Traveller

by Abigail Drake

  I didn’t know how to deal with this. I had very little practical experience, and my feelings hovered somewhere between fear and curiosity. Fear won out, and I jumped out of Michael’s cozy bed like someone had lit a fire under my bottom. He watched me, a sad shadow crossing over his eyes like a dark cloud on a clear, blue day.

  “I expected this to happen. As soon as you realized what I am…how I live…”

  “That isn’t it at all…” I began, but he silenced me with the wave of a hand.

  “I don’t want your pity.”

  I swallowed hard. “The last thing I feel for you is pity.”

  He climbed out of bed and walked across the room slowly, like a panther moving in for the kill. Standing as close as possible without touching, his eyes locked on mine. “You were frightened. I sensed it.”

  “The…uh…situation made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t scared of you.”

  His gaze held mine a moment longer. “You should be.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Spare me the theatrics. You aren’t that scary.”

  He blinked. “You’re so odd. I can never quite predict what you’re going to say next.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  Digging through my backpack, I found my cell phone and turned it on. It went off with a series of angry sounding beeps indicating quite a large number of missed texts and voice mails.

  “Crap, crap, crapity, crap.”

  “Watch your language.” I heard the laughter in Michael’s voice, but this wasn’t funny.

  “Oh, sugar beets and dates.”

  “Now you’re just getting dirty.”

  I glared at him. “My friends have been trying to reach me for hours, but my phone was off. I’d better call them before they go to the police and file a missing person’s report.” That wasn’t an exaggeration. Poppy and Lucinda were freaking out.

  Michael slipped his shoes on. “Call them. I’ll get some breakfast.”

  I sat on his couch and allowed myself a moment to drool over the way his bottom looked in low hanging sweats as he walked out the door. I’d slept with Michael Nightingale. Maybe not in the biblical sense, but I’d been in his actual bed, with him in it.

  I sighed and dialed Lucinda’s number. I was a pathetic excuse of a woman if forcing Michael to sleep in the same bed with me felt like an accomplishment.

  Lucinda answered in the middle of the very first ring. “Emerson?”

  “Hi, Luce.”

  I tried to inject as much cheerfulness and enthusiasm as possible into my voice, but it didn’t help. She let out a string of curse words so bad a sailor would have blushed. I couldn’t even understand most of them. It took her a few minutes to finish, and then Poppy took a turn. They must have been sitting together, waiting for me to call, and had me on speakerphone. I waited for Poppy’s tirade to come to a close, and then jumped in and tried to talk.

  “I’m really sorry. I turned off my phone, and forgot to turn it back on. I left you a note, Lucinda.”

  “A very vague and extremely strange note telling me you were spending the night with Michael Nightingale. What the hell happened?”

  Michael came back into the caravan carrying a tray of food and what looked like a carafe full of coffee. He set down the tray, and I got another glimpse of his very delectable bottom. His sweats were just right, not too loose and not too tight.

  I bit my lip as I ogled him. “I’ll be home soon. Can we talk then?”

  An exasperated moan sounded on the other end. I couldn’t tell if it was Poppy or Lucinda.

  Lucinda finally spoke. “We were very worried, but as long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters. We will expect a full report, however.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “With all of the gory details,” shouted Poppy.

  “I promise,” I said, and then hung up the phone with a sigh. Poppy had no idea how gory the details actually were.

  Michael handed me a cup of hot coffee. “I know you usually drink tea, but I thought you’d like coffee, too, since you’re American.”

  I stared at him. “Who are you and what have you done with Michael Nightingale?”

  He gave me a puzzled look. “Whatever do you mean?”

  I put down my cup and folded my hands on my lap. “For weeks, you’ve acted like I was someone with a particularly nasty communicable disease.”

  Michael grabbed a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, toast, and the ever-present English staple, the grilled tomato, from the tray of food. He handed it to me, and got another plate for himself.

  “As I explained already, I wanted to keep you safe.”

