Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance)

by Geralyn Beauchamp

  Lany had to admit he was a pretty good actor, but this was taxing his limits. “They should be ashamed of themselves,” he mumbled into his pancakes.

  John looked from Dallan, to Lany, back to Dallan, then at the paper. “Ohhhh… please tell me you didn't?”

  Lany’s face was beginning to turn red when the shop’s telephone rang. “I’ll get it!” He volunteered before Angus could say a word, and sprinted from the table.

  Dallan stared after him in fascination. “John, I’m worried about the lad.”

  John’s faced tensed as he stared at the paper. “You’re not the only one.”

  After a moment, a much calmer Lany walked back into the room. “Uh, Eaton?”

  John turned in his chair. “What is it?”

  “There’s a phone call for Dallan.”

  “For Dallan?” John stood up. “Who is it?”

  “She didn't give her name but I'm pretty sure it's Miss Destructo from yesterday.”

  Angus cringed and nearly choked on his pancakes.

  “Well, give it to him, Lany.” John commented dryly as he watched Angus try to recover.

  Lany handed the portable phone to an uncomprehending Dallan who took it carefully. He stared at it a moment, cocking his head. “What’s this? What d’ye do wi’ it?”

  Angus reached over, took the phone from him, and turned it around to its proper position before shoving it back into the Scot's hand. He then lifted said hand to the younger Scot’s ear and smiled. “Say hello, lad.”

  Dallan narrowed his eyes at him. “Hello, lad?”

  “Hello?” The phone chirped back.

  “Saints!” Dallan let go the phone as if it were some poisonous snake and jumped from his chair. “What is that thing?”

  “Steady, Dallan.” Lany picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  Dallan watched in fascination as Lany talked into the strange device, vainly trying to comprehend the one-sided conversation.

  “Don’t worry I’ll give him the message. He’ll be there. Good bye.” Lany set the phone on the table.

  Dallan stared at it suspiciously for a moment before picking it up.

  “Well?” John leaned forward in his chair, his face intense.

  Lany smiled. “Sure enough. Kitty Morgan, Shona’s friend. Dallan, you have an appointment to keep this afternoon. But it’s been changed to three o’clock.”

  The Scot stared blankly at him.

  “At the library, with Shona?” Lany urged.

  John’s eyes lit up. “The Maiden… she… who… what’s going on?”

  “Shona…” Dallan set the phone down and stared longingly at the table, his expression pained.

  “Eaton, we need to talk,” Lany replied to John, his voice light.

  John stood and went to stand next to his assistant, who now wore a huge grin. “What?”

  “Eaton, we have some new allies.”

  Like mine own dear harp is

  This my heart

  Dumb, without the hand that

  Sweeps its strings;

  Though the hand be careless

  Or be cruel,

  When it comes, my heart breaks

  Forth and sings.

  Sarah Williams

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Dings are going well Mos-go-fi-an, yes?” Kwaku asked as he settled into one of the worn easy chairs in Angus’s living room. The two men were the first back from the shop, and were waiting for the rest of the company to arrive so they could start preparing Dallan for his afternoon date with the Maiden.

  “Well…” Lany began, still stressed from the previous night and thus pacing the floor. “Considering that so far you’ve allowed this Brennan character to run around doing whatever he wants and not even telling the rest of us he’s bad news not that we couldn’t figure that out on our own…” He paused for a breath. “…and that you got our only hope of success so edgy and confused he probably won’t know what to do with the Maiden, if he ever gets to the point where he fully accepts her, being as you failed to mention to him she’s not human…” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “No, no problems at all! Oh, and did I mention how ridiculous you look in that outfit?”

  Kwaku raised an amused brow and glanced at his neon sweats. “I like yellow. It is a happy color!”

  “You could make all of us happier by not wearing it.”

  Angus entered the apartment, a large brown paper bag in each arm. He winced at the sight of Kwaku’s fresh attire and immediately turned to Lany. “Ye best get yerself downstairs, Master Lany. Lord John is having trouble wi’ the lad.”

  “Oh no, not the elevator again?” Lany groaned.

  “Aye and they be painting the stair-wells today, so he’s got to take that bloody moving box.”

  “On my way,” Lany muttered, pushing his tired body off the couch and out the door.

