She tried to reassure herself: If she kept away from the Tesla coils, she should be safe. And if Edmund could be convinced to stand between them, he should go back. Presumably. She hoped. Her stomach twisted again.
“This way,” she called. But when she looked over her shoulder, Edmund wasn’t there.
Cursing, she leaped back up the stairs.
He was standing beside the case housing the Gutenberg Bible, gazing at it with furrowed brows.
“What place is this?” he demanded, shifting his gaze to Halley.
“This is, um, somewhere you don’t belong,” she said. “But I’m going to help you get back. We have to go downstairs—”
She broke off as the whine of the machine began to make the windows vibrate.
Terrified that she might lose her window of opportunity, she shouted to Edmund, “Do you want to get home or not? Get downstairs!”
After a moment’s hesitation, he preceded her back down the stairs to the basement. The noise from the machine pulsed in Halley’s ears, resonating in her chest, in her bones.
“If it worked before, it can work again,” she muttered.
And then, just as she was about to cross the threshold into the basement, jagged blue light flared between the coils. She stopped dead in her tracks. Edmund threw his arms around her to keep her from falling. She hardly noticed, because between the twin coils the robed figure of the professor had just appeared, his back to them. From one of his hands dangled a heavy gold necklace. Halley’s heart sank. The device hadn’t been charging up to send someone back—it was bringing the professor forward.
The machine screamed, unabating, while the robed man leaned heavily upon the podium, as if catching his breath or balance or both. While resting, he emptied a pocket of several more pieces of jewelry.
Her employer was a thief. A time-traveling thief.
Under cover of the machine’s dying whine, she shoved Edmund, whispering, “Upstairs! Now!”
Following instinct, she quietly closed the basement door. Nothing good could come of a time-traveling thief discovering he’d been seen in action.
Edmund hadn’t moved. His face was very pale. He, too, must have observed the professor appearing out of nowhere, and it would have been a lot more disturbing to him than to her. Even if she didn’t understand the professor’s basement experiments, she understood a whole lot more than Edmund did.
“Go, go, go!” she whispered, indicating the stairs Edmund had so eagerly taken moments earlier. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, the noise from the basement was all but gone. Now what was she going to do?
Panic clawed at her belly.
She had to leave. She had to take Edmund and leave. Right now, before the professor suspected anything. She dashed toward the door leading outside. She could jump in her truck and be away before the professor had recovered from his travel sickness.
But then she hesitated. If she were to run off, wouldn’t that look suspicious, too? If she had nothing to hide, she wouldn’t abandon her post. It would ruin her mother’s reputation as a house sitter, and then the professor would be asking himself what could have been so bad that Halley would risk wrecking her mom’s career.
So what could she do to prevent the professor from suspecting anything had happened amiss? She’d already shut the basement door. That was a good first step. As for her next step . . .
She had no idea what her next step was.
Another wave of panic washed through her. But panic was a luxury she couldn’t afford. The professor might come up the stairs any second.
Clearly, she had to hide Edmund. That was her top priority.
She grabbed Edmund’s hand.
“This way,” she said to him. His attention had fixed on the strange, modern furnishings. “Come on,” she said, tugging his hand and leading him to the front door. She could hide him in the guesthouse.
But as she neared the guesthouse, she realized it was the first place the professor would come looking for her. She swore under her breath, looking at Edmund’s clothing. If she hid Edmund inside the guesthouse, how would she get him back out, wearing that?
The costume was a real problem. And then it hit her: this was a costuming problem! If there was one thing she could do, it was costumes.
First step: What resources did she have?
As she locked the door of the main house behind them, Halley glanced down at her skirt. It wasn’t much of a resource. Not without scissors, a sewing machine, and an hour or two.
She had to tug Edmund’s hand to get him moving away from the main house. He looked dazed. He was staring at strange flora and fauna. He must be going through what she’d just gone through. What had she done?
