by Olsen, Lisa
“It’s a fair quick jaunt to London by public stage, aye,” he nodded. “Right under a day.”
Bridget choked on her brandy. “A day? What about in a car like a normal person?”
Davis stared at her blankly.
“She means by private coach.”
“Oh, you can make the trip in six hours easy then,” he smiled.
Holy catweasels, it was true! Oh, we were in so much trouble.
“No, I did not mean a private coach,” Bridget piped up. “Anja, what’s going on? Can this guy get us a car or what?”
“Would you please excuse us, Mr. Davis? My companion and I need a moment to ourselves. Actually, does this establishment rent rooms for the night?”
“Aye, it does.”
“Would you mind securing a room on our behalf? We’d be most grateful for your assistance.”
“Of course, miss.” He touched his fingers to his hair as though tipping a hat, and went off to talk to Mr. Bowles.
“What was that all about?” Bridget hissed as soon as he was gone. “I don’t want to stay in this shithole. I want to go back to our motel room where the crazy people smell like piss, not manure.”
“I think it’ll be a little harder to get back to the motel than we first thought.” The decor, the clothing, the general manner of speech; I had a pretty good idea where we’d ended up, and the motel had never seemed farther away.
“Why’s that?”
“Because Andri didn’t send us two months back in time, he sent us two hundred years into the past.”
Chapter Eight
Once we got up to the room, Bridget let me have it. “What do you mean we’re two hundred years in the past?”
“Take a look around, a good look. There’s no electricity, no running water, no phones.”
“So it’s a shitty town, so what?”
“It’s not this town, it’s this time. Think about it. They have no idea what cars are, it takes all day to get to London by coach, they thought we were whores for Pete’s sake.”
“That was just wishful thinking on their part,” she said with a toss of her hair, hands smoothing over her curves.
“Did you see their clothes? And what about the roads? What happened to the paved roads?”
“Yeah, but...”
“But what? You were willing to accept that gypsy magic could send us two months into the past,” I pointed out.
“Right, but two hundred years? Are you sure about this, Anja?”
A knock sounded at the door. “Only one way to find out,” I said, opening it to find the barkeep standing there with a short stack of clothing.
“From me wife, miss. Proper clothes for you to sleep in. They’re not finely made, but they’re honest.” His eyes dipped to Bridget’s bare legs before looking away quickly.
“How very kind. Please thank your wife for me,” I responded, accepting the clothes. “Ah, Mr. Bowles?”
“Yes, miss?”
“What is the date?”
“May the twentieth.”
“And the year?”
His brows twitched closer together. “1817, of course.”
“Of course,” I nodded, my smile feeling brittle.
“Oh sure, of course,” Bridget cackled. “Like that is not some crazy shit right there.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Bowles,” I said, closing the door so he couldn’t see her anymore. “I will see that you’re properly rewarded for your kindness. Now please, we’d like to retire for the night. Please see to it that we’re not disturbed, we’ve been through a frightful ordeal.”
“Yes, of course, miss.” His eyes dipped back to the crack in the door to where Bridget continued to laugh like a loon. “Good night to you.”
“A frightful ordeal?” Bridget snorted as soon as we were alone. “Man, you really fit in here.”
“And you don’t. Bridget, you’re going to have to try while we’re here.”
“This so isn’t my deal. Why can’t I talk how I talk? Who cares what they think?”
“Because it’ll attract attention.”
“So?”
“So do you want to be burned at the stake?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would they burn me at the stake? I’m not a witch.”
“How many witches that were burned at the stake were actual witches in these parts? Anyone with real power probably could’ve gotten out of it. But if you go around talking like you’re from the future you’re bound to arouse suspicion and fear. People don’t like things they can’t explain. And these are dangerous times, especially for women without a man’s protection.”
“You’re serious.” She blinked.
“As a heart attack. I mean it, Bridge. Watch your tongue or I’ll have to watch it for you.” I hated the idea of compelling her to get what I wanted but I’d do it to protect us both.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll behave. What next?”
“Now we wait for the morning coach and make our way to London.” It’d suck having to stay up at least long enough to catch the stage, but hopefully no one would think it strange if I slept for most of the trip.
“Why London? Shouldn’t we head back for the stones and fix this mess?”
I shook my head. “This might be my only chance to talk to Bishop and warn him about the boat.”
Her brows climbed skyward. “Are you serious? He won’t know you, why should he believe you’re his sweetie from the future?”
“I know, maybe he’ll think I’m nuts, but I have to try. I can always try writing him a letter to be delivered two hundred years from now.”
“Alright, sounds like as good a plan as any,” she shrugged. “You gonna put the whammy on someone to get us some money for the ride?”
“I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”
“What makes you think they’ll let us ride for free?”
“Because we are fine ladies who are down on their luck. It won’t seem all that strange when I compel the guy into giving us a ride. And since he’s going there already, it won’t be nearly as awful as compelling someone else into giving us their hard earned cash.”
“Fair enough,” she accepted, picking through the pile of borrowed clothing. “Tomorrow should be interesting,” she murmured. “For now, I think I’ll get some shut eye. Let’s hope we don’t end up with fleas or worse from this thing.” She plopped onto the bed, kicking off her shoes with a tired sigh.
