Out of Time Series Omnibus (Out of Time: A Paranormal Romance & When the Walls Fell)

by Martin, Monique

  When she was finished, Simon leaned back in his chair. “And why don’t they send one of their own men? Why you?”

  “They want someone outside of the Council. There’s no telling how things have changed, how they might have been corrupted.”

  “No telling,” Simon echoed. “Might have. A story spun of what-ifs and maybes.”

  He leaned forward, intense. “They’re manipulating you.”

  That thought had crossed Elizabeth’s mind. She really had no reason to trust the Council and several reasons not to. “Maybe they are.”

  Simon got out of his chair. “Finally, some sense.”

  Elizabeth smiled sadly. “But I’m not willing to risk the consequences if they’re right.”

  “You’re not doing this,” Simon said.

  The words were absolute, but she heard the doubt and fear inside them. “You can’t control everything, Simon.”

  His hand sliced through the air. “It’s not—Damn it.” he said and let out a deep breath. “Elizabeth, if you love me—”

  “I’m doing this because I love you, Simon. I had hoped that even if you didn’t trust the Council, you’d trust me.”

  With that, she turned and walked out. If he had an answer he gave it to an empty room.

  Chapter Four

  His moment’s hesitation at her departing declaration had cost him dearly. By the time he’d gathered himself enough to follow her she was already gone. Simon spent the next few hours searching for her without any luck. None of her friends had heard from her. He’d gone to her apartment, the office, even the damn library, and she was nowhere to be found. Clearly didn’t want to be found.

  He slammed the front door behind him as he returned home. “Damn!”

  Simon’s fantasies of finding her and talking some sense into her were just that, fantasies. He could have tied her to the bedposts and she would have found a way to go.

  It was folly, pure unadulterated idiocy, and exactly the sort of thing she was wont to do. He’d known it from the moment she’d mentioned the Council. And like a fool, he’d challenged her. Even if she wasn’t intent on going before, she surely was now.

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed ominously, each resounding clang marking the time he’d wasted. A litany of invectives streamed behind him like a comet’s tail as he walked into his study.

  Why was she so reckless? So trusting? What could she be thinking? She’d run off and get herself killed. For what? Because the Council said they needed her help? It was idiocy. It was naïve. It was… He drew up short. It was love.

  She was doing this insane thing out of love. When it came to that, there was no stopping her. He’d been a fool. Again. He should have stood with her. He’d been so afraid of losing her, he’d completely ignored the fact that she felt the same way. The last time he let his fear get the better of him he pushed her away and nearly lost her. And now, he’d done it again.

  The weight of that revelation pushed him down into a chair. He leaned forward and clasped his hands.

  He should have trusted her, but his overriding need to protect her had trumped his common sense. Not that she wanted his protection or needed it, but he felt compelled to give it nonetheless. Despite what she thought, it wasn’t because he saw her as incapable and it certainly had nothing to do with her being a woman. It did, however, have everything to do with her being the woman he loved.

  There was a life’s breath in being with her that he couldn’t live without. But if he kept pushing her away, if he kept standing in front of her instead of beside her, he would lose her.

  She was willing to risk everything for him and he’d dismissed her feelings completely. He really was a selfish bastard and damn her she was going to save him whether he deserved it or not.

  He stood and strode over to his desk. Perhaps it was time to start deserving it, he thought. The fragmented feeling of helplessness was abruptly replaced by the firm conviction of singleness of purpose. He wasn’t going to waste the next two days in a fruitless search. If she didn’t want to be found, and it was clear she didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to find her. But that wouldn’t stop him. He’d be damned if he’d let her go alone. This time, though, he’d be prepared.

  He turned on his blasted computer and pulled out his phonebook.