  Angus eyed the door a moment, turned to Kwaku and squinted at his outfit. “Ye look like a traffic sign,” he grumbled as he headed for the kitchen, bags in hand.

  Kwaku raised his head and sniffed the air as Angus passed. “Traffic sign dress as well as I! You have brought lunch, yes?”

  “Lunch? Ye just ate yer breakfast not two hours ago!” Angus snorted from the kitchen.

  Kwaku merely laughed as he got up to assist Angus with the groceries. “My wife was fed, not I.”

  Angus glared at him. “’Tis not my fault ye didna get to the pancakes in time. Ye should ha’ been quicker with… well…”

  Kwaku broke into full Azurti guffaws and continued to raid the bags.

  A moment later John and Lany shoved a slightly nauseated Dallan through the apartment door just as Kwaku bounded out of the kitchen and dove for the floor. Dallan almost tripped over him, then turned his head toward the kitchen just in time for the cast iron frying pan Angus had let loose after Kwaku to connect squarely with his forehead. Clannngggg!

  Dallan promptly fell onto John, Lany escaping only by jumping quickly aside. “Ouch,” he stated calmly. “You okay, Eaton?”

  “Get him off me!” John breathed from under the Scot.

  Kwaku jumped to his feet and immediately started to laugh hysterically as he pointed to Dallan sprawled out on top of the Lord Councilor.

  “Aaaagh!” Angus exclaimed coming out of the kitchen to see what he’d hit. “By the Saints, I’ve kilt ’im!”

  “I can’t believe you missed Kwaku. I mean how can you possibly miss someone who’s dressed like that?” Lany chastised as he rolled the Scot off of John then peered at the rising lump on Dallan’s forehead.

  “I best get the bottle down. He’ll be needing a shot or two when he wakes up.” Angus grumbled as he turned back toward the kitchen.

  John sat up, took one look at Dallan’s lump and threw his hands in the air. “Kwaku! We're trying to keep him in one piece, remember? By the Creator, what else can go wrong?”

  “Don’t say that, Eaton,” Lany replied nervously. “We might find out.”

  “What has happened, Lord Councilor?” Zara, fed and rested, entered the small apartment with her usual fluid grace and went directly to the fallen Scot. “Kawahnee?” She called suspiciously to her husband, who had immediately taken on an air of innocence at her arrival. He shrugged and looked at the Scot as if he’d just appeared on the scene as well.

  “Do you wish for me to remove Dallan’s injury?” she asked Kwaku.

  “De Boyeee will be fine, my pretty one. Do not trouble yourself.” He suddenly eyed his wife appreciatively. “Are you still hungry, Beloved?” he asked, his voice dropped seductively.

  “Not in my house, ye disgusting heathen! Ye can do that someplace else if ye dinna mind!” Angus screamed, waving a full whiskey bottle at him. “Begging yer pardon, Lady Zara, I meant no disrespect. I know what ye need to do now and then. But Tomy will be bringing mother home soon and I mean,” His face went crimson. “I dinna see how wi’ so many in the house…”

  “I understand,” Zara replied with a smile as Dallan began to g
roan.

  “Go to de bedroom now, Beloved. You can do someding for de Boyeee. I will call you when you are needed,” Kwaku ordered gently as he helped her to her feet. She took a last look at Dallan then went to wait in the bedroom they shared with Mother MacNab.

  Dallan pushed himself up to a sitting position as he gingerly rubbed his head. He looked about for a moment before his eyes focused on Kwaku. “What happened?” He ground out between clenched teeth.

  Kwaku shrugged. “You got in de way of a flying cook pot.” He shook a long finger at the Scot. “Very clumsy of you, Boyeee.”

  Dallan glared at him. “Why, ye good-for-nothing heathen. You were antagonizing Angus again, weren’t you? I told ye to stay away from him!”

  “Now, laddie, there be no harm done to me. Here, pick yerself up and I’ll fix ye something special fer yer lunch,” soothed Angus.

  Dallan growled in response and picked himself up off the floor.

  “You are only angry at your performance wid de Maiden, yes?” Kwaku teased.

