Sparks of Light

by Janet B. Taylor

  “Yep,” I said. “It sure as hell is.”

  In bed, I tried to convince myself. She’s his cousin. Okay, not technically a blood relative but still. He would’ve told me about her, eventually. I know he would’ve. But I couldn’t shake that image of his arm around her waist.

  After exhaustion and . . . yeah, okay . . . jealousy and fear dragged me under like a relentless tide, I woke exhausted, sweaty from nightmares of careening through a black abyss. I finally gave up and spent the predawn hours huddled in one of Moira’s comfy afghans as I stared out over the dark and enigmatic world outside my window.

  Chapter 14

  THE FIRST TIME I ENTERED THE IMMENSE HIGH-TECH vault beneath my aunt’s home I’d inadvertently locked myself inside, and for a while—​until I found the light switch that revealed a collection worthy of any museum—​I had lost my mind. Now, as I stepped past the five-inch-thick reinforced steel door that housed the Viators’ extensive treasure trove, I stopped short. Collum cursed as he bumped into my back.

  “Watch it,” he muttered, sliding around me.

  Moving out of the doorway, I edged over to stand before one of two hermitically sealed cases that flanked the round entry. Inside the smoked glass cubicle, two wires dangled from the ceiling, empty and useless.

  “Aunt Lucinda?” My voice pinged off the stone. “Where is it? Where’s the tapestry?”

  “The hanging was donated to the Museum of Edinburgh two weeks ago,” Aunt Lucinda said as she passed by.

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  She stopped, one eyebrow raised beneath her blond wig as she pivoted toward me. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your approval to run this business, Hope,” my aunt replied crisply. “I shall endeavor to do so from now on.” Without another word, she walked away.

  Nostrils flaring, I choked back a reply. For reasons I couldn’t exactly explain, every time I passed through here, it had comforted me to glance over and see my mother’s face woven into the ancient tapestry. It meant we’d won. That my mom was safe. Alive.

  “Oi,” Phoebe said, giving my corseted waist a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry, aye? We’ll go see it at the museum soon as we return. I promise.”

  One glance at my friend’s sympathetic expression and I felt like the world’s biggest ass. Was I really standing here fretting over a stupid piece of cloth while she worried herself sick over what might happen to Doug? Not to mention that my mom had made it back. Her dad was still out there.

  Good going, Hope. Could you be any more selfish?

  Since Doug’s announcement, a worry line had made a permanent home across Phoebe’s forehead. I smiled as I tugged at a curl of her auburn wig.

  “Listen, we’re going to watch out for him,” I promised. “Make sure he takes his medicine. Doesn’t overdo it. All that. We’ll keep him safe, Pheebs.”

  When she shrugged and tried to pull away, I held on. “Doug wants this so much. He wants to prove he’s not some invalid that you have to take care of,” I said. “I think . . . I think you should let him do that.”

  Her eyes cut away, but not before I saw the gloss of tears. “If something happens to him,” she rasped, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “I know,” I said. “Which is why I am prepared to be on him like white on rice.”

  She looked at me askance. “What in all blazing hells does that mean?”

  “No idea, but my great-grandma used to say it all the time when anyone in our family acted like a douche to me.” I humped my shoulders, quoting in my best Southern old lady voice. “‘You little hellions leave my sweet girl alone or I’ll be on you like white on rice.’”

  Her laugh burst out on a snort. “Jesus, that was terrible.”

  “Are you two going to stand there laughing like a couple of lunatics?” Collum called out. “Or are we doing this?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “We’re coming.”

  As we hurried to catch up, I grinned, gratified to see that the wrinkle over my friend’s eyes had vanished.

  We followed Aunt Lucinda’s tall frame past crates bristling with swords, chests packed with bags of gold and silver coin, glass-topped cases brimming with ornate jewels. Warm, dry air gusted from multiple vents to keep the contents of the room free of rust or mold. The glare of fluorescent lights exposed thousands of not-quite-legal acquisitions, gathered by previous generations of Viators. Against the far walls, marble forms of half-naked Greeks and ebony statues with creepy jackal heads stood at attention. As we reached the door inset into the back wall of the stone vault, Lucinda called a halt.

