“Aye.” He bent down to Devlin. “I’ll be right outside, son. I need to talk to Aunt Brianna.”
Brianna’s eyes were shiny but Patrick kept his own despair in check.
“I don’t know how much he understands,” Patrick said as they entered the drawing room. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“I don’t know anything about troubled children, Patrick.”
“But, when Violet was ill you found a way to heal her.”
“My sister had a medical problem,” she said. “A blood disorder. Devlin’s problems are much more delicate. Elusive.”
Something occurred to Patrick, something he hadn’t yet considered.
“But future medicine helped Violet,” he said.
Brianna nodded, then gave him a questioning look. “Patrick, what are you thinking?”
“Thank you again, Brianna.”
“Patrick?” she asked again.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
Brianna stopped in front of the open door. “Call me if you need anything?”
“Aye,” he said quickly. He ushered her out the door, eager to puzzle out the notion taking root in his mind. Future medicine had healed the Pixie’s sister. Perhaps there was a chance he could find help for Devlin in the future, too.
That night, Patrick sat on the edge of his bed. He eyed the small pallet bed set against one wall, closely watching the little form curled upon it.
Devlin began to toss and turn, kicking at the blankets and flailing his fists in the air. His face bore evidence of a nightmare Patrick feared would rival his own. God, he wouldn’t wish such a fate on his worst enemy.
Patrick rose and approached the little bed. “Forgive me, son,” he said softly.
A soft sobbing met his ears as Devlin sat up. His eyes snapped open, pinning Patrick with their blue gaze. Devlin reached out and took Patrick’s hand, sending a spark up his arm.
“Devlin,” Patrick gasped.
The boy just stared at him, his mouth moving soundlessly. Patrick could feel it, a plea to free the boy from his penance. Ah, God. Devlin shouldn’t have to pay for his father’s sin.
“What is it, son?” Patrick sat on the pallet beside him, still holding tight to his hand. “Pray, tell me.”
The boy blinked, his gaze suddenly as clear as water. No tears showed on his smooth cheeks, but the anguish in his eyes cut Patrick deeply. He hugged Devlin as he had that afternoon and, after a heart-stopping moment, the boy relaxed against his chest.
“I will fix this, Devlin.” Patrick cried the tears his son couldn’t, his own cheeks wet as he cradled his son. “You won’t pay for my sin any longer. I make you my promise.”
***
Patrick stood in the clearing, his hand clutching the amber tied around his neck. He pushed aside a touch of guilt as he fingered the coin-sized slice of stone. Surely his uncle wouldn’t miss the talisman for the short time Patrick would be gone. He wore Luke’s future clothes, too. Breeches of rough blue fabric and a soft shirt of tartan plaid. On his feet he wore the most surprisingly comfortable shoes. Painted leather topping thick soles that felt like a featherbed. If his journey went as he hoped, he would have his family’s belongings back to them before they discovered them missing.
He closed his eyes and imagined the place Luke had found his Pixie. The amber began to warm against his palm. A sound filled his ears, like howling wind or rushing water. The ground tilted beneath his feet and then… silence. A moment later he fell on his backside. Hard. He released the amber and braced his hands behind him.
The ground was rough beneath his palms, with none of the clearing’s soft grass. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and found he sat on a walk made of what felt like limestone. People walking past him shot him odd looks, and he guessed he shouldn’t be sitting right there.
Giving a slight groan, he stood and rolled his shoulders. As he stepped over to the brick building closest to him, he refrained from rubbing his backside in clear view of these “now” people.
Patrick leaned against the building, his eyes darting from one wonder to the next. Carriages and wagons—cars and trucks, his brother had told him—made their noisy way up and down the wide street. They were as loud and noxious-smelling as Luke had said, and Patrick would no longer wonder if Luke made up the tales of this Indianapolis.
