by Kimbra Swain
I stood there staring at the stairway. I looked back down the hallway to the door that opened to the portal. “Oh, don’t be a chicken-shit.” I told myself and headed down the steps. When I got to the bottom, I swear, it was a room that opened up to various monitors and multiple computers. Some of the monitors showed newscasts, others showed various trading market numbers. One in particular had the name of everyone who worked in the training area at the Agency from custodian to instructors with a monetary amount next to the name. I saw my name there with the 7.4 million next to it. I closed my eyes and grimaced. She must manage the accounts of the whole training area, not just mine. I thought to myself, “Check in the asshole box for me. It’s right under potential partner, single Hispanic male and jaguar guardian.” And right in the midst of this underground lair a blonde woman in a bathrobe with both of her legs propped up in the chair sipping a cup of tea. When she sat the mug on the desk, it proudly proclaimed in bold black letters, I LOVE DOGS! I cleared my throat, because the last thing I needed was a fireball to the face. Or one of those floating orb thingies which I noticed also sat in a silver dish on the desk. She spun in the chair and looked surprised, but not startled.
“Hey um, I just didn’t want to sneak up on you.” I said waving at her like a newb.
She cocked her head sideways and said, “Damn, George,” and rolled back around to watch the screens.
“Yeah, he’s the damnedest,” I said trying to find the right words, but still stumbling over myself.
“You heading out?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so.” I started to continue, but she cut me off.
“Be careful on the portal back, it’s a bad jump. Time zone effect,” she said.
“Um, yeah I wondered about that, because yesterday when we got here it was the same time it was in Colorado.”
She chuckled still not looking at me, “And how long did it take you to figure that out?”
“It hit me on my run this morning.”
“Hmm. Run. Where did you run to?”
“To the boat dock. The sea is nice.”
“You went on the dock,” she said realizing why she couldn’t feel me on the island. Her eyes lit up with understanding.
“Yeah, I even dipped my feet in the water.”
“You are welcome to come back and swim if you want. As long as it isn’t storming, the water is nice. It’s safe here. Oh, this is yours. I forgot I had it,” she said and handed me a plain black credit card with the initials KBS on it. Across the bottom it had my full name.
“What’s this?” I asked looking at the card.
“You didn’t pick it up 6 months ago when we issued cards to those who had the investment accounts. I had it in my desk here. It’s tied to your account. You can use it at any time.”
“What should I know about the portal?”
“Well, when you go back you will gain a bunch of time back via the time zone change. It’s what 8am here?” She clicked the mouse on the desk and the monitor to her right showed the time 12am, “See you can go back and get some sleep before getting up again in the morning.”
I was utterly confused. “What? It’s the same time when you come here, but not when you leave?”
She laughed again, “No, that’s because it was Saturday.”
“What the hell does Saturday have to do with it?
“Everything,” she said flatly, picked up the offensive mug and sipped her tea. She finally turned around to look at me and put her feet on the floor. I could tell she was wearing cotton shorts and a tee shirt underneath. It’s the most informal I’d ever seen her. She looked hot. Sorry, but I’m a guy. Couldn’t have her, didn’t want the hassle, but damn she looked good. Until I met her eyes, they were red and bloodshot. “It’s a funny story really. I’d like to tell you sometime, but not today. Are you leaving right now?” she asked.
I shuffled my feet and looked down at the boots. They were such nice boots. “These boots are great.” I managed to newb it up again.
“Yes, they look good on you,” she barely smiled at me. Like she tried to force it. I got the feeling I was torturing her.
“Grrrr,” I let out a manly frustrated noise and sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and put my head in my hands.
“What’s wrong, Tadeas?”
“I am going to sound like an idiot, just so you know.” She squished her face up not understanding where I was going with such a statement, but I rambled on, “And after thinking about last night, and yesterday, and the last three months, I think maybe I need to alter some of the things I said last night.”
“Huh?” she uttered.
I ran my hands through my hair and made that frustrated man noise again. I stood up quickly and started to pace left and right in front of her. She sat about 5 feet away from me watching silently. “I need a haircut.”
“I like it long,” she said finishing off her tea, but continued to hold the mug.
“Really?” I asked stopping to look at her.
“Yeah, but not too much longer than it is now.”
“Huh,” I muttered shrugging my shoulders. “Look, I know I’m not making any sense. And that’s the problem. I can’t think straight. I keep thinking I’ve made the decision once and for all. But honestly, I need more time to think, and come to a decision that I’m comfortable with in the end. I don’t know if my answer will change, but I rushed to it last night. To be honest, I’m not happy about my actions yesterday afternoon or last night.”
She simply looked at me and said, “Sure. Take whatever time you need.” She stood up and walked toward me, “I’ll show you out.” I could hear her heartbeat very clearly. It remained steady. She was in control. She went up the stairs with that damned empty mug in her hand, and I followed like a lost dog. Or cat. Or boy. Just lost.
