Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (36 page)

“I dinna ken,” Dallan whispered
back
. “Somethin
g frightens her, but I canna fi
gure out what.”

“Keep your head low, Eaton. You don’t want her to see you.”

 
John glanced at his assistant. “Right.” He slouched down in his chair, as did Lany. “What could be bothering her?”

Lany looked around as if searching, yet seemed to be waiting instead.

“What is it?” Dallan asked. “D’ye ken what’s wrong?” He glanced back to the Maiden.

She was gone. “No…”

John sat up suddenly at the look of panic on Dallan’s face. “What?”
He and Lany followed the Weapons Master’s gaze.

“Uh oh, where’d she go?” Lany whispered in apprehension.

“I don’t like this,” John said as he st
ood. “Spread out, find her. Th
ere’s
some
thing wrong here.”

* * *

Shona quietly hurried down another aisle, her panic driving her deeper into the library’s maze of shelves, tables and partitions. She didn’t quite understand what drove her, only that she had to either get out of the building or hide. She’d been through this before: the prickly sense of warning, the cold chill of fear that raced up her back, the undeniable knowledge that
they
were close by. Hunting.

For her.

She ran down yet
another aisle, fear
confusing her sense of direction, so she stopped. Her eyes searched, muscles tensing, her body prepared to react to the slightest sound. She promised herself if
they
ever bothered her again, she wouldn’t freeze. Not
this time. This time she’d fi
ght
them. Fight with words. She was good with words and this was a public place; she could scream if she really needed to
, or if worse came to worse, fi
ght them off physically, the way she wanted to last time.

Shona raised her eyes to the top of the shelves and listened intently. She h
eard nothing
but
knew
they were there. She could feel them, sense them, all but taste their presence in the building, and hadn’t the slightest idea how. She just did.

And they were getting closer…

She swallowed back her panic, ran to the end of the aisle and stopped short when
it emptied at
a dead end. She turned and began to hurriedly head back the other way.

“Little Bo Peep has lost he
r sheep and we know where to fi
nd her…”

The low raspy voice
carried through the books surrounding
her. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as the m
uscles in her legs locked. She stood
glued to the spot.

Another
voice
, this one mocking, sarcastic, ugly. “Where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are.”

Her knees nearly buckled as she bal
led her trembling hands into fi
sts. She should have stayed with the
man,
she knew she should have stayed with him. But what if he was with them? She hadn’t thought of that before. And she had sat with him for who knows how long pretending she could hear him, imagining he spoke to her. But it was nothing. It was just like Julia said it would always be. Or was it?
             

Th
ey don’t care about you, Shona. All they will do is hurt you. Men are
bad, ugly,
violent
. Th
ey will use you and then hurt you.
All except Philip.
You
know you can trust Philip. He would never hurt you, Shona. He loves you,
he’ll care for you,
he
can keep all the others away from you. He will come for
you one day and when he does, you will…

Shona nearly cried out
and cover
ed her ea
rs. Julia’s overwhelming words
always surfaced
at odd times, as if triggered to control her, making her freeze. Making her helpless.

“Little Bo Peep, we’ve found your sheep and let this be a reminder, that all lost sheep are naught but mea
t, meant only for those that fi
nd her…”

 
Th
e
y were in the next aisle ove
r, coming closer. She had to fi
ght to make her legs move. The books dug into her back as she slid along the shelves, too frightened to push away from the scant protection.

“Anybody hungry?” The third voice was raspy and deep. She knew there would be three. There were always three, the same three. And she knew what they wanted…

Maybe she wasn’t boxed
in,
maybe there was another aisle around the corner. If not, the books would be her only protection. Her voice had left her again.
Help me, oh, please help me! Th
ey are coming for me, they will hurt
me again, don’t let them hurt me again…

* * *

 
Dallan spun in mid aisle, practically knocking John over as he headed back the other way.

“What? What is it now?”

Dallan ignored him as he picked up speed, his surroundings a blur. He tur
ned suddenly to take yet a diff
erent route, one none of them had traversed, and made his legs move faster.

He could hear her.

“Dallan? What is it?” John had to trot to keep up.

Da
llan suddenly stopped,
grabbed a generous portion of John’s shirt and pulled him into a side aisle. “Stay here.”

“Why? What’s going on? You hear something?”

Dallan’s eyes searched furtively yet looked at nothing. “Stay here, John, I’ll be back.”

“Dallan…” John’s voice had gone stern.

Dallan pierced him with a look so full of command John backed into a small book display and broke the hold only by stumbling over several fallen volumes of Shakespeare.
By the time he righted himself
,
Dallan was gone
.

* * *

Lany searched the aisle. Th
e Maiden
no
where
to be seen. He bit his lower lip in frustration and fought against the strange fear that pounded him, knowing full well it was not his own. It was the Maiden’s, and for some reason he could feel it.

