Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance)

by Geralyn Beauchamp

  Shona merely nodded, her sense of warning exploding once again.

  “Good. We’re almost there.”

  They drove to the university where Evan Whittard waited, tired, disheveled and none too happy to see Philip from the way his posture suddenly changed from straight to crooked. It was his favorite way to convey to Shona and her mother his opinion of things. Her father’s face was impossible to read; the rest of him certainly wasn’t.

  “Philip! You old blighter, how are you?” Evan threw his briefcase into the car and then jumped in. “Felt bad about missing you yesterday, but couldn’t be helped. Meetings all afternoon.”

  Philip’s mock smile returned. “So glad to see you too, Evan. How long has it been?”

  Shona watched her father glance quickly at her mother, a brief exchange taking place. One of warning. She’d seen them do this before, every time Julia got testy about something.

  “Well, let’s see, for Maggie and I a good three years I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Mags?”

  Her mother nodded, her face expressionless. Shona could tell: for whatever reason, her parents weren’t very happy to see Philip at all.

  “We have so much to talk about this visit, Evan. You see, it will probably be the last. But of course Maggie told you that already.” Philip dished his words out to her father like a punishment.

  Evan turned slowly around in his seat to face him. “No, she didn’t mention anything about this being your last visit.”

  “Really? How very interesting. Well, now you know. Tell me, how does it make you feel?”

  Shona watched her father’s face drain of color. His shoulders tensed and one hand balled into a tight fist. She thought for a moment he was going to hit Philip, and almost wished he would.

  “Say there, Philip, where’s your cohort, Graves? I thought you never left home without him?” Her father’s question was not only a diversion, but an obvious insult as well. Maggie blanched.

  Philip smiled brightly. “He had to take care of some business I felt needed his immediate attention. We most likely won’t see either Graves or Kent until much later, if at all. But don’t worry, they’ll get along.”

  “Is that why Julia left them off just past the library? Do you have dealings in that section of town, Philip?” Maggie’s voice was genuinely curious, but with an edge.

  Philip crossed his legs in a casual gesture. “Ever the observant one, aren’t you Maggie? To answer your question, only recently. But Graves can take care of it.”

  “What sort of business is it?” Shona asked without thinking, the word ‘library’ repeating itself over and over in her mind.

  Philip smiled and patted her leg again. “Very brief business, my dear. Surplus that needs to be eliminated. Trivial, really.”

  She cocked her head at him.

  He studied her a moment and stroked his beard. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with. Dinner is the more pressing business. How much longer, Maggie?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  “Good. Hungry, Evan? I’m starved myself.”

  Her father turned to face forward again. “I was.”

  Philip laughed, clearly amused. “Come, Evan, now is not the time.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “You know perfectly well it’s not.” Philip chuckled lightly. “I suggest you save it for later.” He leaned forward and whispered in her father’s ear what sounded like, “much later,” in a voice that no longer laughed.

  “I’m looking forward to it. I have a few things I’d like to say to you, Philip.”

  Shona looked at Philip, waiting for his response, trying her best to learn how to read him.

  He sat there, face void of emotion. “As do I to you.” He uncrossed his legs, reached over and picked up a long lock of her hair which had escaped from the ribbon holding it back. Rubbing it between his fingers, he smiled warmly at her and spoke to her father. “Of course you already know what I have to say. You’ve been waiting for me to say it for quite awhile now, haven’t you, Evan?”

  Shona’s father turned again to face him, saw what he was doing and began to reach into the back seat, rage in his eyes. “Why you dirty…”

  “Evan!” Maggie screamed. “No! Calm down!”

  Shona could stand it no longer. “What is going on?”

  Philip ignored her, his eyes still intent on her father. “She has beautiful hair, doesn’t she?” He raised the lock to his face and inhaled deeply. “Ah, perfection.”

  “Philip, please. Not here and not now.” Maggie begged.