  “From what?” I asked between bites. The food was delicious.

  Michael gave me a disbelieving look. “Uh, the Moktar, the Travellers, the whole bloody mess.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.” Michael leaned back on the couch. “And when you stumbled onto our little problem last night, it was probably the worst case scenario.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not exactly the worst case scenario. That would have involved me being a late night snack for a hungry Moktar. I think things actually turned out rather well.” I patted my mouth primly with a napkin, and Michael shook his head, smiling.

  “Rather well indeed.” He looked at his watch. “Shall we go? Your friends wish to speak with you, and we have to be back before sunset.”

  I moaned. “What am I going to tell them?”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know what would be worse.”

  “I’ll come,” he said, and I could tell by the firm set of his jaw he’d made the decision for both of us.

  “Fine,” I said, “but remember what you told me last night?”

  Michael frowned and shook his head.

  “I apologize in advance for what is about to happen.”

  Chapter Eight

  You’ll go to hell for lying just as fast as for stealing chickens.

  ~Grandma Sugar

  In chapter seven of The Art of War, Sun Tzu talked about the dangers of direct conflict, and was he ever right. Facing a firing squad at dawn might have been preferable to facing Poppy and Lucinda that afternoon. Mr. Sun Tzu himself would have run away waving a white flag of surrender. They’d spent a good five or six hours sick with worry, and I deserved to be yelled at, but I felt kind of bad for Michael.

  Perched next to me on the edge of the couch, he looked perfectly comfortable, but I could tell by the tight set of his jaw this wasn’t easy for him. Poppy and Lucinda faced us, wearing almost identically angry expressions. Neither of them said a word, but they were definitely not happy.

  “Hi, y’all.”

  “Don’t try that southern sweetness on us this morning, Emerson Jane. It will not work.”

  Lucinda wore a black, loose fitting turtleneck sweater. She had no makeup on, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. I’d never seen her look so pale, or so completely unlike herself. Heck, I didn’t even know she owned a turtleneck.

  “Lucinda is absolutely right.” Poppy nodded her approval. She pursed her sweet little bow-shaped lips, and I knew what was coming. Poppy was about to go on a weeping rampage. Her face crumbled as she started to cry. “How could you not check your phone for twelve solid hours?”

  “Was it that long? I’m sorry. Here’s what happened…” I froze, not sure where to start. I’d gone over this in my head, but it felt completely different sitting right in front of my friends. I wasn’t a natural born liar.

  “It was my fault.” Poppy and Lucinda’s heads swiveled to Michael so fast, they might have gotten whiplash. He cleared his throat. “I was trying to fix my motorbike in front of the library, and cut my hand. Emerson gave me a bandage.”

  “What kind of bandage?” asked Poppy. Clearly, they weren’t buying his story.

  “‘Hello, Kitty!’ and it had pink sparkles on it.”

  Lucinda relaxed ever so slightly. “That sounds accura
te.”

  “Emerson offered to let me clean up here. We decided to meet with my mates, and I told her she could crash at my place.”

  “And we didn’t want to wake you.”

  I shouldn’t have spoken. Michael did quite well without me. Lucinda narrowed her eyes, studying my face carefully.

  “What else happened? You’re not telling us everything.”

  “Nothing.” I tried to meet Lucinda’s stare with wide-eyed innocence. Not an easy task.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Em,” said Michael. He gave me a saucy grin, and I blushed, elbowing him hard in the ribs.

  Poppy and Lucinda watched our interaction, and seemed satisfied with whatever they saw. “Emerson, you’re the worst liar in the whole wide world,” said Lucinda, and Poppy agreed. “We’ll let it go since everything turned out fine in the end, but don’t do that to us again.”

  To my horror, Lucinda’s eyes filled with tears. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Lucinda blinked and wiped her eyes. “Good. Let’s have some tea.” Tea was the English cure all, and Lucinda was very, very English.

