Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (42 page)

Julia raised a contemptuous eye at Lany and studied him for a moment, weighing the truth of his story. “Obviously.”

“Well, well, well. Maggie does seem to have a full house today, doesn’t she? And who might you be?” A smooth, evenly clipped British voice wrapped itself around Lany’s ear, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. He turned to face whomever had just spoken.

The well-dressed man stood poised at the top of the stairs, calmly studying the scene before him. He looked at Lany as if pausing to listen to some petition or scrap of useful gossip.

“Philip, this is Mr., Mr
.…” Julia blanched. "I forgot to tell you, Philip … about the interviews with Shona.  I apologize…
and I …
"

“My name is Philip Brennan,
" he cut in.
"
I’ve just arrived from abroad, and as Miss Dawson seems not to know who comes and goes in this house I must ask who you are and just what went on concerning my… dear friend’s daughter.”

Lany could hear the obvious threat in Brennan’s voice directed at Julia, who stood looking as if she had just swallowed glass. He pushed back his revulsion and in
troduced himself. “Lany Mosgofi
an.”

“From?”

“California originally,” Lany began, as he collected the last few pages of the questionnaire. “Well, looks like we’re done for today. Take care.” He headed for the stairs.

Brennan wasn’t about to
let that happen. He placed a fi
rm hand on Lany’s arm. “Originally, hmm? How about… now?”

“Now,” Lany said with his best bemused look, “I must be going, Mr. Brinker. You’ll excuse me.” He shrugged off Brennan’s hand as if it were an unwanted pill of lint and moved toward the stairs again.

“That’s Brennan,” Brennan said testil
y, more out of the mispronuncia
tion than the obtuse way Lany was speaking.

“Ah, yes, Brennan. Take care.” Lany replied as he reached for the stair rail just as
John ran back up to get him.
Th
at, at least, Lany was ready for.
“All fi
nished, sir. Let’s go.”

John arched an eyeb
row when Lany said “sir” but fi
gured it wasn’t as important at the moment as leaving was.

Brennan grabbed the nearest arm, John’s. “Not so fast, gentlemen,” he said too calmly. “I want an explanation. Who are you and what were you doing with Miss Whittard?”

John and Lany exchanged a quick look. Could this be Dallan’s competition?

“We represent the Music School of Marseilles,” John began. “Just getting started. We received a letter from Miss Dawson expressing Miss Whittard’s possible interest in attendance, but we have some fairly strict entrance requirements. We’re the American representatives, here to see if Miss Whittard… meets the criteria.”

Brennan’s glare shifted momentarily to the now-shaken Julia, then back to John and Lany. “How very interesting. Forgive my earlier rudeness,” he purred, releasing John’s arm. “My concern for Miss Whittard runs very deep. So tell me more about the criteria of this school.”

Lany was biting his tongue to keep from saying anything that might get them in trouble. Thankfully, John was equally tired of the conversation. “I’m afraid we ha
ven’t the time,” he remarked fl
atly. “We’d best be going, Lany. We have another interview across town in an hour and a half, and I need to get ready for it.” He was halfway down the stairs, with Lany following, before Brennan could so much as catch his breath.

John was already at the bottom of the stairs. Lany turned and met Brennan’s glare with a courteous but emotionless expression. “Miss Dawson, I’ll call you later. Good day, Mr. Brandon.” He quickly disappeared down the hall, but could still hear the words, “that’s Brennan,” behind him as he walked to catch up with John and Dallan.

* * *

Brennan slowly turned to face Julia, the calm she wore barely hiding her apprehension. He smiled charmingly as he made his way toward her, his face dripping with understanding. She smiled back.

Brennan backhanded her
across the face and sent her fl
ying onto the sofa. “Now, you will tell me why you deliberately disobeyed my orders, won’t you?” He cooed seductively.

Julia took her hand from her face and glared at him.

Bad move. He viciously slapped her again, throwing her into the cushions. “Remember Julia, I can punish you without leaving a single mark…” He began to look her up and down appreciatively and licked his lips before a sadistic smile formed on his face.

Julia braced herself for what was surely to come, all the while plotting her own course of action to take in case she needed it.

Julia Dawson didn’t like to lose.

Where has your lover
gone,

Most beautiful of women?

Which way did your lover
turn,

Th
at we may look for him with you?

Song of Songs 6:2

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Shona sat up with a start and glanced furtively about her room. Once recognition settled, she hurried out of bed to the darkened bathroom across the hall. She stood frozen in front of the shadowed mirror, one hand on the light switch, and swallowed hard, the action hurting her now dry throat.

With trembling fingers, she fl
ipped the switch.

“Oh, no…” Clutching the towel rack next to her for support, Shona took a cautious step toward the mirror, liftin
g a hand to touch the cold refl
ection. “How can this be happening?” She whispered.

