Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2)

by Lily Silver

  Her brother’s face reddened. He dropped the spear and turned about, his majestic white feathered wings hiding his nude form from her eyes as he hurriedly grabbed his underwear and trousers.

  Tara was transfixed by the height and breadth of his wings. They looked soft, like an Swan’s wings in a painting. She wanted to touch them. Slinking forward as he stepped into his trousers, Tara touched the edge of one wing.

  Mick whirled about so fast she started and moved back. “Don’t be getting all handy touching things improper, sister!”

  “I was touching the edge of your wings, not your ass.”

  Clearly, her brother was embarrassed to be caught in the nude by his little sister. Or was he humiliated to be caught posing in the nude for an artist? His wings were no longer extended fully. They hung over his back like a huge cape arching upward, and draped to the ground behind him with perfect symmetry.

  “Why are they so big?” Tara asked, still captivated by the majestic sight. “I always thought of fairy wings as being sheer like a dragonfly wings.”

  “Sure, now. And wouldn’t that support the weight of meself as I sail through the skies?”

  “But, in all the drawings and lore, the fey have thin wings, like butterflies, not big feathery wings like an eagle.”

  “Those be just that, myths, lore invented by humans. I weight nearly 9 stone, I’d drop to my death with such impractical, wispy wings. Now what is it you want?”

  “Can I touch them?”

  Mick made a face of impatience. “Oh, all right then, go on if you must.”

  Tara touched the edges. They weren’t as soft as she imagined. They were sized perfectly to fit a grown man and support his weight. “Will mine be like this?”

  He shrugged. “More than likely. Are you done now? I thought you had urgent news for me.”

  Tara withdrew her hand from his left wing with some reluctance.

  Mick’s feathers quivered, shook and then disappeared into his back. All she saw as she peered around him was the tattoo of angel’s wings, not even a seam or bump to prove the feathers existed. Mick grabbed his white shirt, and shrugged into it. “George, I’ll be back tonight to pose for you. Keep painting, and watching the skies above for intruders.”

  After notifying Mick of Riley’s need to speak with him, Tara hastily returned to the fourth floor. The idea of possessing such lovely wings, of being able to fly filled her mind. What a rush it would be to soar through the skies like a bird.

  Adrian was waiting for her outside their apartment door.

  “I just returned from the bank. I’ve been denied access to my funds,” he said, dousing her wonder with a return of reality. Tara sighed and followed him into their apartment. He closed the door behind them, signaling his wish for a private conversation. “I won’t be able to pay for those items. You’ll have to send them back.”

  She sat down at the table and traced her fingertip over a deep gouge on the surface of the wood. Tara wanted to soothe his worries, not add to them. He was so caught up in fear of how much everything cost. This was a side of him she’d not encountered before. “I said it’s taken care of. There will be no bill. In fact, I’ve news for you. Sit, you’re making me uncomfortable standing over me so.”

  Adrian sat down opposite her with a muttered oath. He looked about the room, seeming to take offense at the simple furnishings. “I spent over an hour at the bank today, arguing with the manager. It comes to this, I don’t exist, Tara. Unless I can produce papers proving I’m a direct descendent of myself, we’re sunk.”

  His voice was unnaturally quiet, as happens when a person is deeply distressed to the point of disbelief in their circumstance. He took her hand, stopping her from fingering the crevice in the table, as if trying very gently to break horrific news regarding their future. “Sweetheart, we have only enough funds for a year at best, and that is if we are careful.”

  “A whole year?” Tara asked, forcing amazement into her speech. “You have enough money to keep us fed and housed for a whole year? That is something to be proud of. Most people I know live week to week.”

  He shook his head, and his face remained grave. “Don’t jest. I wish I could buy you a room full of silk gowns. I wish I could buy you a mansion and servants. I can’t, Tara. I cannot provide for us for very long.”

  A year was a long time to not have to worry about work, in her mind.