  “You are so right, Maggie. Please do forgive me. I apologize, Evan; I shan’t upset you again. Nor you, sweet Shona. Please accept my most humble apologies.” He let go of her hair.

  Shona shuddered. She had no idea what was going on between her parents and Philip. The only thing she did know was that she now not only felt sick to her stomach, but that it promised to be a very long evening.

  Oh, where are you? Do you know that I need your help? Philip, he frightens me. Something is terribly wrong here. Please, help me…

  But the mysterious man was too far away to answer.

  * * *

  Dallan’s long legs carried him throughout the downtown area in pointless circles until well after sunset. She was in danger. He sensed it, could feel it, but he didn’t know how to find her.

  He was halfway back to the shop before he realized he was being followed. He cursed himself for not having noticed the fellow before. The fact did little for his already lousy mood. He would like nothing better than to take it out on someone. Anyone would do; it might as well be whoever was tracking him.

  Dallan made his way past various small shops, remembering a narrow alley not far ahead that would serve well enough for dealing with the sneaky fellow behind him. He ducked into the alley, realizing the pain had lessened while his senses seemed to work better. He pondered on the cause as the hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning.

  His arm shot out and grabbed the next person to walk by within range. He pulled the gangly form roughly into the alley with him and threw him up against a wall, smiling.

  “You!” Dallan bellowed into his victim’s face.

  “You were expecting perhaps Queen Mary? Put me down!”

  “What are you doing here?” Dallan tightened his grip on Lany's shirt, pressing him up against the cold brick wall even further, causing his ribcage to creak.

  “Put ... me ... down,” he demanded through clenched teeth.

  Dallan shrugged and promptly let him drop the two feet to the pavement.

  Lany brushed the newest set of wrinkles out of his shirt and glared at Dallan who had gone to the other side of the alley to lean against the wall and seethe. “Dallan, just what the… the… do you think you’re doing?”

  Dallan’s expression became sardonic. He raised one eyebrow at the Assistant Councilor in answer.

  Lany glared back and resisted the urge to ball his hands into fists. “Don’t pull that with me! Not after you’ve just tried to paint the wall with my back. What are you doing here? I’ve been following you around for hours! It’s dark and dangerous out, not to mention well past dinner time. You should have gone back to the shop hours ago.”

  Dallan pushed himself away from the wall and took an intimidating step toward Lany, who made an equally intimidating move to the entrance of the alley and stood firmly, hands on hips. “Don’t even think of it. You are not going anywhere until you explain yourself.”

  “I might ask the same of you.” Dallan’s voice was low, his head cocked to one side. “Just what might you be doing following me?”

  Lany noted the Scot’s formal speech. It was not a good sign. He knew full well that Dallan was using every means to control himself at the moment. What could have set him off ? He decided he had better find out or the company was in for a long night of warrior-sitting.

  Correction. Lany would be the one in for a long night of warrior-sitting. “Well, if you must know, I’ve been watching your
back ...”

  “Quiet,” Dallan commanded.

  Lany looked around himself and then listened… to the heavy traffic…to the tens, twenties, perhaps hundreds of people in the street mere feet away from the alley.

  “He’s lost it.” Lany mumbled to himself. And I’m the one stuck with him. “Heaven help us all.”

  Dallan quickly left the alley without warning.

  “What are you doing?” Lany asked, annoyed but relieved as he caught up to the Scot.

  Dallan didn’t even look at him. “Be quiet and stay with me.” It was clearly another command.

  Lany suddenly felt the goose bumps rise up over various parts of his anatomy. He’d had this feeling once before, twelve years ago specifically. One never forgets what it feels like to be followed.

  “How long…,” Lany began.

  “Since before the alley. Now be quiet and keep moving.”

  “But I don’t th…”

  “Quiet!”

  “Fine,” Lany mumbled to himself. No use arguing now, not with an unknown assailant trailing them. He wondered if this newest threat had perhaps followed him to Dallan but then figured they would be finding out in the next five minutes.

