The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2)

by Pamela DuMond

  “Family money?” I asked.

  “You could say that.” He added chocolate into the milk and stirred in some sugar. He was making hot chocolate, the real kind.

  “Tell me about my mama?” I asked.

  He handed me a steaming cup of cocoa with fresh whipped crème on top. “Rebecca loves you dearly. You know she didn’t want to leave you during that horrible car accident. You know that, right?”

  I sipped the steamy drink and tried not to tear up. “Right.”

  “Your mama is feisty, stubborn. She’s one of the best Messengers I know. She’s calculating and brilliant. When faced with a challenge, she chooses her wit before weapons. But if that fails—she’ll fight tooth and nail for what she believes in.”

  “Does she miss my dad?” I asked.

  “Every day,” he said. “She wished she’d told him from the get-go that she was a Messenger. She wished he knew for sure in his heart that she didn’t intend to hurt him, or you.”

  “I could tell him,” I said. “What if I told him?”

  He shook his head. “If you tell your dad, he’ll be in the same danger as a Messenger but without any of the survival skills. He’ll be prey. The Hunters will come for him, kill him, and you’ll be mourning the loss of another parent. Let your dad keep his memories. Let your dad stay safe.”

  “Right,” I said. “Right.”

  “And you, Madeline, are going to be taking a big trip soon. I can feel it. I’m usually right about these things.” He leaned in and brushed the cocoa moustache off my upper lip with his index finger. “You need to keep training so you can stay safe as well.”

  Our eyes caught. His were blue like the sky with the faintest etching of twinkle wrinkles in the corners. I forgot how to breathe for a second because it looked like he was going to kiss me.

  That couldn’t be.

  It wouldn’t be right and yet maybe it wouldn’t be wrong. I missed Samuel, but I knew I was missing a boy who wasn’t interested in me.

  What was I waiting for?

  When Ryan’s cell phone played “Message in a Bottle” by the Police, he just snapped out of it and pulled away from me abruptly. “You need to go home and study.” He looked at the text and frowned.

  “Right,” I said.

  He hit a number. “It’s Ryan Preston. Pull up a taxi for my guest, please. Charge it to my account. Tip the driver ahead of time. Thank you.”

  I shrugged on my coat and slipped on my boots. “Thanks for the hot chocolate. It hit the spot on a cold February day.” I waved at him. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, absorbed in his phone as he texted furiously. “We’ll talk later.”

  I closed the door to his place and took a deep breath. Holy crap. I could swear we almost kissed.

  Not good, Madeline, not good.

  I was halfway to the elevator when I realized I’d left my scarf behind. I trudged back and knocked but he didn’t answer. I swiveled the handle and the door opened easily. “Ryan, I forgot…”

  He sat in the middle of the floor with his hands wrapped tightly over his face and head as he rocked back and forth and mumbled incoherently.

  Something was wrong. I ran the few steps toward him and grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? Are you all right?” I asked but he didn’t answer me. He shook from head to toe. “Ryan!” I grabbed his other arm and held onto him tightly. “Do you want me to call 911?”

  When the room spun in circles, I screamed, collapsed against him, and felt my soul rip out of my body.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You weren’t supposed to follow me!” Ryan said. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a buttoned-up white shirt, and a black tie. A fedora rested on his head and he carried a skinny black briefcase.

  Confetti rained down on our heads and crowds of joyful, celebrating people filled the large city street. “The War is over!” A man dressed in a soldier’s uniform screamed at the top of his lungs and ran through the crowd. “The War is over!”

  “I wasn’t trying to follow you!” I exclaimed. “I thought there was something wrong with you. I was trying to help. I just touched your arm and—”

  “You touched my arm when I was in the middle of traveling. You touched my arm right after we had a disagreement.”

  “Did I punch you that hard?” I asked. “There was no disagreement. You and I almost kissed.”

  “That’s the disagreement,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that? And yet I can’t? That’s not my role, Madeline. I can’t be your boyfriend; I’m your mentor. And no, I’m not that much older than you, but you’re still underage, and your mama would kill me if she found out we got involved.”