  Dallan glared at the heathen with barely controlled rage. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  Kwaku smiled. “You were not able to win her yes-dar-day, were you, Boyeee? You did not have what it takes to conquer a little Maiden in de short time allowed. Ha! Tiny Padric could have had her eating from his hands. But you! You were not man enough, yes?”

  John’s mouth fell open, his eyes round as saucers. Why was Kwaku purposely provoking Dallan? He looked helplessly to Lany.

  “Would it help if I covered your ears?” Lany whispered.

  Dallan narrowed his gaze on the heathen another notch and looked up into Kwaku’s grinning face. “I’m leaving,” he pushed out and turned on his heel toward the door. Kwaku grabbed the Scot by his tank top and roughly pulled him back. Dallan spun and took a powerful swing at his assailant.

  Lany quickly covered John’s eyes instead as the two warriors began to have at it.

  “Aaaaagh! Me house! Me house! Ye stop it!” Angus screamed, hopping up and down like a mechanical monkey.

  Dallan absorbed another punch from Kwaku before he let go of the heathen’s own collar, took a reluctant step back and bellowed, “I’m through! I’ll no more to do with any o’ it! I’m leaving!”

  Kwaku bellowed right back. “No, Boyeee. You are not droo!”

  “Dallan,” John began calmly, “You can’t leave. You’ve had a rough night and I know you don’t remember everything. Please, let us explain.”

  “Explain what? There is nothing to explain, John. I’ve had enough of all o’ this and I ha’ especially had enough o’ him!”” Dallan yelled and glared daggers at Kwaku.

  “You can’t leave, Dallan,” John repeated.

  “Why not?” he shot back, causing John’s calm face to slip slightly. He swallowed Dallan’s attack and looked to Lany, who did not at all like the Scot’s treatment of his superior.

  Lany’s eyes narrowed as he caught Dallan’s venomous stare. “Because if you leave, the Maiden will die.”

  Dallan’s eyes lessened in their intensity. “What?”

  “Sit down and we’ll explain.” Lany growled in a tone one would normally use for a disobedient seven-year-old, which to Lany was exactly how Dallan was acting. Just like Vyn in a bad mood.

  “Everything?” Dallan asked suspiciously.

  John and Lany exchanged a look. “Everything,” Lany replied as he shot Kwaku a dirty glance. “Right, Kwaku?”

  Kwaku nodded his agreement, his mouth showing a hint of a smile.

  Dallan sat in the nearest chair and still glared at John and Lany.

  John took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy, and he prayed it wouldn’t be too painful. “The Maiden is… well, she’s… not like us.”

  Lany cringed and leaned over to John. “Well, that clarified it for him.”

  John eyed his assistant levelly. “Any better ideas?”

  “The Maiden… is Muiraran.” Lany said flatly.

  “Oh, that’s good,” John whispered in a monotone voice.

  “I’m not finished,” Lany shot back.

  Kwaku began to chuckle.

  “Oh no! Yer not?” Angus interjected.

  “A good idea, little bro-dar!” Kwaku bellowed.

  “Ye canna just spring her on the lad without explaining things first!”

  " It worked for you, did it not?” Kwaku countered.

  “Either someone explains this whole bloody thing or I’m leaving. Ye can all go hang as far as I’m concerned!” Dallan was nearing the boiling point.

  John threw up his hands and looked helplessly at Lany. Lany took the cue. “Okay. Shona is one of what you would call… um, the Faerie Folk. Like the one you saw as a boy.”

  That got Dallan’s attention. His eyes suddenly widened as the color drained from his face. “How could that possibly…”

  “Long story. But she is.” Lany furrowed his brow. “Sort of.”

  Dallan was still not grasping it, attention gotten or no. “Who is?”

  Lany rolled his eyes then said, “The Maiden, Dallan.”

  Kwaku, bored with John and Lany’s explanations, or lack of them, shouted something in Azurti, obviously meant for someone outside the room.

  Angus knew what was coming. He took a swig from his whisky bottle then passed it to an uncomprehending Dallan, who downed a couple of shots anyway for safety’s sake.

  A nervous John shuddered and gulped audibly. He looked to Lany, fear in his eyes. “Kwaku wouldn’t. He couldn’t…”

  The look in Lany’s eyes said it all: Are you kidding? Kwaku?

  Dallan turned to Angus. “What’s this all about?”