  He remembered scant details from that blithering idiot Travers’ tale to Elizabeth, but it was enough. It had to be enough. He remembered the date and location – April 9, 1906, San Francisco, just a little over one week before the catastrophic earthquake. That gave him pause. The San Francisco earthquake was nothing to be trifled with. If he remembered his history correctly, the quake was over 8.0 on the Richter scale and the fires that followed were even more devastating. He’d have to convince her to leave the city before then. A time and a place--not much to go on--but all he needed. Whatever Elizabeth was getting herself into, she wouldn’t be in it alone and that was all that mattered.

  He sat down in his desk chair and got to work.

  Over the years he’d cultivated an extensive network of antiquity collectors and spent the next few hours waking, bullying and bribing them. The full complement of supplies had cost him an unconscionable sum, but he would have spent ten times that if needed. Money had never meant much to him, until he’d been forced to live without it. Traveling back in time to New York and living as a pauper had been an object lesson he wasn’t soon to forget.

  Antique national bank notes, the only reasonable currency of the time, with a face value of nearly ten thousand dollars were being sent by overnight courier. Explicit instructions had been given to his tailor. A suit appropriate for a wealthy man at the turn of the century with all accompanying accouterments would be ready by noon. No excess was too excessive. No expense too expensive. No possibility considered impossible. He’d even contacted the family solicitor and asked him to send a few important papers.

  This time, he would arrive as a man of means. And those means had only one end—to do anything and everything to bring Elizabeth back safely.

  By morning, Simon had completed all his preparations, save one. He was at the bank when it opened and accompanied the clerk to his safety deposit box. The teller placed the slender metal container on the table and left him to his privacy. The cyclone of manic planning dwindled until only an ill wind remained. When he’d put the watch away four months ago, he’d hoped it would be the last time he’d ever see it. Only an unbreakable allegiance to his grandfather had kept him from destroying it.

  Slowly, he opened the lid to his own Pandora’s box and a plague of personal demons was released. Picking up the watch, he held his only hope in his hand. The last time he’d held it, the watch had wielded him, controlled his fate. This time, he would wield it.

  ***

  Simon tied the ivory cravat around his starched, white collar and looked at himself in the mirror. A gentleman of repute stared back. The tailor had outdone himself. Calfskin button boots settled just beneath the cheviot, dark grey twill of his trousers. A pristine, white shirt with stiff cuffs accented with sterling silver links stood out brightly against the pearl silk waistcoat and gloves.

  Through his cutaway coat the money belt bulged above his hip, but there was nothing to be done for it. He’d been forced to acquire smaller denominations than he’d wanted and the result was an unseemly lump. Luckily, the weather in San Francisco hadn’t changed in the last hundred years and his Chesterfield overcoat would still be de rigueur for early spring.

  Money wasn’t his only weapon, he thought as he slipped a 1905 Colt vest pocket pistol into his pocket. It was a small caliber gun, but the little magazine held six bullets. If he needed more than that, no gun, he feared, was going to be enough.

  With only minutes to spare, he shrugged on his overcoat and pulled the felt-banded brim of his hat down. A spider’s crawl of anticipatory dread inched up his spine, but he willed it away. Elizabeth needed him, whether she knew it or not, and he wasn’t about to let her face whatever dangers awaite
d her alone. Armed with certitude of purpose, he opened the watchcase, stared down at the moon inset and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The paralyzing, blue light sparked out of the watch and up his arm. The world around him shivered and he was plunged into darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth struggled against the strange disconnected feeling until she felt her head definitely connect with something. Something… leafy? Managing to right herself, she stared at the offending bush before remembering to check for any witnesses. Thankfully, she was alone. Very, very alone. Damn you, Simon.

  She’d spent the last day and a half trying to soak up the reams of information Travers had given her and trying not to think about what she was leaving behind. Besides, if everything went well, it would be like she’d never left. Except for the arguing and gargantuan emotional chasm they’d have to cross. She’d leap the Great Divide when she came to it. Right now she had a job to do, a Simon to save and twigs to get out of her hair. So much for the two hours she’d spent wrangling it into her best Gibson Girl imitation.

