Books by Maggie Shayne (23 page)

The memorial service was attended by the parents of every child on that bus. Annie didn’t know them. They were not from her own district, these children who owed their lives to her dead husband. All the teachers from that district showed up, as well as everyone from her own little school. And there were dignitaries in droves. The governor came. And the press. Richard had become a celebrity. The entire nation was calling him a hero. His photo had been on the cover of
Newsweek.
He’d been the lead story on all the network news shows.

Annie stood beside an empty coffin and hated all of it. It was because of his death that they were all here. She didn’t want a damn hero, she wanted her husband. Alive and beside her, holding her.

Her mother and father, Georgette and Ira, with their laughable names—known by their friends as the Gershwins instead of the Schroeders—stayed close to her while the others ran the show. They were worried about her. They watched her, waiting for her to fall apart. And beautiful, broken Maria sat limply in a chair near the bier. Richard’s mother wasn’t the same since his death. She would probably never be the same again. She’d gone into total denial, and Annie didn’t think she was going to come out of it. And it struck her as odd that the strongest woman she’d ever known should suddenly seem so fragile. Maria had lost her vision years ago and handled it. Then she lost her husband and dealt with it. Now she’d lost her only son, and all she could do was deny it. “He isn’t really gone,” she’d been muttering since the accident. “It’s some kind of mistake. Richard isn’t dead.”

A group of elementary school students sang a song they’d rehearsed for the occasion. The governor said a few words. Then the preacher took the podium, his voice level and sad. Annie didn’t hear any of them. She didn’t want to hear them. She was glad when, in her mind everything got quiet, aside from the comforting buzzing sound in her head.

“Annie?” her mom whispered to her, squeezing her hand. “Hon?”

Her mother’s voice drew her away from that comforting buzz she’d been homing in on, drawing closer, pulling up around her like a big, dark blanket. Irritated, Annie looked up and blinked at the brightness. Had it been this bright before?

People were starting to parade past her, each one saying something they thought was comforting, or leaning down to kiss her cheek. Annie hadn’t even noticed them. Now that she did, an odd sort of panic fluttered to life in her chest. They were leaving. Stopping to offer condolences and hugs, and then leaving. As if it were over.

It couldn’t be over.

Maria’s soft hand patted hers. “It’s all right, child. Our Richard isn’t gone. He’s coming back, you know.”

Annie looked at the coffin. A ridiculous symbol. Richard wasn’t in there. There hadn’t been anything left of him. And once this day ended, there wouldn’t even be that.

She turned toward the door, saw people heading toward it and cried “No! No, wait. It isn’t over. It… it isn’t over. It… can’t… be… over—”

Stunned silence. Eyes, wide with worry, turning on her, all of them on her. And Annie felt nothing but a gaping hole in her chest where her heart should be. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, glancing at her mother. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“Annie?”

Annie closed her eyes.

“She’s fainted!” someone yelled.

“Get a doctor!”

But she didn’t want a doctor. She wanted this darkness, and the soothing buzz that was growing louder now, but not loud enough. Not yet. She could still hear past it. Here, in the darkness, she could find solace. If only she’d never have to open her eyes again. If only she could stop hearing them all as well as seeing them. If only she could sink a little deeper into the darkness.

“It was the stress.” The doctor’s soft monotone floated through Annie’s head. “She’s been through a lot, Mrs. Schroeder.”

“She fainted over an hour ago. She should be awake by now,” Georgette insisted.

“Her body is just giving her mind a break from the pain,” the doctor explained. “It got to be too much, and so she just shut down. She’ll come around as soon as she’s able to deal with all of this again.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Georgette asked. “What if she just decides she
can’t
deal with it? What then?”

The doctor sighed softly. “Mrs. Schroeder, the chances of that are very slim.”

“But it’s not impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” the doctor conceded.

“But in all my years of practice, I’ve never seen it happen.”

“You’ve never seen anyone as much in love as Annie and Richard were,” Georgette whispered. Annie could hear the tears in her mother’s voice.

“Don’t think the worst, Mrs. Schroeder. There’s no indication this is anything more than a stress-induced fainting spell, and until there is, there’s no reason to borrow trouble. Frankly, in Annie’s condition, it’s a wonder she didn’t have a spell like this much sooner.”

“My daughter’s
condition
is just fine, Dr. Grossman. Physically as well as mentally.”