  “This is where we say farewell,” she said as we gathered around her. “As you are aware, the stairs are a bit taxing for me at the moment.”

  The overhead light wasn’t kind to my aunt. Shadows the color of an old bruise ringed her eyes, and her face held a sallow tinge. Even the trek through the cellar and vault had caused sweat to bead at her hairline and on her upper lip.

  She looked over each one of us in turn. A final inspect-ion.

  I’d only ever seen Mac in jeans and flannels, but the tweed suit with bow tie and vest he now wore looked strangely right on his lanky frame. Lucinda gave Phoebe’s dark housemaid gown and gray cape a nod, while Collum bore her scrutiny of his rough wool pants and suspenders with his usual stoic calm. With a flat newsboy’s cap in hand and pistol holstered beneath one arm, he stared coolly back.

  Only I fidgeted under my aunt’s attention. Moira had been kind when tightening the corset, only squeezing half my organs out of shape in deference to the journey ahead. Still, beneath the layers of shift, stockings, corset, and petticoats, all topped with a fashionable plum wool traveling gown and cape, I was already sweating.

  Aunt Lucinda’s eyes, the tired color of overwashed denim, scanned me from head to toe. “A lady’s posture is one of her best features. No slumping, Hope.”

  “As if I could,” I muttered.

  “I realize we’ve discussed all this ad infinitum; however, I shall go over a few key points again, as they do bear repeating,” Aunt Lucinda said. “As always, keep your interactions with the locals to a minimum. Use every caution when dealing with Nikola Tesla. No matter what happens, he must be thoroughly convinced to destroy both the enhancement and the duplicate device, and to never attempt to rebuild either. Since it appears Celia has already broken the proverbial ice with Jonathan Carlyle . . .” Her already thin lips pinched in annoyance. “Use your best judgment where he is concerned. But offer no additional information beyond the specific mission.” I bristled when her sharp-eyed gaze snapped to Phoebe and me. “You are prohibited from making any mention of the unfortunate events that will directly affect Jonathan’s family. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  We had brought it up to her only once, two days earlier, as she sat sipping tea in her office.

  “Can’t we at least warn the man?” Phoebe had asked insistently. “We could simply explain that they should never mess with any existing trees when they’re back in their past. We don’t have to go into specifics.”

  “Please,” I pleaded. “What could be wrong with that? It would give those poor little girls a fighting chance, at least.”

  Unwilling to even discuss the matter, Lucinda had shut us down in seconds.

  “It may seem hard of me, even uncaring,” Lucinda went on now. “But I assure you that is not the case. The incident with Jonathan and Julia’s daughters has already occurred. It is in our past, regardless of the inevitability that the two timelines will—​temporarily—​touch. To tell him anything would be breaking the Viators’ cardinal rule—​a rule, may I remind you, that Jonathan Carlyle himself set down.

  “This will not be easy,” she went on. “Buy Tesla’s cooperation, if you must. Our accounts at the 1895 Bank of New York have more credit than you will ever need. In addition, Mac carries with him enough currency and gold to cover any additional expense. Guard it—​and yourselves—​well. You all know your roles. Do well and come home safely.”
>
  Not an emotional person by nature, my aunt’s chin still wobbled as she turned on her heel to sweep back through the vault. As the others filed through the narrow security door I watched her go, shooting up a quick prayer that she’d be all right. That they’d find a cure soon. I didn’t always agree with her, but I could not bear thinking what might happen to the Viators without her rock-steady leadership.

  By the time we descended the many, many flights of stairs carved into the heart of the mountain, my thighs were screaming.

  Though I’d been inside the strange cavern several times before, I couldn’t help but hesitate on the last step. The first time I stepped down onto the mosaic floor and felt that strange, prickling power of the intersecting ley lines surge over my feet, I almost bolted.

  Only two things stopped me. A wisp of optimism that my mom might still be alive. And the two man-size towers on either end of the chamber. The instant I’d seen them, I knew their creator. Nikola Tesla. I’d always been fascinated with the man, and seeing miniaturized versions of his famous Wardenclyffe Tower kept me from running.