“Hold it together, girl,” I told myself. I really thought he left. I could have lived with it. Just sat in my little hidey hole, and ignore the world for a bit. Well, not completely. Hard to ignore the world when there are 20 screens of it in front of you. I was wearing my bathrobe for heaven’s sake. George could have told me he was still here. I’m going to have to have a talk with him. Non-interference in this case was inexcusable. Ugh, George. I heard his footsteps behind me as we climbed the stairs. I don’t even have shoes on. I sighed.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Yes. No. Not really.” I sputtered. If I tried to talk, I’d sound more ridiculous and rambling than he did downstairs. I just had to get him to the portal door and say goodbye. Then I could rest, and whatever happened would happen. I picked up the pace.
“George didn’t tell you I was still here.”
I spun around on him, and he stopped in his tracks. I must have looked positively wild. Disheveled hair, barefoot, bathrobe, shorts and a tee shirt. It hit me then I didn’t have on a bra, and I self-consciously wrapped the robe up and tied the belt up so quickly and with a fury that the ends of the belt flung around as I let go of them. The mug almost slipped out of my hand in the process. George had brought my tea in the damned thing. Which means he knew that Tadeas was still here, and gave me the stupid mug anyway. My anger was building. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t. Is there anything I need to know?” I asked. He didn’t know what to say.
“Um, I don’t think so,” he said with his eyebrows raised.
“Good,” I said. I turned on my heel and started walking again. However, before my good sense, manners, and several lifetimes of experience could kick in, I tore him a new one. I spun around this time so fast that he almost ran into me. I swear he almost squealed. He took a step back, “What you are telling me Mr. Duarte, is that you spent the night in my warm, peaceful house, you used my property for your self-improvement, you are taking a $300-dollar pair of boots, you ate my fucking bacon, and you think you have the gall to come to me and ask for an extension on a job offer you already turned down?” My voice was several octaves higher and much louder by the end of the rant. The control I had
on my demeanor evaporated, and my heart raced. Well, there it was.
“Um, um, well, if I can’t...”
“No. Don’t you dare start stammering at me again, Tadeas Duarte! I’ve had about enough mindless chatter in the last 24 hours to last me another lifetime!” It felt good to yell at him. I had been humble. I had been accepting. I had taken my lumps. No more.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you, Abby. You won’t have to worry about my mindless drivel anymore,” he huffed and passed me to open the door to the portal closet. I thought that was it, then he turned on me and stuck a finger in my face, “But for your information, you are the one that stalked me for two freaking years, and you think I was just going to be okay with that? Did you think that I’d fall at your feet and thank you for offering me a job? Honey, you are pretty, but you ain’t that pretty.”
“I don’t want your compliments. I don’t care what you think I look like or how much money I have. I have spent so much time worrying about what you thought of me, but you made it abundantly clear that you think I’m just some rich, blonde bimbo trying to pick up her next good lay. You couldn’t be more wrong.” My voice cracked. It did matter what he thought of me. Don’t you fucking cry now, Abigail, I told myself.
“I should go,” he muttered and turned and walked through the portal.
“Yes, you should,” I snarled and threw the damn mug at the wall next to the door, and it shattered into a million pieces.
George was right behind me, and I turned around into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and let me cry. “You needed to let it out,” he said softly.
“No, not like that,” I sobbed already regretting my words. “He wanted more time. And instead of me getting exactly what I hoped for, his decision ignited anger in me. And now I’m being a blubbering baby. Some badass, I am.”
“You both are confused right now. Just give it a little time,” he comforted me, “Besides he didn’t eat all the fucking bacon.”
I smiled a little at that, George used the “f” word. A wise man once told me that you can use the “f” word in a business or formal setting once per day, but only for emphasis. There isn’t anything more important than bacon. I pulled back and looked at him. “I went about this the wrong way. It can’t be fixed.”
“It doesn’t matter the way you did it, child. The people involved are the right people, and eventually you both will come to an understanding,” he said with full confidence.
“Can you see the future, George?” I asked because I didn’t know all the capabilities of a Watcher.
“No, Miss Abby, I can’t.”
“Then you need a trip on the reality bus,” I replied.
He cocked his head and laughed, “Maybe I do. But you will find that I have just a little more experience watching this world over eons, and you learn a few things along the way. I watched both of you. It will work out.”
Well, I suppose if the retired angel had faith in it, then I could, too. But at this point, I just wanted to go back to bed. I did. I kissed him on the cheek, and walked back to my bedroom. I dropped the bathrobe on the floor, and got back in bed.
I don’t know how long I slept when the nightmare returned. Darkness swirled around me. A tunnel leading to an apartment in New York City. Four mob thugs. A sorcerer. And my death. I screamed. I wanted it to stop. I didn’t want to live it over and over again. Then the black swirled again and I slept.
