The Art of Stealing Time t-2

by Katie MacAlister

  “Pah.” Mom Two said, gesturing away my past. “Emphasis on the ‘boy.’ Your mother has always said that what you need is a real man, not one of those manosexual flibbertigibbets who walk around with their messenger bags and their manicured hands and such. I believe you can’t go wrong with a woman, but that doesn’t seem to be something you wish to pursue.”

  Manosexual? It took me a few seconds to work that one out. “There’s nothing wrong with metrosexual men, Mom Two. They tend to like arty movies and visits to Starbucks. And, no, I’m sorry. By now you know I prefer men for romantic relationships.”

  “Pah,” she said again, then returned to the previous subject. “We can’t go to Summerland, and that’s that.”

  “You have to go!” I said, pounding the steering wheel when another light turned red. “Dammit, I don’t want either or both of you sent to the Akasha! You have to go somewhere to lie low until the Watch gives up trying to find you. I’ll take Mrs. Vanilla back right now, and then we’re getting you two to safety. They won’t keep after you long once she’s back. You’ll only have to stay there for a few months. Six at the most.”

  “No,” my mother said, and I could see in the mirror that she was shaking her head. Worse, she had that stubborn look on her normally placid face that I knew boded ill for me.

  “Then where do you want to go? It has to be somewhere beyond the reach of the Watch.”

  She gave a little half shrug. “I suppose we could visit Anwyn, as you suggested.”

  I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel, but knew that would do no good. Besides, the light had just turned green. “I’d take you there in a heartbeat, but we don’t know how to get in.”

  “Mrs. Vanilla does,” Mom Two said.

  I shot her a startled look. “She does?”

  “Yes. That’s what she wanted to show you. Mags, do you have it?”

  There was a click as my mother unfastened her seat belt in order to lean forward and wave a piece of paper in front of my nose.

  Suddenly blinded, I swore and jerked the car to the side of the road. Luckily, it was empty of parked cars. “Mom!”

  “See? Mrs. Vanilla drew a map showing the entrance of Anwyn.” Mom sat back and with a smug look snapped her seat belt into place.

  I stared at the crumpled piece of paper, willing my heart rate to slow down as I smoothed out the wrinkles. “OK, this is a mistake.”

  “I doubt if it is, dear.”

  “No, see, this can’t be right. The old biddy—sorry, Mrs. Vanilla, no offense intended—the old lady is a shrimp or two short of a cocktail. She has to be.”

  Mom Two frowned. “Why would you put a shrimp in a cocktail?”

  “That was a reference to a shrimp cocktail. I was trying to be witty. It relieves the feeling that I’ve gone insane.”

  “Mags,” Mom Two said, her gaze never wavering from my face, “I have changed my mind. A second visit to Dr. Gently may well help our girl.”

  I shook the paper at her. “I am not the one who needs to see a mental health counselor! I didn’t the first time you guys dragged me in to see her, and I sure as shootin’ don’t now, although all the little gods and goddesses know that I’m entitled to one, given what you’re putting me through.”

  “Gwenhwyfar Byron Owens!”

  I looked upward, knowing full well what was coming next.

  “You are very well aware how offensive we find it when you say things like that. We raised you to be a proper Wiccan, one who worships the Deity, not a mingle-mangle of assorted gods and demigods.” Mom had her sternest face on, the one I had run into quite a bit in my teenage years when I rebelled against their Wiccan beliefs.

  I was older and wiser now, however. “I don’t think ‘mingle-mangle’ is technically a word, and don’t try to change the subject. We need to be focusing on how to find the entrance to Anwyn, and no”—I held up my hand with the paper in it—“this isn’t it. The entrance to heaven isn’t in a Krispy Kreme shop.”

  “Have you ever had their cocoa?” Mom Two asked. “It’s pretty close to heaven.” With a hurried look over her shoulder at my mother, she added, “If I believed in such a thing, which of course, I don’t.”

  “Anwyn is not in a Krispy Kreme,” I said firmly.

