Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (12 page)

Kitty had become more than a little concerned. “Maybe I ought to get your mom?”

“No.”

“Shona, I really think you should do
something!”

“I
am
doing something!” Shona stumbled to the top of the
second set of
stairs
. She
headed for a sitt
ing area with a
large sofa and love seat arranged in front of a wall of audio equipment. The Whittard’s were rumored to have one of the most elaborate stereo systems in the city. It was no rumor. The entire attic ballroom of the Victorian Grand Lady in which they lived had been converted into an incredible music room.

Kitty plopped down on the sofa next to Shona, thoroughly worried. “What can I do?”

Shona’s teeth
began to chatter uncontrollably
and she didn’t want Kitty to know how bad off she really was. She glanced to a remote control
sitting on a glass
-
topped coff
ee table, clenched her teeth tightly together and pushed out her words. “I… I do not
kn
… know.” She picked up the stereo system’s remote
and switched part of it on. Th
e music instantly surrounded
her like a blanket,
its warmth immediately sinking into her bones as if it were fusing itself to become a part of her somehow
.
Shona groaned in response.

Kitty stared blankly at her for a moment.
“What on earth is
that music?” she
asked, ma
rveling at how quickly color fl
ooded back into Shona’s face.

“Camelot.” Shona took a deep b
reath as the music began to fil
l and satisfy her.

The music! The music took care of the horrible hunger, almost as if it coul
d feed her in some way. Just how much stranger was this day going to get?

“Oh I know that musical!” Kitty chirped, eyeing her.

Shona began to breathe oddly, deep,
then
shallow, as the warmth of the music
continued to creep
into her hands and feet. “Yes,”
she whispered, her voice sounding like the music itself.

“Talk to me now?” Kitty coaxed in her own
sing-song
voice.

“N… not now. Let me… listen.” Shona managed a
s a sudden realization hit her.
Music. It also made the pain go away.
She had always known music aff
ected her strangely of late, but not like it was doing now.
Filling, warming …
feeding.

She moaned suddenly as the music bridged to another song, all but lifting her off
the sofa as
the
wonderful warmth fi
lled the emptiness inside her. In the back of her mind she knew the words to the song; words that for some reason held a special meaning
for her, but she had yet to fi
gure out why.

“Gaawsh, Shona, are you okay?” Kitty’s voice was in between giggles and panic.

 
The melody repeated and the words thrust themselves forward into Shona’s consciousness, their meaning burning into her, making her heart lurch with renewed need. But for what she had no idea.

Follow me…

Shona fought the unnam
ed thing trying to possess her.  It took
hold of h
er slowly at first, then gripped
her with everything it had, trying to control her. She threw her head back and moaned. Kitty could only stare at her, speechless.

 
Julia Dawson, on the other han
d, stood poised on the stairs to
the music room, her ice
blue eyes intense with interest
as she
watched the unusual scene take
place
before her
. She had come by the house early and was glad now she did. She’d tutored Shona for ten years, ten
long
years, and fi
nally what she had been waiting for all this time might at last be in reach.

 
Julia turned and went back downstairs to let the Whittard
’
s know she had made arrangements for Shona to have an entrance test and interview for the new European conservatory. She hoped as she made her descent that her little prodigy would be ready for whatever was to come. But what did it matter?

She smiled wickedly to herself. After all, no matter which way things went. Julia knew she couldn’t lose.

*
* *

At the same time, in Genis Lee…

Dallan went through his memories one at
a time in a vain attempt at fi
nding a suitable answer to the question: What
was
the most serious lie he had ever told?

He raised his head from his thinking pose just long enough to look at John, giving the Lord
Councilor a piercing glare.
“My brother, Alasdair. I told him I would protect him and our Mother. That
I would take care o’ them when
I returned from France.
Alasdair’s face told me I had lied to him. I had let them both down. My brother, my mothe
r… I should ha’ been able to fi
ght Kwaku off
. I canna understand what happened to me, how he was able to hold me back like that.
He hasna been able to do that to me here.
Nay, not like that day.”

His jaw tightened causing the telltale t
witch to begin
.
He
stared at John
, knowing this outburst was
a direct result of the last few
days.  Days for whatever reason
he'd been spared John's questions and instead was allowed to spend
time
with wee Padric and Master Lany’s son Vyn.

“'Tis
the look on Alasdair’s face that I canna live with. All I can do for him is avenge his death. And my mother’s, knowing what most likely happened after Kwaku took me. The storm may ha’ got them even if the
Campbells didna manage it.” His look turned hard again. “I’ll avenge both their deaths somehow.”

Dallan stood and began to pace
as his anger at his helplessness started to erupt. He suddenly spun on John with a look so
intense the Lord Councilor fli
nched. “But I canna do
anythin
g
for them whilst I’m held here!’
The fi
erceness in his voice made the words pound into John’s mind like a nail into wood.