Her mother’s voice dared the doctor to suggest her daughter was anything less than perfect. But Annie wasn’t perfect. She was aching inside, and nothing could make it stop. Even in the darkness where she’d briefly retreated, there had been pain. And the thought had occurred to her that maybe she could sink a little deeper. But there was something inside her that wouldn’t let her do that. A kernel of awareness that hadn’t even made its way to her conscious mind just yet.

“She’s coming around, Doctor,” a soft voice said.

Someone leaned over Annie. She sensed them there. Ignored the presence. Damn, she wished she didn’t have to wake up.

The presence receded, and the voice came again. “I didn’t mean to imply there was anything wrong with your daughter’s health, Mrs. Schroeder, physically or emotionally. However, you should be aware that depression is a risk here. I’ll get you some pamphlets. You’ll need to watch her for a while.”

“She’ll be fine,” Annie heard her mother insist, as if she could will it to be the truth. “If I can just get her to snap out of this, she’ll be just fine.” But Annie wondered how she’d ever be fine again. Without Richard. Without love.

“Yes, well, I hope so. At any rate,” the doctor went on, “the
condition
I was referring to before was her pregnancy.”

Annie felt a jolt zap her from head to toe.

“Her… my daughter is… she’s pregnant?”

“Oh, my,” Annie’s father muttered. “My poor girl. Lord, all alone and expecting a baby!”

“Annie?” The bed moved. Damn, her mother was going to order her to wake up now. Annie knew she’d have to face reality soon, but not yet. It was difficult to remain in the blackness of oblivion, though, when Mom was on the edge of the bed, stroking her face and giving orders.

Annie tried anyway. She’d been having the sweetest dream. Someone had just told her she was going to have a baby, and she’d been planning how she’d tell Richard, envisioning the rapturous expression on his face.

“You listen to me, young lady. Enough is enough. I’m not standing for any more of this, do you hear me?”

Sorry, mother,
Annie thought.
Sorry to put you through all this worry. But I don’t want to wake up yet. It hurts too much.

“It was one thing when it was just you. But there’s more at stake now, Annie.” Hands clasped Annie’s shoulders, firm hands that gripped and even shook her. “You have to wake up now, Annie,” her mother all but shouted in her face.

“Really, Mrs. Schroeder, I don’t think—”

“You’re pregnant,” her mother said. “Are you listening to me, Annie Nelson? You are carrying Richard’s baby, and I’m not going to let you lie around feeling sorry for yourself when my grandchild needs you.”

Annie’s descent into darkness slowed. What was this her mother was saying? But… it had only been a part of her dream. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t—

“Richard would want you to be here for his baby, Annie. He’d expect you to be strong and take care of it and love it and tell his son or daughter about him one day. He’d never let you down the way you’re letting him down now. Dammit, daughter, you wake up and take care of your baby! Do you hear me, Annie? Do you?“

Then the doctor’s hands were there, prying her mother’s away. “Enough, Mrs. Schroeder. This isn’t doing anyone any good. She probably can’t even hear you. She’s exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. She’ll wake up when she’s ready.”

But Annie
had
heard her. And she heard the soft sobbing and the shuffling footsteps as her mother moved away from the bed. Annie turned her vision inward, feeling inside herself, wondering if there was any truth to what her mother had just told her. There was a stirring of warmth from deep in her abdomen. A sensation that something… that something made of pure love was there, alive and growing inside her. She
felt
it.

She moved her hands to her belly to touch that warmth, that life. Struggling, fighting, she reached for consciousness, strained toward the surface, pushing aside the murky depths where the pain was so much less. She didn’t want to go back to the real world. Because the closer she got to lucidity, the closer she got to the hurt. The loss. The knowledge that Richard was gone. It was blinding, that pain. But she reached for it, all the same.

And somehow she managed to open her eyes.

Her vision was blurry, but she made out the two shapes moving away from her, toward the door. And she tried to speak, but what came out sounded more like a hoarse bark than the words she’d intended.

Her mother’s back went rigid. Slowly Georgette turned around. Her eyes met Annie’s, and her trembling hands rose to her cheeks. “Honey?” she whispered. “Annie, sweetheart?”

Annie cleared her throat, tried again. “Is… it true?” The pain was closing in on her again. The heartbreak. Losing Richard. The weight of it crushed her. She began to tremble beneath the force of the pain. God, if what her mother said had been a delusion or…

“Yes, baby. Yes, it’s true.” Her mother was back at the bedside instantly, running her hands through Annie’s hair, stroking her cheeks while the doctor simply stood where he was, staring at the two of them with his mouth slightly agape. “They ran tests when they brought you in, just to be sure you were okay, you know? And, honey, you’re pregnant.”