The face in the mirror
was not her own, and much diff
erent from what she had seen so often before. Usually it was pale, frightened, lost and lonely. But now…

Shona touched the glass. Th
e refl
ection remained the same, not fading away as usual. How could thi
s be? And why did she look diff
erent now? The hair was brighter, the skin darker with a deep golden tanned color she’d always wanted to have by summer’s end and never succeeded at. And the eyes…

She turned her head slowly side to side to see if the eyes in the mirror would follow. They did. Th
e upward slant was diff
erent,
alien-looking
, but the color was the most intriguing thing. She’d never seen such an unusual green and pondered where it had come from.

She remembered the one other feature that had coexisted along with the rest previously, and forced a swallow. She brought her hands to her shoulders, placed them under her hair,
then
slowly lifted the curling mass away from her neck, to expose…

“My God.” The ears. Pointed ears. How…? She turned her head to one side then the other, studying the entire picture. And still, it did not fade away.

She let her hair fall as a sudden realization struck, then slowly looked to her arms and hands. They bore the same healthy tan as the face in the mirror. “Oh, no, please…” She held her hands up before her face and saw how much smoother her skin looked. She touched one hand to the other and they felt the same way.

Shona began to shake her head and backed into the wall. “What’s happening?” She whispered. Her gaze returned to the mirror and the face there stared back, frightened, beautiful and totally alien. Yet was it not her own? She shook her head again.

“Shona?”

She quickly looked to the door. The voice had come from the stairwell.

Her mother.

“Shona, are you up?”

Shona fumbled for the
light switch and slapped it off
, throwing the bathroom back into shadows. She froze and wondered what to do, to say, to think…

"
Are you all right?” Her mother now stood in the doorway.

Shona, unable to fine her voice,
nodded nervously.

Maggie flipped on the light switch. Shona let out something between a yelp and a scream.

“What’s the matter? What are you doing up anyway? Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

Shona hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she had to practically force
one open. She looked horrifi
ed at her mother who had a bemused lo
ok on her face, not the terrifi
ed expression she’d expected.

She slowly turned to the mirror. “I do not understand.” She stepped forward to touch the mirror, surprised by what s
he saw. The refl
ection was
her own, not the… other one. “I am going crazy.”

“And so am I with these midnight wanderings of yours. If you can’t sleep I’m going to have to call your doctor…”

Shona spun to face her. “No!”

“Well, then get back in that bed and get some sleep. You don‘t look good.”

“I am fi
ne. Really.”

“Not after what happened t
his afternoon. You’re not as fi
ne as you think!”

Shona looked at her mother confused. “What happened this afternoon?”

 
Maggie’s eyes widened slightly as if the question had taken her by surprise. “You mean you don’t remember? During the interview?”

 
Shona glanced back to the mirror. Pale skin, rounded features and tired eyes stared back, yet she sensed something else just below the surface. “I do not remember much, other than Mr. Eaton not feeling well and talking with his assistant a little.”

Maggie stepped forward and smoothed a long lock of hair from Shona’s face. “You don’t remember anything else?” She sighed. “Never mind. You need to go back to bed and try to get some sleep. Mr. Ea
ton will be back tomorrow to fi
nish up. You want to be well-rested for the remainder of the interview, don’t you?”

Shona slowly nodded before she caught
her mother’s eyes with her own
“Something else happened today, but I cannot seem to remember. Someone else was here. I do not know who.” Her confusion deepened and she looked helplessly at her mother.

“You’re just tired
.” Maggie said, her face now an expressionless mask
as s
he
put an arm around Shona's
shoulders
and
steer
ed
her from the
bathroom. “Go back to bed. You won’t feel so confused in the morning.”

Shona allowed
herself
to be led back to the relative safety of her
room and crawled into bed
.

Maggie turned to leave. “Good night.”

Shona closed her eyes and yawned, “Good night.” She hadn’t realized how tired she was, what with all she had
seen in the mirror earlier. Th
is was
new, more frightening and she was s
uddenly exhausted, as if her terror had drained everything from her.

And probably did. 

So much so that Shona didn't even notice how Maggie Whittard stared at her
,
tears in her eyes, before she slipped silently out the door.

* * *

Dalla
n stood at the window, palms fl
at again
st the glass, admiring the
lights on the west hills of the city. Who was she, this lass John called the Maiden? And how could she make him feel this way?

He turned from the glass and glanced to the sleeping form sprawled on the couch, not really sure at this point who it was. Seemed they all took turns watching him, but had no set pattern. He never knew one night to the next what sort of company he’d have during his midnight musings.

Dallan
returned to the window.  H
e’d have to fi
gure out a way to be rid of any said company if he
was to do what he planned.
His jaw tightened at the thought. What was it about her that drew him? By the Saints, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her since they returned from the library that afternoon. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and he felt strange all of a sudden, like he’d been drinking yet still had his senses. Almost as if he were a, a… he hesitated to even think it.

But he was no coward. A giddy
young lad addled
by a lass
. Th
e thought
was almost sickening.

“Does she call to you, Boyeee?”

Speaking of sickening
…

Dallan glanced over his shoulder at a grinning Kwaku. “Why can ye no leave me be?”

Kwaku chuckled lightly. “Yes, she calls.
But not as before.
You want her, yes?” His voice was low, teasing.