  Victor Graham was a wealthy businessman and that meant he traveled in elite circles. Travers had meticulously given her a crash course in Victorian and Edwardian society. Just the word society had been enough to make her pulse race. Living with Simon had given her a glimpse at how the better half lived, but they weren’t exactly on the social circuit. The closest she’d ever gotten to consorting with the horsey set was getting tips from the touts at the track. She was part of the great unwashed and had the dirt on her cheek to prove it. Thank God, Travers had insisted she stuff that kerchief into her sleeve. She glanced quickly around and spit into it before wiping her cheek.

  A smooth start. Taking a header into a hedge and spitting. Her head pounded and her stomach was a little wiggly, but it was a heck of a lot better than the headbanger’s ball she’d suffered through last time. Taking a deep breath she felt her ribs squish her innards.

  The corset she could have done without. Torquemada had nothing on whatever sadist invented it. Compressing her breasts into some sort of one-eyed, monobosom monster, squeezing the life out of her stomach and thrusting her hips backward, it successfully contorted her body into what society of the early twentieth century deemed an acceptable shape. It was all she could do not to rip the dang laces and start the bra-burning age a few decades early.

  Not being able to breathe was the least of her worries. She’d managed to arrive without passing out. Point one for her, although, she hadn’t managed to move from that spot. Quickly, she took stock of her surroundings. Large oak trees canopied expansive, outlandishly colorful flowerbeds. Flaming oranges and deep reds swirled in complicated patterns amongst a vibrant purple like some tapestry gone mad. Enclosing the entire thing was a large, boxwood hedge, with whom she was already well acquainted.

  This looked like the right place. Travers had said that if everything went well she’d arrive in the garden of Mrs. Eldridge’s safe house. It was secluded from the street, thanks to her friend the hedge, and she could appear without scaring the living bejesus out of anyone. Herself notwithstanding.

  Satisfied she was in one piece, and having stalled longer than was necessary, Elizabeth took a well-measured breath and headed for the front path. All she had to do was utter the simple code phrase Travers had given her and Mrs. Eldridge would give her whatever else she needed.

  As she edged up the walkway, the mansion loomed even larger. Gothic and imposing. Steeply pitched gables and sharp arched windows made it look more like a cathedral than a home. The fleeting image of being held prisoner inside one of the pinnacle towers flashed in her mind. But she was no Rapunzel and her knight currently had his head up his ass. Just as she was having serious second thoughts, the front door opened and a young man and an elderly woman stepped out onto the porch.

  “I’ll be sure to give Mother your regards.” The young man bounded down the stairs and nearly crashed into Elizabeth. “I beg your pardon,” he said quickly taking off his goggles and cap. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m…I’m fine,” Elizabeth managed. “Thank you.”

  He smiled disarmingly. “The thanks is all mine,” he said and then turned back to the elderly woman. “Where have you been keeping her?”

  The woman, who simply had to be Mrs. Eldridge, lifted her pince-nez and arched an eyebrow. “In the garden, it appears.”

  The young man turned back to her and laughed. “You have,” he said and waved a hand in the general direction of her hair, “an intruder.”

  Elizabeth patted at her hair.

  “If you’d allow me?” he asked, and before she could protest, plucked a leaf from her hair.

  “That was embarrassing,” Elizabeth mumbled.

  He turned on that smile of his again. “I think it was rather becoming. And I’ll cherish it always,” he said as he stuffed the leaf into his breast pocket. “Maxwell Alexander Harrington the Third, your humble servant,” he added with a bow.

  The older woman sighed and lowered her glasses. “You are incorrigible.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, not taking his eyes off Elizabeth. “Love does strange things to a man.”

  “Ignore him,” the woman said. “Riding in that new motorcar of his has scrambled his brain.”

  For a long moment, he didn’t react, just simply stared at Elizabeth. It should have been discomfiting, but he exuded an earnestness no amount of brashness could cover. Handsome by any standards, he was the very definition of the All-American Boy--tall, easily over six feet, sun-streaked hair and a dimple in his chin you could crawl inside.

  “And your manners,” the older woman prompted. “How you could possibly be a relation of mine is beyond me.”

