Into Thin Air (5 page)

Definitely
not sit. Run, maybe. How she loathed being a coward, though. What else was she to do?

Gawan claimed to see ghosts, for God's sake, to be a
gwarche
... er ...
gwarcheid,
or whatever that was, and to help them, even, and then ...

She chanced another peek at the two by the door. The woman with the big bird on her head gave a sheepish grin and a hesitant wave. The man just frowned.

She could nearly see through both of them.

She
could see them?

Ellie closed her eyes and squeezed her temples. "Not real. Not real. Not real ..."

"What in Heavens!" Nicklesby, who reminded Ellie of a slightly older version of Ichabod Crane but dressed in a long, striped sleeping gown and hat, flung open the door and walked right through the bird lady and the man.

"Beg pardon," Nicklesby said over his shoulder. Then he scowled at Gawan and made a beeline for Ellie.

"My dear," he cooed, grasping her hand and giving it a gentle pat, " 'tis all right." He tugged her gently. "Come away from this chamber of madness and let me settle you into another, more
sane
one." He scowled at everyone in the room. "One where you may gain a spot of peace."

Ellie's mind whirled, but she focused and studied Nicklesby. He felt safe. Maybe a blend of Ichabod Crane and a young Ebenezer Scrooge. Yeah, especially in his old-fashioned nightclothes and his gangly arms and legs. And that silly long hat. But if he thought she was about to bunk
here
for the night, he was crazy, too.

Gawan gave a hearty sigh and shoved a hand through his hair. "Nicklesby, let me. I'll settle her just as comfortably as yourself—I vow it."

The two by the door stared on, watching the exchange, but remained silent. Maybe they couldn't speak? No, they'd certainly spoken earlier, and Ellie had heard them clear as a bell. Or was that her imagination?

In a way, it all struck her as pretty hilarious. She couldn't recall her own name, or where she was even from, but she felt pretty darn sure she'd never had two guys—even if one did look like Ichabod Scrooge—fight over who would do the honors of
settling
her into bed.

In a swirl of mist, her mind drifted away from the room with its entire strange lot of people.

Nicklesby's hand remained on her elbow, so she knew she hadn't left. Very, very bizarre.

Who
was
she? And how in the heck had she ended up in Northern England? God, her brain hurt from all the deep, heavy thinking she'd been doing. And none of it had helped.

And
this
guy, Gawan. The self-proclaimed
Guardian.
She was drawn to him, almost like she was
meant
to be drawn to him. Quiet yet strong, emanating a sense of security and power unlike anything she'd ever experienced. His voice, while a bit raspy, was deep but not too deep, definitely not too high, but in fact, just right. Calming. And that strange Welsh accent made it all the more intriguing.

Wait—how did she know she'd never experienced anything like that? She couldn't even remember her own name, or where she'd bought the clothes she had on, or jeez, she didn't even remember getting on a 747 and flying to England.

Gawan claimed to see spirits. Claimed to be a
gwarcheidiol. (Note to self: always carry a pocket
dictionary, preferably an English-to-Welsh one.)

Bad thing was, she could see spirits, too.

The headache started to return.

As did the voices ...

"Honestly, Godfrey, you are bloody irritating, man. Wait, she's coming back round." Gawan leaned close to her. "Ellie? Are you well?"

Ellie blinked and focused on the knee-buckling, handsome face of Gawan Conwyk. His soft, fathomless—ancient?—eyes studied her. "Are you?" he said. "Okay?"

Godfrey? Who was Godfrey?

Again, Ellie glanced around the room. The man and woman had moved closer, now they were only a few feet away and curiously studying her. Nicklesby had stepped back, and Gawan had taken his place at her elbow. Everyone seemed genuinely concerned over her well-being. So why did it all seem so surreal?

"Do not worry overmuch, Ellie," Gawan said, his voice low, his words seemingly meant just for her.

" 'Twill be easier deciphered come the morn."

It was at that exact moment—the one where she'd
almost
felt a tiny bit calm, when a small figure burst through the thick stone wall. A young boy, maybe nine or ten years old, dressed in dark knickers and stockings, scruffy ankle-high boots, and a long-sleeved white shirt with dark suspenders, came hurdling toward her. He pulled up short just a few inches away, out of breath. He, too, was nearly transparent.

Not only that, but the outfit he wore made him look like a paperboy announcing the sinking of the
Titanic.

