Highland Protector (MacCoinnich Time Travels Book Five) (12 page)

“I miss them,” Amber said pulling him
from his thoughts. “I want to see them again…”

He heard her next thought in his
head.
Before I die.

Her words cut deep.

****

Selma walked barefoot, with a cup of
steaming hot coffee in her hand, through her two-bedroom apartment that housed
her small office. She’d left Jake close to midnight. He’d fallen asleep in his
recliner with the remote on the arm of the chair. Though the stick didn’t
completely wiggle free of his sphincter during their dinner, he did manage to
crack a smile or two in her presence. For a reason she couldn’t even explain,
she wanted to see the man let go of his tight grip of control. Every once in a
while, when he was snarking at her, she’d notice a brief smile, a flicker of
mirth behind his eyes.

Had he always been so rigid? Did he
laugh with his children…with his ex-wife?

Selma fired up her computer and
checked her inbox for orders. Her online business for all things Wiccan had
been profitable for several years. It helped that the books she’d written still
sold…well, the first one anyway. The second one edged too close to the truth
about Druids and straddled the religious fence, which made many readers uneasy.
Thankfully, when she’d written it she didn’t know she was Druid. She truly
thought she was a witch. Still, between what she’d learned in her life, and
what seemed to be inside her from her ancestors, Selma realized who she was.

She wouldn’t be writing any more
books. The first one, Sixth Sense, hit all the bestseller lists and landed her
a few talk show spots several years ago. She’d been famous for a short time and
ate it up. Now the only people who recognized her would have to follow her
website and check out her “about me” page.

She printed out a half dozen
invoices, flagged a back-order, and noticed a repeat customer’s name toward the
bottom of her inbox.

He called himself Norman Rockwell,
which made her laugh the first time she’d seen it. He always ordered her love
potion, and he did so every week. The mixture of herbs would only work if the
recipient cared for the giver. Or so Selma believed. The last package she sent
to Norman she added a small charm…asking the Ancients to give the man peace
with whoever the potion was meant for. Based on how frequently he purchased her
love potion, it seemed the woman he was attempting to snag wasn’t interested.

Selma opened the order, full on
expecting to see another need for her love potion.

That’s not what she found.

The order form was blank. Looked like
Norman Rockwell wasn’t in the buying mood. He was however in a ranting mood.

Under the “special instructions” box
her customer filled the space with hate.

YOU FUCKING BITCH. THE POTION WAS FOR
ME AND HER, NOT HER AND HER FUCKING EX. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID. I KNOW WHAT YOU
DID. I KNOW WHER… 

The box didn’t leave more room for
him to write, cutting him off.

Her hand trembled as it moved over
the mouse to delete the email. She hesitated and decided to keep it in her
inbox. Over the years, people had asked for refunds, said her “shit” didn’t
work. This kind of hate mail didn’t happen…not to her anyway.

Probably because most, if not all, of
her “shit” did work. That would be the by-product of being the real deal.

Obviously this love potion
worked…just not for the man giving it.

She glanced at the address she’d been
sending the package to. It was a P.O. Box in Bullhead City, Nevada. Not more
than a six-hour drive.

The P.O. Box she shipped her orders
from was several blocks from her apartment, giving her some space from
disgruntled customers. The precaution had been an afterthought when she moved
to California. Now, she was happy for it.

 She shook Mr. Rockwell from her head
and moved on to the next order. When her morning ritual was complete and the
coffee in her cup hit bottom, she moved to her supply closet and hand-packed
and mixed the herbs for her orders.

When she was finished, she filled her
bags for the post office and started from her office. The monitor on her desk
clicked onto a screen saver, reminding her she’d left it on.

With her hands full, she concentrated
on the mechanics of her computer, willing it to power down.

Nearly as quickly as she thought of
turning it off, it did.

The smile on her lips spread. Using
her mind, her gift, to control the electronics around her never got old. She
even managed to unlock simple mechanical structures…like the front door of a
certain police officer’s house.

It was early, and the post office was
quiet.

“Hey, Paul,” she greeted the
postmaster behind the desk by name.

“Hi, Selma. Lots of orders today?”

“A few.” She hoisted the bags onto
the counter and handed them over one at a time.

“Does any of this really work?”

“Of course it does,” she said with a
grin.