Bridget was out like a light within ten minutes, snoring lightly, dressed in her flannel shirt instead of the offered nightdress. I didn’t dare sleep or there’d be no waking me come the morning. Instead, I examined the clothing they’d brought us, admiring the tiny hand stitches and woven cloth. They weren’t fancy, like he said, but I changed into the shift and wrapper, feeling more comfortable in the period clothes.
Two hundred years in the past. What would Bishop be up to?
He was in the Order, but beyond that, I didn’t know too much. How long would it take to find him? It wasn’t like we could track him down on his cell phone. And even if someone in the Order did know where he was, it could take a long time to catch up to him without cars or planes. We could end up chasing after him for weeks or even months. Then again, we had plenty of time to burn. There was no chance of running into myself this far in the past.
A little before dawn, I snuck out to find something suitable for us to wear on the trip to London. It wasn’t all that hard, most people hung their washing out to dry on lines outside. There was enough selection to choose from that I didn’t have to steal too much from any one person. Still, I felt bad as I snuck back to the room, my arms full of pilfered booty.
Luckily, the empire waist dresses were adjustable with drawstring closures, so our sizes weren’t too hard to find. The corsets were another story. Nobody seemed to have been blessed with as ample assets as Bridget had. Instead of binding the bosom in, Regency corsets were designed to make the ladies sit up on a shelf of sorts, and Bridget’s dress
barely contained them.
“Man, this corset thing makes my rack look outta control,” she said, poking at the swell of flesh above the neckline. “I should totally get me one of these.”
“If they didn’t think we looked like soiled doves before, this’ll do it,” I admitted, wishing I’d thought to steal a shawl or two. Especially with the sunlight. Come to think of it, we’d need bonnets too.
“Soiled doves? Are you for real? Nobody talks like that.”
“This coming from you? At least I got the innkeeper to think we belong in this time well enough to give us a place to stay.”
“Sorry, miss. I’ll try to do better, yeah?” she replied in a perfect cockney accent, bobbing a brief curtsey.
“Holy Hannah, where did that come from?” I stared at her in surprise.
“Dude, I spent how long in the sack with Rob? Actually, I’m just doing an impression of one of the chicks from the feeder bar. Her name was Daisy, and she sounded exactly like that.”
“It’s pretty good, but don’t go overboard.”
“Are you gonna try an accent?”
“I’ve been warned not to,” I replied, thinking back to Bishop’s face when I’d first tried to do one.
Bishop.
A knock sounded on the door. “Coach is here, miss.”
“Let’s do this. Remember, we’re two fine ladies who are down on their luck, we totally belong here, and it’s not weird at all if I sleep for most of the trip there.”
“Gotcha. Anything else?”
“Try and keep me out of the sun, I don’t want to look like strawberry jello by the time we get there.”
“It won’t do for a lady to freckle in the sun nohow. Ready then, miss?” she asked, accent in place.
I let out a long breath. “London, here we come.”
* * *
It was full dark by the time we reached London, and from the body odor in the close quarters of the coach, I was grateful to have been conked out for most of it. Not that it was any better as we stepped out onto the streets. Even with gaslights, 1817 London was dark and sooty, and smelled a bit like open sewage to my sensitive nose.
Still, it was exciting all the same. Regency England. How many books had I read set in this exact time and place? It was all I could do not to stand there and stare at the passersby on the street. Even those dressed in the shabbiest of clothing looked fine to my eyes.
“Now where to?” Bridget’s question jostled me out of my people watching.
“I have no idea, actually,” I admitted. “I’m not sure Bishop’s even in England around this time.”
Her face fell. “What? Then why did we come here?”
“Because we need help we’re not going to get in a bitty village where we stand out as the town whores. Plus, I need to feed, and I’m not going to keep using you as a juice box. I’ll grab a snack and then we can figure out our next move.”
“Swell. Well, while you’re in the feeding bag, do you think I can go do some shopping before everything closes down for the night? This dress itches like a mofo.”
“We don’t have any money.”
“So? Can’t you just...” Her eyes widened like she was trying to mesmerize me.
“No, I can’t just...” I widened my eyes back at her. “That would be stealing.”
“Oh come on, Anja. We’re in Darcy times. Don’t you want to get some better clothes than these? Especially before you find Bishop again? Do you want him to think you’re a penniless orphan?”
“Technically I am in this time. But that kind of stuff doesn’t matter to Bishop.”
“It didn’t used to, but in this time? I get the feeling that appearance is a pretty big deal.” A fancy carriage went by, the footmen hanging onto the back staring down at us like we were dirt they didn’t want to get on their wheels.
“Maybe you’re right,” I allowed. We weren’t likely to be let into the Vetis house looking like we did, and we stuck out in public with out a pelisse or bonnet. “Maybe we can work something out, but only from someone who can afford a dress or two.”
“I nominate that guy. He looks like he can afford to skip a few meals.” Bridget nodded to a fat guy whose fine silvery waistcoat barely contained his gut.
