Kiss Across Tomorrow (Kiss Across Time Book 8)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Sydney held up her hand. “We could sit here and talk about actions and consequences all night. I don’t want you to get off track, though.”

  “We’re listening,” Alex assured her.

  Sydney nodded. “Here’s a question for you. Well, for Rafe in particular. Although anyone can answer, if they do have an answer, which I don’t believe any of you do. The Council is the governing body for vampires, dictating policies, and appointing heads of state—”

  “Monarchs, in most areas,” London said. She glanced around the room. “You said the western division had a queen—Tira. There’s a prince here, isn’t there? Who controls the eastern seaboard?”

  “A duke,” Sydney said. “They’re just designations, ways to indicate who is in control.”

  Taylor recalled the one time everyone had moved into the future through Marit’s guidance and met Queen Morrigan, Sydney’s future role. She had been imperious and demanding. Taylor didn’t think the designations were just names at all. It took a strong leader to control anarchistic vampires.

  “Here’s my question,” Sydney said. “Why do we have a Council and regional leaders?”

  “To maintain order,” Rafe said smoothly.

  Sydney shook her head. “The regional leaders could do it without the Council. What does the Council do?”

  “Sorts out regional squabbles,” Rafe said.

  “An administrative function,” Sydney replied. “What is their real function?”

  Rafe blew out a gusty breath. “That’s above my pay grade,” he admitted.

  “Rafe, do you know anyone on the Council at the moment?” Neven asked.

  Rafe shook his head. “Cyrus was trapped back in tenth century Wales. They executed his brother after the house fire thing.” He nodded as Taylor and the others raised their brows at the mention of executions. “Yes, they don’t play around,” he added. “And no, I don’t know who is on the Council now.”

  “Would you tell us if you did?” Alex asked.

  Rafe looked wounded.

  “I retract the question,” Alex said.

  “It’s a fair question,” Sydney said.

  “Fact is, I’ve kind of…sidestepped Council affairs for a while,” Rafe said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Because of the house fire and other things. It was a different timeline and a different council, yet it still left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “You’ve resigned your position?” Remi asked.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Rafe said. “I’ve just…not been in contact. They know where to find me if they need me for anything. I haven’t heard from them.”

  “Maybe they believe you’ve gone over to the dark side,” London said. “You’re living with a time jumper.”

  “Perhaps,” Rafe said. “If Sydney is right, then…maybe.”

  Taylor sat forward. “Sydney, you suspect the Council has been actively repressing time travel? Killing off anyone who misappropriates it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sydney said slowly. “If they were, then we would all be dead a long time ago. Only, I don’t like some things which have happened to us over the years. They hint of mysterious powers pulling strings.”

  The silence built again as they considered the puzzle.

  Sydney spread her hands. “Here’s my last question. If the Council is faceless and we don’t know what their function is, then who set up the Council in the first place, and who is leading it now? Every board has a chairman. Who is directing the Council and how come vampires don’t get a say in who it is?”

  The silence was long this time.

  Alex stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. “Say you’re right. The Council are trying to suppress time travel at the direction of whoever is in charge. What will they do when they find out you’re mapping the timescape and plan to use it to steer the future?”

  Sydney sat back. Her smile was small. “They’ll shit themselves.”

  Veris “woke” almost exactly eight hours later, which was early morning, Granada time. He emerged from the bedroom, bathed and dressed, looking more ordinary and usual than Taylor had expected.

  Everyone looked up from their books and tablets and news feeds. Rafe was destroying Aran at Go, although they paused, too.

  Veris lingered in the doorway. “Unfortunately, I remember every word I said yesterday.” He grimaced and looked at Sydney. “I was an asshole and there’s no excuse. I ask that you forgive me, anyway.”

  Sydney shook her head. “Not given. I need contrary voices, Veris. They keep me in line.”

  Veris nodded. “It seems I need the same boundaries.” He moved over to Aran and rested his hand on Aran’s head. Aran turned his chin up to study him. “Want to finish the game?” Veris asked him.

  Aran grimaced. “I’d rather bail, only Aunt Sydney has a point. I should finish up my humiliation so the lesson is properly learned.”

  Rafe just grinned.

  Veris swiveled to glance at Marit.

  “I get to feed the baby this morning,” Marit said. “I can bring Alannah and Aran back.”

  Alannah was swiping on her phone, her earbuds in.

  Veris moved over to where Taylor sat with Sydney and London and picked up her hand. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  The next two days were repeats of the last few weeks, with Veris remaining in his study. There was one crucial difference—the tapping of the keyboard stopped.

  After two days of the silence, Taylor went upstairs. She paused at the door. It was dark in the room. Not even the screens were turned on. Veris wasn’t reading. He had the chair turned so he could peer through the window, only Taylor suspected he wasn’t looking at the view.

  Fresh snow reflected the sliver of moon, giving the room a cold, white cast.

  “Are you sulking still, Veris?” she asked softly, trying to keep her tone gentle.

  “No. Gud, no.” He turned the chair toward her. “I’ve been thinking.” His mouth turned down. “It was overdue.”

  Taylor shook her head. “Only in your mind.”