Paul was in his mid-fifties, and his
belly stuck out a little more than nature intended. Seemed like he enjoyed his
job and always greeted her with a smile.

“My wife went on your website. Said
you sell tea and crystals.”

She placed another box on the counter
and waited for him to weigh it and add the price to her list. “Crystals hold
energy. And tea or, more precisely, herbs can ease the mind and soul into
accepting the truth.”

“Sounds like mumbo-jumbo to me. No
offence.”

“None taken.” She’d learned long ago
to disregard the general disbelief from the public.

“I went to a palm reader once at the
county fair. Do you read palms?”

“No.” She didn’t need to look at a
palm to have a feeling of the people around her.

“The woman told me I needed to stop
smoking or I’d get ill.” He paused with his hand on the package. “I didn’t tell
her I smoked. Spooky how she knew.”

Selma stifled a laugh and placed her
hand over his. “From the looks of the yellow around your fingers, I’d say you
smoke two packs a day.” She released his hand. “Guess you didn’t believe her.”

He stared at his hand as if it were a
foreign object. “You think that’s how she figured it out?”

She shrugged and folded up her now
empty bag.

Paul gave her a total, which she paid
with her credit card. “It’s hard to quit. Try damn near every year.”

When he handed her the receipt to
sign, she brushed her finger over his and planted the seed for him to ignore
his nicotine cravings. There were no guarantees, of course. But she liked Paul
and didn’t want to see the man suffer with cancer.

“Every cigarette you don’t smoke is a
victory,” she told him.

“That’s what my wife says.”

“Smart woman.”

She tucked her bag under her arm.
“See you tomorrow, Paul.”

He waved and as she turned to leave,
she smacked into the man standing behind her in line.

“Excuse me.”

“Sorry,” he said. His voice was small
even though the hand he’d held out to keep her from falling gripped her elbow.

She looked up to see the man’s face,
and he released her and stepped back. Her body shuddered as unease crawled over
her skin. His dark eyes didn’t meet hers as he moved around her, dismissing her
as quickly as he’d entered her space.

When she stepped out into the hot
California sun, she shivered. The thought of her morning email had her looking
over her shoulder.

“Paranoid much?” she asked herself.

Yet instead of driving home, she
detoured toward Mrs. Dawson’s.

Safety in numbers and all that.

Chapter Thirteen

Helen met her at the door with a
bottle of Tums in her hand.

“Oh, boy…that’s not a good sign.”
Selma pushed her way inside and wrapped an arm around her new friend’s
shoulders.

“I’m told it’s a sign of a full head
of hair.” They walked down the hall and into Mrs. Dawson’s parlor, or living
room as most people called it.

“Blonde like you or brown hair like
Simon’s?”

“Has to take after his father.
There’s no way a blonde would come out with a full head of hair.”

“It’s a boy? Are you sure?” Selma sat
beside Helen with a huge smile on her face.

“Amber told us last week.”

Selma glanced at the ceiling,
envisioning the room above where Amber usually hid. “How is she?”

Helen heaved a sigh. “So much better
with Kincaid here.”

“Future-Boy?”

“Excuse me?”

“The guy who showed up at Jake’s? The
guy from the future?”

Helen laughed now, getting the joke.
“Right. Yeah…” Helen launched into an explanation of what had occurred since
Kincaid had shown up.

“So let me get this right.
Amber…little miss virginal and innocent has to hold Future-Boy’s hand twenty-four-seven
to keep the voices out of her head?” Selma couldn’t imagine.

“Yeah.”

The thought sunk in. “How is
that
working out?”

“I-I don’t really know. It’s not like
I can pull her aside and ask what she’s thinking... or how he’s behaving.”

“Is he being cool about it? I can’t
imagine what he’s thinking.”

“He’s probably thinking he’s stuck.
He let her go for a moment yesterday and she was instantly ill.” Helen lowered
her voice and placed a hand over Selma’s. “Between you and me…I think he’s the
guy Lora told her about.”

“The one who saves her?”

“Has to be. She’s different around
him. She smiles. Can carry on a conversation.”

Selma couldn’t remember being in the
woman’s presence for more than an hour in the past. “The emotional pull of
others is gone?”

“Dormant, I think. Certainly
tolerable. What her gift should be, if you ask me. Simon told me she was like this
years ago. Before Grainna.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Helen’s sigh told Selma her friend
wasn’t so sure. “What?”