“He’ll do.” Definitely not a hottie, so I didn’t have to worry about breaking my word to Bishop. “Let me grab a bite and we can do some shopping. Okay?”
“I’ll play lookout.”
“It’s not really necessary.”
“Fine, then I’ll window shop. Come and get me when you’re done.”
It didn’t take much to get the guy to come into the alley with me, which made me think he wasn’t all that nice of a guy to begin with. Knowing I looked like a girl who was down on her luck, it was obvious he thought he could get something out of me for a few coins.
“Now then, my dear, perhaps we can come to an arrangement? You help me, and I shall help you.” There was a definite leer there, and that suited me fine, though I wanted more than money from him.
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” I smiled, unwinding his cravat to gain access to his neck.
“That’s it, I like a girl who knows her place,” he grinned, fat fingers groping at my hips to pull me closer.
“Oh, I know my place alright,” I said, catching hold of his will with mine. “And you can drop your hands to your sides, thank you very much.” Satisfied he wasn’t putting up a fight, I leaned in, but his girth got in the way, so that I had to stand to one side of him to reach his throat. “Now then, this won’t hurt a bit,” I smiled, fangs sliding out eagerly.
He tasted different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, but there it was. Maybe it was a lack of food additives and artificial ingredients, maybe it was genetic, but he tasted... different. Definitely more savory, that’s for sure, but as I began the count in my head, I wondered if everyone in the 1800’s would taste the same.
I hadn’t been starving to begin with, thanks to Bridget’s blood, so it was easy to stop in time, sealing the wounds at his neck with my own blood before I wound the cravat back around his throat. “Now then, you said you had something for me, didn’t you? Do you have any money?”
“Money,” he nodded, pulling out a fat purse full of coins.
“Oh, excellent. I’ll take that, thanks,” I grinned, pocketing the whole thing. “It’s a shame you lost your money, but you should be careful about walking where there are pickpockets about, shouldn’t you?”
“Careful,” he nodded woodenly.
“And speaking of careful, you should watch how you interact with women, while you’re at it. Are you married?”
“Married,” he nodded again.
“Lucky lady,” I muttered. “I expect you to treat her like the queen she is from now on. No dallying with girls on the street anymore, God only knows what kinds of diseases you’ve brought home to her so far. Do you understand?”
“Understand.”
“Shiny. You’d best be on your way then. And you won’t remember a thing about our encounter tonight. All you know is, you went for a walk and lost your purse, and you can’t wait to get home and apologize to your wife for being such a fool.”
“Fool,” he nodded, backing out of the alley, a worried look on his face.
“Hurry now.” I waved him on, retrieving the purse to pocket some of the money in my dress. For all I knew this was a neighborhood full of pick pockets, and I didn’t want all our eggs in one basket.
A man appeared at the entrance to the alley, blocking my way, and I tensed, unsure if he’d seen me with the fat guy, or if he thought I looked like an easy target or what. Dressed all in black save the snowy white shirt and cravat, the swirl of his greatcoat gave him an ominous cast. On the shorter side of six foot, my enhanced vision told me he had blue eyes and golden hair under the beaver hat he wore. He was fair skinned, almost baby faced, but there was a hardness to his eyes that marked him as no innocent. In a ballroom, he would’ve been swoon-worthy, but here, bloc
king the alley, who knew what he wanted?
He stalked closer, his expression neutral, though his eyes remained vigilant. “Papers, if you please?”
“Papers?”
A single brow tugged higher. “Identification papers? To prove your bloodline, of course.”
And that’s when I understood – the guy was a vampire, and he was with the Order.
Chapter Nine
Qingwa cào de liúmáng. “You want my ID?” I squeaked, hand rubbing absently at the chip buried under my skin. Fat lot of good it did me in the past. “So, what happens if I don’t have any papers with me?”
His other eyebrow joined the first. “You carry no papers? What is your name, miss?”
“Anja Ev... Gudrun. Anja Gudrun,” I replied, sticking to my alias.
“Where are your lodgings? We must go retrieve them.”
Uh oh. “I recently got into town, I haven’t settled in anywhere yet. This is sort of embarrassing, but we were waylaid. I don’t have any of my personal possessions.”
He didn’t seem swayed by my tale of woe. “Who is your Sire?”
“Carys, daughter of Jakob.” It just slipped out, the old familiar lies coming into play.
His head tilted to one side, eyes still hard with skepticism. “That is convenient to pick a Sire who can’t confirm your lineage.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing convenient about having Carys as a Sire.”
His lips twitched, almost smiling. He must’ve known her. “Nevertheless, if you haven’t any papers I am afraid you will have to come with me.”
“Wait... Sylvius knows me!” I remembered suddenly. Okay, so not really, but he’d be able to tell I was draugen like he did last time. On second thought, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after I’d said I belonged to Carys.
“Right. Come with me, miss.” It was clear from his disbelieving smile he’d heard that one before as he reached for my elbow.
“Put him down, Anja!” Bridget cried out from the alley entrance, sizing up the situation.
“Bridget, please,” I started, but she didn’t back down.