Annie felt her lips pull into a grimace of agony. She felt tears burning in her eyes. She couldn’t just fade away into darkness, could she? No. Not now. Oh, but it would have been so much easier if she could. “It hurts, Mom. God, it hurts so much.”

“You’re strong, Annie. You’ve always been so… so
incredibly
strong.”

“That was… before…”

“No. You just have to find it again. You have to be strong; you know that, right? For Richard. And for your baby.”

Oh, yes, she knew it. She just didn’t know if she had it in her. Nothing could hurt this much and not kill her, could it?

Ren battled until battle became second nature. The art of wielding a broadsword against forces darker than midnight had become as much a part of who he was as the color of his hair or his eyes. More so, on occasion. And other things faded as the desire to fight for the cause of goodness grew stronger. Mortality was left behind and with it, mortal things. Emotions, aside from zeal for his cause and fury in battle, all but vanished. Physical sensations, such as hunger or desire or sensitivity to heat and to cold, faded as well. He ate when he sensed his body needed sustenance. Drank when his throat felt dry. But taking pleasure in the taste of food didn’t exist for Ren. Eating was done of necessity, and for no other reason. Sexual desire had been forgotten, shelved in a dark corner of his mind where it lay dormant. He had no use for such cravings. He lived to fight. Pain he felt at the blow of an enemy’s sword. Pleasure, when he won the day. And beside them, an inexplicable sorrow that ate at his soul. It had no place there, Ren knew. It made no sense and did nothing to help him or the army of good, and so served no purpose. But ridding himself of it seemed impossible.

He’d gone wherever Sir George had sent him. Back in time, centuries back. Or forward to times he might never have dreamed of. Or anyplace in between. Sometimes a battle would take years, other times only hours, but always he’d return to learn that very little time had truly passed while he’d been away. It boggled the mind, really.

He’d never understood it, until once when Sir George, who had become many things to him—father, comrade, commander, teacher, and friend—had asked, “How long have you been a White Knight, Ren?”

The question had thrown him. And in silence he’d begun adding up the years he’d spent fighting for goodness in this time or that until the numbers had muddled in his mind. He shrugged and whispered, “I’ve no way of knowing, Sir George. Centuries?”

Sir George had smiled. “But time doesn’t pass for you when you’re out of it, Ren. For you, the time passes only when you’re here, resting between assignments.”

“But I spend so little time here.”

Sir George nodded. “True. Because you’re the best, as I always knew you would be, Ren. Of all of my knights, you’re the only one ever to defeat Blackheart.”

Ren sat down in the wooded paradise that was the place for resting between missions. A time that is not a time in a place that is not a place, was Sir George’s answer when Ren had asked about the location. He pondered what his friend had told him about the opponent he’d encountered so often, one of those dark heroes who fought for the army of evil.

“Blackheart seems to show up often when I’m sent to right the mortal world’s wrongs or prevent those wrongs from occurring,” he observed.

“And astute fellow that you are, you’re thinking there’s a reason for that,” Sir George said, studying Ren’s face.

Ren simply nodded. “You told me once that there is a reason for everything, and I’ve found it to be very dose to the truth.”

“Close
to the truth?” Sir George’s white brows lifted, one slightly higher than the other.

“So far,” Ren said softly, “I’ve found no reason for this endless sorrow I feel in my heart,” he whispered, and automatically cast his eyes toward the ground. “You say I have become your finest knight. I rarely lose a skirmish. My skills are honed to precision, and yet…“

“And yet?”

Ren closed his eyes and brought his fisted hand to his chest. “I
ache
inside.”

Sir George cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for that.” He got up from his seat and paced a bit. “Perhaps you’re not ready for this after all.”

The whisper of a doubt about Ren’s abilities brought his head up fast. “Ready for what?”

Sir George shrugged. “No doubt, Ren, you’ve guessed that these
centuries
of skipping through time to do battle with the dark forces have been more than simple missions for the cause of good. That they’ve also been a form of training for you.”

Ren tilted his head to the side. “Training?”

“I’ve sent you back to any mission where Blackheart was likely to be involved. He is, you see, the Darkness’s finest warrior.”

“And you wished to see which of us was the better?” Ren shook his head in disgust. “I guess it was time wasted, then. He defeated me as often as I did him.”

