by April White
Her voice brightened again, but there was a false edge to her cheeriness. “Sure. The apple tart is excellent. How about you?” she asked Ringo.
“Coffee with lots of cream and sugar, and whatever dessert ye think is best.”
Raven opened her mouth to respond to that, but he hadn’t sounded flirty, so she closed it and nodded with a smile. “Be right back.”
When she was out of earshot I spoke quietly to him. “What are you thinking?”
“‘Ow’s the Monger-gut?” he countered.
“Non-existent.”
“That’s what I thought.” He leaned a little closer without being too obvious. “I think ye react the way ye do because the Mongers ‘ave always been a threat. There’s no Monger ring in this time, and the way she’s actin’, I’d say they might even be a little powerless among Descendants. You saw the way she shut ‘er mouth when I said ye ‘ad cousins at St. Brigid’s. She’s afraid, and there’s nothin’ threatenin’ about ‘er to ye. So, no Monger-gut.”
Raven returned with a tray of our coffees, a big jug of cream for Ringo, and two apple tarts. She smiled at me as she set the tarts in front of us. “You chose wisely,” she said.
“Raven, can I ask you something?” Ringo’s observations had sent me on a fishing expedition.
“Sure.” Her tone was friendly.
“I’m trying to decide whether to go to St. Brigid’s, and the only things I’ve heard about it are from cousins I don’t really know. I’d really appreciate a different perspective as I try to make up my mind.”
She considered me for a moment. “Do you mind if I ask who your cousins are?”
“They’re Mulroys,” I said. Whoever the Mulroy kids were, I hoped they weren’t jerks.
Raven nodded thoughtfully. “They’re young, so I don’t really know them. The other Clocker at school is someone I’d stay away from though.”
“Why? Who is he?”
She suddenly got busy re-tying her apron. “Like I said, I don’t really know too many Clocker kids. I just keep to myself.”
I decided to throw caution to the wind and take a potshot at it. “What about the mixed-bloods at school? Are you friends with any of them?”
Raven stared at me like I’d grown a third eye. “Mixed-bloods? There aren’t any mixed-bloods. The moratorium makes them illegal.”
Damn. I had hoped it was just a Monger thing. “Just because something’s illegal doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
She gave me an odd look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
I shook my head. “My mom’s English, but I was raised in the States.”
“Well, I don’t know how they do things in the States, but here Descendant laws don’t get broken.”
“Why not? Who enforces them?” I asked. Maybe Ringo was wrong about the powerlessness of Mongers. Raven was staring at me in shocked silence, so I prompted her again. “Well, who’s the Descendant law enforcer?”
She looked over her shoulder, as if someone else was in the room who could overhear, and her tone was incredulous that I didn’t know. “Death, of course.”
Death, of Course
It was my turn to stare. “Death? Like people get put to death if they break Descendant laws?”
From the look on Raven’s face, my third eye had just become a headful of snakes.
“The Immortal Death. You know,” her voice dropped to a whisper that was a tad too Voldamorty for my taste, “Aeron.”
Right. Death.
“So, say a kid is born to a Clocker and a Shifter, for example. Death just shows up and … what?” I struggled to keep the incredulousness from my tone, but I pretty much failed.
“There would never be such a child.”
“Why not?”
“Because a Clocker and a Shifter would never be allowed to be together.”
I felt like I was back on my own timeline talking to Adam. “Just hypothetically then. Or say there was a mixed-blood kid no one knew about, how would anyone ever find out?”
“Well, if someone was suspected of being mixed, it would probably be like with any other crime. The person would have to plead their case in front of the Council, and if a decision couldn’t be reached, then Death would get the truth.”
I wasn’t the only one staring at her now. “Bloody ‘ell. What does that mean?” Ringo’s voice was quiet but as intense as I’d ever heard it. Raven’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Obviously, he doesn’t come ‘round much. The Council tries not to call him if they can avoid it. I don’t think he’s been seen in years.”