  The doorbell rang, and Poppy jumped up to get it. “That’s Nigel. He was coming over to beat up Michael, but I don’t think that’s necessary now.”

  I started to giggle at the look on Michael’s face. “It’s funny. Trust me.”

  Nigel gave Poppy a kiss then walked over to us. Michael stood to greet him. Nearly as tall as Michael, Nigel would have been at a serious disadvantage if it came to blows. The only exercise he’d ever gotten was from lifting textbooks.

  Michael grinned when he saw Nigel and shook his hand. “Nigel.”

  “Michael?” Nigel gave Poppy an incredulous look. “This is the bloke you wanted me to beat up? Bloody hell. I’m glad you worked it all out. I wouldn’t want to hurt this man.” He gave Michael a little wink, and slapped his shoulder. Michael laughed.

  “You two know each other?” I asked.

  “Of course, we know each other. We tried to get Michael to come over to the physics department, but he refused. He wanted to stay in chemistry. Bloody waste of a great mind for physics, if you ask me.”

  “Physics?” I asked. Michael shrugged, apparently embarrassed by the praise.

  “It’s good to see you again, Nigel.”

  “You, too. Did you hear about Fred?”

  Michael and Nigel started talking about a colleague from the physics department. Lucinda and Poppy handed them each a cup of tea, and then dragged me into my room. I sat down on my bed.

  “What the hell happened?” Lucinda was never one to beat about the bush. I didn’t know how to respond.

  “Did you sleep with him?” Poppy sat down next to me.

  “We slept in the same bed, but we didn’t…you know…”

  “Oh, God. She is still a virgin.” Lucinda said those words a bit louder perhaps than she intended. I heard a slight lull in the Nigel and Michael’s conversation in the next room, and was fairly certain they’d heard her, too.

  “Lucinda,” I hissed. “Must you?”

  “Yes, I must.” Her face softened. “Be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Nigel likes him,” said Poppy. Since the sun rose and set on Nigel’s opinion in Poppy-land, that was a huge point in his favor. Lucinda agreed.

  “He does seem to care for you, but he could trample your heart if you aren’t careful.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “I’ll be careful, but Michael isn’t what he seems. He’s actually a pretty good guy.” They both looked unconvinced, so I changed the subject. “How was Antarctica?”

  Lucinda groaned, and Poppy shook her head. “You shouldn’t have asked,” she whispered.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” said Lucinda. “I chased him all around the bloody apartment, and nothing happened.”

  Poppy cringed. “Antarctica has yet to be conquered,” she said softly.

  Lucinda covered her face with her hands. “It was awful. I tried everything. I showed him my cleavage. I brushed against him. I filled every sentence with sexual innuendo. I did everything short of jumping on him and ripping off his clothes.”

  “She came close,” Poppy murmured. “He lost a button.”

  Lucinda made a noise that sounded like a wail. “I am one continent away from completing my thesis, but Antarctica refuses to cooperate. I’m a failure.”

  “You said he’s shy. Give him some time.”

  Lucinda peeked out from between her fingers. “I’ll see him again tonight. I’m forcing him to take me to the cinema.”

  “Be gentle.”

  “Gentle?” Lucinda thought about it and sighed. “That would be new for me. Oh, Em. I think actually might like him.”

  Lucinda had never used that word before. The only nice things she ever said about her other lovers were adjectives to describe their skill in bed, or their size, things like, “I had a lovely time exploring Brazil last night,” or “That was quite the safari in Africa.” Lucinda saw them more as case studies than actual people, but this time seemed different.

  “I’m sure he likes you, too, Lucinda. All men like you. You’re like a walking, talking sex dream.”

  She smiled. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you, Emerson.”

  I stood up and stretched. “I have to pack. I’m staying with Michael for a few days.”

  “What?” Lucinda asked. They both folded their arms across their chests and literally blocked the door with their bodies.