  “How do you know? Have you been there?” my mother asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Then I don’t think you have the right to say harsh things to Mrs. Vanilla about her lovely map.”

  “Mom, it just doesn’t make sense. She’s either kidding, or . . .” I made a circular motion with my finger.

  “I don’t think she is either. She seems to know where the entrance is. Perhaps she has been there herself.”

  Mrs. Vanilla made her peculiar squeaking noises and fretted at the seat belt.

  I looked up and over to Mom Two, shaking my head as I said, “This is crazy.”

  Mom Two smiled and patted my hand. “I’ve always said that crazy is in the mind of the beholder.”

  “Yes, but we can’t indulge in that when so much is at stake.”

  “Drive,” my mother ordered, tapping me on the back of my shoulder. “We’ll see when we get there.”

  “Oh, for the love of all that’s shiny and sparkly!” I took a deep breath and pulled out onto the road, mentally plotting the fastest route to Mrs. Vanilla’s nursing home. “Fine, we’ll go to Krispy Kreme, although the mall is sure to be closed at this time of night. First, however, we’re going to take Mrs. Vanilla back where she belongs.”

  Both mothers opened their respective mouths to protest, but as I stopped at an intersection, waiting to turn onto the road that led to the nursing home, two police cars suddenly zipped across our line of vision.

  I swore under my breath and jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, pissing off the car behind me. “Right. Krispy Kreme it is. But when we get there and it’s closed and there’s no entrance to Anwyn, you guys will owe me a great big apology. And a hot chocolate. With extra whipped cream.”

  THREE

  The fireworks were over, but Gregory Faa felt as if he’d been caught up in some sort of residual whirlwind that left him baffled, intrigued, and with an overwhelming sense that he’d just been duped.

  “And I don’t like that feeling,” he announced after arriving at the spot where his cousin’s wife, Kiya, was sitting on a small woolen blanket.

  “What feeling?”

  “That someone has just pulled the wool over my eyes. A lot of wool. At least three or four sheep’s worth. Perhaps a small flock.”

  Kiya scrunched up her nose, pursed her lips, and looked thoughtful. “That’s kind of odd, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not the easiest person to pull the wool . . . over . . . on. That got mangled. How should I end that sentence?”

  “—‘on which the wool can be pulled.’ At least, that seems a fairly grammatically correct version.” Gregory scanned the area, but didn’t see his cousin. “Where’s Peter?”

  “He went to the north gate to watch for the lady you guys are after. I’ve been stationed here with this”—she showed him the blurry printout from a security camera that showed a short, round woman stuffing a tiny elderly woman into a blue sedan—“and strict instructions that if I see either woman, I’m to call Peter immediately and not attempt to talk to the lady myself.”

  “I take it you haven’t seen anyone?”

  “Lots of people, but none who look like this lady.” She studied the picture for a moment. “She doesn’t look like a kidnapper.”

  He continued to scan the crowds of people moving to and fro in the night, many of them beginning to drift out of the park now that the fireworks were over. “Finding her would be so much easier if it was daylight. There would be fewer people about, for one.”

  “Ah, but then your canny kidnappers seldom flee to parks with their victims, since they would be noticeable there. In fact, I think it’s downright odd that she came here to begin with. I mean, why? Why would you go to the trouble of kidnapping
an old woman out of a nursing home only to take her to the park?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure she really kidnapped the woman?”

  “I’m not sure of anything yet. The only thing we know is that a police report came across the radio, and they gave her name as being attached to the car.” Static and unintelligible conversation burst out of the small electronic device concealed in his pants pocket. He pulled out the police scanner that all Watch officers used when a case involved someone who wasn’t a denizen of the Otherworld, listened for a moment, then shook his head. “The mortal police are still trying to find her car. Thought they had spotted it, but it turned out to be someone else.”

  “So she’s still in the park?”

  “To the best of our knowledge, yes.” He made another visual sweep of the area, mentally cursing the fact that he and Peter had been there when the call came through that one of “their” cases had suddenly come to the attention of the mortal police.