Whatever she’d done, she had to fix it.
“Solve the costuming problem first,” she said out loud. Maybe she could grab clothes from the professor? No. Snooping around in the main house was too risky. An idea popped into her head. Her PJs.
As soon as they were inside the guesthouse, she grabbed her overnight bag. Beside it she saw the paper with the key code for the gated estate entrance. If she could come back later, when the professor was sleeping or away, she could send Edmund back home. She hoped.
Snatching the paper, she then pulled a very dazed Edmund outside, heading for her truck, grateful she’d parked it out of the line of sight of the main house. Edmund’s hand, strong and rough-skinned, felt warm in hers. It felt solid. Reassuring. She could do this.
They emerged into the sun, and Halley felt the full heat of the afternoon. How could she have just been in London under a cloudy sky? She shook her head. This wasn’t the time for questions like that.
Upon seeing Halley’s truck, Edmund uttered his first words since watching the professor appear out of thin air.
“What . . . what manner of . . . haying wagon is this?”
“It’s my manner of hay wagon,” she said tersely. “It’s called a truck. I need you to wait in the driver’s seat like it’s your truck. Er, sit here.” She opened the door, indicating that he should get inside. “Listen, you’re not in London anymore. Think of this place as . . . well, it might help if you think of it as the land of . . . Faerie.”
That caught his attention. “Mean you that we have been stolen thence? Or . . . hence, rather?”
She didn’t really know her “thences” from her “hences,” but she nodded anyway. “The problem is that you don’t belong here. In fact, you’re in danger here. Lots of danger. And extra danger dressed like that. Please, get in my truck!”
Edmund balked, standing his ground with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I am not afraid.”
Halley rolled her eyes to the sky and then closed them tight, counting to three. Edmund didn’t like being bossed around. Fine. When she opened her eyes, she pleaded. “I’m begging you to get in my truck. I am going to be in so much trouble if that man in the basement notices you here.”
Edmund’s brow furrowed. He dropped his crossed arms and submitted to sitting inside the cab of her truck. He didn’t look happy about it, though, as he adjusted the sword hanging at his side.
“Next, and this is really important,” she said, “I need you to take off your doublet. And . . . all the rest of it. Put this on instead.”
She shoved her oversize pajama T-shirt into his hands and tossed the baggy shorts she wore as pajama bottoms onto the bench seat.
“Put those on, too. These clothes will help you look like you belong here.”
Edmund stared at the garments and then returned his gaze to Halley. His jaw tightened. He looked like some sort of Norse god. A pissed-off Norse god.
“I will do neither,” said Edmund, “until thou explain’st thyself further.”
Halley swore under her breath. “The man you saw appear out of nowhere?”
Edmund gave a quick nod of comprehension.
“He’s, like, a powerful, um, magician. Got it?”
“Mean’st thou he practiceth sorcery?”
“In a manner of speaking. If you want to see your brother again, I need you to sit quietly in the truck, wearing this shirt and these shorts, until I’m done speaking with him.” She glanced behind to see if the professor had appeared yet, but the grounds remained empty.
“Mistress, I am armed.” One of Edmund’s hand strayed to the sword at his left hip.
“No! Definitely no swords. Swords would make things so much worse.”
“Odsbodikins! I assure you I am able to defend both myself and thee—”
“I don’t need protecting!” snapped Halley. Then she reconsidered. The only time he’d agreed to do what she said was when she explained she would be in danger if he refused. Maybe she could twist his overdeveloped sense of chivalry to her advantage.
More gently, she added, “Actually, if you want to protect me, you can do that by staying in my truck and waiting for me to finish up. If you draw the, uh, magician’s attention, it would seriously endanger me.”
Edmund seemed to be grinding his teeth together. At last he spoke.
“I shall remain herein so long as it seemeth advisable to me.”
“Please—just stay. And change clothes.”
After a brief disapproving glare, Edmund began removing his doublet.