And if he could feel it, then…

He turned and retraced his st
eps, anxious now to fi
nd Dallan,
sure at this point
the Scot
knew,
felt
where the Maiden was.

Lany rounded a corner and stopped short. There were people in this
section of the library, the fi
rst he’d seen all day, and he’d practically run right over one. “Excuse me,” he said as he made to move past the young man blocking his path.

The man glared
at him, obviously disturbed
Lany had invaded his aisle. He matched Lany’s movements and blocked his way.

Lany stopped and looked at him. Mid-twenties, rich parents,
eyes
too close together, too much aftershave, vain about his appearance, and probably father of several illegitimate children. In short an ignorant young thug. Through with the assessment and not having time to spare, he again tried to go around him. “I believe I said excuse me.”

“I believe I didn’t hear you.”

Lany’s face went fl
at, “Oh. Well then…” he shoved him out of the way and began to move past him, more anxious than before.

“I don’t think so,” the thug’s voice called from behind him. Lany was busy ignoring it when his shirt collar was grabbed so hard from behind the t
op button popped off and fl
ew into a wall of books. Before he had
time to react, he was on the fl
oor next to the button with the back of his head against a large volume of poetry. He wasn’t sure which hurt more, his skull or the fact the thug had managed to quietly and expertly land him in the middle of the aisle.

He began to
climb
to his feet when he was
unceremoniously yanked the rest of the way by the hand of a stealthy, prowling, and ready-to-kill, Weapons Master. Lany glared openly.

Dallan remained silent while he glared back, then released the handful of shirt he’d grabbed and moved away to continue his own search.

Lany g
lanced at the wrinkled material
. “Hope Angus didn’t pay much f
or this thing,” then
turned and quickly followed Dallan.

Dallan peered intently around the edge of the aisle, then
looked at Lany and brought a fi
nger to his lips before returning his attention to the sounds coming from around the corner.

“Little Bo Peep?” The voice was mocking, dangerous. “Where is your sheep? Send it out to play with us.”

Lany cringed
at the words, an
d
took a cautious step
forward t
o stand next to Dallan whose
eyes were narrowed to two bright green sl
its, his jaw tight, nostrils fl
ared. Lany knew he no longer searched. Dallan w
as on the hunt, stalking his prey
, and it wasn’t the Maiden.

“Oh look, a little lost sheep with tender white meat, all for us to devour. Can’t wait to eat this young little sheep, too bad we’ve only an hour.”

  
Dallan reached
his right hand behind him, down
the back of his loose sweatshirt, and silently pul
led a dirk out from underneath. 
Lany grimaced. So that’s why Dallan had worn his hair unbound today, he thought to himself—to hide the weapon better. It also explained why he’d wanted to rip the elastic off the sweatshirt last night.

Dallan’s eyes narrowed even further. Lany tapped the Scot on the shoulder and he abruptly turned his head around, eyes intense, brow furrowed in warning.

Lany mouthed the word ‘No’, indicating the dirk with a nod of his head. Dallan remained expressionless and turned his attention back around the corner. Now he heard nothing. Only silence. He began to move.

Lany grabbed him. “Dallan, wa
it,” he whispered urgently. “Th
is isn’t
seventeenth century
Scotland. You can’t just kill someone and be on your way.”

“Quiet, man,” Dallan’s voice was low. “She’s running again.”

They both froze and listened intently to th
e light footsteps fl
eeing down the next aisle. This section of the library was like a huge maze, the shelves and aisles all connecting in a pattern. The problem was, neither Dallan nor
Lany knew it well enough to know where they were, not to mention the Maiden and the unexpected
company which
lurked nearby.

The footsteps stopped just as another set, heavier, could be heard in another aisle, and yet another. They, whoever they were, had split up to either try to box the Maiden
in or simply fl
ush her out into the open.

Dallan took a step forward and Lany again grabbed him and got his face right in the Scot’s ear, albeit on tiptoe. “No killing! If you do we’ll all be in a lot of trouble!”

Dallan turned to face him, narrowed
his eyes, fl
ared his nostrils,
then
spun away
.
He
crept down a side aisle, stopped abruptly, and motioned Lany to do the same. He l
istened intently,
and then looked to Lan
y, a wicked smile on his face
.

Lany glared back and folded his arms across
h
is chest.

Dallan merely winked at the A
ssistant Councilor as he
turn
ed
to the wall of books at his left. He brought a hand to the sh
elf at his own eye level, paused
then moved his hand to the shelf
below and began to quietly shove books aside
.

Lany watched nervously as Dallan reached into the hole he’d created and started pulling books from the shelf in the next aisle over. Comprehension dawning, Lany tiptoed to the opposite end of the
ir
aisle to carefully peek around the corner. Sure enough, what must b
e one of the thugs
stood up against the
shelves
.
Th
e young man had a long ponytail that swished every time he moved his head to scan the aisle. He probably waited for the Maiden to come running by.