  Hewn out of black rock, the cavern was roughly oval, the walls covered with carvings of ancient symbols and languages no one now alive could read. The closest translation—​“the Dim Road”—​seemed pretty accurate to me.

  “Cutting it a bit close,” Doug, in his sober black valet suit, called. “We only have about seven minutes.”

  Phoebe sucked in a breath as Doug’s fingers rose to his hair in a nervous habit.

  I realized there was no longer anything left for him to tug. Doug’s finger-length dreadlocks had been chopped away, the remaining hair smoothed down and parted in the middle. With round, steel spectacles having replaced his normal frames, Doug Carlyle looked like a different person. He knew his mixed heritage and height would make him stand out. To make this journey with us, he had endured the most drastic transformation.

  Phoebe’s hands were fisted at her sides as she stared. If I was startled, I couldn’t even imagine how Phoebe felt.

  “What do you think, then?” he asked Phoebe in voice so soft I barely heard it.

  “I—​you could’ve told me,” she said.

  “You weren’t speaking to me.”

  Her left eye twitched. The frown line reappeared. “And I’m still not,” she snapped, and stomped off to a corner to wait.

  Though I’d never say it, I would have felt better with Doug running the show. I knew he’d taught Moira all he could about the mushroom-topped devices. And he’d assured us that he had preset the devices to bring us back in precisely seventy-two hours, the exact length of time the Dim ever allowed. All Moira would have to do is act as monitor. Still, Doug knew those machines better than anyone except maybe Tesla himself. So it was more than a bit disconcerting that he’d be powerless to help if something in this time went wrong.

  Didn’t help my nerves to dwell on it, though. So I joined Phoebe in her corner, huddling next to her when the cavern’s chill bled through the layers and burrowed into my bones.

  “Here you are, lamb.” Moira stood before me, holding out the ancient doll. Invisible stitching had repaired the ripped dress. The spots of new paint were barely noticeable. And the missing hunks of hair had been painstakingly reinserted. She looked good as new. Well, as good as a doll with twelve (or—​depending on how you looked at it—​more than four hundred and fifty) years under her belt could look.

  “Wanted you to see how well we’d fixed her up before you . . . well.” Moira swallowed. “And when you return, you can thank your mum for replacing that missing chunk o’ hair. Stayed up all night, she did.”

  Her papery hand rested on my cheek before pulling me into a smooshy, grandmotherly embrace that made my eyes sting. With her other arm, she brought Phoebe in for a three-person hug. After a few seconds, Phoebe’s stiff posture melted and she squeezed us both with a strangling ferocity.

  Before I could give the doll back for safekeeping, Moira abruptly released us and hurried over to Mac. They held a short private conversation, then Mac’s gnarled hands rose to cup Moira’s round face. He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers as he whispered softly to her in Gaelic. Moira pulled back, smiling up at her husband of forty years as she said something back.

  I couldn’t quite make it out, but next to me, Phoebe sighed.

  “What did they say?”

  My friend turned to glance at Doug, who was doing last-minute checks on the machines. “Well,” she began, her voice thick. “’Tis from a poem by Rabbie Burns, see? Mac said, ‘As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.’”

  Inside my chest, my heart contracted into a painful knot as Phoebe went on. “And then Gram, she . . . she answered, ‘And fare thee weel, my only Luve. And fare thee weel, a while. And I will come again, my Luve, Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.’”

  “Ohh,” was all I could manage.

  “All right, everyone,” Moira exclaimed, voice cracking only a bit. “You’ll be arriving just after dawn on March eleventh at 0721. That’s seven twenty-one a.m., a’ right? I expect to see all of you back, safe and . . .” She trailed off and took a deep breath. “Oh, let’s just get this damn thing over with.”

  Phoebe—​anger at Doug not quite gone—​leapt up, and without hesitation picked up her carpeted bag and marched over to take her place in the exact center of the chamber. I followed at a more reluctant pace. Moira checked us over, confirming that each person’s opal lodestone was secure. Tucked safely inside the high-necked gown, my pendant twitched and warmed against my skin.