Closing the pickup door, Halley considered her next course of action. She needed to look . . . unsuspicious. Should she be hanging out at the pool with a magazine? Yes—that was good. That was unsuspicious. Did she have any magazines? Did the guesthouse have any?
But then she remembered the earthquake. She was the de facto house sitter. She shouldn’t be lounging poolside; she should be checking the property, as she had been doing prior to her unintentional visit to the sixteenth century.
She reached into her pocket and, hands still shaking, grabbed the notebook and pen meant to record her sales at the art show, which now seemed eons ago. It took her several tries to convince the pen to write. By the time she’d succeeded, her hand had at least stopped shaking. She glanced back to her truck. Edmund was now dressed as a member of the twenty-first century. More or less. Halley’s eyes narrowed as she observed him. There was still something . . . off about Edmund, but at a casual glance he looked like a boy sitting in her truck, waiting for her. Like a boyfriend who had driven over to make sure she was okay after the earthquake.
“You wish,” she muttered to herself. Turning, she commenced taking notes on the property, trying her best to look unsuspicious.
A tall, narrow urn planter had tipped over and cracked, spilling dark earth over a pale sanded pathway. Halley noted this on paper just as a palm branch clattered to the ground, joining a makeshift dead-palm-branch graveyard. There were downed eucalyptus limbs, too, awkwardly sprawled across the formal rose bushes. She noted these and continued moving through the grounds, never out of view of the main house, an eye continually darting back to her truck to make sure Edmund stayed put.
After ten minutes had passed, Halley began to wonder whether the professor was coming out of the house at all. Maybe he was off to another century to steal some crown jewels. Would she even notice the whine of the machine from here? Biting her lip, she continued taking notes.
After a few more minutes passed, however, the professor emerged into view, wearing not his travel costume but ordinary clothing.
Halley’s heart beat faster as she waited for the professor to notice her. She was just finishing a note about a broken climbing-rose trellis when his voice boomed across the garden.
“Well, well, well,” said the professor, striding boldly toward her, hand outstretched. “You must be Inga’s daughter, Halley.”
Halley, noting with relief that Edmund was out of the professor’s line of sight, shifted her notepad to her left hand and shook. “That’s me,” she said.
“Dr. Jules Kahn,” said the professor. “I got the message about Inga being called away to take care of her mother.”
Halley’s teeth clenched slightly. Called away to care for her mother? Halley’s grandmother had never been to the United States, not to mention she had died in Denmark just before Halley’s birth. Halley was so sick of the little lies that were used to excuse her mother’s self-interested behavior.
“I hope your grandmother is feeling better?” At this point, the professor became distracted by the overturned urn. “Goodness. What happened here?”
“There was an earthquake. Maybe half an hour ago. Maybe longer, actually. I’m not sure. It was centered in Santa Ynez.” With a possibly unwise curiosity, she added, “You didn’t notice it?”
“I must’ve been driving,” he said, smiling and unperturbed. “That would have been shortly after I landed and retrieved my vehicle.”
His excuse was plausible on two counts. First, from inside a moving vehicle, earthquakes weren’t always distinguishable from simply hitting a bump or two, and second, his garage was located at a distance from the house by the back entrance. She wouldn’t have been able to see or hear him approach.
Nodding as though she swallowed his lies, Halley indicated her notepad. “I’ve been taking notes on the property. It looks like only minor damage, from what I can tell.”
“Mm-hmm.” The professor nodded and then frowned. He glanced casually at the top page of notes.
Halley felt her stomach clenching. She wanted to clutch her ring, but she was afraid the nervous gesture would arouse the professor’s suspicion, so instead she just stood there, trying to look . . . unsuspicious.
After a moment he held out a hand for the notebook and casually perused it.
“Lucky for me that you were here,” murmured the professor. “Your mother indicated there were some difficulties, and I thought you weren’t coming.”
