sat back and studied his face. “So, why are you here?”

  He shrugged. “Not quite sure. I find you…interesting.”

  My heart skipped a bit. “Interesting like science experiment interesting? Or interesting like something else?”

  Watson shifted back in his chair. “Both, I suppose. Although, we will need to get to know each other better. Holmes requires that we work together for your training. After this most recent episode, I doubt you’ll be seeing much of him for a while. You’ve managed to spectacularly bruise his ego. He tends to retreat to his lair on the rare occasion that happens.”

  “Poor baby,” I murmured.

  The waitress returned and set Watson’s coffee down. I didn’t fail to notice the way she brushed her fingers against his. He appeared unmoved. She lingered for a moment until he murmured a quick thank you. Surprise registered on her face until she glanced at me, then it turned to anger. I shrugged, as if to say sorry, but she glared at me and spun on her heel.

  “You sure do have a way with people,” I murmured.

  He merely tipped his mug of coffee up as he took a sip. “When you’re as old as I am, you tend to foster only important relationships. She’s a blip on the map, if you will. A speck of dust in the maelstrom of time. She doesn’t matter.”

  I was taken aback. “She’s a person. Of course she matters.”

  “Not to me.” He gestured to the other people in the café. “Watch and observe.”

  I frowned but did as he asked. The waitress moved from table to table, friendly enough with some people, avaricious with others…especially tables that held a handsome man. Her gaze lit up when she spoke to them, and even though I couldn’t hear her, I could imagine what she was saying.

  After watching her for a little while, I studied John. He spread his hands out, as if to say, see? “I am unimportant. I would have been a distraction. She’s unhappy. Her life is unfulfilled. Anyone who pays attention to her is fair game.” He sipped his coffee again. “I would have consumed her.”

  “That’s a mighty involved analysis for someone you don’t know.” I lifted my cappuccino to my lips and grimaced as I sipped the now rapidly cooling liquid.

  “Of course I know her,” he said without malice. “I used to be her.”

  “What do you mean?” I leaned for
ward, curious to know more about him.

  He smiled tightly. “I used to be a young man, fair Penelope. I wandered, I loved, I made love, I left. My time is not so different than this time. We are all still human, and at our core, humans need love. We need to be touched and cared for. It isn’t until age sets in that we realize there are only a few who can provide the type of love we need.”

  “So, what happened?”

  He blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Where is the love of your life? What happened to her?”

  His gaze shuttered and the atmosphere changed like a slammed door. “She died.”

  I leaned back as if I’d been slapped. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head in a quick motion. “It was long ago.” He set his mug on the table and checked his watch. “You only have a few hours to go until I come back for you. We will begin training immediately. Do not take your Time Warden duties lightly.”

  I blinked as he stood up from the table. “Time Warden?” I asked dumbly. “What’s a Time Warden?”

  He threw a few bills down and bared his teeth at me in a grin. “Welcome to your birthright,” he said as he turned on his heel, leaving me sitting there dumbfounded.

  If you only had a few hours left until your life changed inexplicably, what would you do? I went skydiving. In the future.

  My foot hovered over the bottom step of the sleek airplane. Whatever possessed me to do this, I wasn’t quite sure. So far, though, it was awesome. Daddy’s handy dandy bracelet transported me to 2019. While I did look a little bit out of place in my black yoga pants and Nike pullover, I had to admit, I looked more normal than the rest of the people standing around. 2019 was definitely not the year for fashion; that was for sure.

  Back home—in my own time, that is—those hideous multi-colored patterned pants were sold, but only the super young or very brave dared to wear them. Today, it was all everyone was wearing. The men, too, which was a bit disconcerting to see. Women don’t always look good in leggings. Men…never looked good in them. I blinked, trying to burn away the image of the man’s package I just saw encased in a pair of electric blue chevron leggings.