Which was the real Vic Doyle? Did she really want to wear those bright-colored clothes and wear all that thick makeup? She never questioned it before. If she could be this, would she really want to? This lady gazing back at her didn’t need makeup or bright clothes. Her beauty shone out of her heart, through her sparkling eyes. Not all the makeup or clothes in the world could make her more attractive.
For the first time in her life, Vic saw herself as beautiful. She was curvy and sensuous and feminine, and she was all those things without a speck of makeup on her.
Finished fussing with Vic’s hair, Maisie stepped to the side and curtsied again. “If there’s nothing else, Miss. It’s past two o’clock—I just heard the clock downstairs. The Master’ll be waiting for ye in his apartment. He gave orders as ye should be shown there as soon as ye’re ready.”
“All right,” Vic replied. “You can take me there now.”
Maisie conducted her out of the room, down the grand staircase, and through a narrow hall leading to the far rear of the Guild House. The richest paintings, furnishings, and statuary packed every nook and cranny of the place. Crystal chandeliers hung from every ceiling. Every stick of furniture gleamed in the light coming through the windows.
Maisie halted in front of an inconspicuous door that slid back into the wall. “This is it,” she whispered. “Ye’ll find him inside.”
“Aren’t you going to tell him I’m here?” Vic asked.
“Och, no, Miss!” Maisie breathed. “I never go inside. I’m no’ permitted. Only the Master’s personal manservant is allowed inside. It’s Guild Law.”
Maisie hurried away, leaving Vic standing there alone. She hesitated to go in. If the place was so all-fired sacred, she probably didn’t belong there, either.
All at once, the door slid back and Boyd Gunn stood before her. He smiled down on her and gave her a sweeping bow. “How charming ye look now! Come in. Please. I’ve so looked forward to this.”
Vic took a deep breath and stepped into the room, and the door closed behind her.
Chapter 6
Holding his breath, Malcolm peeked around the corner until he saw Vic enter Boyd’s apartment. The instant the door closed, he bolted down the hall and tore out of the building. Racing through the streets, he dodged carriages and wagons and carts, then ducked and dove through back alleys until he came to a disreputable boardinghouse on the outskirts of town. He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, then slipped into another alley behind the building.
Drunk vagrants lounged among piles of littered rubbish and broken barrels and crates the itinerant residents had rigged into makeshift hovels.
The alley stank of the sewer, but Malcolm didn’t notice. He traversed the length of the alley to a stone staircase sloping under the boardinghouse and ran down the steps, into a laundry crowded with poor women slaving over steaming washtubs. He eased his way between them to the very back. Steam clouded the place, limiting his sight of anyone within a few yards. He arrived at an enormous pile of folded laundry stacked against the wall. Shelves rose to the ceiling to hold bricks of soap, brushes, and all manner of cleaning equipment.
Malcolm hesitated to check behind him again, but the steam concealed him from prying eyes. He moved around the stack to a space between the bundles and the wall no one could see from the room. He wedged himself into the gap and squatted down, then groped his fingertips along the wall behind his back until he felt a loose brick. He jiggled it, and it slipped free in his grasp. He plunged his hand into the hole and retrieved a tattered, leather-bound book. A piece of string held it together, and a beaten leather pouch dangled from the knot.
Malcolm’s blood raced in his veins. He laid the book open on the floor at his feet and set to work on the knot in a fever of activity, then tipped up the pouch and took out a ragged feather pen and a bottle of ink. He didn’t have much time. He had to get this done fast. Even with all the precautions he’d taken, he still dreaded getting caught. Year upon year of the same deception didn’t reduce the tension racking his nerves.
He dipped the pen into the ink and scribbled in the book as fast as he could write.
13 June 1740
Boyd Gunn acting Guild Master, Stromness, Orkney, plans to send two teams of three each to 2018 to investigate origin of Vic Doyle’s travel back in time. She stepped into a time portal net. She has no idea who sent her back or why. Boyd suspects the Lewises. I will try to relay the identities of the team members as soon as I ken who they are. I will also try to find out where she was and the circumstances surrounding the net as soon as possible.