  “Mick and Riley have been providing food for us. And I’m sure we can come to some type of solution regarding our lodgings.” Tara tried to counter his argument with a positive outlook. The man before her was truly frightened by the prospect of not having a cache of wealth at his disposal. His wealth had always been his security. Now it was gone.

  “I don’t wish to take charity from the Fey, Tara. I cannot. I will not become a burden to anyone, particularly not to your brothers. It would be a grave transgression against their kind to expect them to provide my financial support for the remainder of my life.”

  “I can take care of us.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Mick taught me how to use the gift of acquiring, so we’ll not starve or go naked into the world. Adrian, dearest, I understand you are afraid, but it’s not the crisis you make it. We’ll get by, I promise. I’ll take care of you.”

  The words should have comforted him. Instead, they seemed to bring deep offense. “No, it is against nature. A man provides for his own, he does not allow his wife to support him.” He slapped the table with his palm, startling her by his vehemence.

  “I planned to take you out to dinner this evening,” Tara said with a sigh. “I wanted to show you my new skills. I’ve learned so much today. I wanted to go out, just the two of us, have a romantic dinner and perhaps take in the opera or go dancing. Why does my generosity offend you?”

  “It doesn’t offend me,” his hands rolled upward in a helpless gesture. “I’m honored by your desire to shower me with good things, but I cannot accept your offer. It would go against everything I believe in. It would take away my honor and my integrity as a man.”

  Oh, good God! She wanted to smack him, scream at him, call him a backward son-of-a-bitch. What a Drama Queen. Hadn’t she just told him they would be fine? That they wouldn’t starve because she could provide for them? And then he had to go and drag his precious hairy balls into the conversation.

  “Well, then,” Tara said, slowly withdrawing her hand from his and rising from the table. “If you fear not being able to have money for food by this time next year, I suggest you find a job, Lord Dillon. Go apply at the factories, the mines, anything, as long as it doesn’t harm your integrity and dishonor your frickin’ manhood. I’m going out now to enjoy a good meal. Stay home and feel sorry for yourself if you like, your lordship.”

  She went into the bedroom and closed the door—without slamming it. For that, she was very proud of herself. At least she showed some restraint when her anger was seething. The sky rumbled above her, a deep, earth-shuddering crack of energy. She looked up at the ceiling, wondering once more about the thunder and her emotions. What the hell? Her brothers implied that thunder had accompanied her wailing as a infant, shaking the mountain above them. Her anger and the thunderclaps were becoming too frequent to be a coincidence.

  Adrian hadn’t followed her into the bedroom. She didn’t wish to debate with him anymore. In fact, she feared she might just be able to summon a bolt of lightning from her fingers to slap him, and that would be dangerous. Even if it were true.

  The sight of the lovely gowns on the bed soothed her anger. She chose the new green and white striped ensemble with the matching jacket and quickly changed into it and then adjusted her hair. Let him sulk at home. She was going out, and that was the end of it.

  The earth moved beneath Dan’s feet. He started, and looked about the room.

  The doctor was talking to the silver haired Fey as they bent over the table, examining something in a glass beaker that looked to be puréed dried spinach or grass.

  “What the hel
l?” He reached for the air to steady himself, surprised that one moment he’d been about to give the little fairy doctor a good left cross and the next, the sun had set and the two brothers were having a conference, completely ignoring him.

  He bent over his friend. Arthur’s eyes were closed. He had a little dried ash goo on his chin, a hazard from being force fed charcoal tea. His eyes were closed, not open and glazed over like before.

  “His pulse is steadier, and his breathing is not as shallow.”

  Dan grunted at the doctor’s report, and straightened. He didn’t know what happened to him and it was humbling to be bested by a young man who looked as if he’d just left high school.

  The door slammed across the hall. Dan heard footsteps, female footsteps, and hurried to the hall. Tara paused at the banister, her hand on the rail, her features hard. He knew that look. A storm was brewing in her eyes. “What’s up, kid?”

  “Tara, I forbid you to go out alone.” Dillon had opened the door, and his face registered surprise as he saw Dan standing there across the hall from him. “Talk some sense into her, she’s your creature.”