“But Death himself has actually shown up at a Council meeting? How does someone call Death? What does he look like? Do any of the other Immortals come around?” I knew my eyes were huge in my face, and I was babbling, but seriously, this was massive.
Raven suddenly got all rabbity and scared-looking. “I shouldn’t be talking about this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again as she looked around nervously.
I reached out to touch her hand, but she snatched it back like she’d been burned. “I really must get back to work,” she said as she hurried away.
Ringo and I stared at each other across the table.
“Death is the enforcer?” he said, shocked.
I stood and fished a twenty-pound note out of my pocket. “I think we need to have another conversation with Ms. Simpson,” I said, slapping the note on the table.
“Ye gettin’ change for that?” Ringo asked, indicating the money.
I shook my head. “The information alone was worth more than that.”
He followed me out of the café, mumbling under his breath. “Books and information. That’s ‘ow to make it in the café business.”
We didn’t speak on our run back, and by mutual, silent agreement we made our way directly to Ms. Simpson’s private office in the library. She was in and didn’t seem surprised to see us when I tapped on the open door.
“It’s not a good time, Miss Elian,” she said sharply.
“Right now, or in general?” I didn’t consider my words before speaking, which was common enough that Ringo didn’t even flinch. Ms. Simpson, however, narrowed her eyes as she looked up at me.
“I trust you will be forming your own opinion about that, regardless of what I might say,” she said archly.
“Is Death really the Council’s enforcer?” I blurted.
Ms. Simpson stood and came toward me. “I believe I told you that it is not a good time. Good evening, Miss Elian.” She closed the door firmly, and I heard the lock click. I turned to Ringo, shocked by her abrupt dismissal.
He shrugged. “I guess it’s not a good time.”
I glared at him and stormed out of the library, suddenly determined to find someone who would answer my questions. Almost without realizing I was doing it, I headed toward Mr. Shaw’s office. Ringo kept pace beside me as if he knew exactly where we were going, yet both of us pulled up in surprise to find his door open and the light on in his office.
I knocked tentatively on the doorframe and stepped forward so I could be seen.
The office looked the same as it did on the right time stream, including Mr. Shaw seated behind the big scarred-wood desk. “Yes?” His voice was the same deep growl, but his eyes were wary, and he looked at me without recognition.
“Mr. Shaw?” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
“Are you students?” he asked, beginning to sound impatient. “Because students would know better than to disturb me before the term has officially begun.”
This was the blustery bully I’d met when I first came to St. Brigid’s School a lifetime ago, but rather than back away in fear as he probably expected me to, I stepped into his office with a smile. “Mr. Shaw, I’m Saira Elian, and this is Ringo.”
His eyes narrowed as he studied first me and then Ringo, who had stepped into the office behind me and shut the door. “So?” His tone was dismissive, but there was wary interest in his expression. I took a deep breath an
d another step closer, but his growl halted me. “I’m busy. What do you need?”
“Information,” I said bluntly.
He glared at me. “The library is down the hall.”
“Only useful if you know what you’re looking for,” I retorted.
His glare sharpened at my too-quick comeback. “Saira Elian, you said? Any relation to the Mulroy kids?”
I looked him straight in the eyes, took a deep breath, and dove. “Elian is the Clocker Head Family on the other time stream – the one I come from. There are no Mulroy Clockers in my time.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Other …” His voice faded away, but he remained otherwise motionless as he stared at me. He tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat, and finally found his voice again. “Why are you here?”
“Accident.”
“And ….?” He was watching me as if I was suddenly going to grow fangs and strike.
My eyes flickered to the shelf where the other Shaw kept vials of various things he was working on, including the salve he had once used on Connor’s Werewolf bite, but this shelf was minus the rack of test tubes filled with Archer’s blood that I’d become used to seeing.
Right. Without Archer, Shaw had no impetus to work on a cure for Vampirism, and the thought chilled me. My eye was caught by my dad’s brass microscope, and my heart was suddenly in my throat in a way nothing else in this time had caused. I took a step toward the shelf and Mr. Shaw stiffened.
