by Katy Baker
Kara started the car and they pulled smoothly out of the lot. It was late and the roads were quiet, for which Kara was grateful.
“Where is the Key of Ages?” Aiden asked softly.
“Safe,” Kara replied. “I left it at my apartment.” She glanced at him. “You mind telling me what they hell is going on?”
He shook his head. “I should never had got ye tangled up in this in the first place, lass. The less ye know about me, the better.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Kara replied, pulling up at a red light and turning to look at him. “Tonight I’ve trespassed on private property, accepted stolen goods and hid from the police, so don’t tell me I shouldn’t get involved. It’s a little late for that! Who are you? Where are you from? What’s going on between you and Michael Devereux?”
The light changed and they pulled away. Aiden didn’t answer for a long time. He watched the buildings speeding by.
Finally, he spoke. “As a boy I was fascinated by tales of my mother’s homeland. It sounded so grand and exciting. I would have given anything to come here.” He smiled ruefully. “These were not the circumstances I had in mind. Mayhap ye should be careful what ye wish for.”
Kara nodded. “Isn’t that the truth? This morning all I wanted was a decent lead on Michael Devereux. This afternoon I got that lead. This evening I’m mixed up with a guy who carries a sword and beats up four men as easy as breathing.”
Now that she said it aloud she realized how crazy it all sounded. What was she doing? She ought to pull the car over, drop Aiden Harris off, then drive home and forget she’d ever met him.
But she knew she wouldn’t.
She was relieved when they finally pulled into her parking lot. Aiden looked around, eyes roving everywhere, seemingly alert for danger.
“What is this place?”
“My apartment block. I didn’t have an address for you and they wouldn’t have given you bail without one. Besides, you want your Key back don’t you? This way.”
She walked off and after a moment he caught up with her. They made their way up to her apartment in silence.
“Where is the Key, lass?” he asked the second the door closed behind them.
Kara crossed to where her purse lay on the kitchen counter. Taking out a cloth-wrapped bundle, she handed it to Aiden.
“Here.”
He took it reverently and then unwrapped it. The gold scrollwork glinted in the light. It didn’t look anything particularly special to Kara. She’d inspected it closely, and whilst finely made, it looked like nothing more than a piece of decorative work.”
“What is it?” she asked leaning forward. “Why was Devereux so interested in it?”
Aiden ran his hands over the spiraling metal. “Something important. Something very dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Annoyance flared in Kara’s stomach. “You don’t like answering questions, do you? You’ve still not even told me who you are or what the hell your connection to Devereux is.”
Aiden sighed. “That, I’m afraid, is a long story.”
“That’s fine. I like long stories and we’ve got all night.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “So start talking.”
***
Aiden watched Kara steadily. Her eyes glinted and her chin was tilted defiantly as she glared at him from across the room. She was a fierce one all right. Fierce and brave and beautiful.
He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Lord above, how had he ended up in this situation? He was supposed to come here, stop whoever was meddling with time—this Devereux character—rescue the Key and then go home. A quick mission, in and out.
He gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white. What, by all that’s holy, was Irene MacAskill up to? Curse the woman. Why had he ever listened to her?
Kara stared at him, arms crossed, unblinking. Waiting.
He blew out a breath. “Very well, lass. I’ll tell ye what ye want to know.”
She relaxed slightly, inclining her head, although her gaze remained fierce. “Why don’t you start with who you really are and where you’re from?”
“I’ve already told ye that bit. I come from the Isle of Skye in the Highlands of Scotland. My father, Andrew, is laird of the Harris clan.” He shook his head. “Nay, lass, it isnae such much where I come from that ye should ask but when.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Aiden placed his palms flat against the table top and leaned forward, meeting her gaze squarely. “I was born in the year of our Lord 1518, during the reign of King James the fifth of Scotland. The arch that Devereux had in that warehouse was an arch through time. They are constructs made by the Fae—portals through the fabric of time. I came through one such not a mile from that warehouse. I’m a time-traveler, lass.”
She stared at him in silence. Then her eyes roved over him, taking in his plaid, his boots, the empty scabbard strapped to his waist. He could see her working things out, putting the pieces together. Then she shook her head.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m sure you could come up with a better story than that.”
“It’s the truth, lass.”
Silence settled between them. Then she shook her head again angrily.
“No, I don’t believe you. Time-travel, fairies, magic? You really expect me to swallow that? No way. There’s no such thing.”
“Really, lass? Are ye so sure of that?”
She pointed a finger at him. “Now you’re making fun of me. You think I’m some kind of gullible idiot who’ll fall for this crap? Well, think again, mister.”
Aiden spread his hands wide. “Do ye have an alternative explanation?”
Kara opened her mouth and then shut it again. She cast around as though trying to think of what to say. Then she threw up her hands. “I don’t know! But there could be a hundred other explanations for all of this!”
“Such as?” He kept his voice patient. He wasn’t surprised by her distrust. After all, who would believe such a tale? It sounded like the kind of thing one would tell a child at bedtime.