  “You forbid me, well just try to stop me.” Tara jaunted down the stairs, her back rigid, her face like stone.

  Oh, yeah, The Honeymooners.

  “Wait up,” Dan called after her. He heard her footsteps pause at the next landing. Turning to the brothers, he asked, “Is it alright if I step out for a while. You’ll look after Arthur?”

  Mick looked up from their huddle at the table, nodded and waved him away.

  Once Dan caught up with Tara, they descended the stairs to the street side by side.

  “Arrogant jerk.”

  “Yeah, I got that part. Where you headed?”

  “Steak dinner, want to come along?” Her words were short. “My treat.”

  “Yeah. Why isn’t he coming?” There was no need to say who he might be.

  “Because it would threaten his masculinity to have his wife pay for his way.”

  Dan stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Really, he said that?”

  “He’s a man, you see, with big balls.” She stepped out into the twilight.

  “Cool down, girl. I’m sure it’s not that simple.” Dan could almost see the steam coming from Tara’s ears. He noted fury in her eyes, heard it in her sharp hiss of breath. He knew if he were Lord Dillon in that moment, he’d be afraid lightning might come out of her eyes and turn him into ash.

  Thunder threatened above and a sharp streak of lightning pierced the evening sky.

  “I just told him that I could provide for his needs indefinitely, that he doesn’t need to keep worrying about getting his money out of the bank.” She stomped onward, “and he refused to accept my generosity, as he called it. He said it was a ‘grave transgression’ to expect support from his wife—”

  Dan tried to keep up with as she marched down the street. “Tara, slow down. I can’t keep up with you, I’m an old soul.”

  She did stop, and turned to wait for him to catch up to her. Not only was she mad as a wet cat, she was practically running down the narrow cobbled street in her fury, like a cat hurrying by with its tail held high. At last he reached her.

  She took his hand. “Hold on.”

  “Whoa,” He screamed as they flew up and into the night like Peter Pan and Wendy. And then he nearly ate his tongue for dinner when they landed on the pavement with a hard crunch that jarred him from heels to teeth. “Oh, Christ,” he moaned. “I need a drink.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Adrian cursed and went into the bedroom to grab his pistols. They needed loading.

  Damn. That would take time, and Tara would be long gone if he stopped to load them.

  He threw one on the bed, and the soft poof of fabric rising up caught his attention.

  Why couldn’t she understand his position? A nobleman took care of his family, even his in-laws if need be. Hadn’t he been supporting her adopted papa for months now?

  A man took care of his own. It was that simple.

  He spun about on his heels as the hall door opened, hoping it was Tara coming back. Surely Dan would have brought her to her senses?

  It wasn’t Tara. It was her brother, Mick.

  “Where did she go?” Mick asked, his silvery blue eyes cautious as he likely felt the tension in the small, poky apartment. “I need to talk to Tara about something.”

  “She went out alone.” As he said it, Adrian felt a pang of worry string his guts tight. “Well, Dan is with her.”

  “You needn’t worry if Dan is with her.” Mick said, “He is a descendent of the Nephilim, the ancient race of giants. Although I doubt he realizes it himself.”

  “I thought as much.” Relief filled Adrian at the confirmation of his suspicions.

  “It’s why people are intimidated by his presence. It is not so much because of his size, as it is because there is a deep, primal fear that lingers in the human psyche, a natural fear of an old enemy. No one will trouble her if he is with her,” Mick assured him, but his tone did not ring true. “No humans, at any rate.”

  Mick was concerned over something of a serious nature. Adrian could sense that his companion was loathe to share it with him. They had shared so much during their long association, much of it concerning mortal affairs important to him. This time it must be fairy business.

  “You are troubled. Can I be of service?” Adrian knew it was likely a futile offer.

  “We’d welcome your aid, my lord. But not just yet.”

  Adrian was grateful for the cursory use of his title, as he knew it meant little in light of the fairy kingdom’s agenda. Yea, it meant little to anyone these days. His entire world had shifted under his feet and he was still staggering about trying to regain his balance.