“I’m worried. Something happened
yesterday, right before Kincaid let her go that makes me think something awful
is going to happen very soon.”

Her own forbearing of the day’s
events sent shivers over her. “What happened?”

“Amber and Kincaid were outside walking.
A crow watched them and freaked Amber out.”

“Crows are often mistaken as a bad
omen. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Helen shook her head. “No. This crow
wasn’t alone and was controlled by someone. A Druid. They were watching them.
Kincaid told us that in the future this house is filled with Druids in order to
fight off Others.”

“Others…what others?”

“Druids not leading noble lives.
People who found out about us. Oh, I don’t know. It sounds like this house is a
fortress for those inside. He suggested we start to build that stronghold now.
This morning, he encouraged Simon to acquire the funds to buy out the neighbors’
properties.”

“Seriously?”

Helen nodded. “In his time, the
fortress is four times as large. The property anyway. The house changes, but
it’s the walls around the place that extend to damn near the interstate.”

“That’s five miles away.”

“I know.”

Selma sat back...paused. “Makes
sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah…if Amber wasn’t surrounded by
the neighbors maybe she wouldn’t be having such a hard time.”

Helen frowned. “I hadn’t thought of
that.”

“None of us did. With the recession
and the prices of houses dropping like crazy, now would be the perfect time to
buy. Maybe the buffer will help in the future.”

Selma thought for a while then asked,
“So who controlled the crows?”

“We have no idea,” Helen told her.
“It seriously bugged Kincaid. And I don’t think that guy bugs easily.”

“He’s a big man with big weapons.”

“And a huge power. His shield is
stronger than a vault in Fort Knox.”

“Really?” Selma asked.

“Yeah.”

They sat there for a few minutes,
both staring away from each other and not speaking.

Helen snapped her head toward her and
held her stomach at the same time. “Why are you here?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“No…but you’re not here by accident.”

The problem with having her world
filled with Druids was the realization that secrets were impossible to keep. “I
feel like someone is watching me. I’m being paranoid.” Selma told her about the
email, about the post office. “Paranoid. The guy in the post office didn’t look
at me twice.”

“Never disregard your sixth sense.”

Funny, the quote was one Selma has
used in her book. “I know. Which is why I’m here I guess. I’d have bothered
Jake, but he’s at work.”

Helen lifted her eyebrows a few
times. “Jake, huh?”

They talked about him, his stoic
disposition, and general “assholiness”.

“You can always stay here,” Helen
told her. “I’m sure Mrs. Dawson wouldn’t mind.”

“I couldn’t.”

Helen shook her head. “Maybe when
Amber was plagued with all our feelings you needed to stay away…but not
anymore.”

“The guy in the email is just ticked
his girl hooked up with someone else and I’m just being paranoid. I know it.”

“I don’t know, Selma. There’s a
reason you’re here, and I don’t think it’s paranoia.”

Selma painted on a smile and
pretended to blow off the feeling of being watched.

****

Hours later, after visiting with
Amber, Future-Boy, and his friend, Giles, Selma returned home and worked her
way into her evening routine. She popped her dinner into the microwave and
tossed a salad while she watched the evening news.

“…the scene was out of a Hollywood
macabre script,” the reporter said. “Although the police aren’t reporting
details of the crime scene, it’s safe to say the blood-bath reported by the
neighbor had ritual written all over it.”

Selma lowered the salad dressing in
her hand and willed the volume of the TV to increase.

 Police activity outside an apartment
building filled the screen. The coroner pushed a gurney past the camera, and a
second one followed.

Selma blinked and turned back to her
dinner.

“This kind of horror hasn’t affected
Bullhead City in years.”

Her gaze snapped back to the screen.

“The ties to Southern California stem
from the male victim. Victor Morales was a veteran of the Army once based at
Camp Pendleton. His friends say he’d recently re-united with his high school
sweetheart, and the two planned to marry. Instead of their families celebrating
their union, they will be planning their funerals.”

Liquid dripped down her arm, and Selma
noticed the dressing emptying from the bottle.

Her sixth sense raced up her spine,
edging toward terror. The news switched to the weather as if the people in the
previous story meant nothing.