The Scot was the most intense man John had ever met. “It was not your fault, Dallan.”
H
e told him softly.

“I know.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “It was Kwaku’s.”

Dallan’s face softened a fraction as he
stopped his pacing and
glanced from the hearth, w
hich still had a fi
re burning f
rom early that morning, to a small window at
hi
s left near the half-open door. How much longer could he survive this way? Wasn't any chance of escape worth the risk of disappointment?

“I want to go home, John.” Dallan stared str
aight ahead as he softly spoke.
“When can I go home?” His angry eyes met John’s compassionate ones.

Direct hit. The Lord Councilor smiled gently.

“Let’s see what we can do, Dallan,” John beg
an, his eyes now holding a refl
ection of Dallan’s pain. “To get you…
home.” He leaned forward again.
“My job is to ask you questions and determine from your answers whether or not you are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Dallan softly demanded, his tone growing a wee bit suspicious.

“The Elders need to know if you’re ready to listen,” John told him quietly, the compassion in his voice still evident.

Dallan’s face was wary.

Emptiness, loneliness, longing for family and home, things he thought gone from his being—and good riddance, too—surged up in him with renewed vigor.
T
his was the second time this John had broken through his defensive wall. What was wrong with him? How could this man get past what no one else had since Kwaku brought him here?

Yet John spoke to him of home…

“Aye,” Dallan began, his eyes softening once again, the warrior’s posture
relaxing into that of a man ready to listen, even if it was bizarre. “I’ll help ye, sir. Anything to be free of this place.”

John smiled and nodded, “Let’s continue, then.”

Dallan sat down and gave him a solitary nod in accepta
nce. It was all he could off
er as the continual eruption of emotions long forgotten spilled out of the pit he’d thrown them in years ago. He’d hoped to forever keep them captive, but now they were escaping, seeping back into his empty heart.

John glanced to the next question on the list and his features changed to poorly masked embarrassment. “Oh boy.”
He said as he
merely stared at Dallan as if not knowing what to do next.

Dallan cocked his head slightly to one side. “Ask me the question will ye then?”

John swallowed hard. “You are, uh, pure. Is that not correct?”

Dallan’s head cocked even further, one eyebrow raised in amused curiosity at John’s sudden awkwardness. “Pure? I
’m not sure I ken what ye mean."

John had begun to fi
dget in his chair. “Ah, yes. Well it’s, um, a rather personal question, one I don’t normally have to ask people.” He sighed nervously. “And, I suppose I’m afraid of the answer.”

Now Dallan was confused. His brow furrowed
together as he stared at John.
“Ask me the bloody question. I dinna care to watch ye squirm about any longer.”

John’s own brow raised in defeat, making it obvious there was no delicate way to ask. He was just going to have to blurt it out. And blurt he did. “Have you ever experienced premarital or extramarital sex?”

Dallan blinked once, twice … before an
explosio
n of sound escaped him.

John jerked in his chair in response, obviously doing his best to resist the instinct to dive for cover.

The Scot was laughing. Full out.

“Oh no!” John whispered to himself in utter horror
. “I’ve sent him over the edge."

  Dallan took in the look on John's face and
his glee dropped to a nervous chuckle as the import of the question hit him. Did John say something about sex?

Dallan had never had the full pleasure of it as he wasn’t married, the only holy state one was allowed to be in if sex was involved.
“Otherwise
all God’s wrath would be upon ye, and a lifetime o’ punishment at the
Almighty’s hand awaits, such as he’s done in my life ever since I bore ye, son,”
he recalled his mother saying to him year after year. Especially before he’d been fostered out to his mother’s cousin for four years. He had left for France at sixteen, the beginning of a lad’s rutting years, according to his uncle John. But by the Saints, here he was, fourteen years later and had still never bedded a woman!

He found his composure and fi
rmly set his warrior’s
face
as it should be. “No.”

John nodded quickly, leaving it at that
.
“Have you
…” He
stopped short, dread fl
ashi
ng across his already fl
ushed face. He had a
get ready, here it comes
gl
eam in his eyes. Both men stiff
ened. “Have you ever had a mystical experience?”

 
Dallan pondered
the question, brow raised. “Th
at depends on what ye
consider to be mystical.”

“Well,” John began, bewildered, “what about all of this? What about you being here?”

“I see nothing myst
ical about any o’ this, sir. Th
is is
all
real, as far as I ken. I can see things, taste things. My hea
ring is all right, and I’m defi
nitely able to feel things.” He gave his right shoulder a tender pat.

John’s face became somber as he leaned forward s
lightly. Time to take a chance
.
“And you also believe you are in the future as Kwaku told you, that he brought you from what would be our ancient past?” He held his breath.

“I suppose at this point, I’m willing to at least
consider
believing that much o’ it, being as I canna come up with a better explanation o’ my own…yet.”

  
John sat back in
his chair, puzzled. “And you fi
nd none of this, or even the concept, mystical?”