“A Ross binocular microscope, circa 1870,” I said quietly. He stood then, so fast he knocked his chair over. It landed with a crash, and I turned to face him. “It was my dad’s.”
His expression shifted so rapidly I could barely register the shock and the horror before he wiped his face blank. “I’d like you to leave my office, Miss Elian.” His growling voice was the only thing that betrayed any emotion at all, and I could see I’d pushed him further than he could deal with in that moment.
I nodded. “We’ll be out running in the north woods later if you want to find us,” I said. I knew he needed time to process our presence before he’d be willing to talk. I only hoped this Mr. Shaw was as curious and fearless as my Mr. Shaw was.
Neither of us turned our back on him until we’d stepped out of the office. When one is faced with a confused and startled Bear, backing away is pretty much the only way to stay intact. Ringo shut the door behind us, and he looked a little worried. It was a rare enough expression that I stopped. “What?” I said, trying not to sound defensive.
“Was that wise?”
I exhaled shakily. “Baiting a Bear? Admitting I’m mixed? Busting ourselves on our visitor status? Probably not.”
“And ye just invited ‘im to find us in the woods?” Ringo shook his head. “Are ye daft?”
I laughed to cover my nerves. “Apparently so.” I took off toward the stairs that led up to the Clocker Tower. “How else are we going to find out what we need to know?”
Ringo kept stride with me, and his voice was tighter than normal. “What is it we need to know, exactly?”
“How to fix the timestream split,” I said, exasperated.
“And ‘ow is knowin’ about this time’s politics figurin’ that out?”
I threw my hands up. “It’s information. That, books, and coffee, and we’d be in business.”
A voice I knew like my own called down the hall to us. “Oy! Are you mad standing there?”
I spun to greet it, my relief at the distraction giving me temporary amnesia about the fact that he didn’t know me on this time stream. “Adam!”
His answering grin would have made me fling my arms around him for a giant hug if it hadn’t been accompanied by an up-and-down leer worthy of the obnoxious player he could be. “Was it as good for me as it obviously was for you?”
I stared at him. “Are you kidding? You actually just said that out loud?”
“Yeah, well, it does me no good to keep it in my pants, now, does it?”
“Ew,” I grimaced. “Where’s Ava? You clearly can’t be let out in polite company.”
“Sorry, Adam, who is this?” Another voice I knew piped up from behind him, and I looked past my hulking friend who was currently grossing me out, to find an unfamiliar face.
“Who are you?” I blurted, because blurting is what I did.
Adam’s leering grin was jovial as he turned to the guy behind him, a slender, elegant, dark-haired, slightly exotic guy who looked like someone I should know, but didn’t. “The way she’s staring, I think she likes you, Tom.”
“Tom?!” I was staring. In shock. “You don’t look like yourself.”
Ringo spoke warningly under his breath. “Saira.”
“So the strange girl’s name is Saira. Odd, but nice,” Adam said.
I dragged my eyes away from Tom and fixed them to Adam. “I need to talk to Ava.”
Something in my tone must have finally gotten through Adam’s player persona because the look he shot me was coated in slightly less slime. “She’s saying goodbye to the fam downstairs. Why?”
Oh boy, I really didn’t want to run into Camille Arman, but maybe she didn’t hate me yet on this time stream – after all, I hadn’t come here to steal the Seer cuff from her Family, back when I’d needed to bring it to Elizabeth Tudor. “I have questions, and Ava usually has answers,” I said to Adam. My eyes slid past Tom’s guarded expression, and I suppressed the shock his face inspired.
Shock, because there wasn’t a trace of Seth Walters in Tom’s appearance. He was Phillip Landers’ biological son, right down to his father’s arrogant eyebrow arch. According to Ava, his mother had gypsy blood, which was the source of the exotic coloring on both versions of Tom.