  “Oh,” I said as my mind twisted. “Oh.” I looked down at what I was wearing: a print dress with padded shoulders, a fitted waist, and a skirt that fell over my hips and ended mid knee. “This is another one of my time travels.”

  “Wrong,” he said. “It’s my time travel. You held onto me when I was in the middle of traveling. You’re not supposed to be here. You hitched a ride.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” I said.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know.” He straightened his tie.

  “Got it.” I looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Field trip,” he said. “Figure it out and tell me when I get back.” He wagged his finger at me like I was a naughty puppy. “And stay here. Stay right on this corner across from that department store. My message will only take a couple of minutes. I’ll come back for you quickly. Do. Not. Move.”

  I saluted him. “Yes, sir.” He raced off into the crowds.

  I glanced around at the streets that were packed with people. Confetti rained down around me. “Japan surrendered!” A woman screamed and raced past me. “President Truman just announced it on the radio!” I peered up at a street sign that said “State Street” and was pulled along with the sea of celebrating people into the middle of the thoroughfare. “The War is over!” a man in a soldier’s uniform hollered. Cars veered down the street, horns honking. Men and women wept; tears of joy streaming down their faces.

  It was overwhelming. I looked up at the Marshall Fields sign towering over the enormous store and realized that Marshall Fields Department Store had been gone for years. I was in Chicago, but not during present day.

  “Hey!” A man said. “I knew I’d find you out here celebrating. I haven’t seen you in almost a month! Kiss me, Katherine!”

  Good God, I didn’t want to be kissing strangers during my time travels. But he took my hand, twirled me around and just like that I looked up into Samuel’s face. He grinned from ear to ear, his hazel eyes sparkled, his black hair was cut short and he wore an old-fashioned white sailor’s uniform.

  “I love you, Katharine. I know you love me, too,” Samuel said. “It’s VJ Day and I insist that you kiss me because the War is over, and we are young, and our whole lives are stretching out in front of us. There will never be another moment like this in our lifetime, Katherine. Kiss me now!”

  “I, I, I—”

  Samuel wrapped his arms around me, pulled me tight to him, leaned me back, and kissed me. I held onto him and so help me God, I hadn’t planned on it, but I kissed him back as car horns thundered in the background, ticker tape rained down upon us, and confetti stuck to my hair and eyelashes.

  “I love you, Katharine. I love you so very much.”

  “I love you too, Samuel.” I kissed him back, closed my eyes, melted into the moment when a large muscular hand gripped my shoulder and tugged me away. “Hey!” I said.

  “Cousin!” Ryan said as Samuel glowered at him. “So sorry, Sailor. I’ve heard all about you, but my cousin has yet to introduce us.” He held out his hand. “I’m Ryan. I heard you are one of our military’s finest. At last, we meet.”

  Samuel shook his hand. “Katherine didn’t tell me she had a cousin.”

  I touched my hat. “I have several cousins, Samuel. I’m not sure we ever got
around to talking about all of them.”

  Ryan took ahold of my arm and pulled me after him. “We have to be going! My parents are hosting a huge celebration later today at five pm. You’re more than welcome to join us. 1950 Fremont Street, flat number two.”

  “Samuel,” I said. “Samuel. It was so magical to see you…”

  “I’ll be there, Katharine,” he said. “1950 Fremont Street, flat number two. I can’t wait to see you again.” He turned reluctantly and walked off into the cheering crowds.

  I bit back tears as Ryan pulled me around a corner.

  “We’re leaving now,” he said. “Hold onto my arm.”

  “What about Samuel? You lied to him. He’s going to show up at some stranger’s home and knock on their door.”

  “Worse things have happened. Maybe they’ll invite him in and pour him a cup of tea.”

  “I hate you!” I said.

  “Perfect!” He gripped my arm. “Keep it coming. All that emotion will help carry us back to present day. You hitched a ride on my time travel, Madeline,” Ryan said. “Not the safest thing to do. I was wrong. You’re not taking your next big trip anytime soon. You’ve got a lot more to learn.”

  ~ ~ ~

  More to learn. Wasn’t that always the case?