  He gestured for Mick to continue, hoping that focusing on a Fey dilemma would make his own problems seem less looming.

  “I cannot explain it. We’re just starting to see the threat unfold.” Mick tossed his head for Adrian to accompany him across the hall. Adrian followed him.

  Doc Riley was tending to the strange man they had bundled in the bed.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Adrian hadn’t heard Tara’s explanation fully as his own angry thoughts had drowned out her voice earlier. He’d still been seething about the bank situation and her purchase of new dresses.

  “He’s ingested a mite too much of a very bad thing, has Arthur. Riley’s bringing him back to us from the enchanted realm of the Tir-o-nog. Mortals never tire of chasing after the harsh mistress named delirium,” Mick said dismissively. “Now, then. You’ve troubles of your own by the look of you, my lord. Perhaps you’d like to unburden yourself amongst old friends.”

  *

  Tara felt better as they sat in the elegant restaurant and sipped a glass of fine wine.

  She couldn’t help but wish Adrian were here with her to taste the delicate vintage, as he so despised the cheaper brands they had been buying at the local market. She wished he was the one sitting across the table from her, nearly moaning in ecstasy over the tender filet mignon melting in his mouth. Dan was in heaven, it seemed. And she was in hell.

  “I’m honored to know you.” Dan said at last. He was gazing at her with nothing short of awe. “I’m honored that you chose me to be your friend, and your adopted father.”

  She grimaced, and set her napkin over her plate. Where was this coming from? “Dan, please, don’t do this. It’s me, Tara. I’m the same woman you knew back in Wisconsin, at the radio station. Remember?” She reached for his arm. “We had plenty of good laughs back then.”

  “You are not the same shy, withdrawn girl hiding behind her history texts and her computer screen.” His quiet tone was disturbing, almost reverent. “Thank you for including me in this little road trip through time. I’m enjoying every minute. Honest, I am.”

  Dan’s remarks brought a smile. “I’m pleased someone is having a good time. If I have this right by listening to my husband’s complaints, I�
��ve pretty much ruined his life.”

  He poured them each another glass of wine, and sat back in his chair to study the lace tablecloth. “He’s a little freaked out, I get that. Give him time. He’ll adjust to this new century.”

  “Will he? Sometimes the centuries between us seem like a vast chasm.”

  “It has to be easier for him to adjust to an age of new technology than it was for us to go backward through time to the epoch of candlelight and corsets. I hear they even have phones now, land line, of course.” Dan seemed to settle back into his old self as he spoke about the changes he saw around him. “The booth at the expo claims there are over 2,000 telephones in use in Paris homes and businesses. Mostly wealthy homes, but it’s fun to see these things take on.”

  Tara was relieved to have him stop acting as if she were royalty and revert back to their old, familiar friendship. She smiled at him, wanting to hear more about his adventures in this new environment. “What have you been doing with yourself these past weeks? I hope you’ve had a chance to see the sights of Paris.” She didn’t add that if not for Adrian and his fussing over her safety, she would have been out walking the city every day to see all the wondrous sights herself.

  The question about his expeditions had been a wise choice. Dan launched into an exuberant retelling of his visits to the wax museum, the train station, the hospital, and the Paris Morgue. “Even I was shocked, and that’s hard to do. They have daily showings of unidentified corpses, an actual public gallery. It’s free of charge. And people show up in droves to see new bodies. They remain on public display for three days. If someone doesn’t claim them, they are sold to local doctors for ten francs.”

  “That’s morbid.” Tara wrinkled her nose. At least she was finished eating. She looked around them at the restaurant patrons in their Victorian finery amid the exquisite dining room lit by flickering globes of gaslight above. “I couldn’t visit the morgue for idle entertainment. What kind of society would openly embrace that kind of behavior?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Dan chuckled. “What kind of society embraces weekly entertainment promising grisly, half decomposed corpses as a regular feature of the show. Have you forgotten the allure of those forensic detective TV shows from our time?”