  The two men rounded a corner. Dallan began to sprint, dragging Lany along with him, then ducked into the first alley they came to and unceremoniously threw Lany up against the wall.

  Twice in one day was too much. “Now see here, DallamPHF!”

  Dallan had clapped a hand over Lany’s mouth so fast he didn’t even have time to react. “I’ll ask ye one more time to keep quiet. Either comply or I will keep ye quiet myself.” He whispered into his face before taking his hand away.

  Lany wanted nothing better than to let him verbally have it with both barrels, but the intense look on the big man’s face stopped him. Whoever was following them was close by. Better let the Weapons Master handle things his own way.

  Then again, that might not be such a hot idea either…

  Dallan grabbed Lany suddenly and, after dragging him deeper into the alley, lifted him atop a huge green metal box, one of many they had seen throughout the city—a trash receptacle, Lany thought. The Scot motioned for him to be quiet, then jumped up onto it himself with a speed and grace one would think a man of his size incapable of. He further displayed his agility by leaping onto a fire escape a good twelve feet away, hardly making a sound as he did.

  Lany let go a tiny smile. Kwaku had taught the Weapons Master well.

  Dallan turned on the tiny escape landing and faced Lany, positioning himself into a crouch. He motioned for quiet again and mouthed the word “watch” as he pointed toward the alley’s entrance.

  Sure enough, two men were just entering the shadows. They hadn’t seen Dallan but Lany would be hard to miss, sitting as he was atop a smelly garbage bin. Looking as if he were waiting to see a sadistic dentist.

  Lany decided his best pollster’s look was more fitting for the occasion and plastered it on instead, just as one of the two thugs caught sight of him. The thug stared at him with an odd look on his face as he nudged his companion with an elbow. The other man, a much larger fellow took in the sight and all but licked his lips, making Lany shiver slightly atop his perch with revulsion. He resisted the urge to glare at the Scot lying in wait like a huge cat above him. So, he thought, I’m bait. Okay, fine. He crossed his legs and took on a casual air.

  The thugs came up to the bin, measuring up any possible threat his thin form might contain. Apparently they decided there was none. “Whaddaya know, Mr. Graves? Garbage man forgot to pick this one up,” the shorter of the two chuckled to his more serious companion, who was scanning the alley with a killer’s eye.

  Perhaps being in Dallan’s company at the moment wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Where’s your big friend?” the killer, Mr. Graves, asked casually as he reached into the jacket of his obviously tailor made suit. Lany especially noted the man’s accent and dress, both quite similar to Philip Brennan’s. Not hard to guess who sent them, he thought.

  Lany smiled and glanced upward as if pondering the man’s statement, just catching the grin on Dallan’s face above him. It was all the encouragement Lany needed. “Oh,” he shrugged, “I suppose he’s still in there.”

  The two men looked at each other. “In where?” The shorter and obviously dumber one asked.

  “There.” Lany pointed to a steel door in the shadows. It probably led into whatever establishment fronted the street. Judging from the smell of the alley, it was most likely a restaurant, one that served a lot of fish…

  “Funny, I could have sworn he was back here with you.” Graves now spoke as he pulled out the gun he’d been keeping his hand on beneath his jacket. He pointed it directly at Lany and took a threatening step toward the trash bin. “Get down.”

  Lany smiled and looked to the star-filled sky. “Well, all right, if you insist. But only on one condition.”

  “Condition?” Graves asked as he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a black metal tube. He began to screw it onto the end of his gun. Lany had heard of these; a silencer, it was called. He also knew he was going to be dead if Dallan didn’t do something quickly.

  “Yes, condition,” Lany said calmly, stalling as best he could. Now all he had to do was think of a condition in the next three seconds.

  “And what might that be?” Graves replied, now totally amused.

  Lany had been thinking so hard on what to say that he almost didn’t notice the shorter man was gone, and replaced by a very fierce-looking Weapons Master. Mr. Graves, taking small steps toward Lany while he talked, stood not more than five feet in front of him. He was now perfectly positioned between the trash bin and the seething Scot, who looked as if he’d had enough.