The people here looked much like those in the dell, though. Aside from their dress, that was. Some of the men wore comfortable clothes like he did. Others wore jackets with matching breeches and long, thin neck cloths. They all seemed to be in a hurry.
“Excuse me,” a breathy, female voice said from behind him.
Patrick saw that he blocked the entrance to the building at his back and stepped away to allow the woman to pass. She flipped her long, golden hair and gazed at him over one shoulder. To his surprise her eyes held an offer he’d seen many times before. Lord, his charm worked on mortal women! This was a complication he didn’t need.
“Pray, forgive me,” he said as he stepped further away from her.
She stared at him, her eyes slightly out of focus, and ran a hand over her short skirt. Toying with its hem, she smiled. “No problem.”
Patrick held himself still. After a long moment she walked past him, no doubt swaying her slender hips for his attention. Patrick dismissed her from his mind in the next instant. Even if he weren’t in such a hurry to find help for Devlin he wouldn’t make such ill use of a woman. But it would take a tight rein to keep his charm in check. The time jump must have jarred his control.
He glanced up and down the busy street, trying to get his bearings in the strange place. MacDonald Braunachs were cunning, but even his sharp mind couldn’t figure out the location of the healing place without some help. He knew it was called the Children’s Hospital, from Luke and Brianna’s tales. That was the place he sought. But, where was it?
He nodded absently at another woman who looked him up and down. He could no doubt charm one of the women here into telling him. He stepped closer to her and her lips parted. But he wouldn’t dare risk the inevitable side effect. The scar high on his back began to throb and he shook his head. A sexual dalliance wasn’t to anyone’s advantage.
He began to walk down the sidewalk, keeping well away from the smelly and crowded roadway, and tried to find someone to help him in his quest. It was morning here as it had been in the clearing, and the weather was similar to that he left behind. It was spring here in Indianapolis too, then.
A tall thick man in a dark blue uniform with the look of authority about him stood on the nearest corner. A constable, perhaps? Surely he would be the one to help Patrick.
He stepped toward the man. “Pardon me, sir?”
The dark-haired man turned and ran his eyes over Patrick. Apparently Patrick passed the unknown test, for the constable visibly relaxed and nodded.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“I need the location of the Children’s Hospital, please.”
The man arched a thick brow. “It’s north of the city, pal. Up Meridian.”
With such tall buildings around him, Patrick couldn’t guess which way was north. And he had no idea what “meridian” the man spoke of.
“I don’t know how to find north,” he admitted.
“Look, buddy. Get on the bus over there and it’ll take you up to the hospital.” He nodded and smiled at last. “Just watch for the stops.”
Patrick blinked. Bus? He opened his mouth to ask another question but the constable had already turned his attention to a small group of adolescents laughing and rough-housing on the other side of the street. They wore torn and baggy pants and Patrick was surprised to see their drawers peeping from above the waistbands. He turned back to the constable to ask what, precisely, a “bus” was, but the lawman was already on his way to halt the young men’s antics.
Patrick looked to where the man had indicated, finding a few benches set near a wider expanse of street. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to cross the thoroughfare to reach it.
He made his way toward the benches, reading the signs along the sidewalk. When he reached the “bus stop” he was relieved to find a map within, along with a sign listing several stops.
“It must be like a post carriage,” he said.
He gave a start and glanced around, pleased to find no one within hearing. He’d have to watch himself. It wouldn’t do for some mortal to find him peculiar. They might call the constable and delay Patrick’s quest. He would brook no such delay. Not when Devlin was depending on him.
He sat on the bench, watching the people who passed by as he waited for the bus. More than one woman eyed him as the others had and he fought to keep a look of disinterest on his face.
A roar louder than any of the cars he’d seen so far brought a large vehicle toward him. He gulped and came to his feet. The carriage was huge, with sunlight glinting off its wide silver front as it groaned and wheezed to a stop. With a squeak and whoosh, the door opened and he steeled himself. He stepped up onto the bus, ignoring a stench like burning peat. The driver nodded to him. Patrick pulled out a piece of future money and handed it to the driver.