She walked into the next room and started pacing. Aiden followed. The room was so small that it only took five steps before she had to turn around and come back the other way. The room, like the whole abode, was shockingly bare. No ornamentation, no trinkets, no paintings hanging on the wall. It reminded Aiden of an army camp. Transitory, containing only the bare essentials needed to survive.
“So let me get this straight. You’re really from sixteenth century Scotland and you were sent here by Irene MacAskill who is actually a fairy. She sent you to retrieve that key thingy to stop Devereux from using it?”
“Aye, lass, that’s about the right of it.”
She paused, looking at him. “So Devereux knows about these arches too, right?”
Aiden nodded. “It would seem that way. How he learned of them I dinna ken but it seems clear he wants the power of time for himself. Like I said, lass, in the wrong hands such power can wreak terrible destruction.”
“This is crazy,” Kara whispered under her breath as she began pacing again. “I can’t even believe I’m asking these questions.” She paused again and looked at him.
“Hang on a second. If Irene MacAskill sent you to get the Key, where do I fit into all this? Why did she send me to that warehouse?”
“I dinna have the faintest idea. The Fae are known to be meddlesome and have their own reasons for what they do—reasons that dinna always make sense to us.”
“You can say that again,” she muttered before slumping onto the sofa and pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “This has got to be the craziest day of my life.”
“Now ye know the truth. What will ye do, lass?” Aiden asked gently, folding onto a chair opposite hers.
“I have absolutely no idea. Journalism school didn’t prepare me for this.”
She glanced at the faded picture of a man pinned above the mantelpiece and a look of sadness crossed h
er face.
“Who is he?” Aiden asked gently.
“My father,” she muttered. “He’d know what to do. He always did.”
Aiden said nothing. From the sorrow in her eyes he guessed thoughts of her father caused her pain and he had no wish to intrude on it.
“I need to record all this,” she muttered suddenly. She crossed to a bag and pulled out what looked to be a pad for writing and some sort of small metal device. She placed these on her knee and faced him. “I’m gonna need some quotes.”
“Quotes?”
“For my story. You didn’t think I’d not report all this did you? I can at least report how he threatened to kill you and had his heavies try to kick the crap out of you. That might at least expose him for the rat he is. It’s a start until I figure out what the hell is really going on.”
A shot of alarm went through Aiden. The last thing he needed was his visit to be publicized to all and sundry. He made a big show of letting out a yawn. “In the morning, lass. I’ll tell ye all ye wish to know in the morning.”
She sighed and put down the pad. “Yes, I guess you’re right. I’m pretty beat.” She stood. “You can have the sofa. I’ll get you a blanket.”
She disappeared into the bed chamber and returned a moment later carrying a folded woolen blanket. “It’s all I have.”
“It will be fine, lass. Ye have my thanks for all ye have done for me this night.” He reached out to take the bundle and his finger brushed hers for a moment.
A thrill shivered across his skin. He glanced up to find her watching him, eyes huge. She was so close he could smell her: a faint hint of lavender.
“Goodnight, lass,” he said hoarsely.
Kara blinked. “Um...yes...goodnight.”
She gave a weak smile and then made her way into her bed chamber and shut the door behind her. Aiden stared at the closed door then blew out a breath. Lord, what a mess. The sooner he returned home, the better.
Clasping the Key in his hands, he sat on the sofa and rested his hands on his knees. Going very still and counting his breaths the way he did to calm himself before a battle, he waited, watching as the hands on the clock slowly counted out the time. When he judged enough time had passed he stood, crept slowly over to the door of Kara’s bedchamber and pressed his ear against the wood. No sound came from within. Good. The lass was asleep.
Silently he padded over to the door in the hallway, turned the key, and eased the door open. With one last regretful look back at the apartment, he left, stealing silently out into the night.
***
Sleep wouldn’t come. Kara had lain awake for the last hour, staring at the ceiling. She was too wired to sleep. The day’s events kept running through her head. Meeting Aiden at the abandoned warehouse. His confrontation with Michael Devereux. Getting him out of jail. But most of all the sight of him standing in front her, only inches away, blue eyes so deep she could drown in them.
The morning, she told herself. It will all be better in the morning. You’re just strung-out after everything that’s happened. Come the morning it will all make sense, you can get your story on Devereux and life can go back to normal.
Life, she thought suddenly. What life? Moving onto the next story? Is that all there is?
She paused. Where the hell had that thought come from?
Suddenly a sound intruded on her senses and she bolted upright. She’d lived alone for so long that her senses were finely tuned to any sound that didn’t belong. Was that the front door opening?
Hurling back the covers, she jumped out of bed and ran over to the window. Below her, a figure hurried across the parking lot, quickly disappearing into the night. A shot of alarm went through Kara. There was no mistaking the tall, broad figure of Aiden Harris.
What the hell was he doing? He was running out on her! Damn the man!
Throwing a coat over her pajamas, she pulled on a pair of boots. If he thought he was going to just disappear without so much as a by-your-leave he had another think coming! She bolted out the door and took the stairs two at a time. By the time she reached the parking lot Aiden was just a dark speck in the distance.
Kara jogged after him, careful to keep far enough back that he didn’t notice her following. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. He walked at a brisk pace through the streets and it soon became clear that he was heading back towards the warehouse. Kara slowed, suspicion flaring inside. Why would he be going back there?