He tossed the pen on the floor and retied the book, wrenched the lid tight on the ink pot, and trussed everything up the way it was before. He crammed the package into the hole and slipped the brick back into place. Heart slamming against his ribs, he tore himself out from behind the laundry stack.
The wall of steam still separated him from the rest of the room. The washerwomen paid no attention to anything but their work—he came here often enough to know that. They knew Malcolm as the highest official in the Guild, second only to the Guild Master, and never questioned his activities. Even if they had looked twice at him, they saw him enter this laundry enough to be used to his presence.
He plunged into the steam and waded back outside, not slowing his pace until he made it back to the main street with the Guild House in sight at the far end. He drew in a shaky breath, then strode back toward the building. The sound of smashing crockery drew his attention to a corner pub, and he approached the door to see what had caused the commotion.
Two men hurtled through the door and smashed right into Malcolm, bellowing curses on each other’s families and loved ones. He didn’t budge. The men bounced off him, flew at each other again with fists flying, and tumbled into the gutter at Malcolm’s feet, kicking and thrashing.
Malcolm seized the nearest man by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. The other assailant rocketed toward the man and would have destroyed his opponent if Malcolm hadn’t grabbed him too and held them apart.
Malcolm shook them both until their teeth rattled. “Pipe down, the pair of ye! What’s the meaning of this—barging into the street and crashing into a man when he’s minding his own business?”
Neither attacker replied. They bellowed at each other and tried flailing their arms to strike.
Malcolm extended his arms on both sides so they couldn’t reach each other.
The publican appeared at his door and bowed. “Begging yer pardon, Master. It’s me own fault. I never should have let them out of the place.”
Malcolm smashed the two fighters into each other and then held them apart again. “Settle down. It’s all over if ye ken what’s good for ye.”
Little by little, the men woke from their fury enough to recognize who was holding them. Their rage died, and they stopped struggling. “I didnae do aught to him, Master,” one of them panted. “He attacked me for no reason whatever. I was sipping a quiet dram when he comes at me hammer and tongs. I did naught but defend meself. I swear it.”
“I did no such thing!” the second man fired back. “He started it, Master, on me honor.”
Malcolm gave them both another bone-rattling shake. “Shut it, the both of ye. Do ye think I want to hear who started it? Ye should both be at work at this time of day instead of drinking.”
The two men drooped limp and dejected in his hands. “Apologies, Master,” the first man mumbled. “We shouldnae have run into ye.”
“Beg pardon, Master,” the second one added.
Malcolm let them drop out of his hands, and they both retreated. “All right, lads. Go back inside, and dinnae let me catch ye at it again.”
“Aye, Master.” The second man staggered toward the pub, and he and the publican went back inside.
The first man glanced at the door but didn’t go in. “Master?”
“What is it, lad?” Malcolm asked.
“It’s…it’s like ye said, Master. I had a job, but I
lost it. I wonder if ye’d speak to the foreman. Maybe ye can get me job back for me.”
Malcolm cocked his head and eyed the man up and down. He was young, barely old enough to drink in pubs. “Ye’re Noah Kelly, are ye no’?”
“Aye, Master.”
“I ken yer brother, Fletcher,” Malcolm remarked. “He’s a good farrier.”
“Aye, Master.” Noah burst into a bright grin. “The Kellys are always friends of the Guild.”
“All right,” Malcolm replied. “Show me where.”
They set off down the street, back in the direction Malcolm came from. The reformed assailant led the way through the streets to the harbor, where a large fishing trawler sat docked at the pier. Malcolm followed him up the gangplank, across the desk, and down the companionway into the fo’c’sle. Noah kept casting glances over his shoulder, confirming Malcolm was still behind him, until he came to the galley. There, he darted inside and shut the door behind them.
The instant they got inside, Noah rushed up close to Malcolm’s face and whispered in a breathless hiss, “I’ve just come from Aberdeen. Wallace Gunn is dead.”