  I pulled out the handbook from under my bed and unwrapped it, tossing the priceless fabrics onto my discount department store comforter that covered my bed. I turned the pages until I hit the one with the remnants of my necklace and the ancestral chart of my to the nth degree grandmother whose life I helped save in 1675. And then for the heck of it, I turned that page as well.

  Confetti and ticker tape spilled across the page. A yellowed Chicago Tribune newspaper clipping glued to the page bore the title, “PEACE! JAPAN SURRENDERS!”

  My hand flew to my heart.

  It was real. It was all real.

  ~ ~ ~

  We were back at Club Magique for an early Valentine’s night performance by the rapper Ro-Boy.

  Courtesy of Chaka’s parents, who owned the place, we sat at a cushy red leather booth in the VIP section next to the stage. We had a bird’s eye view of the party, the performances, and all the pretty people, but still managed to retain our privacy.

  “Look,” I shouted to Chaka and Aaron over the music and all the partiers. “I’m tired of training and I’m done with lessons. I want to try and make the next big journey happen. I will never ever know enough to be safe when I do this. So I just want to go for it. But, I want your support.” I held out my hands. “What do you think?”

  Chaka bit her lip and looked at Aaron who shrugged. “Madeline,” she said, “I’m scared that—”

  “I’m scared, too, but if I don’t do this? If I just sit around and wait for another five years—where’s that going to get me? If I do this, maybe I’ll know. Maybe Samuel will remember me after this journey or maybe he won’t.”

  “Can you live with that?” Aaron asked.

  “Yes. I will make myself live with it. I will make myself move on.”

  Chaka and Aaron regarded each other and nodded. “Okay, Madeline,” Chaka said. “I’ve got your back.” She looked toward the opposite end of the dance floor and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, crap. I hope that’s not who I think it is…”

  I leaned back, rested my head against the booth’s sturdy leather and looked up at the reflective retro disco ball that shot red, blue, green and silver lights out into the crowd.

  “You’re not going to do this here and now!” Chaka said. “What if you pass out or something?”

  “Pretend I’m drunk and drag me out of here.” I closed my eyes and touched my thumbs to my forefingers.

  “What if you lapse into a coma like you did the first time you traveled?” Aaron asked.

  “Get ahold of Ryan,” I said. “He’s got enough room at his place to stash me away for a couple of months.”

  The warm up band played “All You Need is Love” by the Beatles as I chanted quietly under my breath. “Sa. Ta. Na. Ma. Sa. Ta. Na. Ma.” The noise muted and I left my body.

  ~ ~ ~

  I spun and I spun as the sky turned bitter black and bone numbing coldness washed over me. Tiny pinpricks of light flickered in the distance beckoning me. I held one hand out to them and felt my hard heart crack open. The light seeped inside me and somehow we merged.

  The frigid air grew warmer but an eerie silence enveloped me like a thick fog. I heard faint murmurs and few words. “Please.” I strained to hear the sounds and discovered that they were unspoken thoughts and whispered prayers.

  “My husband has been missing in action for ten months now. Please let him be alive. Send me a message that he will return to me and our children.” A woman asked.

  “Please let the ultrasound show my baby is still alive.”

  “I beg, please help my mother survive her surgery. I don’t think my heart could take it if she dies. Let the message today be good news. Please.”

  I was bombarded by the voices of people across years that needed help. Desperate souls begged for signs and messages of hope. But through all of those cries for help, one voice captured my attention—Samuel’s.

  “Help me, please. I do not know what to do. Please give me a sign,” Samuel said.

  I had this fragmented vision of him dressed in old-fashioned clothing kneeling on the ground and gazing up at the night sky.

  “I cannot even begin to guess who I should address my prayers to: a Christian God or the goddesses of our ancestors and the forests. But whatever your given name?” he asked. “I beg you hear my requests. I do not know whom I should trust. Whose life and cause I should support. Both choices are bloody. I am a man but this still frightens me. So much could be lost and so many lives could be changed. Please, just give me a sign. Send me a message.”