I woke up knowing I’d dreamed it again. My body shivered even though I was under the blankets. It was the middle of July, but I was cold. I took deep breaths, and reminded myself it was a memory. A long-gone memory. I got up and stumbled to the bathroom. I started running hot water in the bathtub. I went down to the room across from the sitting room. I fondly called it the bourbon room, because I love bourbon and this room had a beautiful wooden two-seater bar. Two large leather recliners that flanked a rich Spanish wood carved mantle and fireplace. Two sets of double doors led out to the courtyard patio. I poured a shot of Buffalo Trace, and downed it. I poured two more in one glass, added a couple of cubes of ice and headed back to the bath. George watched me from the sitting room. He was dusting again. I swear this is the dustiest house in the world. Either that or he just keeps a duster handy when he’s spying on me. I shrugged. I pulled a small table from my bedroom into the bath next to the tub. I really needed a small side table for this. I decided that I’d go shopping when I get back to Colorado. If I went back to Colorado. I lounged in the tub, drinking my bourbon and once the water started to chill I got out and dried off. I felt better. I grabbed a long, comfortable maxi dress from the closet and a pair of sandals. As I walked down the hall, George came out of Tadeas’ room. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked.
“No thanks. Everything okay in there?”
“Yes, just straightening up after he left. Just in case.”
“Just in case what?”
“You know.”
“Hmph,” I grunted, “Fat chance old man. I’m going for a walk.”
“Okay then. You will eat when you get back.” he stated, not asking.
I walked up and patted his cheek. “Yes, I will. When I get back.”
He smiled, satisfied with my answer, and I headed out along the path to the dock. The wind picked up, and I could feel a storm building over the water in the distance. It would be several hours before it got here. I continued to walk. I got close enough to see the dock and the water. I stopped. I followed the same path that Tadeas took today. I needed to take my own path now. It was time to make new decisions. Control my own life and stop obsessing with this futile endeavor. I turned and started walking back to the house. I walked around the far end of the stables and looked back over the fields of grapes. I could just retire. I doubted my ability to continue the work I did before I went into seclusion. I had secluded myself, and the world had raced forward without me. I was no longer the brilliant woman I used to be. It was probably best that I just hang it up. If I ended up with another dead partner… The thought of it wrenched through me. I lost Lincoln. It would kill me to lose Tadeas. No, he made the right choice. I would have been the death of him. I continued walking. I enjoyed my romp through self-pity. I reminded myself that I was a formidable woman. A powerful one. Someone who caused the darkness of this world to cringe and hide. That part of me was still there. I just had to believe in it. I came to a rotunda built in the midst of the vines and sat down on one of the stone benches.
The rotunda had 12 Greek columns. One for each month of the year. Stone benches crossed between every other set of columns, six of them. The sixth month of the year, June, was my birth month. A large silver inlaid circle for conjuring rested in the granite floor. The circle framed with a repeating pattern of Celtic shield knots was carved into the granite. The shield knot represented protection. The Celtic traditions were part of my heritage, my grandfather had explained. After leaving Tartarus, he found a home amongst the deities of the Tuatha De Danann, and thus my maternal family had ties to those old myths. The center of the circle had a Christian cross. The head of the cross pointed north, and each side pointing a navigational direction. Dark blue and grey marble made up the sections of the cross. The whole thing opened to nature with no walls, but the dome ceiling was supported by the columns. The inside of the dome had a beautiful painting representing Helios, Eos and Selene. A giant golden sun flanked by a silver moon and thorny vines with large pink roses stretched all around it. The children of my grandfather, Hyperion. He took a modern name once the time came for him to in the public eye as the leader of KBS, Gregory Theodoard. He said names were important. That we should have noble names. Names that represented who we were. That was a joke in my case. My first name had always been Abigail meaning “father’s joy.” The irony. I didn’t even know my father, and I highly suspected that he had me killed many years ago. But when my mother had someone drop me off at a girl’s home in Bristol, England, they were told my name, Abigail. I was no more of a joy to my father than I was t
o my mother who dumped me off at the age of 3. I had many aliases, and as a kid I made up Davenport. I liked the sound of it. Sounded very British. It became who I was, Abigail Davenport.
I looked over the rotunda and sighed. I hadn’t conjured or cast anything in this circle since before Lincoln died. I really had no need to do so. The wards that my grandfather and Manannan Mac Lir established protected the island. Along the way Lincoln added to them, and eventually I did as well. I never summoned demons. I never needed to protect myself on the island. The whole thing was something I spent money on because I could. It was beautiful without a doubt. But an indulgence. Lincoln had me practice maneuvers for the field. We used circles in combat as a sneak attack to trap a foe. Beyond that, it was just a pretty little porch. I looked up across the vineyards, and I could see the tower of the small chapel and the cross on top. I decided to walk that way.
As I approached the church, I felt the winds shift. I thought perhaps the storm would pass me now. I entered the quiet little church. It was dark. Not much light outside with the clouds to illuminate the stained glass.
“Incendio,” I muttered and the candles and torches around the room kindled to life. The flames flickered with drafts from the wind outside. I sat down on one of the benches and looked at the altar ahead. “I could pray, I suppose,” I said to the empty room.
“Praying is always a good idea,” said a strong male voice I recognized behind me.