“True, Ren. But you are the only White Knight ever to defeat him at all.”

Ren frowned and searched Sir George’s face.

“It’s true. I suspected you would be equal to Blackheart, and you are. And now it’s time for you to accomplish the mission you were brought here for, Ren. A mission of dire importance to all of humanity. If you think you’re ready to take it on.“

“I am,” Ren said with confidence.

“Good,” said Sir George. “That’s very good.”

“To what time will I be going?” Ren asked, eager to be busy again. Because only when he was busy could he ignore the nameless pain that ate constantly at his soul.

“To the time from whence you were taken, Ren. Or nearly there. It will be eight months later. That’s truly the length of time you’ve been away.”

“
Eight months
?”

Sir George nodded.

“But it seems like ages. Aeons, at least.”

“You have no memory of that other life, Ren. And that is for the best. Because you must return to my service when this battle ends. It’s of utmost importance you remember that. You swore a vow—”

“I haven’t forgotten my vows, Sir George. How could you doubt that?”

Sir George sighed and nodded. “Just remember, your mortal life ended before your immortal one began. If you give up this one, all that remains is the second death—the permanent one.”

“I know.”

Sir George studied Ren for a while. “All right, then. You know. Now, because this is the time that was once your own, Ren, I will use my powers to cast a glamour over you— a cloak of disguise. No mortals must recognize this man they believe to be dead.“

“I’ll be…” Ren swallowed hard as something seemed to squeeze tight in his throat. “I’ll be among people I knew in the other life?”

Sir George shook his head from side to side and said, “Of course not!” a bit more loudly than was necessary. Then he cleared his throat. “This is just a precaution, just to cover the
very
slim possibility that someone who knew you might glimpse you in passing. That’s all.”

Ren nodded, seeing clearly the wisdom in that. Then he knelt and waited while Sir George moved his hands around and about Ren’s face. After a few moments of this, George told him to rise, and Ren did. Immediately he drew his gleaming white-gold broadsword from its sheath, lifting the blade before him to stare down at his reflection in its face.

“Sir George, I don’t look any different! Look,” he said, and opened his hands before his own face. “My hair is just as blond, my eyes just as blue as they were before!”

Sir George smiled. “The cloak of magic, Ren, cannot hide a man from himself. You know yourself far too well to be fooled by a mere disguise. So naturally, when you look at your own reflection, you see right through the magic.“

Ren tilted his head, rubbing his chin. “Suppose someone in the mortal world knew the man I was just that well?” he asked.

“No one can know a man as he knows himself, Ren. To anyone who looks on you—why, even to my eyes—you are a man of your own size and shape, but with dark hair and ebon eyes. Your lips are a bit thinner than before, and your nose a bit more Roman in shape. Your brows and lashes are darker as well. No, I daresay even someone who knew you well would not recognize you now.”

Ren ran his fingers over his face in response to Sir George’s words, but nothing felt any different to him. “And you’re certain it will work?”

“Certain,” the old man said. “Now, come. It’s time for you to go.”

“You haven’t told me my mission yet.”

“Ah, yes. The mission,” Sir George said softly, taking Ren by the arm. “It involves a young woman named Annie, and the child she is about to bear.”

A strange tingling sensation spread up Ren’s nape, tickling into his scalp. “The woman is in danger?”

“The child is,” Sir George said. “And Ren, this is a child of great importance. It will grow to become one of the greatest leaders the free world will ever know. It will pave the way to world peace, stomping out ignorance, poverty, bigotry, and war. This child will change the world, Ren.”

“And so the forces of darkness will try to kill it,” he said, and his heart clenched with fear for the innocent baby.

“You know the rules as well as I,” Sir George said, his voice low, grim. “They cannot take a mortal life. If they could, they’d have simply murdered the mother and been done with it.”

“Annie,” Richard said.

Sir George looked at him, one brow crooked. “Yes. The child, however, is another matter. Once it is born, it will be safe from the dark assassins. But you can bet the forces of evil will do everything in their power to see that the child dies
before
it is born. It’s fair game to them, right up until it draws its first breath.”

“Hard to believe even those bastards would sink so low,” Ren whispered.

“You’re the only hope that child has, Ren.”

Sir George told him. “Will you accept this challenge?”

Ren met the old man’s eyes with a feeling of determination filling him like none he’d ever known before. “I’ll do more than accept the challenge, Sir George. I’ll succeed.”