He stared. Then his nose screwed up and he cocked his head. "Blimey, she don't look much like she's dead," he said in a thick, nearly inaudible British accent. He leaned close. "Sir Godfrey, I thought you said she was dead."

The transparent man, Godfrey, coughed.

"Oy, young Davy," Nicklesby said. "Be you silent!"

Ellie blinked. Too much weird stuff was happening, and cowardly or not, she figured the best thing to do would be to Run Like Hey-el.

Dead?

"I told ye, she's going to bolt!" Godfrey cried again.

Just as she bolted.

"Show her your bloody wings, boy!" Godfrey shouted.

Wings?

Jerking out of Gawan's grasp, Ellie ran, straight through young Davy, slammed into the very narrow and bony shoulder of poor Nicklesby, then right through the flimsy forms of Godfrey and the bird lady, and then straight out the door.

Down the passageway she flew, the hiss of gaslights throwing a pale yellow streak over the stone, reminding her of an old Frankenstein movie. She'd watched that before, right? Good Lord, at least she remembered something.

Down the winding steps, then across the oversized great room, Ellie dashed for the double front doors, voices arguing seemingly right on her heels. Her heart thumped in her chest and her lungs burned, but by God, she was leaving this mad house, sexy guy or not.

Then her body grew light and wispy, and an eerie feeling of her feet not actually touching the ground stole over her. Her vision became very, very blurry.

Gawan called to her, above the ruckus of the others as they quibbled and argued over something, but his voice began to fade, as well.

All just before her body sifted through those thick, ancient double doors ...

... and vanished.

Chapter Four

"Well, is she dead or isn't she?" Young Davy Crispin said in one inquisitive breath.

Gawan, winded from his workout, lowered his blade, leaned on the hilt, and waved off his opponent. " 'Tis enough for now, Chris. Until tomorrow morn."

Christian de Gaultiers, recently of Arrick-by-the-Sea, a handful of years older than Gawan and who didn't seem at all winded, smiled and gave Gawan a low bow. He raised a brow, smirk still firmly affixed to his face. "A most worthy opponent you are, Conwyk. With a bit more practice, you could even best my sister, I'd warrant. Mayhap even my grandmother."

Gawan laughed. "Aye, you might be aright on that accord."

"I know I am." Christian grinned widely before he disappeared.

"Well is she?" Davy asked again. "Dead?"

Lowering to one knee, Gawan eyed the squirming lad. "She's In-Betwinxt, so I'm told. Caught between the mortal world and yours. Something's happened to her, and I've got to figure out just what."

"Blimey." Davy scratched a place under his cap. "Where'd she go, then?"

"I wish I knew, boy." Davy's curiosity didn't exactly surprise Gawan. Whenever a new subject wandered onto Grimm's lands, the lad clung to Gawan's side, determined to help decipher how the soul had become lost in the first place. No doubt the boy would accompany him on his missions, had he the ability to leave Grimm's lands.

'Twas sad, really. Davy himself hadn't a clue as to the cause of his own untimely demise. Gawan hadn't yet given up on solving that particular case, although the boy rather liked his home at Castle Grimm and didn't seem inclined to move on. Aye, a Guardian Gawan truly was, but he served only those charges assigned. And Davy hadn't been one of them.

"Well, what's gonna happen to her, then?" Davy asked.

Rising from his kneeling position, and not overlooking the popping of his poor knees, Gawan sheathed his blade. " 'Tis difficult to say," he said, meeting the boy's ghostly gaze, "but I vow to do everything in my power to give her aid."

Davy kicked a rock with the toe of his ankle-high boot. "I rather like her. She's quite nice to look at."

Gawan laughed. "Aye, that she is."

Squinting as if in deep thought, Davy looked up. "Why didn't you show her your wings like Sir Godfrey said to? Surely she would have believed you then?

Gawan shrugged. "Mayhap. Mayhap not. 'Twasn't the right time, methinks."

Davy nodded, then peered back up at him, "Nicklesby shouted at me for asking if she was dead in front of her. She doesn't know she's In-Betwinxt?"

"Nay," Gawan said. "And I fear she won't take that reckoning very well. Mayhap then I shall show her the wings."

"Davy!" Godfrey's booming voice echoed over the bailey. "Come here, boy! I've a mind to best you at a game of knucklebones!"