Selma dropped the empty blue cheese
dressing bottle, snatched her purse from the counter, and ran out of her
apartment.

Aware of everyone, everything around
her, she managed to shove into the driver’s seat of her car and turn the key.

Without direction, she found herself
in front of Jake’s home standing at the front door with salad dressing sticking
to her fingers. She kept looking behind her as noise from inside Jake’s home caught
her attention.

She knocked, ready to use her gift to
shimmy the lock on the door and let herself in.

The doorknob wiggled, bringing
relief.

She opened her mouth to tell him he
took long enough, and immediately shut it when an adorable blue-eyed girl
opened the door.

Selma blinked, backed up, and looked
at the address on the door.

No, it’s the right place.

“Hi,” the girl said with a dimpled
smile.

“Hi.”

“Kelsey, don’t open the door,” Jake’s
voice yelled from the back of the house.

“Too late, Daddy.”

So this was Jake’s daughter…

Before Selma could wiggle her mind
around that, another girl made her way to Kelsey’s side.

Identical twins?

How was it Selma didn’t know that?
Jake’s daughters were twins?

“Sophie!”

“Too late.” Selma said for the girls.

Jake appeared behind his daughters
with a spatula in his hand and frustration on his brow.

“Who are you?” the one wearing green,
Sophie if Selma could tell by the names called out, surmised.

“I’m Selma.”

“Daddy’s girlfriend?”

Selma met Jake’s gaze.

She started to shake her head when
Jake broke out in a rare smile. “That’s right, Kelsey. This is Selma…my
g-girlfriend.”

He nearly choked on the title while
he waved Selma inside.

****

Giles ran a hand through his hair
before letting it fall to the stubble on his chin. He hadn’t slept and couldn’t
imagine doing so now.

“There’s nothing more. Nothing!”

Kincaid glared at him from across the
table. Giles knew nasty words sat on the tip of the man’s tongue, but with a
woman at his side, he said nothing.

“Keep looking.”

“Where?” He motioned toward the walls
of the library. “I’ve searched. Books have flown off the shelves and there isn’t
anything more. Only one word is repeated.”

Amber said nothing and stared at
their hands.

“Bonding,” Giles said in a shout.
“That is the answer. It’s everywhere.”

“There has to be another answer.”

“Does there? I think not.”

Kincaid gripped the edge of the
table.

“I know it’s not the answer you want.
But it is what it is. Amber must bond with someone…someone with your ability to
protect her. Even then she would need to learn to use her mate’s gift to
survive.”

Kincaid stood. The chair behind him
skidded across the floor.

Amber tensed.

“Please, Gavin…Giles can only report
what he has found. The fault does not lie with him. He is only the messenger.”

Thankful for her kind words, Giles
bowed his head. “I’m sorry there isn’t another path.”

He noticed the force behind her
smile. “You have been a blessing, Giles. Please…go and find your dinner…a bed.
I see the exhaustion in your eyes.”

Instead of leaving the room, Giles
knelt beside her, ignoring the man towering over him. “Forgive me for not
finding the answer you seek.”

She reached toward him, didn’t touch,
and graced him with a smile. “You have not disappointed me,” she told him.

Beside him, Kincaid growled.

Without being dismissed, Giles found
his feet and left the room.

Outside the library, he leaned
against the wall and shamelessly eavesdropped.

“Calm yourself, Gavin.”

“He’s not looking hard enough.”

Giles winced with his friend’s words.

“Do you truly believe that?”

There was a sigh, and again the sound
of a chair skirting across the floor.

Giles squeezed his eyes shut.

“There has to be another answer.”

“If there’s not?” Amber’s voice was
so low Giles could hardly hear it.

After a long pause, he heard his
long-time friend’s response.

“Then we bond.”

Amber, who seldom smiled let alone expressed
any form of humor, laughed.

His friend wouldn’t take her humor in
good form.

“Bonding is not something you wish in
your life, Gavin. I’ve been inside your head…I know this.”

“We have no choice,” he argued.

Giles started to leave his perch, annoyed
at his own lack of respect for the private conversation.

“There is always a choice. ’Tis what
separates us from animals…from slaves.”

The conversation stilled and stopped
Gavin in his tracks.

“There is no need to make a decision
tonight,” he heard Amber say.

“You’re right,” Kincaid said much too
quickly. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”