by Beth Trissel
“The same realization had occurred to me. We’d have found it by now if I was destined to brandish a blade.”
Her eyes crinkled in what appeared to be genuine sympathy. “Are you terribly disappointed?”
“I’ll live. Or not.” Then he had a thought. “I wonder…” Trailing off, he got to his feet and made his way to the stash he’d packed some of his favorites in for the move. He still had stuff in there from middle, even grade, school. Some things he’d forgotten about and not missed, but there was one item he’d like to recover. Climbing into the center of the pile, he began opening the neglected boxes and riffling through them.
“If you’ll tell me what you you’re looking for, I could help.” Beezus clambered to her feet, dusting herself off and blowing a stray curl from her eyes.
“No need. I spotted it.” He bent down and grasped the coiled bullwhip. Whipping it out, he cracked the plaited cord with a loud snap.
Beezus nearly jumped through the ceiling. “What the heck!”
He smiled. “My old Indiana Jones whip. I could flick a fly.”
Her jaw dropped. “Could you snag a stole?”
Somber awareness displaced his momentary pride of accomplishment. “If I can get within twelve feet of Mad Morley before he exterminates me.”
“And Beezus can set the stole alight with a fire arrow.” That suggestion came from his mother.
Beezus startled beside him and Fergus turned to see the familiar figure poised in the attic doorway. “Is that the plan, Mom?”
“As good a plan as we’ve got,” she said. “But it will require timing and skill.”
“Executed in the middle of a battle? Yeah, maybe a bit.” The odds against them made him caustic. “What about my nonexistent sword? Can I at least have a dirk?”
“I’m not sending you back to maim and kill anybody, unless your lives depend on it.”
“That whole time contingency thing, again,” he muttered.
“Exactly. You don’t know what ramifications your actions might have, only that Morley doesn’t belong there and must be stopped.”
“Destroyed,” Fergus stressed. “I might need a dirk to use on him.”
“I’ll make certain you’re both adequately armed before you go,” his mother conceded. “Though I can’t see you running Morley through.” She weighed Beezus. “She might do it.”
Beezus gaped at her and then demanded, “Why me and not Fergus?”
“Oh, I dare say he’d do it to defend you, but he’s not a killer.”
“And I am?”
“We shall see,” was all the maddening woman would say.
A sharp inhalation of air from Beezus who burst out with, “Just because I stole the reliquary and plotted a treasure hunt, doesn’t mean I’m coldblooded!”
“But you do despise Morley.”
“I’m not overly fond of that devil myself,” Fergus interjected. “Your maternal devotion may blind you to what I’m capable of.”
His mother considered him with her farsighted gaze and gave a slight nod. “Come along now and discover what else I have in store for my adventurers. You’ve found what you were meant to up here.” One of those mysterious Mona Lisa smiles flitted across the seer’s face. “The pair of you are better bonded now, I suspect.”
Fergus couldn’t speak for Beezus, but he was all about bonding with his new partner in this outlandish quest.
Chapter Ten
Still groggy from drifting off on the couch, Beezus found herself in that surreal place between wake and sleep. At first she thought recent events might all be a dream, but there was no earthly way she could dream up anything this strange unless someone had slipped hallucinogenic drugs into her tea. She wouldn’t put it past Morley.
Dear God, Morley. What havoc was he creating in the past that might affect the present?
The accompanying surge of alarm urged her to full consciousness. She sat bolt upright on the wine-colored upholstery of the vintage furniture and ran her gaze over the living room. A glance at the window told her the afternoon was far gone, the scant light fading. Not a soul was in sight, just the owl staring at her from his perch atop her uncle’s armchair. The dispirited man had taken to his bed the evening before and refused to stir since. Dear Uncle Ru. And poor Blimey. The devoted bird missed him.
Low voices carried from the kitchen. Good heavens. Had Hal arrived and the entire group slipped past her unnoticed? She listened closely and detected a new male and female voice threaded through the subdued conversation. She must’ve slept like the dead not to realize. Such inattention would never do in the coming days.