Perhaps he’s a plant, Kara thought. Perhaps everything he told me was a pack of lies and he was working with Devereux all along.
The thought sent a pang of hopelessness through her.
She pushed it aside. You’re a reporter, damn you, she told herself. So report. Follow him. Find out what the hell he’s up to and how he’s connected to Irene MacAskill and Michael Devereux.
The industrial unit soon came into view. All was dark and forbidding. Up ahead, the abandoned warehouse loomed out of the night—a darker shadow against the blackness. But instead of heading towards it, Aiden suddenly turned left and picked his way across wasteland to an old railway bridge. Kara followed, diving behind a burned-out car to watch him.
Aiden marched up to the bridge and paused below it. Crumbling brickwork formed an archway above him. What the hell was he doing?
“Ye can come out, lass,” he said suddenly into the darkness. He turned and his gaze fell on Kara’s hiding place.
With a curse, she stepped out. “How did you know I was following you?”
Was that an amused smile? “It wasnae difficult, lass. Ye make enough racket to wake the dead.”
She frowned. And here she was thinking she was being stealthy.
She jabbed an angry finger at him. “You ran out on me.”
He grimaced. “Aye. I’m sorry. I thought it was for the best.”
“For the best? Leaving me to face the music when you disappear while on bail? Leaving me with more questions than I can name? Telling me a crazy story then leaving me to figure out which bits are true and which bits are a roaring pack of lies?”
Aiden said nothing. He just watched her. Then he shook his head. “What would ye have me do, woman?” There was anger in his own voice now. “I’ve told ye the truth but ye dinna believe a word I say.”
“And you’re surprised by that? You seriously expect me to believe in magic? That there are fairies and time-travel? Why would I believe such a crazy tale?”
“Because I gave ye my word! Isnae that enough?”
“No!” she yelled. “Don’t you get it? People are liars! I’ve been a reporter long enough to know people will say whatever they need to save their own skin. People cannot be trusted!”
“I can, lass,” Aiden said quietly. “I wouldnae lie to ye.”
His eyes glinted in the darkness. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words would come out. Her anger leaked away like water from a broken bottle. Instead she let out a deep sigh.
“Could you at least tell me what you’re doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“I’m going home, lass. I’ve tarried here too long already.”
“To Scotland? Then you’re going the wrong way. The airport is five miles in the other direction.”
“I dinna need this ‘airport’, lass, whatever that may be. I have all I need right here.” He nodded at the railway bridge.
Kara glanced up at it. In the darkness the space below looked like some bottomless pit that would swallow her up. No, wait. As she looked closer she thought she could see something within. There were swirling shapes like mist and beyond that, so faint she could barely make it out, something moved. Something that looked like waves crashing against a shore.
She shook her head. Yes, she was finally losing it. She could add hallucinations to the other crazy things she’d experienced today.
Aiden took a step towards her, hand held out pleadingly. “Kara, lass. Listen. I—”
A sudden sound made him pause. Kara heard it too. It came f
rom the shadows behind them. Aiden whirled, hand going automatically to where his sword had hung. But it wasn’t there any longer, of course. The police had confiscated it.
The sound came again, echoed at three other points all around them. Kara’s neck prickled as she realized what it was.
Laughter.
Four shadows detached themselves from the darkness. Aiden grabbed her, pushing her behind him.
His eyes tracked the shadows as they stalked closer. “Who are ye?” he demanded. “Show yerselves!”
The shadows revealed themselves into four men, each carrying a handgun that was trained on Aiden. Kara’s heart leaped into her mouth.
“Look,” she said. “We don’t want any trouble. I haven’t got much money but you can take what I have—”
“You think it’s money I want?” said a familiar voice. “I thought you knew me better than that, Miss Buchanan.”
A fifth figure materialized from the darkness and Kara’s breath caught as she recognized Michael Devereux.
He halted a few paces from them. He was wearing the same sharp business suit he’d been wearing earlier and looked neatly styled, despite the hour. He smiled at Aiden.
“I have to hand it to you,” he said in a conversational tone. “You did quite a number on me earlier. Not many things surprise me these days but you showing up like that? Well, that was a real eye-opener. Give me the Key of Ages.”
Aiden glared at Devereux, fists clenched, body tense.
“Like that, is it?” Devereux continued. “You know I have ways to make you cooperate. If you don’t do as I say, you’ll force me to hurt the girl.”
“If ye touch her, I will kill ye,” Aiden growled.
“How did you know we were here,” Kara demanded.
“It wasn’t hard to have one of my men follow Aiden when he was bailed,” Devereux replied. “I suspected he had an accomplice here earlier and I suppose I should have suspected you. After all, you seem a little too preoccupied with poking your nose into my business, Miss Buchanan. Still, all’s well that ends well, eh?” He stepped closer, eyes fixed on Aiden. “It all makes sense now. I think I even know who you are. Tell me if I’m right. You’re Aiden Harris, of Clan Harris, son of Andrew and Lucy Harris. According to the records you were born in 1518 on the Isle of Skye. Am I right?”