Malcolm jumped out of his skin. “What?”
Noah nodded fast. “Aye. Killed in Major Louis Kirk’s office by extreme violence. Cut his throat.”
Malcolm blinked in astonishment. “Louis killed him?”
“No,” Noah breathed. “The Major was long gone. No one kenned where he’d gone. It was a woman who done it. A few soldiers spotted her entering the garrison. She asked directions to the Major’s office, and she fled afterward. No one kens where she or the Major went. The whole flamin’ British Army is hunting her. They think she may have killed Louis too.”
Malcolm’s head swam. He cradled his burning forehead in his hand. “This cannae be!”
“Ye ken what it means,” Noah whispered. “Boyd is Guild Master now. It’s only a matter of time before he gets word. Here. I just received this. It’s addressed to ye.” He handed Malcolm a smudged envelope.
Malcolm ripped it open and read the contents with his heart in his throat.
Break and run. Fall back to America. Leave nothing behind.
Malcolm glanced up at Noah. “Do ye ken what this says?”
Noah nodded. “Aye. It’s all over the country.”
Malcolm tossed the letter into the fire blazing in the grate. “Then ye’d best be going.”
“I’m shipping out on this tub at the turning of the midnight tide,” Noah replied. “Ye can come with us. Slip away now while ye can and disappear.”
“I cannae,” Malcolm replied. “I have a piece of business to do first. I’d best get back to the Guild House before I’m missed.”
Noah yanked him back by the arm. “Wheesht, lad! Dinnae risk yer neck. Get out while ye can. If Wallace went to Aberdeen, he must have kenned about ye.”
“He could have gone to Aberdeen for anything,” Malcolm countered. “He must have had business there. For all I ken, he went there to see Brother Wainwright.”
Noah shook his head. “Ye ken that’s no’ possible. If he went there on Guild business, what was he doing in Major Kirk’s office? If he went there on any kind of Guild business, he would have informed ye, especially since ye were supposed to be in Aberdeen at the same time. He went there to find ye. He was onto ye.”
“I cannae believe that,” Malcolm returned. “If that was the case, he would have told Boyd. I would have been able to read any change in Boyd toward me.”
Noah cocked his head. “Are ye sure on that? He could be playing ye until the time comes to cut yer—”
“No!” Malcolm smashed Noah’s hand off his arm. “I’ll no’ believe it. Wallace could have gone to Aberdeen for any of a dozen reasons.”
“Then who was the woman who killed him?” Noah asked. “She’s no’ one of ours. That’s certain.”
Malcolm frowned. Something curious just occurred to him, but he shoved the notion away. It couldn’t be. It was too outlandish to consider.
Noah observed his face. “What is it, lad?”
Malcolm shook himself. “It’s naught. Fall back and have a safe trip to America.”
“What am I to tell Niall about ye?” Noah asked. “He’ll wonder why ye didnae obey his orders.”
Malcolm headed for the door. “Tell him I’m on me way as soon as I can get free. Tell him there’s naught in the wide world more sacred to me than his everlasting orders.” He shot Noah a wild grin over his shoulder as he slipped out of the galley.
He trotted down the gangplank and made his way back to the center of town, but his mind roiled in a thousand directions at once. A woman killed Wallace Gunn! Boyd must not have gotten the news yet. He would be ten times deadlier when he found out his father was dead, and now Boyd was Guild Master. Malcolm shuddered at the thought.
What woman on the planet would kill the Guild Master of the Falisa? Noah had hit the nail on the head and didn’t even realize it. First, Ree Hamilton came back in time from 2018. She was a chemist, and she was helping Ned Lewis formulate the Cipher’s Kiss. Now Vic Doyle turned up on the Falisa’s doorstep from the same time period.
Malcolm’s mind tumbled at the possibilities. The woman who killed Wallace must have been one of them. She must have been one of the women Malcolm and his Angui brothers were looking for. She was one of the Angui women of the future.