  “Exactly.” He got to his feet and came around the desk to where she was standing. “Can you do something for me?”

  “What?”

  “Can you take me back to…somewhere? I don’t want to say where. Not yet.”

  Taylor was startled. “You mean, jump blind?”

  Veris shook his head. “I’ll steer. A linear jump, Taylor.”

  Her puzzlement grew. “We haven’t done a simple linear jump in…years. Are you sure?”

  “It’s safe enough,” Veris said. He grimaced. “As safe as any jump back can be,” he added. “I know exactly where I’m going.” He paused. In the strange light coming into the room, his eyes seemed dark, instead of blue. He was watching her. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me, lately, only I’m asking you to do just that. Just for this one jump.”

  Taylor tried to quash the uneasiness building in her. “Of course I trust you,” she said quickly.

  “You shouldn’t,” he said. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  Taylor cleared her throat. “Now?” she asked.

  “We can leave a note for Marit. They’re all sleeping.” He went back to the desk and pulled out the drawer where he kept his letterhead and picked up the gold pen.

  “I’ll wait in the sunroom,” Taylor told him. She went back downstairs, her mind stirring. Most linear jumps lasted from several hours to several days. The equivalent time passed here. It had to, for if they returned before or after that moment, they would essentially still be time traveling. They would be out of their subjective time.

  Was there enough food for Marit and the twins, for a few days? They could always jump to Granada or Brittany if they wanted a good, hot meal—Rafe loved cooking for humans and Neven was no slouch in the kitchen, either.

  She searched through the fridge, anyway, checking for supplies.

  “They’ll be fine,” Veris said from the kitchen door. “They know how to take care of themselves.”
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  Taylor closed the fridge door. “They shouldn’t have to.”

  “They’re adults, Taylor. In body and mind, if not yet legally. They’re our kids. They’re smart. They’ve survived time jumps. If they can do that, they can scramble eggs for themselves for a couple of meals.”

  She made herself nod. “I’m being a mother. I can’t help it.”

  Veris held out his arm. “Ready?”

  Taylor moved over to him. “No,” she admitted. “I’m trusting you, as you asked.”

  He settled his arm over her shoulders, so that when she jumped, she lifted him, too. She needed only the smallest movement and she was much stronger these days.

  She took a deep breath and jumped.

  Chapter Ten

  The cold was the first thing to register. It bathed her face with the soft touch of a breeze.

  Taylor heard the music next. She opened her eyes, then opened them a little wider, for what she saw was breath-stealing.

  It was nighttime, and the stars wheeled overhead—millions more of them than Taylor ever remembered seeing in her own time. Just above the shadow of a tall tree line, the moon was rising. It was a huge white disk, glowing with a light which pulsed.

  It shed its light upon a frozen lake. A thin drift of snow covered the ice. Upon the ice and snow were hundreds of…

  “Dancers,” Taylor breathed, her breath catching with the charm of the scene.

  The dancers wore skates, although they were circling around the ice, arm-in-arm, in time to the waltz music. The orchestra sat upon a deck thrusting out over the ice. In summer, it would be a wide jetty. The players all wore heavy, double-breasted overcoats, fur hats and scarves. Among them and around them were fires burning in iron biers, to add light and keep them warm. Strung above them were colorful paper lanterns, candles flickering behind the folded paper.

  On the banks of the lake, behind the orchestra, were a great many people in winter outerwear, sitting on benches to put on or remove skates. There were more candles and lanterns on the tables behind them. People moved among them, offering to fill cups with the silver pots they carried, from which steam rose gently.

  Three wooden steps had been added to the edge of the shore, to allow the skaters to step down onto the ice, which many people were doing. They found their feet, then skated slowly around the edges of the lake to avoid the dancers. They formed an audience which curved around the “dance floor”. In a large circle surrounding both dancers and observers were a great many more of the biers.

  Taylor realized one of the fires crackled and popped just behind her, warming her back, for she was standing on the ice, too. With a start, she shifted her foot and felt the peculiar channeled movement she remembered from when she was a child. She was on skates, too.

  She looked down at herself. She wore a long skirt, the hem brushing the top of her skates. It was full and thick, a dark green color, with black braid swirling in pretty patterns on the hem. She could feel additional layers beneath. Petticoats. Over the skirt, covering her from neck to knees, was a warm overcoat. Black fur trimmed the neck and cuffs, and down the front of the coat, too. Her hands were pushed inside a fur muff, and she also wore gloves.

  No wonder she could only sense the cold on her face.

  She withdrew one hand and reached up to her head. A fur hat covered her hair and ears.

  The orchestra switched to another waltz—this one, she recognized. “Brahms,” she murmured.

  All the women Taylor could see wore the same long skirts she did. They were fuller at the back than the front, although they were not the wide dresses which Victorians had worn.

  What year was this?

  The men wore heavy overcoats, most of them double-breasted. Some of the coats were military uniforms, with belts and braid and medals. Yet it wasn’t a uniform Taylor recognized.

  The lake didn’t give her any clues, either. There were lights and buildings on the opposite shore—it was a large town or a small city. None of the buildings looked familiar.

