by Rebecca York
“Okay.”
He nodded and stood. She cut him some meat, and he ate a few bites, then rubbed his hand over his chest, making a face. “Um, what is this stuff all over me?”
She laughed. “Do you remember the other woman who was here?”
“Yes.”
“She had me smear it on you. It’s kind of like itching powder.She wanted you to have as many sensory experiences as possible.”
“And she had you . . . give me a . . . uh . . . intimate massage?” he asked, unable to keep a little teasing tone out of his voice.
He saw color come into Quinn’s cheeks. “Yes.”
Turning, she crossed to the basin in the corner, dipped a cloth in the water and rubbed soap on it. Then she started washing. In the warm light from the oil lamps, she looked very sultry, and he told himself not to get trapped into wantingher again. He had to think through what had happened to him—before he could put her into the equation.
He joined her at the basin, washing off the sticky stuff.
“That woman was a witch?”
“An adept. With a skill in healing.”
He laughed. “She knew what would lure me back to earth.”
Quinn nodded, then dipped her head away.
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Yes. But I would have done anything it took to get you back.”
He should thank her. But he couldn’t quite do that yet. Here in this room, he felt comfortable. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he had to face the world.
So he went on washing the salve off his skin. It felt good to get clean. Really, it felt good to be back in this body. But should he feel that way? What about the next time he got into a fight and tried to change to wolf form? He turned away so she wouldn’t see the flash of pain on his face.
They washed in silence, and finally he felt the need to ask, “What are you thinking? And why are you keeping it to yourself?”
“I’m thinking that you told me something bad is going to happen, and we need help stopping it. And I’m keeping it to myself because I know you aren’t going to like talking about it.”
“You’ve got that right. If you’re planning to ask your friends . . . the Marshalls.”
“They’ll help us.”
Outrage came roaring into him. “Over my dead body.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Caleb felt quinn grip his arm. “Stop thinking that way.”
“Aden Marshall killed me! I hung around for seventy-five years to even the score with him. Do you expect me to just let that go?”
Her face took on a beautiful intensity in the flickering light from the lamp. “And the blame doesn’t fall on his grandchildren. You’re picking the wrong fight. If you want to get revenge on somebody, get it on the men who killed WyattReynolds. They’re within your reach. Aden Marshall isn’t.”
She was right. But he couldn’t let it drop. “Yeah. But what if I can’t work with the Marshalls?”
“They have the same heritage as you. They’ve managed to stop fighting among themselves.”
“But I was born long before any of the ones living now. Into a different world. Maybe I can’t stop fighting. And maybe I can’t deal with . . . my condition.”
“You can!”
“How do you know?” he asked, his breath shallow as he waited for her answer.
“Like you told me, you’re resilient.”
He turned so that he didn’t have to meet her eyes. “What if I can’t stand them looking at me and feeling sorry for me.”
She spoke in a firm, confident voice. “If you go back there, they’ll welcome you. You’ll have a family and friends.” Then she caught her breath.
“What?”
“I promised them I wouldn’t take you back to their world. That was how I got them to bring Zarah to help me take the . . . blinder off the portal.”
“That’s an interesting problem.”
“Yes. But you said their world is facing some kind of attack.The Marshalls will welcome your help in figuring out what it is.”
“You hope.” He muttered, then walked to the plate by the fire and cut off a piece of meat.
“AT TEN . . . shun,” Colonel Jim Bowie called out, his voice hard as steel.
The men in the barracks snapped into position, standing with their feet together, arms at their sides and eyes forward.
As he walked down their ranks, he could smell their raw nerves. They feared these surprise inspections. And that was good. It kept them on their toes.
Discipline was the key to a successful military operation. Reward for a job well done was also important, but it was definitely secondary.
He began his inspection, walking slowly around the twelve-man barracks, opening lockers, checking the tightnessof the blankets that covered the narrow cots, and the spit and polish of the shoes under the cots.
Half the squad was in the next building. Their turn would come tomorrow, or the next day or the day after that. He didn’t want them to know exactly when it would happen. That kept the men on edge.
And he would be especially exacting when he inspected Portland’s and Spencer’s areas. Maybe a punishment session would get one of them to come clean.
There was something going on with the two of them. Something he didn’t like and couldn’t figure out. He’d sent them off to the woods with an assignment. And when they’d come back, he’d been sure he was rid of Wyatt Reynolds.
But as the days went on, he’d started to worry. He was a leader of men, and their behavior had set his soldier’s intuitionjangling. So he’d been keeping an eye on them.
His mind had been on automatic pilot as he inspected each man’s area. Now he spoke to Sergeant Caldwell. “Hamilton, demerit for the condition of his bed.”
“Yes, sir.”
He moved on to the next man’s footlocker.
“Prager, what the hell is chewing tobacco doing in your trunk?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Chewing tobacco is a filthy habit.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bowie looked at his sergeant. “Special punishment for Prager.”