  Suddenly, pain pierced my brain like a dagger impaled it. I clutched my hands to my head, hunched forward, and screamed. I swayed, and then stumbled, and fought to maintain my balance while the light ripped out of my body fast as a tornado tearing a house from its foundation.

  Samuel’s image disappeared like frames from a faulty digital upload. No! I squeezed my eyes shut and wrapped my brain around his essence: he had black hair and hazel eyes, strong cheekbones and muscular arms. He was kind and loving.

  I chanted, “Sa. Ta. Na. Ma. Sa. Ta. Na. Ma. Sa. Ta. Na. Ma.” I couldn’t feel my physical body, so I held tighter to Samuel’s essence: a memory, a feeling, a glimpse. Just one small piece of him, a glance, a touch between him and me, something we shared somewhere in time…

  And everything fell away.

  ~ seven ~

  “Nadja!” a man rasped.

  My head felt thick, my throat dry, and my body weak as I woke up. The floor beneath me was cold and the air was damp. I fluttered my eyes open—I lay on rough cobblestones in a cellar of sorts. Flickering torches mounted high on the walls provided the only lighting in this narrow, cramped space. I pushed myself to sitting. I felt awful—similar to when I was in the hospital after the first time I time traveled: broken, drugged, and disoriented. I didn’t have a clue where I was. So much for all the time traveling lessons.

  “Nadja,” the man repeated, his breath failing him.

  I looked around: he lay just feet from me. He was skinny and old, dressed in dirty peasant’s attire, and he writhed in pain on the floor.

  “What’s wrong? How can I help you?” I placed my palm on his forehead—it was cool and clammy. I didn’t think this was a good sign. “Please tell me what I can do!”

  He clamped onto my forearm with his veiny and dirty hand. “Too late: the poison takes me. You drank from my cup and I am happy you survived it. Or you, too, would soon be a cold carcass.” He swiveled his head and coughed, but only managed to spray blood from his mouth onto his sleeve and mine.

  I felt scared. “What year is it? Where am I—”

  “Find Inêz de Castro. Go quickly. Tell her the King means to kill her.” He hacked fiercely and I feared these would
be his last breaths.

  “Who is Inêz de Castro?” I asked. “Why would the King want to kill her? How do I find her?”

  “You are a gypsy, Nadja. We have always been the messengers between royals. Leave now or Inêz will die.”

  “But maybe I can help you? Maybe I can find a Healer; send someone—”

  But the man convulsed for a few seconds and then stopped. He lay still and silent on the stone floor, his eyes frozen and fixed: he was dead.

  ~ ~ ~

  I careened through narrow passageways, intent on finding Inêz. Apparently this was meant to be my goal as a Messenger in this lifetime: Find Inêz. Warn her that the King planned to kill her. Try and keep her alive. Super. Just great.

  I didn’t have a clue as to who she was, where I was, what year it was, or why the King wanted her dead. And let me tell you something—it’s not easy racing through a dark, dank, ancient castle trying to save someone’s life after you’ve just catapulted through time, been poisoned, and watched a guy die a crappy death on the floor next to you.

  A wave of nausea overtook me. I stopped in my tracks, hunched forward, and heaved bile onto the floor. Lovely. But my position allowed me to really notice my attire for the first time. I was dressed in a simple, long, flowing skirt with a cinched waist and a peasant-styled top, like from the 70s that wasn’t super modest, but not totally trampy either.

  I heard the clip-clop of heavy footsteps as someone approached me in the passageway. “Girl! Are you not supposed to be serving the nobles at the banquet in the grand hall? What are you doing down here in the cellars?” A middle-aged woman approximately sixty pounds heavier than I but dressed in similar attire, asked.

  “I was looking for the medicinals for a nobleman’s… headache,” I said. “Thank you. The grand hall is… so…grand. I’m new and I got a little lost. Pray tell—do I turn right at the next passageway or left?”

  “Go straight, climb three flights of stairs, walk through the kitchen into the foyer which leads to the grand hall. I cannot believe you do not remember all this from your orientation. You were given an orientation before you came to work at King Afonso the Fourth’s palace, yes?”