  Trust me, Veris had said.

  Taylor tried to relax and watch the dancers and listen to the surrounding conversations. She wasn’t certain of the language, although she knew it was not English. A gift of linear jumps was that she could understand the local language. Perhaps she had just acquired another language.

  Most of the conversations were about people she didn’t know, and many parties and celebrations, of which this skaters’ ball was just the latest.

  Just as at any other ball, there were men skating up to ladies and requesting to dance with them. Taylor watched pairs of dancers push off on their skates, the lady spinning backward just like a ballroom dancer. Everyone here appeared to be excellent skaters, which was more than Taylor could say about herself. She watched them with a trickle of envy as they spun and circled, laughing and talking as they moved. They made it look easy and graceful.

  A man in a military uniform skated up to Taylor and bowed. “A dance, my lady?” he asked, holding out his hand. “I confess I am surprised to see one such as yourself so neglected.”

  The men and women standing around Taylor smiled, although they kept their eyes ahead, ostensibly minding their own business.

  Taylor shook her head. “I regret, I am too poor a skater to dance as well as everyone out there.”

  “There is no skating involved. It is dancing.” His smile was charming. “I insist.”

  Taylor didn’t know what year she was in, or where she was. She did know that throughout history, no matter the era, it was inconsiderate to refuse a man’s invitation to dance if there was no genuine reason not to.

  Reluctantly, she took the man’s gloved hand. He tugged her into sliding forward and she drew in a sharp, alarmed breath.

  “Now,” he said, bringing his hand to her waist. Taylor automatically rested her left hand on his shoulder as he extended his other arm and brought her arm out to match. “Around we go.” He pushed off, taking Taylor with him, and turned in a slow circle.

  She followed him not by design but because his arm around her guided her. She merely had to keep her skates pointing in the right direction.

  A hand on the man’s shoulder halted them. The man looked around, frowning.

  Veris gave the man a gruff smile. “Permit me to cut in.”

  Taylor’s heart lifted. He was here!

  She scanned him. Veris’ hair was shorter than she had ever seen it. It matched the other men here, including the color. There were many blond men and many of them were tall, yet none of them quite as tall as Veris.

  He wore a military overcoat similar to what many of the other men wore. There was more braid and flourishes and shiny brass buttons than any of the others.

  The man who had asked her to dance gave a short bow. “It is my honor, sir.” He turned to Taylor and gave a deeper bow. “I regret, my lady.”

  “Thank you!” she called after him as he skated away.

  Veris moved closer to her.

  “I must warn you, sir,” Taylor said quickly, as his hand settled on her waist, “that I am not a good skater.”

  He lowered his head to breathe in her ear. “I’m not wearing a red shirt.”

  Relief fizzled through her. Taylor wound her arm around his neck. “Then you will live long and prosper,” she whispered back. There was always a chance something would go wrong with a jump. She had learned not to take it for granted that even though the person standing in front of her looked like Veris or Brody, or any of the others, they were the modern versions of themselves. Not until they spoke the key phrase did she relax.

  Veris’ arm pulled in around her and tightened for just a moment. Then he loosened his hold. “This is still a time when too much contact could ruin one’s reputation,” he said warningly.

  “Sorry.” She loosened her hold on his neck and placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, which was permissible. “Although I meant what I said,” she added as Veris drew her other arm out, in the traditional dancing hold. “I can’t s
kate to save my life.”

  “You don’t have to,” Veris assured her.

  “Because this is dancing, not skating?” she asked.

  “Because I have you,” he said, and pushed off.

  Taylor caught her breath, as he spun her in a tight circle, while also moving around the dancing area. His arm was a rock behind her, ensuring she could not fall. Veris did not content himself with a sedate, slow circling. They spun just like the other dancers, in time to the Viennese waltz which played.

  For a dizzying few minutes, Taylor held her breath, delight filling her, as they danced. At any second, she thought she would stumble, yet Veris kept her on her feet.

  “Oh, this is glorious!” she breathed.

  Veris smiled, his eyes warm. “I thought you might like it.”

  “Where are we, Veris? When are we?”

  A few more breath-catching spins. “Oslo,” he said. “1906.”

  Taylor considered. “It explains why I can feel a corset beneath all these layers.”

  Veris squeezed with his hand. “As can I.”

  “Why here, Veris?”

  “I remember this ball well, not because of any negative events, but because…well,” He glanced around. “It is a beautiful night, no one was unhappy or upset, the world is at peace for perhaps the first time in history, and only for these few short years.”

  “Before the wars,” Taylor said, dropping her voice, for they were still using Norwegian, which everyone around them could understand.

  He nodded. His arm tightened. He spun her hard enough for the back of her skirt to flare out. Taylor clung to him, laughing with the joy of it.

  The waltz ended, and the dancers all came to a sharp stop and applauded, as did the audience. The conductor turned and bowed toward them, then faced his orchestra once more and lifted his baton.

  Veris pulled Taylor against him. “One more dance,” he said. “I have a reputation here as a master seducer, although even I cannot coax a woman into my bed in a single dance.”

  Taylor laughed. “Master seducer…why does that not surprise me in the least?”