Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (28 page)

“Kitty?” Julia said sweetly.

Kitty looked up expectantly at her older sister. “Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Kitty’s chin found her hands again, her mouth forming a frown.

The music changed.

The music was upbeat, full of life, fun, racing. Fast. Shona threw her head back as her breathing picked up and her blood began to course through her veins like lightning. Her eyes grew wide, as an odd sort of anticipation began to mount within her, feeling ready to erupt like a volcano.

“Lordy, Shona, wha
t’s wrong?” Tomy asked, horrifi
ed.

Shona tried to focus on her but couldn’t. Her control was nearly gone. She had to get out of the booth, move, anything to curb the excitement building inside her. She swallowed and almost choked.

Julia quickly stood up. “Shona, I want you to come with me.”

Shona was shaking now; the thing nearly had her.

“Hurry, Shona.” Julia insisted.

“What is going on? What’s wrong with her?” Tomy stood.

Julia smiled, her eyes narrowing. “Absolutely nothing. I told you she wanted to go out tonight. She’s going to have a great time, trust me.” She reached across the booth and grabbed one of Shona’s arms, pulling her
out of her seat and all but fl
inging her toward the jukebox. “Let’s hear that song again!” She hooted to the men, dragging Shona along beside her.

Tomy sat down slowly. “Oh
-M
y
-God. W
hat is that woman up to?”

Kitty looked from Tomy to her sister, as Julia, the self-proclaimed founder of class and sophistication, slapped an
unsuspecting cowboy on the butt
. “I guess she just wants to have a good time?” She commented haphazardly.

Tomy sat stunned as Julia put
a quarter into the jukebox. Th
e same
song started again…

* * *

Dallan was on his knees, clutching his stomach. “Oh, Saints,” he rasped shakily, and retched again.

“Eaton,” Lany began uneasily, “how long is he going to do this?”

“He said he didn’t travel well. Now I know what he meant.” John paced nervously
as the sounds of Dallan’s suff
ering came from the other side of one of the parked cars surrounding them.

Angus shook his head. “I
t
isna
that he canna travel. Th
e De’il heathen told me before we left he might ha’ a wee bit o’ trouble
wi
’ the bus.”

“And?” John prompted.

“If it were the travel, how could he sail cross the Channel when he went to France, hmm?”

John and Lany exchanged the same look of curiosity.

“The lad no has a-traveling sickness. He
can’t stand to be closed in. Th
e
heathen says he has a sickness of closed spaces.”

  
John understood, his features relaxing. “
He’s claustrophobic. He does fi
ne on a ship…”

“Because he can get on deck. Close the lad in though, and…” Angus made a motion as if being sick to his stomach.

Dallan emerged from the other side of the car, his face pale and sweaty, hands shaking
,
jaw tight
.
Angus hobbled up to him and off
ered a handkerchief. Dallan nodded his thanks and turned to clean himself.

Lany sighed slowly and bit his lower lip. “Well, this is an untimely piece of information.”

“Better we found out now,” John commented as he walked over to Dallan. He put a hand on one broad shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Dallan looked over his shoulder at him. “Ay
e, I’m fi
ne,” he rasped weakly.

John came around in front of him. “Dallan, are you sure you’re all right?”

Dallan sniff
ed once and coughed. “I feel a wee bit strange. I guess riding on that… that thing didna help me much.”

John looked to Lany, who glanced behind them at the large building on the other side of the parking lot. A big red sign rose high into the air.
STAN’S.
He nodded his agreement to John. It wasn’t just Dallan’s new
ly discovered claustrophobia aff
ecting him; it was the Maiden as well.

John closed his eyes in silent prayer fo
r a few moments before speaking.
“You understand what you’re to do? Just get a good look at the Muiraran. We’re not here to take h
er
… the Muiraran yet.”

Dallan
absently
rubbed his chin with a hand
missing John's mistake
, “Is it that well guarded then? Can we no steal it? And this place, John, just what is it?”

“It be an inn of sort
s, lad,” Angus
quickly
volunteered. “Th
e kind one might go for a wee bit o’, ah, well, one might call it a…”

“It’s a tavern, Dallan,” Lany added calmly. “A place where people go to get drunk, socialize or both.”

Dallan looke
d the building
over
carefully,
suddenly thankful the heathen wasn’t there. Kwaku had stayed behind to tend to his wife; feed her, he said. Just as well. If he had been there, Dallan knew he would probably still feel sick. He refocused his attention on his companions. “Tell me, John, why is something o’ such great importance to yer people kept in a tavern?”

John glared at Lany, who gave him
a
what
was I supposed to say
?
look
in response. He turned back to Dallan. “The Muiraran is here for tonight
only,
that is, if we haven’t missed ah
… it.”

Dallan’s eyes narrowed.
He looked to the building
again
and
began to walk directly to it.

John gasped. “Da
llan, wait, let one of us go fi
rst.” He began to trot after him, the rest following.

Dallan reached two large wooden doors. A loud thumping sound was coming from inside. He stood, head cocked, listening with curiosity.

Angus caught
up to him.
“Let me take him in, Lord John.
I’m more familiar with these sorts o’ places.
I know what, uh, he needs to look for.”

John frowned, weighing Angus’s words. “All right, go ahead. Take him in, get a good look, and then bring him out. Lany and I will take it from there.” He glanced at Lany. “Right?”