“Yes, sir.”
Prager drew in a quick breath, but he knew better than to protest. One peep out of him, and the punishment would be worse.
Bowie ignored him for the moment, continuing his tour around the room.
He gave special privileges to two men—Winston and MacFarland. They’d be given overnight passes into town, where they could get drunk and get laid, if they wanted. The only requirement was that they be ready for duty in the morning.
He finished with the barracks, then he turned to Caldwell. “Escort Prager to the punishment ground.”
Prager’s complexion paled, but he said nothing.
The other men lined up in formation, and they all marched outside to the grassy area where two thick vertical posts had been set in cement. They would wait until Caldwellhad brought the group from the other barracks. No point in public humiliation unless everyone witnessed it.
Bowie detoured to his quarters, where he opened a wooden cabinet and took out the bullwhip he kept there. One of the things wrong with the United States today was that discipline had broken down. The current president was a wimp—afraid to do what needed to be done to beat the terrorists.
And most senators and congressmen were no better. They were a bunch of ineffective cowards, and they needed a jolt to wake them up and get them going in the right direction.
Every time something egregious happened, it proved how ill-prepared this once-great country was. Hurricane Katrina showed that the government was incapable of dealing with a large-scale emergency. Incidents like that guy with TB, An-drewSpeaker, sneaking back into the United States showed our miserable border security.
The whole government was ineffective and rotten to the core. And they were pandering to terrorist countries when they should be bombing them to a pane of glass.
It would take a jolt of reality—from a superpatriot�
��to make the crybabies in Washington enact new, more stringent laws and carry them out effectively.
Bowie meant to administer that jolt.
Too bad about Prager. But every man at this compound had pledged to obey the rules. And one weak link could bring the whole operation down.
When he arrived at the punishment grounds, Prager had already taken off his uniform shirt and pants and folded them over the sawhorse that stood beside one of the restrainingposts.
“Step forward,” Caldwell ordered.
Wearing only his boxers, Prager did as ordered, and the sergeant attached his hands to rings fixed to the posts.
Colonel Bowie wrapped his hand around the handle of the whip, pleased with the familiar texture of the leather.
“Eight lashes,” he announced to the men who stood in formation along one side of the square.
Then he turned and snapped the whip, listening to the sound as it whistled through the air.
When it landed sharply against Prager’s back, the man gritted his teeth but made no sound.
Bowie smiled to himself. He’d wring a scream from the miscreant before he was finished.
And then there would be no more problems with disciplinefor a long while.
BY mutual agreement Quinn and Caleb finished washing and dressing. Then Quinn did her best to neaten her hair by finger-combing it. She was starting to feel shy again. Was Pamina still out there, waiting to see how the two of them were doing now? And what would Griffin think?
But when they stepped out, he wasn’t hanging around. And the guard told her that Pamina had left.
Quinn breathed out a sigh, then asked if it would be okay to take Caleb on a little tour of Griffin’s house.
When the man asked them to wait until he could arrange an escort, Quinn wondered if the political situation was reallyall that much better.
Trailed by an armed guard, they toured the household, and she showed him the kitchen where she had once worked.
“This place is like a little town,” Caleb commented.
“Yes. It’s pretty self-sufficient.”
“And all the servants are slaves?”
“Not everybody. But in this world, many of them are.” She gave him a direct look. “I was a slave, until Griffin freed me.”
“Why did he?”
“Because I saved Zarah’s life.”
“And now you’re her equal . . . in status.”
“She’s the mistress of this house. And a noble. I can never have that status.”
“Are you ashamed that you were a slave?” he suddenly asked.
“No,” she answered vehemently.
“You shouldn’t be. You have guts. And determination. And talents most people would envy.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Maybe he realized he’d given his feelings away, because he switched to a less personal topic.
“This world is more primitive than the time I came from back home.”
She explained about the sudden appearance of psychic abilities over a hundred years ago and how it had disrupted society.
Caleb’s expression sobered. “I guess I wouldn’t fit in real well.”
“Why not?”
“I used to be a werewolf. Now I don’t have any psychic abilities.”
“Maybe you do, and nobody brought them out. We go to schools to maximize our talents.”
“So I’ve missed a window of opportunity.”
She fought to keep her voice even. “Not everyone here uses psychic talents.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they need a lot of truck drivers.”
She was saved from having to answer when Griffin called out to them. “I’ve tracked you down.”
He and Caleb shook hands stiffly.
“You’re feeling better?” Griffin asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Caleb answered, polite but guarded.
Quinn was feeling that way herself. “Pamina spoke to you before she left?”
“Yes. She was pleased with what you accomplished. She said you were the key to success.”
“Mmm,” Quinn murmured and studied her hands. She hoped the woman hadn’t given too many intimate details about the treatment.
“The two of you should take a few days to relax,” Griffin said, “before you go back through the portal.”