I took off down the hall at a full sprint, away from the narrowed eyes of both guys, and hit the main staircase bannister like a playground slide. Ringo came down the other bannister with even more grace than I’d managed, and the slide felt like a tiny gasp of fresh air in the whole dark tunnel that was this time stream. I turned to find Mr. and Mrs. Arman looking at us with varying degrees of horror, and Ava’s face lit up with an ethereal smile.
“Hello, Saira,” she said brightly.
Relief poured through me at being recognized, until Ava turned to Ringo. “I’m sorry, I didn’t See you. I’m Ava Arman.” She held her hand out to shake his, and he took it politely.
“I’m Ringo.” Ringo’s quick pitying look at my face told me he understood the depths of my disappointment.
Mrs. Arman saw it too and stepped forward to shake my hand. “I’m Camille Arman, but I think perhaps you know that?” She took my hand in hers, and her eyes widened immediately. Mrs. Arman could get instant visions of people through touch – a fact I’d learned the first time I met her. I knew she was a strong Seer, but her daughter was stronger.
“I’m not sure it’s a wise idea for you to come to a Council meeting, Saira. Don’t you agree, Ava?”
Well, that was interesting.
Ava cocked her head like a bird as she looked at me. Then her head swiveled and she regarded Ringo. “Information and books. Those are the currencies you trade in.”
If he was startled, he didn’t show it. “That’s right.”
She turned her gaze back to me. “There’s a Council meeting tomorrow at noon. It would be best if you weren’t seen, I think.”
“Ava—” her mother began, but Ava shook her head.
“No, mother. He has the right idea. They need information.” Ava turned back to me. “But what do we get in return?”
“What do you want?” My heart slammed in my chest. Ava didn’t know me, but somehow she Saw me – it was enough to feel like this place was real and not just a figment of a very twisted dream.
“There’s going to be an attack at the meeting,” she said in an eerily calm voice. “You can prevent it.”
The Bear
Great. Did I have a sign on my forehead that said disaster magnet? Ava saw the expressions on my face run the gamut from shock to chagrin
, but then cut me off before I could ask any of the questions that raced through my brain.
“I have to run,” she said, kissing her mother on the cheek. “Miss Simpson is waiting.”
An attack, she’d said. “Wait, Ava—”
She shot me a bright smile. “You are a Clocker. It’s the only thing I can See that could possibly change things.”
“But I’m not the only one. Why me?”
She shrugged. “You’re here and I’ve Seen you.” Then she darted away, her parents said a hasty goodbye to us, and we were left standing in the hall with stunned expressions still painted on both our faces.
Hard to argue with that, but it didn’t change the fact that I felt a burning need to run. Ringo seemed to share the desire because he started bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Food first, then we run,” he said.
“Right,” I answered. By mutual agreement, we slipped out the front door of the school and around to the kitchen gardens at the back of the massive building. Inside we could see Mrs. Taylor calling swift orders to Annie.
“Think you can get some soup for us?” I asked Ringo.
He shrugged. “I’ll see what sort of charm I can lay on.”
“Wait … here, take this.” I gathered some fresh thyme from a small patch of dirt just outside the walled garden and handed the bunch to him. “See if this helps your case.”
He nodded and slipped into the kitchen. I could see him talking to Annie, and she smiled as she accepted the bundle of thyme. That was a good sign. Mrs. Taylor came into view so I stepped back into the shadows, and a moment later Ringo came outside with two bowls of soup with half a loaf of bread laid across the top of them.
“Nicely done,” I said.
“We passed a patch of chanterelles on our run earlier. I told ‘er I’d bring ‘er some tomorrow.”
“You’re getting better at foraging. You’d make a great Clocker.” We entered the garden and sat on a low stone wall. I was hit with a sudden pang of missing Archer – missing all the times we’d found each other in walled gardens. I had to take a couple of deep breaths to open my throat enough so I could eat. I wasn’t hungry, and hadn’t really been since we’d landed on this wrong time stream, but I ate to keep my strength and because I knew hunger didn’t change the ache of missing Archer, it just layered it with a different kind of emptiness.