  Lany had his condition. “That you don’t turn around.”

  Graves sneered at him. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

  Lany merely smiled.

  Graves rolled his eyes. "Americans." He mumbled then asked the inevitable. "And why not?"

  Lany’s smile grew wider. “Oh, I can think of about two hundred and eighty reasons, but I really don’t think you want to know what they are.” He squinted knowingly as Dallan shot him a disgusted look. “Uh, by the way, your friend’s gone.”

  “What? Kent?” Graves called. He backed up a step to ensure Lany couldn’t reach him and promptly turned around when he got no answer. He then fell to the ground in a heap after Dallan’s fist smashed into his face.

  Lany peered down at Graves a moment and nodded to himself. Out cold. He hopped off his perch, mumbling about the stupidity of twentieth-century hoodlums while Dallan examined his catch.

  “Where’s the Brain?” Lany asked as he scanned the area for the other cadaver. Dallan nodded off to his right, and Lany could barely see the silent heap in the shadows. “Anyone you know?” He asked, glancing from one unconscious—at least he hoped they were just unconscious—form to the other.

  Dallan stood. “I rather hoped ye could tell me. I do have a bloody good idea, though.” He spoke flatly, wearing a grave look of concern on his face.

  “That makes two of us,” Lany muttered. “The man at the Maiden’s house yesterday?”

  Dallan nodded. “I wasna in the house when he came and never saw him, But I… I felt him.”

  Lany raised a curious brow at the statement.

  Dallan shook his head, eyes narrowing at the crumpled heap before him. “This isna him. The man from the house ‘twas with her folk today though. At least he felt the same.” His eyes now held a far off look, as if he was trying vainly to remember something. “Who is he, Master Lany? Or are ye going to keep that bit o’ information from me, too?” He asked sarcastically. Dallan bent to the man on the pavement, grabbed him by the collar and shook him a few times. No good; still out.

  “Maybe next time you shouldn’t hit so hard.” Lany commented dryly. “We’ll never find out anything at this rate.”

  “Answer my question.”


  Lany sighed. “Their boss’s name is Philip Brennan.” He was unsure how much he could tell Dallan and still be able to keep him in line.

  “What does he ha’ to do wi’… Shona?” Dallan stood again, towering over Lany with one of the most intense stares he had ever seen. Lany was glad it was boring holes into the body on the ground and not his own skull. This must be the look that always gave Eaton a headache.

  Wait a minute. Did the Scot just call the Maiden by her given name? Well, this was a breakthrough…

  “Master Lany…” Dallan’s voice was stern.

  Lany quickly made a mental note to himself: Don’t tell him everything, yet give him enough of the truth to keep him happy. “He’s a close friend of the family as I understand it. Now, I don’t know what he might need these…” he gestured to the still-unconscious forms, “uh, people for. Or what’s left of them.”

  “Weel, then. Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Lany looked confused for only a second before he heard the man at their feet groan. Dallan bent down and watched him come around.

  “Uh, just what are you going to do?” Lany asked, cautious yet curious.

  Dallan grinned at him. “The same thing I would like to ha’ done wi’ you if given half the chance.” He shrugged. “But, 'twould upset John, so I suppose I’ll ha’ to make do wi’ these for now.”

  Lany couldn’t believe Dallan was suddenly in such a light mood with the prospect of pulverizing someone. But then again, after ten years Kwaku was bound to rub off on him a little. “So, uh, what did you have in mind?”

  The Weapons Master’s grin broadened. “Ye dinna happen to ken where we might find some humiliating form of persuasion, would ye now?”

  Lany knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but desperate times did call for desperate measures. Besides, it sounded like fun. He grinned back and looked at the man called Graves as he began to regain consciousness. “Give me a minute.”

  And with that, Dallan’s fist once again connected with Grave’s face, sending him back to the ground and giving Lany time to think on the best possible course of humiliation.