  Mac and Doug flashed thick men’s rings. Collum plucked at the plain silver chain that ran beneath his white shirt. Moira grimaced as Phoebe patted her belly.

  All hell had broken loose when Phoebe and Doug had returned from a trip to Edinburgh a few weeks earlier, Phoebe gleefully sporting a new bellybutton piercing complete with fire-opal stick pin.

  “But, Gram,” Phoebe had explained. “At least you won’t have to worry that I’ll lose it.”

  Trying to keep myself from running like hell for the stairwell, I focused on the black and white mosaic beneath my buttoned boots.

  The same ancients who carved out this chamber had also imbedded tens of thousands of black and white stone chips into the floor. The design—​a sideways figure eight that represented infinity, crossed over with three wavy lines—​indicated the spot where the portal to the Dim would appear. Lucinda and those before her believed that the long-lost people who had created the chamber had done so out of worship, and that they’d recognized it as a place of immense power.

  But it had been the combination of technology and the ethereal that had—​accidentally—​helped the early Viators discover the place’s true potential.

  With a loud, finite pop, the buzz and whine from the Tesla devices amped up until the sound drilled into my eardrums. Purple jolts of electricity began to crackle around the silvery metal of the twin mushroom tops. Building. Building.

  The first time I stood here, waiting for the Dim to take me to some great unknown, I’d at least had ignorance on my side. Dressed in a furred cape and long gown of the medieval period, I’d had no idea what I was facing.

  I think that was better.

  Between them, Doug and Collum hoisted the period-appropriate leather trunk that housed our spare costumes and supplies. One hand gripping each handle, they braced themselves while Mac gave us all one last comforting nod.

  Clutching my own carpetbag so hard the wooden grips dug into my palm, I looked at Collum. Some of my growing terror must have shown because he edged a bit closer, taking my free hand in his.

  “Be at peace, lass,” he said. “All is well.”

  Squeezing his hand so hard I was sure his bones would break, I clustered close with the other four as the surges of electricity built higher and higher above our heads.

  Shaking all over now, I willed myself to breathe. In—​two,
three. Out—​two, three. It wasn’t working. My breaths were coming too quick. The bones in my legs were turning to rubber as everything that could possibly go wrong flashed before my eyes. I locked my knees to keep from crumpling to the cold floor.

  “John MacPherson,” Moira cried from her place next to the screaming machines. “You bring yerself and those bairns back to me safe and sound, you hear me?”

  “Aye!” Mac called back. “Always. Mo chridhe!”

  With a shriek of power, the electrical pulses clashed together high above our heads. The force they created interrupted the flow of the ley lines, forming a vacuum. From every direction, the natural power tried to force its way through the interruption, causing a hurricane wind to build around us. Something dug into my side and I realized I still clutched the doll in my hand. It was too late to hand her off, and I clenched her under one arm as the two forces—​man’s and nature’s—​battled each other. A translucent cylinder began to rise, rise up around us, enclosing us within its protective shield.

  “Time!” Moira shouted, voice hoarse. “Go with God’s blessing and with mine, dear ones!”

  The five of us inhaled a collective breath as Moira clasped the upraised switch with both hands and slammed it down.

  Chapter 15

  I’D TRIED TO PREPARE MYSELF FOR A REPEAT PERFORMANCE of the experience I had the first time the Dim had taken me. Then, I’d careened helplessly through an infinite darkness broken only by the images of a thousand decaying faces. But this time, as my body and mind exploded into millions of individual particles, a memory slammed into me with the force of a sledgehammer. I could only watch, as if the small child I’d been was a character in a beloved movie, seen through a faraway lens.

  There was nothing the girl loved more than visiting her Poppy. He told the most marvelous stories. And, unlike her mother, he did not send her to bed with the sun. They stayed up late before the fire, taking tiny sips of a substance called choc-o-late. A gift from the queen herself, the dark, creamy liquid was new and very dear. And though it smelled wonderful, the taste was so bitter on her tongue it made her mouth pucker. Still, the girl adored her grandfather and so pretended to like it.