Halley felt a flare of indignation. Not coming? Her mother hadn’t told her that the house-sitting was optional, and now look what had happened. Halley swallowed bile.
The professor continued flipping through the pages, but Halley didn’t think he was really reading the notebook. Or rather, she had an uneasy feeling he was reading her, that he was waiting for her to simply blurt everything out.
Before she could stop herself, she began talking again, a little too fast. “There was a hiccup in the electrical power—I was out at the pool when the quake hit, and the pool clock reset itself to twelve o’clock, but the power can’t have been out for more than a few seconds. Basically, by the time the ground stopped shaking, the lights inside were on again. There were some alarms I had to fix. And I went to the breaker boxes and reset all the switches, just to be sure.” She paused. “It was really disorienting. The earthquake and the alarms and . . . the whole thing.”
She stopped herself. She’d said enough. Maybe too much.
“Hmm,” said the professor, looking up at last. “It’s a funny old place. The generator probably kicked on if the power went out. There’s a Cold War–era bomb shelter under the guest wing of the main house, if you can believe it. It’s a miracle the generator still functions. It makes an ungodly racket.”
Her heart thumped wildly. He was making excuses for the sounds in the basement—the screaming engines that had brought him back. He seemed to be awaiting her response.
“Yeah. I, uh, might have heard something like that.”
“Lucky you were here,” he said again. Then he added, “So . . . unexpectedly.”
She glanced nervously to check on Edmund. The truck door was opened. She hadn’t noticed when he’d opened it. Now she could only hope he didn’t decide to shut it. The noise would definitely draw attention to him.
“Anyway,” said Halley, “I don’t hear anything unusual now.”
The professor used the toe of his shoe to nudge a river rock that had rolled from its place in the garden.
“The whole experience must have been extremely unnerving,” he said at last. “Did you notice anything else you want to tell me about?”
Halley let the question hang in the hot, still air. After risking a brief glance back to the truck, she spoke again. “It
all happened so fast. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“On the contrary,” said the professor. “You’ve handled the situation quite professionally. I’m sure your mother will be very proud.”
Halley was sure it wouldn’t cross her mother’s mind.
With uncanny insight, the professor added, “When I see her in ten days I’ll be sure to mention to your mother how pleased I was with your efforts today.”
Halley managed a small smile. And then she tried to ask as casually as possible, “Is she house-sitting for you again?” As she awaited the response, her heart beat a rapid tattoo.
“Yes. Summers are supposed to be relaxing, but I seem to be putting out one fire after another. Just ten days till I’m off and running again.” He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Ten days . . . Ten days!
In ten days she could get Edmund back where he belonged.
She nodded. “Okay. See you then—I mean . . . uh, I won’t see you then. I mostly stay at the apartment when Mom works.” She was babbling. “So, um, goodbye.”
He held out a hand and shook, rather more aggressively than Halley would have expected for so compact a man.
“Oh, and one more thing . . .” The professor broke off.
Halley waited while he patted his coat pockets. Smiling, he withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled something onto a corner of notebook paper before tearing it off and giving it to Halley.
“My personal number. Call me if you should remember anything else regarding the earthquake. You may find other memories returning later. An earthquake can provide quite a shock to the system.” He smiled broadly, patting her shoulder. The back of her neck prickled; his hand felt heavy and possibly dangerous.
“Yeah. It was a shock,” she murmured. “Super shocking.” She had just remembered to ask the professor for a check when she saw something even more shocking.
Edmund, having exited the truck some fifty feet behind the professor, was now approaching them with a knife in one hand.
9
• EDMUND •
Edmund had been alarmed to see Halley engaging in conversation with the magician. He had vowed to do his best to remain in the strange wagon, but the circumstances were trying his patience. He remained only because he wished to bring no misfortune upon her family, as she had said might happen should the magician notice him.
A Thief in Time (Thief in Time Series Book 1) Page 6