“We can’t,” Quinn answered. “The man who owned this body gave Caleb some vital information. There’s going to be an attack. Something that will kill a lot of people. We have to stop it.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Not yet.”
Griffin gave Caleb a critical look. “Maybe a psychic treatment could help you recover the memories.”
“I’m hoping I can do it on my own,” he bit out.
“Yes. All right,” Griffin answered, catching the other man’s tone.
“We should leave soon,” Quinn said. She was feeling shaky about their return, and she wanted to get it over with. She had promised to keep Caleb here, but the situation had changed. She hoped Logan and the others would understand that.
Griffin eyed them with concern. “Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should rest. And eat. I’ll have soldiers go with you.” He turned to Caleb. “Can you ride? I mean . . . ride a horse.”
“Yes.”
“That will make the trip faster.”
They all ate a meal together in the private courtyard insidethe family quarters. Caleb asked questions about this universe, and Griffin answered, telling him how the governmenthad broken down into city-states and how powerful men still jockeyed for position in each city.
“Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president when I was killed,” Caleb said.
“We never got that far with presidents,” Griffin said. “What were the key things happening in your time?”
“We had a World War. It was supposed to be the war to end all wars. After that, in the twenties, there was great prosperity—and a lot of speculation in the stock market.”
“Which is?”
Caleb thought for a moment. “Companies sell stock to raise money. And people were buying stock with money they didn’t have but expected to get when the company made a bigger profit. But it all collapsed. Banks went out of business.Rich men killed themselves because they lost their fortunes.Ordinary people lost their jobs and lost their homes. And at the same time, in the Midwest, there was no rain and farms turned to dust. Franklin Roosevelt was trying to get the country back on its feet again.”
“So this isn’t the only place where something bad happened,” Griffin mused.
“But Roosevelt was holding the country together.”
“Lucky for you. He must have been a strong leader.”
“He was.” Caleb laughed. “A lot of people hated him for it.”
“I know the feeling,” Griffin muttered.
Caleb shifted in his seat. “I have a question. In my world, Christianity was the main religion. My mother was a Christian.But I’ve heard Quinn ask for the blessing of the Great Mother.”
“When the bad times struck, people felt they didn’t get protection from the old religions. They turned to sects and cults—many of them very ancient. The Great Mother was an important deity before the Jewish and Christian view that God was male.”
Caleb blinked. “I always assumed that God was a he.”
“Because that’s what you were taught.”
“Religion wasn’t very important in my family. Well, not to my father. My mother used to go to church on Sundays sometimes. She took me when I was little. Then I followed my father’s way.”
“But you absorbed the cultural norms,” Griffin said, “becauseyour society was much less fragmented than ours.”
Caleb nodded.
Quinn joined in a little, but she was mostly enjoying the give-and-take between the two men. Maybe Caleb and Griffin could be friends.
There was only one awkward moment—when Griffin talked about how much he missed his wife, recallin
g that Zarah had cured him of a disease werewolves sometimes get. “I couldn’t control the change. I was running around the city out of control. And I’m lucky I didn’t get killed.”
He looked up to see that Caleb’s face was white. “Sorry. I forgot . . .”
“I guess I’d better get used to it.”
Quinn wanted to reach for Caleb’s hand under the table. But she didn’t do it because she didn’t know if he’d welcome the contact. It seemed like every few days, she had to get to know him all over again.
“Can I use my old room?” Quinn asked at the end of the meal.
“Of course. It’s still yours.”
“And I’d like a room where I could rest as well,” Caleb said.
“Not with me?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“We need to sleep.”
She felt her throat tighten. So what was he really thinking?That he wanted to avoid getting her pregnant? In Logan’s world, she could go on contraceptive pills—or they could use a condom. But not here. And would he walk away from her when they got back to the other side? She honestly didn’t know.
“Okay,” she managed to say.
“How long will it take to get to the portal?” Caleb asked.
“An hour—on horseback.”
“Then someone should wake us at five in the morning,” Quinn said. “That way, we’ll get back just before dawn.”
She left the men talking and went back to her old room, where she even managed to get a little sleep, probably becauseshe was exhausted. When a soldier knocked on her door at the appointed time, she got up and washed, then came back to the courtyard, where servants had laid out bread, fruit, and meat.
Griffin was waiting for them.
“You didn’t have to get up,” she said.
“I wanted to wish you Godspeed. And I seem to have acquireda . . . dividend.” He held up an old clock that she had seen in one of the rooms of his residence. She had never heard it ticking, but it was ticking now.
“Caleb fixed this for me.”
She turned to him. “You did?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t so hard. I’m good with my hands. When my truck broke down, I could usually get it going again.”
“Maybe fixing the clock wasn’t hard for you,” Griffin said. “But nobody else in this world could do it.” He turned to Quinn. “Please take this letter to Zarah.”