Lany swallowed and stared at Dallan, all six-feet-six of him.
“Right.” He smiled, his voice e
ven fl
atter than usual.

Dallan
pushed open the double doors and stepped inside, Angus hobbling along behind him. Th
e doors closed, though they
couldn’t hear them; the music was too loud, the people’s shouts and hollers deafening.

Dallan looked about and covered
his ears. He’d never in his life heard such an irritating racket. The music w
as almost terrifying, and at fi
rst glance the people looked out of control. Upon closer inspection, however, he saw they danced and twirled as one huge group, all making the same motions with their hands and bodies, stomping their boot-clad feet in unison. He slowly uncovered his ears and glared at Angus. “Where is it? I’ll ha’ my look and then let’s
be gone! I dinna like it here!”

Angus nodded and scanned the area, searching.

Dallan, too, searched the huge room with a trained eye. He scanned the walls, the corners, the tables, looking for any sort of unusual weapon. Nothing. “I dinna ken this thing, Angus. Ye’ll ha’ to point it out.”

Angus’s face had suddenly gone pale. He swallowe
d hard and peered up at Dallan.
“Nay, lad, best ye see it for yerself. Believe me, ye’ll know it when ye sees it.”

Dallan glared. “How d’ye expect me to fetch it when I dinna ken what it looks like?”

Angus swallowed again and took an involuntary step back. “Look around, laddie. It’s here. By all that is holy, it’s here.”

Dallan couldn’t believe it. The man had fear in his eyes. He quickly scanned the room again. The people were everywhere, dancing an
d shout
ing. The music was still loud with a man singing about the Almighty
blessing someone named Texas. He looked to a darkened corner where a huge lighted contraption glowed, apparently the source of the music.

A reddish fl
ash suddenly caught his eye as a series of whoops and jeers rent the air. Several large men had just thrown a woman atop a long serving counter. She danced before them, her movements quick and grac
eful. Her long dark red hair fl
ew about her as she twisted and spun, a large black hat of some sort covered her head and most of her face. Dallan feared she would fall, knowing she couldn’t possibly see with the hat over her eyes. He took an unconscious step forward, and involuntarily braced himself to run and catch her if need be.

She spun again and faced him, her small body swaying to the fast music. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her, though he knew he needed to cont
inue his search. He was transfi
xed, the music dying away from his ears.

The woman lifted the hat from her face.

Dallan gasped and stumbled backward, almost falling on top of Angus. A bolt of searing heat shot through his body as his eyes locked on hers.

Her eyes were a brilliant green, the same as his, and they bore into him like lightning, traveling through him and out the doors b
ehind him to who-knows-where. The confi
rmation hit him so hard, so fast he stepped back onto Angus’s feet, c
ausing them both to stumble. Th
e two men grabbed at
each other to keep from falling.

“By the Saints!” Dallan breathed.

The woman let the hat fall over her face and broke the frightening hold she had on him. He nearly fell over again but Angus caught him. “Easy, lad, easy. Hold together now.” He tried to steer Dallan to the door.

Dallan stood to his full height and wrenched his arm from the small man. The woman!
She
was what John was after! He burst through the doo
rs leading outside, nostrils fl
ared, eyes narrowed,
his
jaw dancing.

Lany pushed himself away from the car he’d been leaning against. “Ah, see, Eaton? What did I tell you? I knew he’d be able to recognize… uh oh.”

“John!” Dallan bellowed as his angry strides brought him closer.

Lany nodded to himself nervously. “Instant recognition from the sound of it. You’ll excuse me for a second?”

 
John glared at his assistant before putting on his Lord Councilor’s face. He stood straight, preparing for the verbal onslaught.

Dallan st
opped directly in front of him
eyes set to kill, and bent to the shorter man’s face. “Ye ask me to trust. Ye tell me the Muiraran can get me home. Ye tell me how bloody close I am to getting away from the heathen! But ye seem to ha’ forgotten to tell me that the weapon, this…this Muiraran, is a
woman!”
He turned his face from John abruptly, caught his breath, and spun on him again. “Tell me, just how is a
drunken
woman to get me home?”

John’s eyes widened. “Drunken?” His voice, he thought seemed a little weak.

Dallan’s face exploded in exasperation. He threw one hand in the direction of the building. “Aye, dancing on the serving
counter
no less! What sort o’ place is this, a bloody brothel? Saints, man, have ye lost yer senses? I’ll ha’ no part o’ this!
Nay, no part at all.
Either ye play straight with me, or let me be on my way!”

Joh
n stood staring up at him, a fl
at look governing his face. Lany caught it and smi
led to himself. “Ah, love at fi
rst sight.”

Dallan glared at him. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Lany threw up both hands in front of him. “Not a thing.” He turned to his superior. “Right, I’ll shut up.”

John took a deep breath. “Dallan, I didn’t tell you what the Muiraran was because I wasn’t allowed to.”

No one thought it possible, but Dallan’s eyes narrowed even further. “Dinna tell me. Let me guess.”

“It wasn’t Kwaku. It was the Elders.” John remained calm while he spoke, even going so far as to begin drawing circles in the gravel of the parking lot with his foot. “They felt you wouldn’t help us if you were told the Muiraran was a woman.”

Dallan snorted. “Ye canna call her even that. Why she’s naught but a wee lassie, nary more than six and ten.”