  Why hadn’t he left Wales two days ago, after arresting the man who had killed Gwen? The memory of that day rose up in his mind again, just as it had done approximately every hour for the last two days, the sight of the broken, bloodied body on the rocks before him driving him to do the unthinkable—steal time.

  His shoulders slumped.

  “You’re not still brooding over what happened, are you?” Kiya’s voice penetrated both the soft night air and the dark, twisted cloud of his thoughts. With a gesture of surrender, he plopped down on the blanket next to her, leaning his arms on his knees while staring glumly into the darkness. Pools of artificial light drove away some of the night, but the park was too big, and it was too late to find someone if she wished to stay hidden. “Gregory?” Kiya gently patted his arm.

  “If I am brooding, it’s because I have every right to do so. If Peter ever wishes to disguise himself as a fish, he would be absolutely indistinguishable from a piranha. He certainly chewed me up and spat out my shredded remains just as good as any piranha.”

  “That’s because you did something seriously illegal,” she said with a calmness that pricked his skin. He liked Kiya, he truly did, but he didn’t always appreciate her frankness. Not where his slipup was concerned. “Not that I think stealing a little time here and there is a big deal, especially since you saved a woman’s life while doing so, but still, you knew the rules about Travellers joining the Watch when you signed up.”

  “I did, and I make no excuses now. I’m simply saying that when Peter found out what I’d done, he could have taken down a full-grown bull moose in about ten seconds flat.”

  She laughed. “Now you’re being a drama queen, and that’s the last thing I ever pegged you for. Peter’s been very good to you, and you know it.”

  “I do know it. He didn’t tell the Watch what I had done. He covered up the incident with Gwen. He read me the lecture of my life and came close to tearing off actual strips of my flesh with his tongue, but I’m still employed, and for that I’m truly grateful.”

  She gave him a long look out of the corner of her eye. “Peter never told me just exactly why you saved that lady’s life. You didn’t know her, did you?”

  “Not then, no.” He thought of how the light from the electric torches had shone in Gwen’s black hair. There was something about her that went beyond the appreciation that a mere buxom, pretty woman stirred in him. She was . . . mysterious. There were hidden depths in her, an undercurrent of tension that she tried to belie with light banter and smiling eyes, but he was no stranger to female wiles, and she was up to something. Just what that was, he had no idea, but he was a bit surprised to realize how determined he was to unveil her secrets one by one.

  “So why did you?”

  “Hmm?” He stopped worrying over whether or not his interest in learning more about Gwen bordered on unhealthy (the last thing he wanted was for her to consider him a stalker of sorts) and focused on what Kiya had asked. “Oh, Gwen? I didn’t really stop to think about it, to be honest. I simply reacted. And that’s why Peter was so furious with me: I stole the time as a gut reaction.”

  “It’ll be all right,” she said, patting him again. “You’ve been a Traveller all your life, and you only just started having to rein back unauthorized time stealing. You’ll get used to reacting without automatically going into rewind mode. And to be honest, Peter isn’t a saint when it comes to stealing time. Sunil is proof of that.”

  Gregory stopped brooding over the hell that was his life and looked around again, this time searching not for a short, round woman but for the slim young man who had formerly been a ball of golden light. “Where is Sunil?”

  “He saw a carousel and couldn’t resist it. I’m so glad he got his body back. Being confined to a ball of light was hard on him when he has such . . . such . . .”

  “Joie de vivre?”

  She nodded. “That’s what comes from being killed when you’re only eighteen, I guess. As long as you’re here keeping me company instead of looking for that sweet little woman—”

  “Gwen?” How did she know that he fancied her? Did it show? He slid a covert glance down to the fly of his jeans. No, all was well there. Not that he felt he was sporting an erection. Usually he had a warning of such things, and although he was perfectly willing to admit that Gwen could probably cause that result in him with very little effort on her part, all he’d felt while she dragged him across the park was a pleasant tingling that swept up his back and inner thighs.

  “No, not the woman you saved. The other one. The kidnapper.”