  I rolled my eyes. They weren’t going to budge until they got answers. “Michael usually works nights, but he’s off right now. It’s a chance for us to spend a bit of time together.”

  They still looked unconvinced, so I played my ace in the hole. “Do you really want me to go back to Kentucky a virgin?”

  Lucinda and Poppy locked eyes, and then Lucinda winked at me. “If that’s the case, I have something for you.” She slipped out of the room, and came back with a tiny scrap of black lace hidden under her shirt. She waved it at me triumphantly.

  “What in tarnation is this?” I took it tentatively from her hands and held it up against my body. It was a very tiny, very sexy black lace teddy. “Oh, my. If I wear this, I could catch old and new-monia.”

  Lucinda grabbed it out of my hands and shoved it into my bag. “If you wear this, you’ll catch Michael Nightingale, and it’s about damned time.”

  Chapter Nine

  If “ifs” and “buts” were candies and nuts, then every day would be Christmas.

  ~Grandma Sugar

  Michael and I left the apartment and walked down the street. “I can’t believe you know Nigel. That made this whole situation a lot better.”

  “He’s a good man.” Michael went to shove his hands into his pockets, seemed to remember his cuts at the last moment, and linked his fingers through his belt loops instead. He’d dressed all in black again, looking like a dark, avenging angel. I’d fallen asleep with my hair wet, and still wore the clothes I’d slept in, so I looked like a weird cross between a ragamuffin and the bride of Frankenstein. We were quite the pair.

  “How long have you known Nigel?” he asked.

  “As long as I’ve known Poppy. They’ve been together forever.”

  Michael thought about this. “Has she met his parents?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  Michael nibbled on the silver ring on his lip. “I met them once. They were proper snobs. You know they’re titled, right?”

  “The whole Nigel is really Lord Nigel or something? Yeah, I know. What difference does it make?”

  “It can make quite a difference.” Michael sighed. “This isn’t America, Emerson. Poppy isn’t in the same social class as Nigel. I could tell as soon as she opened her mouth to speak.” I heard the pain in his voice and knew it came from personal experience.

  I measured my words carefully. “Well, Nigel doesn’t think like that. A lot of people don’t think like that. He loves Poppy and w
on’t let his parents come between them.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He looked at his watch. “Is there anything else you need to do before we go back?”

  “Can I stop at Mrs. Burke’s?”

  “You two are rather close, aren’t you? Especially after you beat up that thief for her.” Michael looked at me with a smile, but it froze on his face when I glared at him.

  “You were watching me. I knew it.”

  “Someone had to keep an eye on you. You’re completely mad, you know.” He clenched his jaw in irritation, two bright spots of color appearing on his cheeks.

  “And you elected yourself to be that person?”

  I didn’t think he would answer me, but he surprised me once again. “Something about you made me want to protect you. Against my better judgment, I might add. The least you could do is to make it a bit easier for me by not doing the most idiotic things possible all the time.”

  That hurt. “Okay. Sorry.”

  Michael gave me a curt nod and then looked at his watch. Mrs. Burke’s shop was only a few doors down. “You have half an hour.”

  Mrs. Burke greeted me at the door to her shop. As soon as she saw me, her face filled with concern.

  “What’s wrong, Emerson?”

  I opened my mouth and then shut it again, not knowing where to start. “I might not be here the next few days. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Is this about that Traveller?” Mrs. Burke’s normally sweet, soft face turned hard. She grabbed a pot of tea and some shortbread biscuits, and pulled me over to a table in a quiet corner of the shop. “It’s time we had a little talk.”

  Mrs. Burke went to get some teacups just as Leo walked into the shop. His eyes scanned the room, looking for me. I wanted to crawl away and hide, but he saw me and made a beeline for my table. He looked pale.

  “Where were you this morning?”

  My cheeks burned. “I slept in. How are you? You look tired.”

  “I’m fine. I had one pint too many last night, I suppose.” He pointed to the empty seat in front of me. “May I join you?”