He eyed the bill. “Where you goin’? Canada?”
Patrick shook his head and smiled. A bit of charm would keep the man from thinking him daft.
“How much to go to the Children’s Hospital?” he asked.
The man blinked, and then returned his smile. “Two bucks’ll get you that far. I’ll let you know when we get close to yer stop.”
Patrick found two notes with the numeral one on them and handed them over. “I thank you.”
As he moved to take a seat, the bus lurched to life. He clutched at the nearest railing, holding his breath as the vehicle swayed from side to side. He made his way to the nearest vacant seat and settled back, ignoring the mortals around him.
The horrid smell was faint with the vehicle’s door closed, but it still stung his nostrils. To ease his roiling stomach, he looked out the window.
As they traveled north of the city, more green grass could be seen. Spring-waking trees stood along the road, and he began to think the city was rather pretty. The bus made a few jerking stops, and people got on and off with looks of purpose on their faces. He held on to the seat.
Soon he accustomed himself to the rocking motion and looked about the bus. His gaze settled on a young mortal woman seated across from him. She was a pretty little thing, with long sable hair tied back to swing free to her shoulders. A ponytail, he knew from Brianna. His sister-in-law favored the same style. This girl wore breeches as well, like Brianna often did.
She held a thick book in her lap, and pored over the contents with a slight frown on her brow. Patrick watched her, eyeing her rosy lips as she mouthed one word or other to herself. He tried to read the book’s title, but couldn’t as the cover pressed against her knees.
He opened his mouth to ask about her book, closing it with a snap in the next instant. He wouldn’t engage a mortal woman in conversation. He already felt a pull toward the pretty girl, watching as she sat so gracefully with her ponytail gently swaying with the bus’s motion. With his nerves in such a raw state from Devlin’s trouble and the time jump to this strange world, he suspected his charm would be out of his control with a woman he found attractive. But as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind one shell-like ear, he acknowledged the attraction to himself at least. She fingered the corner of the page before she turned it, stroking the edge with the tip.
“Children’s Hospital,” the driver called.
Patrick straightened and shook off his contemplation. He hid his smile as the pretty girl shot the driver a look of surprise. Apparently his charm ensured such preferential treatment from the driver, since no other stops had been called during the ride. Shrugging her slight shoulders, she gathered up her books and a large pack. Patrick glanced out the window as the bus stopped and saw a large sign that confirmed the driver’s words.
Relieved, he stood. The girl stilled across from him as he faced her, and then her eyes ran slowly over his form. To his dismay, her interest didn’t fill him with dread. Instead heat flooded him and he leaned away from her. She gave him a small smile, just a slight curve of her full lips, but he felt it more keenly than the woman who’d eyed him hungrily on the street earlier.
When this girl stood and hurried off the bus, he was oddly relieved. But he had to follow her lead, at last stopping to stare up at the massive building as the girl disappeared from his view. The bus door slammed shut behind him and the vehicle squealed and roared as it continued up the street.
Patrick walked slowly up to the large glass doors, staring at his puzzled reflection as he looked for a handle. To his astonishment the doors slid open as soon as he stepped closer. With a touch of hope, he realized this place wasn’t without its own magic.
Chairs filled seating areas in the very large lobby, but otherwise the inside of the hospital confused him. Signs bearing words he had never read hung on the walls, with arrows directing people one way or the other. He spied a large desk set against one wall and recognized the word above it: information. The old woman behind the counter smiled when he walked up to her, which he decided to take as a sign his luck might be about to change.
“Hello, Madam,” he began with a grin. “I need a bit of help.”
***
Tara Connor closed her textbook and donned the white lab coat hanging in her locker. She put the book on the stack set on the top shelf and let out a breath. With just a few more credits she’d finally be able to leave the books behind.