Getting to her feet, she gathered the skirts of the unusual, to say the least, outfit Mrs. Fergus had attired her in for their journey back through time, and drew on the thick cloak. The fire in the hearth needed fresh kindling and the room was chilly. Uncle Ru kept the heat turned down from their efforts to economize. The Highlands would be far colder, she realized, but trust Mrs. Fergus to be prepared. The woman must have quite a costume box, possibly a closetful of ensembles. She could outfit the cast of a Broadway play.
If anyone had told Beezus she’d find herself wrapped in a brown hooded mantle that looked straight out of the Middle Ages, or Star Wars, she wouldn’t have believed them. Beneath this, she wore a long white shift, doubling as a blouse, under a lace up green bodice; the green and blue plaid skirt hid a flannel petticoat, thick stockings and ankle high leather boots. Her cloak, bodice, and skirt were made of the finest wool and didn’t itch as she’d feared; the undergarments provided an added barrier, plus she’d slathered on lotion after her shower. Rather than a backpack for supplies, pockets sewn inside the cloak held toiletries, dried provisions, beverage pouches, a mini flashlight, first aid kit, and pepper spray…seems the seer had thought of everything, or nearly. She was a walking convenience store.
Beezus had secreted one other item, the dagger Uncle Ru had given her. The sheathed blade rode in a readily accessible pocket. No doubt the psychic knew of the addition, but had let it pass. Beezus needed all the protection she could get, and the bow and arrows mightn’t be enough. Besides, hadn’t Mrs. Fergus suggested she might be the very one to run Morley through? Beezus had never harmed a living creature in her life and shied away from performing such a bloody deed, but when it came right down to it, knew she would do as she must. Morley’s presence in the past was partly her fault, and now Fergus’s existence was at stake.
He poked his head around the doorway, and she thought again how unexpectedly appealing he was. Each hour she spent with him only increased his attraction.
“What are you wearing?” Not the Scottish attire she was decked out in.
A smile playing at his lips, he pushed back the broad brim of the hat. “Like it?”
“Strangely, yes.”
“Mom caved. Let me keep my faithful Indiana Jones fedora. Goes with my whip.” He ambled into the room and gave a mock fashion twirl in his long brown leather coat. “Has plenty of hidden pockets for all my stuff.”
Beneath the flaring coat, she caught sight of tight-fitting leather pants. “Are you taking your motorcycle with us?”
He grinned. “I wish. No, this is my Indiana Jones/Matrix combo outfit.”
“You won’t exactly fit in with the other Scotsmen,” Beezus pointed out.
“Didn’t last time either. But I got by. And you gotta admit, this outfit has style.”
No argument there. “How come you get to be kewl, and I look like a Highland lass?”
“Someone has to play the part. And you were the one who caved this round. Not Mom.”
“I didn’t know I had a choice.”
He looked long and hard at her. “You always have a choice, but generally it’s best to do as our psychic advises.”
“Will we have one of those in the past? Apart from Morley, I mean?”
“Actually, yes. Neil’s Aunt Margaret.” Fergus grew thoughtful. “She probably already knows we’re coming. The wise woman was waiting f
or us in this rustic croft the last time.”
“Handy. But then, Morley’s probably expecting us too.”
Fergus clamped his lips together, then brightened a little. “Hal and I are making smoke bombs.”
“In the kitchen?”
“Where else.”
“I hoped you were cooking supper.”
“We ordered pizza. Much as I hate to admit it, Hal’s got some decent ideas.”
“Beyond the smoke bombs?”
“Oh, that was mine. He’s all over the grenades.”
“Seriously?”
Fergus gave her a look. “We’re knocking together a few missiles, too, while we’re at it. Hey Hal!” he called over his shoulder. “You can come in now. She’s awake. Mostly.”
A rustle and the newcomer rounded the doorway into the living room, the small ultrasonic device he held emitting sounds that alerted him to the distance of anything he might collide with. Apparently, the faster the vibration, the nearer the object and there were plenty of furnishings for him to navigate in this crowded townhouse. She wondered if he could attach the aid to his belt if need be. The noises it made were discreet but carrying the device around must be inconvenient, far less troublesome than blindness, though.