  Guilt drove him back onto his feet to resume the visual scan of the area. “What on earth makes you think a woman who sells magic to mortals as well as kidnapping them is sweet?”

  “She looks nice. Did you guys ever consider that maybe there was a perfectly good reason for her taking this old lady out of her home? Maybe she was a friend and promised her a night out watching the fireworks. Or maybe she wanted to do a random act of kindness, and getting the woman out and about was that act. Or perhaps—”

  “Perhaps she has a history of illegalities where mortals are concerned, and this is simply the latest in a long line of transgressions.”

  Kiya got to her feet as well, stretching before shaking out the blanket and folding it into a square. “I just think that maybe Peter and you are jumping the gun a bit. All you heard on the police scanner was that she was seen driving off with the woman. Maybe the old lady called her and asked her to take her somewhere?”

  “The nursing home would hardly be likely to call the police and say she’d been abducted if that was the case. Ah, there’s Peter.”

  “I think you should take another look at what’s going on,” Kiya said, turning to smile at her husband. “There may be more there than you think.”

  That was certainly the case with Gwen, at least. Why had she dragged him across the park? Had she been hiding from someone? Had she been nervous about being alone? Was someone threatening her? He dug through his memory of the cases he’d read up on in the last few months, but came up with nothing regarding Gwen Byron.

  “No luck?” Gregory asked when Peter was within hailing distance.

  “None. It’s an impossible task. I walked half the park, but everywhere I looked, there were a hundred possible hiding spots. If she’s here, we’ll never find her.” He stopped next to his wife, smiling down at her with obvious affection.

  “I’ve come to exactly the same conclusion.”

  Kiya leaned into Peter, kissed him, giggled when he squeezed her behind, and handed him the blanket while announcing, “I’m going to go see what Sunil is up to, and perhaps ride on the carousel, too. I haven’t seen one in donkey’s years, and if there’s one thing that living with a former-animus-now-turned-lich has taught me, it’s to embrace whatever life gives you.”

  Both men watched as she walked off to the bright section of the park where a couple of carnival rides were running, their garish lights and tinny music enticing many people into nighttime revelry. Gregory smiled at th
e besotted expression on his cousin’s face, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “You’re going to be the one who’s arrested if the local coppers see you with that leer on your face.”

  Peter grimaced, then smiled. “You have to admit she’s a sight for sore eyes.”

  “She’s very pretty, but I prefer my women dark rather than strawberry blond.” That hadn’t been the truth until a few days ago, but it was perfectly natural that now and again a man’s tastes changed.

  Peter shot him a curious look, and slowly the two men followed the path that Kiya had taken. “Since when?”

  Gregory shrugged. “Brunettes usually have an air of mystery to them that bodes well for not losing interest after a few weeks. Have you ever heard of Gwen Byron? Full name Gwenhwyfar Byron?”

  “Yes.”

  Gregory stopped, startled.

  “She’s the woman you saved the other day. At risk of not only your own life but your career, and quite likely mine as well,” Peter continued, giving him a dark look.

  “Ah.” Gregory continued to stroll alongside his cousin. “I thought you meant that you had heard of her in an official capacity. Other than the events of two days ago.”

  “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell, although we can always run it past Dalton.” He pulled out his cell phone and typed in a text to his boss. “You’re damned lucky, you know.”

  “That you didn’t tell Dalton the full truth of what happened?”

  “No. Well, yes, but what I meant is that the shuvani didn’t punish you for saving that Welsh girl’s life.”

  “I’ve always paid my debts,” Gregory said somewhat stiffly. “That minion of Death was well rewarded for the time I took from her. Besides, she’s immortal. Yes, we have to pay for that which we take, but the shuvani only comes down hard on us when we steal from mortals. She minds less if you take time from someone who has the potential for a life measured in millennia rather than years.”

  Peter held up his hand. “You don’t need to lecture me about the ways and hows of Travellers, cousin. I might not have been raised in the family, but I assure you that I am well versed in how we can be punished for thefts. Ah, here’s Dalton’s response.”