  “She’s my distant aunt,” he said by way of explanation.

  “And growing more distant with every passing moment.”

  Elizabeth liked her immediately. She was Helen Hayes with attitude. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “No, no. Maxwell was just leaving. What can I do for you, dear?”

  Elizabeth’s throat went dry. This was the moment of truth. “Mr. Holland sent me.”

  A brief flicker of surprise and then recognition crossed the woman’s face before she smiled as though Elizabeth had just complimented her prized petunias. “Oh, isn’t that lovely,” she said coming down a few steps and holding out her hand. “I haven’t heard from him in ages. Won’t you come inside dear and you can tell me how everyone’s doing?”

  Just like that Elizabeth was being shuttled into the house.

  “Another of your secret liaisons, Aunt Lillian?” Max said trailing behind.

  Mrs. Eldridge never stopped escorting Elizabeth inside and merely said over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Maxwell,” and promptly shut the door behind them. Once they were a few feet into the entry hall she squeezed Elizabeth’s arm gently. “Welcome to 1906, dear.”

  ***

  Simon’s dizzying journey from intangible to tangible ended abruptly, punctuated with a hard fist connecting flush with his chin.

  The vague light of consciousness dimmed as he stumbled backwards and collided with something. The painful grunt in his ear told him that something was a man. Loud, garbled voices he couldn’t understand reverberated around him causing the sharp pain in his jaw to radiate up to join the timpani in his temple.

  Simon took a tentative step forward and shook his head trying to clear it. His vision was still blurry, but he had enough faculties left to know that one blow was usually followed by another. He tried to steady himself for the next attack and realized there wasn’t one man standing in front of him; there were six. All of them wore identical, over-sized, dark blue silk sacks and trousers and shocked expressions. Braided queues of black hair peeked out from beneath their flat-brimmed hats.

  Tendrils of sandalwood smoke wafted between them and Simon’s eyes followed them back to the source. Lines of Joss-sticks billowed with incense. Bright
red banners fluttered in the breeze down the narrow cobblestone street.

  “Gangui!” one of the men cried. “Gangui!”

  As his muddled brain instinctively recognized the phrase, the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Dear God, Simon thought. I’ve landed in China.

  Chapter Six

  “Gangui!”

  The men who surrounded Simon were confused and frightened. Judging from their expressions and what he knew of Chinese mythology, they seemed to think he was some sort of demon. Simon rifled through his mind searching for some way to press his advantage. Surely, it wouldn’t last long.

  Even before that discouraging thought had taken root the leader stepped forward and quieted his men with a harshly barked order. Once sure they feared him more than any demon, the leader turned and gave Simon an exceedingly discomfiting appraisal. The vague shadow of fear lingered in his eyes, but keen logic was winning out. The initial shock of Simon’s arrival was wearing off and the incongruity of a Chinese demon appearing as a white man, all irony aside, begged questions Simon didn’t want asked. The man lifted his chin in defiance and spoke to Simon in what was clearly a challenge.

  When Simon didn’t reply, the shadow of fear disappeared completely from the man’s eyes, replaced with the spark of advantage gained. Simon’s heart beat faster. The odds of survival were getting worse with every passing second. The leader asked the question again and then turned to address his men. Whatever he said rallied them and they laughed, nervously at first, but with growing confidence.

  As the leader turned back, Simon did the only thing he could. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket and took aim squarely at the man’s head. The laughter died. After a brief flash of surprise, the leader narrowed his eyes in a quick study of his opponent. His gaze flicked over the pistol and Simon could almost see him calculating the odds of triumph or defeat. Six bullets. Six men.

  Simon held the pebbled grip in his hand already feeling the sweat forming in his palm. His arm was steady enough, although from this distance they could rush him before he got off more than two shots. Forcing his mind to clear as best he could, Simon met the leader’s gaze. In a silent trial of wills they stared at each other. Simon felt the other men’s eyes boring into him, but he didn’t dare look away.