  Angus nodded sagely back. “Zara.”

  Dallan still didn’t understand. “What’s wrong with Zara? Other than she’s married to the heathen…”

  “Take a few more swigs, laddie,” Angus interrupted. “Ye’ll need em.”

  Unfortunately Dallan didn’t have time before Zara glided into the room.

  Kwaku began to chuckle louder as he gave Dallan an almost sadistic smile. “Zara,” he began as he took a seat, his voice suddenly silky-smooth. “Heal de Boyeee’s head for him, please.”

  Zara looked to her husband, awaiting the real command to be given; she knew he had spoken in English only for the other’s benefit. Kwaku lowered his voice a notch and spoke to his wife in Azurti, causing her body to shudder slightly in response. She began to slowly approach Dallan.

  “My wife, Boyeee,” he continued, “is Muiraran… as will be yours.”

  Dallan’s attention was drawn to Kwaku and his unusual statement, then back to Zara as a familiar feeling came over him. “What’s he talking about, lass?” He asked quietly.

  Zara smiled as her instinct to obey her husband took over. “Let me show you.” She breathed.

  Dallan’s mouth dropped open in shock as Zara’s features melted into one of the Faerie Folk, causing the breath to catch in his throat and his head to spin. Perhaps it was the whisky, or the odd sensations of emptiness and memory loss, or the knowledge that Kwaku had been telling the truth all along and he had refused to heed it.

  At the moment, Dallan didn’t care. All he did care about was the hope he never awaken from the sinking blackness now overtaking him. Or, if he did wake, that he’d be someplace else.

  * * *

  “Great, he’s fainted,” Lany announced sarcastically.

  “Ye know,” Angus began, “ye had better prepare yer words quickly, Master Lany. The lad won’t be out for long.”

  "What?" Lany squeaked.

  "Good idea little bro-dar! Mos-go-fi-an will convince de Boyeee!"

  Lany suddenly knew what the expression “having your life flash before your eyes” meant. And what he saw convinced him that his life was too short to end here. “Uh, um, no, I really don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a perfect idea!” John replied, a wry smile curling his tired face.

  “So it is dec
ided,” Kwaku blurted before Lany could add anything in his defense. “Mos-go-fi-an will talk some sense into de Boyeee once he wakes up, while we go to enjoy de bee-yoo-tiful afternoon.” He stood up to leave.

  “No. I mean, no, no, you can’t leave …” Lany had found his voice, if not a suitable excuse.

  “Here,” Angus remarked, setting the bottle in front of Lany, “Ah know ye don’t nip any, but ye might need it for him.”

  “But … b-but …”

  “Lany,” John shot back, “this is an order.” He followed Kwaku and Zara out the door, Angus quickly shuffling after him.

  “We who are about to get pulverized salute you,” Lany muttered as the door to the room closed with an air of finality. He was now alone in the room, save for an angry, frustrated and unknowingly engaged ancient Scots warrior, who’s only redeeming characteristic was that, at the moment, he was unconscious.

  Wish I was, Lany thought to himself. But then that will happen soon enough…

  His reverie was suddenly interrupted as a large fist launched itself from the floor to grab his collar and yank him into the face of a seething Dallan MacDonald.

  Lany did his best not to show fear. “Oh, good, you’re awake! We were worried.”

  Dallan didn’t care what Lany said at the moment or even that it was Lany. He just wanted something to grab. “Where’s the heathen?” He whispered threateningly.

  Lany was trying to figure out where his composure had run off to. “He, um … he went for a walk.”

  “Ye mean, he left ye to do his dirty work for him. The bloody coward.” Dallan climbed to his feet, using Lany’s collar as a handhold the whole time. He looked about the room expectantly as if he’d heard something, his eyes at last landing on the outdoor balcony. Lany heard it too. It was the sound Lany least wanted to hear at the moment, or most moments for that matter.

  Kwaku’s booming laugh echoed from the street below, just outside the sliding door leading to the balcony.

  Dallan headed for it, never letting go of Lany as he shoved the glass door aside. The screen did little to stop the Scot’s advance as Dallan ripped it off its track and sent it hurtling over the railing to land with a clatter not two feet from where Kwaku and the rest of the company walked below.