She peered into the mirror on her locker door, tucking one strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. She wore no makeup this morning. She sighed. She’d had no time, really. She stashed her backpack in the locker and closed the door.
As she headed for the behavior lab, she reviewed the cases she’d read about most recently. The kids in the lab, her kids, brought by parents desperate for the latest techniques in reaching them, challenged her mind and her heart. Mostly suffering from different degrees of Autism, the children built walls around themselves. Tara considered it her calling to breach those walls, and she’d gladly used all the financial aid she’d earned and the grant money she’d won to find a way to reunite these kids with their parents. It was a pity she’d had no way to reach her own.
“Good morning, Miss Connor,” a passing nurse called with a smile.
Tara smiled her own greeting and pushed open the swinging door leading to the lab. Already four children waited just outside the glass-enclosed playroom, their still bodies and blank faces a testament to the reason for their visit. She once more felt that determination fill her.
“Hello, Miss Connor,” one of the mother’s said.
The woman’s red-rimmed eyes held hope that touched Tara’s heart. The little girl at her side, Chelsea, said nothing and made no expression of recognition in Tara’s direction.
“Hello, Chelsea.” With a bright smile, Tara opened the door to the playroom and the grown-ups ushered in the children. Chelsea and the others took halting steps, but let their parents direct them for now.
Tara sucked in a breath, harnessing all of her spirit, knowledge and hope, and entered the playroom herself.
***
Patrick at last found the place the old woman had told him of, the “lab” where children with such problems as Devlin came for help. He prayed there was some elixir here to right their injured minds, and that it would work on his son. Last night he’d held Devlin in his arms and made him his promise. He would sooner die than go back on his word.
He began to search for some indication of a medicine that would work, vowing he would gladly steal any opportunity to give the boy a chance at a real life.
This smaller place didn’t seem as daunting as the entrance to the hospital. Here the walls were painted with lively characters, like rabbits and mice and flowers. Brightly-colored chairs both large and child-sized lined the walls, and there was less of that stinging smell he’d encountered in the
hallways. He looked around, trying to fathom where to begin to find his answers.
Through a glass wall he saw what looked like a nursery. Balls and dolls and blocks littered the floor which was covered with a shiny soft-looking padding. There were a few children within. Some appeared older than Devlin and others just his age. One boy rocked back and forth as Devlin often did, his eyes staring straight ahead. Another threw blocks at the wall, a fierce frown on his face. Patrick watched one pretty little girl stare openmouthed at nothing. He recognized that blankness. Chilled, he looked away.
To his left he saw a rack holding glossy leaflets. He selected a few, trying to make sense of the words and initials standing for things he’d never heard of. Lists of symptoms caught his eye, but he couldn’t find any “syndrome” that completely described Devlin’s particular trouble. His shoulders slumped and he gazed through the glass once more.
He saw her then, the lovely young woman from the bus. She stood off to one side of the nursery, speaking to a woman who must be the mother of one of the children. The mother’s face was haggard with worry, but the younger woman’s demeanor seemed to ease her. She wore an overcoat of white, as he had seen some of the doctors here wear. Was she a doctor, then?
He stepped over to the glass and watched closely as she approached the vacant little girl. She eased down on the floor beside her and flashed an easy, pretty smile. The child didn’t react but just continued to stare at nothing. The young woman persisted, edging closer to the little girl as her mouth continued to move. Patrick couldn’t hear through the glass, but by her stance and expression he was amazed that the child could ignore such a compelling presence. He couldn’t make himself look away. The concern in her eyes, the welcoming in her posture, drew him.
At last he saw it, a flicker of something in the child’s blank eyes. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, he would have missed the tiny motion of the little girl as she leaned a fraction closer to the young woman. A smile curved one corner of her slack mouth, earning obvious praise from the woman. She ruffled the child’s golden curls and dropped a kiss on her brow. Ah. Patrick knew the reason she could reach the child. She was magic.
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