One of them was parked under the Guild House roof at this very moment. His heart exploded when he realized. She was having a late dinner with Boyd right now. Holy Christ, what was he telling her?
His eyes widened. Could she be the Angui woman he’d waited so long for? Hope bloomed in his heart. After centuries of loneliness, could this woman be the one? He shook off the notion. After so much pain, he couldn’t let hope get the better of him. If she wasn’t the one for him, the hope would only turn to bitterness. Better to let things play out naturally than to get carried away. Besides, he had a job to do and couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.
Malcolm measured his steps back to the Guild House. He couldn’t withdraw no matter what Niall ordered him to do. Boyd planned to send Falisa teams into the future to thwart the Angui from making the formula. He had to stop them or, barring that, had to send word to his brothers about what was going on.
About a dozen different Angui knew the location of Malcolm’s secret notebook. If anything happened to him, they would retrieve it and find out everything he knew about the Falisa’s activities. He’d already told them the teams were on their way. If he could only find out the names of the team members and where they were headed, he could head them off before they got to Ree and her friends.
Chapter 7
Boyd motioned Vic toward a table set with gold-trimmed china dishes and silver accoutrements, then pulled out a chair for her. “Please join me. It’s been so long since I enjoyed the company of a lovely woman.”
Vic’s heart pattered. Her outfit made her fit the part of a lady sitting down to share a meal with a high-bred gentleman. She had never experienced such class and elegance, though, and this wasn’t anything but a simple dinner to him in his private apartment.
Boyd pushed the chair in underneath her. Her bustle and corsets forced her to sit up straight against the chair back. He sat down across from her, popped the stopper from a decanter, and poured her glass full of wine. He kept smiling at her across the table, and she blushed. She’d have to be blind to miss the romance of the moment.
“Now I’ll just ring for dinner.” He shook a small crystal bell at his elbow.
In an instant, butlers and servants swept into the room. They served Boyd and Vic platefuls of food that wafted succulent vapors into her nose.
How long had she actually been gone from San Francisco? With the lack of cell phones and TV screens and people running left and right on the rat race, time seemed to have slowed. With all the questions racing through her brain about how she got there and where she even was, San Francisco seemed so far away. She needed answers and needed them fast.
Boyd eyed her over the meal, and Vic couldn’t help getting dragged into gazing back at him. His magnetic good looks enthralled her until she couldn’t look away, his sparkling eyes mesmerizing her into a subtle sense of floating toward him.
When he finally put down his fork, he leaned back in his chair and twirled his crystal wineglass stem between his fingers. “Now, lassie, let’s talk about how we’re to get ye home again.”
“Do you have any idea how I can do that?” she asked. “If I can’t tell you how I got here, it seems impossible that anybody could find out how to send me back.”
“Well, ye see, lass,” he replied, “there’s a mite more to the story than that, isn’t there?”
“What more?” she asked. “I already told you everything I know. I’m not holding anything back.”
“Och, I believe ye. I ken ye dinnae have anything to do with getting sent here. Ye dinnae have to bother yerself on that score.”
“What do you mean, then?” she asked. “What more could there be?”
He set his glass down and raised his eyes to her face. “Ye see, lass, I ken how ye got here. I ken it very well.”
Vic jumped out of her seat. “You do? How?”
“It’s like this, lass. Someone cast a magic spell to send ye here.”
Vic’s mouth fell open. “Magic…spell?” She snorted with laughter. “You’re having me on.”
He only smiled. “Ye cannae explain it any other way, so ye’ll just have to believe me. And I ken the spell they used.”
She blinked in stunned shock. “I…I find it hard to believe. The world I come from doesn’t believe in magic.”
“Well, ye’re in a world now that does.” He waved his hand at the room around him. “Ye see, lass, this Guild—the Guild of the Caal—we’re an ancient society passed down from father to son for thousands of years. This Guild has concealed that spell as one of our most closely guarded secrets. I cannae believe one of our own members would use it to send ye here, especially since ye came back none the wiser and had no notion of what was happening to ye.”
Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3 Page 4