“Hello, Hal. It’s Beezus.” Tripping over petticoats that would take some getting used to, she jerked up her dratted skirts and stepped awkwardly toward him.
“Hello.” He gazed directly at her with black-brown eyes. “Good to meet you in person, Beezus. You have a lovely voice.”
“She gets that a lot,” Fergus interjected.
“I’ll have you know I was once invited to host a radio show.”
“High school?”
Letting Fergus’s quip pass, she returned her attention to Hal who made far more impact in the flesh than cyberspace. Lean and lanky, he stood several inches taller than Fergus. Chestnut hair clipped in a tight mass of curls framed an attractive mid twenty something face that appeared to be of Italian rather than French descent as his name implied, although she knew there were darker Frenchman in the ethnic meld.
“How was your flight?” she asked, extending her hand, then wondered if he’d note the gesture. But Mrs. Fergus had mentioned his ability to detect auras and other heightened senses.
Hal took her fingers in his warm grasp. “Flawless.”
“Ask him about the wild ride from the airport with Wrenie,” Fergus prompted.
“An experience,” was all Hal said in reply.
Gracious of him, after what Beezus had heard about Fergus’s Goth cousin. “Welcome aboard our oddball crew, Hal.”
“Thanks. I’m psyched to be a part of all this.” He swept his hand at the room as though to encompass the invisible dimension they were probing. “Kind of like going to space camp.”
“We’re scheduled for takeoff tomorrow,” Fergus said drily.
“The reason for my historic attire,” Beezus offered. “Guess you can’t see that.”
“I heard you stumble, and can see more than you think. Like that watchful owl’s glowing eyes.”
“Impressive.”
“Fergus gave me a heads up on Blimey. Hope he approves of me.”
“If he didn’t, you’d already know by the wings beating at you.” She studied Hal closely. “You’re not quite as I’d imagined, though I saw your picture briefly on Facebook before you changed it to Batman.”
A smile enhanced Hal’s looks. “Better looking, no doubt.”
“Indeed.”
“Than Batman?” Fergus snorted. “I’m Calvin and Hobbes on FB. Beezus is Wonder Woman.”
“Am not.” She nudged Hal. “Won’t you sit down. Our butler took off through the portal, but I can offer you a cup of tea or coffee.”
“Not just yet, thank you. Fergus is nine tenths coffee so I’ve had plenty, and we need to finish up our preparations in the kitchen then set up shop in here.”
“I see.”
“She doesn’t really,” Fergus amended. “But will. A little on the devious side is our Beezus, but smart. We’re sending her back on another mission. One we devised, this time.”
“Thanks, Captain,” she said under her breath.
Hal scrutinized her with an intensity that belied his handicap and an ability she suspected ranged into the paranormal. Though curious to know the color of her aura, she might rather not discover his intuitions regarding her character.
“You’ll redeem yourself, I trust,” he said quietly.
“Or die trying.”
Fergus was somber. “We may all do that. Have you heard, Hal, I might just go ‘poof’?”
Her heart sank at the blunt reminder.
Hal drew his lips together in a tight line, then said, “I heard. And we’re not gonna let that happen.”
Whether or not Fergus approved, Beezus wasn’t sure, but threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I’m not letting go.”
The near fierce clasp he caught her in answered any doubts she might have.
*****
A nirvana of geekdom had transformed Uncle Ru’s living room. Boxes filled with electronic treasures littered the oriental carpet, but Fergus and Hal’s primary focus was the early 19th century mahogany game table. Originally intended for playing backgammon or cards, the valuable piece was protected with a vinyl cover, Mrs. Fergus’s idea, and strewn with assorted paraphernalia. The fire now blazing in the hearth illuminated the two men seated on ornate, high-backed chairs, pilfered from the dining room and drawn in close to the improvised worksite, bent over whatever it was that engrossed them. Electronic gadgets, tiny tools for infinitesimally small parts, a soldering iron, and Beezus wasn’t sure what all, had been assembled for creating their inventions. Some of the devices flashed white, blue, or green, signaling the Mother ship, she supposed.