Davy grinned. "Gotta go. Sir Godfrey is passing creaky at me for beating him three times past and vows to whip me good." He turned to leave and stopped. "You'll go into the village soon, won't you? To ask questions? I know ye searched about Grimm and yonder yestereve, but the lady's been gone for nearly two nights now."

It more than worried Gawan, as well. But these were precarious matters he dealt with, and he had to utilize his skills with utmost—how did Nicklesby put it? Delicacy?

"Aye, boy, that is my plan, indeed. And I shall report to you straightaway upon my return."

Davy gave a gap-toothed smile and gave a nod. "Right. Now we have an accord." Then he turned and disappeared through the wall of the bailey.

With a heavy heart, Gawan stared over the crags of Castle Grimm and out to the North Sea beyond.

A fine morn, actually, all things considered. 'Twas brisk enough for sure, with the chilled sea wind grazing his sweaty skin, but the rain had passed and the sun had just begun to give the clouds a yellowish glow.

As he walked closer to the edge of the bailey, where a sheer drop-off fell straight into the ocean, his thoughts yielded to those of the mysterious Ellie.

He had, in fact, visited the very place Ellie had first appeared—at the guardrail in the lane. That she'd been vastly interested in the sea below caused him to climb down the slope, just to see if anything could be found. There'd been nothing, of course, save the pebbled beach, and without her, he had nothing more to go on. 'Twas a rainy day, though, and he could have overlooked something.

He'd stop by once more on his way to the village and go over the area while the fine weather lasted.

It more than unnerved him that Ellie hadn't appeared in two days. Bleeding priests, he hoped she faired well. The odd way she popped in and out meant her physical body was struggling to stay alive. More than once, the unsettling thought crossed his mind that she had indeed passed on.

"Indeed, she has not."

Gawan jumped at the voice, and then drew a deep breath as he recognized it. "Aizeene, I thought I'd finally seen the last of you."

"Not quite, my warrior friend. You've still nearly a fortnight left before your retirement. And so you know why I am here, no doubt."

Gawan studied the white-robed Saracen-turned-Angel. "I've a fair guess."

Aizeene moved to stand next to him, and was silent, staring out over the sea for several moments.

"This will be a rather difficult assignment, lad. The girl is In-Betwinxt, a most challenging charge, to be sure. You've not dealt with the like in all your years of Guardianship."

"A fine Guardian I've proven to be. I don't know what to bloody do with her."

Aizeene looked at him and chuckled. "You'll save her—that's what you'll do with her. Find her mortal body, before it's too late. 'Tisn't her time yet, lad."

Gawan looked at the Saracen long and hard. "There's something else."

Aizeene moved his gaze back to the sea. "As you know, I cannot advise you further. Other than, of course, to remind you that you'll not remember one another. After."

Gawan blew out a hearty breath. Somehow, the thought of not remembering Ellie bothered him.

Vastly. "So you came merely to goad me?"

Another chuckle. "Never. Just to make sure you know the girl is indeed your charge, and that your mission is to save her life. No matter what else occurs, and no matter the cost."

Gawan met Aizeene's gaze, then nodded. "In truth, I knew it from the moment I found out she was
mostly
dead."

Aizeene gave a short nod. "Then I shall be off." He lifted one dark brow. "Do not underestimate your Earthbound powers, Gawan of Conwyk, as they are fine ones, indeed. You have been a most worthy Guardian over the centuries. I have complete confidence that you will conquer this last task." He glanced at the sword at Gawan's hip. "I see you still train. A most satisfying sport, aye?"

Gawan grinned. "For a certainty."

With a slight wave, Aizeene disappeared.

Gawan inhaled a lungful of sea air, then exhaled. A vision of Ellie came to mind.

Ellie Aquitaine. His final charge.

Young Davy had it aright. Ellie was indeed fine to look at. Comely, even soaked and drenched, she was. Vastly different from the women of his time.

Vastly, indeed.

Mayhap 'twas those fetching hose she wore? Damnation, he could see every curve of her legs. Not that he looked overmuch.

An American, she was, with the most intriguing manner of speech he'd ever heard. Aye, he'd heard it aplenty on the telly—another fine invention—but hers was indeed a stranger accent. He rather liked it.

She thought him gorgeous.

Seabirds squawked and dove into the North Sea, and a stiff breeze caught Gawan square in the face.