When Hal wanted to research something, he accessed a braille laptop. At least, that’s what Beezus assumed he used the computer for. Why else was he tapping away? Now and then, he consulted a member of their inner circle on a cell phone for the visually impaired. Fergus must have given his permission to share Intel, unless that particular friend didn’t ask many questions and just answered theirs. Lord only knew what would emerge from these geniuses hard at work. She looked on until her eyes glazed over. Suspecting this session might last well into the night, she’d sagged back down onto the couch—rousing when Mrs. Fergus and Wrenie walked through the front door.
“It’s done,” the older woman announced, her plump face flushed.
Jerked to attention, Beezus asked, “What is?”
“Body disposal. Wrenie and I rolled up the Red MacDonald in an old carpet and heaved him through the portal. Took all my strength, I can tell you. We could’ve used a crane, but Wrenie’s brawnier than we gave her credit for.”
With crimson fingernails, Wrenie brushed back a blue-black strand of hair from her white face and red lips. “I work out.”
Mrs. Fergus nodded her approval. “Daily, judging by your lift.” Then to the others, she said, “Thank God that’s done. And I’ve sealed the doorway, for now.”
“Wow.” Beezus was awed by their feat, but Fergus didn’t seem unduly impressed, and Hal kept working. You’d think they were in the habit of ridding themselves of unwanted bodies through wormholes.
“Where did my old nemesis wind up?” was all Fergus asked.
“Thumped down the chapel steps in Domhnall castle and into the crypt. The portal hasn’t shifted from the MacDonald stronghold.”
Grim lines edged Fergus’s mouth. “I despise that place.”
“I was glad to slam the door on it.” Mrs. Fergus laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “You won’t see the crypt as starkly this time with all the smoke you’ll unleash.”
Wrenie shuddered. “The glimpse I got was enough for me.”
“I should have thought you’d love the place. Pure Goth,” he retorted.
“Makes me want to go off Goth.” She peered over their shoulders. “What are you mad scientis
ts concocting now?”
“Adapting, actually,” Hal said matter-of-factly. “We’re making some adjustments to the magnetic energy field detector.”
Beezus stared from one brilliant man to the other. “Why?”
Nimble fingers turning this and twisting that with a minute screwdriver, Fergus explained, “To give us coordinates, like GPS bearings, so we can determine where the wormhole is at any given moment. We can’t draw off satellite feed that doesn’t exist in the past, so we’re improvising.”
“Of course you are. Probably knock together a nuclear reactor next.”
“Don’t need one.” Fergus flicked Beezus an unmistakable wink that made her heart flutter. “Think of this as a compass with portal bearings.”
“Ok. Sure.” She was too dazed to contemplate anything more complex.
Then Wrenie blew her away by asking, “Hal, are you still gonna tag Beezus and Fergus before departure?”
Beezus gaped at her. “What in the world for?”
Heavily made up eyes regarded her as though she’d missed the obvious. “You know, insert a chip under your skin so he can track you like they do a lost dog. I used to help out at a vet’s clinic.”
The comparison was mildly offensive, but Beezus let it slide. Instead, she asked, “How is Hal going to track us from here?”
“Oh, he’s not,” Fergus informed her. “Hal’s setting up basecamp at the MacKenzie Castle of Donhowel and keeping tabs on us from there. He’ll also monitor fluctuations in the wormhole.”
“Won’t the MacKenzie’s wonder at him?”
“Some already know about the whole future thing. And Neil will help cover for us.”
“But if Hal’s going, who’s manning the portal from this end, besides your mom?”
Wrenie buffed those fingernails on her black metallic t-shirt and puffed out her well-endowed chest. “Moi.”
Beezus must have missed something vital during her nap. “But what about caring for Uncle Ru?”
“That’s a matter I want to discuss with you, dear,” Mrs. Fergus said. “A charming Scottish woman is arriving tomorrow, Matilda MacKenzie. Perfect for the job.”