Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel (16 page)

“Are we having luncheon? It looks as if we are. Oooh, very yummy. I am wondering if I am invited. Is this the popsy?”

He stopped enjoying the mouthful of chicken, closing
his eyes for a second in resignation before saying, “Yes, if you like, and yes, although I’m not sure how she feels about the name popsy. Kiya, what do you think of ‘popsy’ as a nickname?”

“Uh…” She blinked, staring at Sunil’s light with a somewhat dazed expression. An adorably endearing dazed expression, he amended, wanting to do nothing more than to kiss that stunned look right off her face.

“I’ll take that for a ‘I don’t mind being referred to as popsy at all,’ then, shall I?”

“Eh…” She blinked again, then pointed. “That’s a…a light thing.”

“Yes, it is. It has a name, and that name is Sunil.”

“Greetings,” Sunil said cheerily, and bobbed in a way that indicated he was making a Namaste gesture to her. “It is my very great pleasure to meet at last the popsy of my most cherished friend Peter-ji.”

Her finger wavered a little. “A
talking
light thing.”

“He is an animus, actually, and since I can tell by the way your eyes are bugging out you have never seen one before, yes, he does appear to be a small, golden ball of light the size of a Brussels sprout. He used to be a person. He is now an animus, and he is bound to me. He doesn’t, I need not point out, eat actual food, so it’s not necessary to offer him lunch.”

“This is very true that I am not eating the chicken that Peter-ji is consuming with such relish, but I appreciate the welcome to your picnic most dearly. We have many picnics, Peter-ji and I, although frequently I must keep myself hidden from the view of mortal beings. You are not a mortal being, so I thought it safe to greet you properly, and ascertain your married status on Peter-ji’s behalf. What, popsy, is your married status?”

“Single.” Kiya stared at the ball as it slowly bobbled in front of her, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she dragged her gaze over to his. “My eyes do not bug out. They widen. In complete and utter disbelief. Can I…that’s real, isn’t it? This isn’t some sort of a hocus-pocus trick? Can I touch it?”

“You’re not referring to my penis, are you?” he asked with some hope.

The look she gave him quelled all such foolish emotions.

He sighed. “I thought that was the case. You can hold him in your hand, although his energy field tends to make you go numb after five minutes. Sunil?”

“I would be most happy to sit in the beautiful popsy’s hand,” the animus burbled, and, when Kiya held out her hand, settled on her palm, vibrating in a way that indicated he was greatly enjoying himself.

She poked the golden ball gently with one hesitant forefinger. Sunil giggled. “This…no. It can’t be real.”

“I am. I am very real. I have been real since I was born to my most revered parents some twenty years ago.”

Kiya looked even more confused, if that could be said to be possible. “You’re a twenty-year-old ball of light?”

“Animus is the word that is most commonly used for us. You see, I was in London working for my very important cousin when Peter-ji came along and—”

“Yes, I think I had better be the one to tell that story,” Peter interrupted quickly.

“Ah. Yes. Ah.” Sunil bobbled a bit more on Kiya’s hand. “I am the third company, am I not? I will go and watch the raccoons mate. They were very interesting, you know. I have never seen them before, and I feel it is my
duty that while the Watch has gone to the great and gigantic expense of sending us out here, we should appreciate all the beauty that is around us.”

“Just be back in…” Peter glanced at the sky. “Say half an hour.”

“Very good, I will most assuredly do so.” Sunil bounced off Kiya’s hand. “And to you I say many good wishes, popsy. We will see each other again, I am much confident.”

“You have a twentysomething Indian talking ball of light,” Kiya said conversationally after watching Sunil disappear into the shrubs. “That’s…different.”

He sighed, taking another bite of chicken. “I don’t have time to explain things to you. It would take too long, and I have far too much to do. Is there more of the fruit salad?”

“Yes, but you’re going to be wearing it if you don’t answer a few questions,” she warned, dragging her gaze from the shrubs to the bowl of fruit. “I’m taking this really well, don’t you think?”

“I do. What questions do you have other than how Sunil came to be bound to me?”

“I want to know how—hey! No fair taking away the questions I want answered.” She eyed him as if considering what he’d look like with fruit dripping down his head. What a wonderfully unconventional woman she was. No one had ever threatened him with fruit before. He definitely would save her from his family, no matter how deeply she was involved with them.

“I will offer a trade, then,” he said slowly, trying to decide how much to reveal to her. Just enough that she could hear the ring of truth, but not so much as to help
his family, should she pass the information along. “I will answer some of the questions you have, and then you will answer mine. And give me more fruit salad.”

“Deal,” she said, handing him the bowl. “You start.”

“What are you doing working for Lenore Faa?”

“No, I meant you start by answering my questions.”

“Which one?”

She sat back, clasping her knees. “Sunil—”

“No. The subject of how Sunil came to be is off the table.”

A hurt look flashed into her eyes. The pain seemed to go straight through him, making him feel like a brute. “I am willing to answer other personal questions, however. Do you wish to know if I sleep naked? Which side of the bed I favor? Boxers or briefs?”

The pain in her eyes changed to amusement. “Of course I want to know the details on all of those questions, but how about we start with the most pressing concern—who stabbed you, why, and how come you’re not rolling around in pain now?”

“I don’t know who stabbed me,” he admitted, finishing the impromptu lunch. “I suspect it was one of my cousins, but I didn’t see my attackers either time, so I have no definitive proof.”

“So you
are
related to Mrs. Faa?”

“She is my grandmother.”

Kiya looked surprised by that, genuinely surprised. He frowned, trying to decide if his family had neglected to tell her that fact, or if she was an exceptionally good actress. “Which means Gregory is your cousin?”

“Yes. As are all my grandmother’s other grandsons. I have no siblings.”

“But…” She picked off a bit of strawberry from her
plate and popped it in her mouth. He watched the movement with avidity, wondering if her lips tasted like the sweet berries. “But that doesn’t make sense. Mrs. Faa said something about her family being very tight. Why would your own cousins stab you?”

“I am mahrime,” he said simply, and waited to see what she would do with that information.

“You too?” She gave him a smile that he felt right down to his testicles. “They keep saying I am, as well. I take it that means not hip to the family code and all that.”

“With regards to mortals, yes. In your case, it means that you are a half-breed. As, I believe I’ve mentioned, am I.”

She frowned, and began to gather up all the leftover containers. “That again? I told you that’s not at all politically correct.”

“Nonetheless, it’s accurate. I have a Traveller father and a mortal mother. I assume your mother was the Traveller, since you were not taken in by family after her death.”

“My mother didn’t travel around a lot. At least, not that Carla told me,” Kiya protested. “And you know, you’re kind of overdoing that whole mortal thing.”

“What mortal thing?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“The thing where you refer to people as mortals, like you aren’t one. And yes, I remember that you said you aren’t, but that doesn’t make any sense. You look perfectly normal to me. Well, the ball of light named Sunil aside.”

“Regardless, I am not mortal, nor am I normal. Nor, for that matter, are you.”

“I’m as normal as they come, babe,” she said blithely.

“I really do not have time to sit here and explain what
Travellers are, or why it is I know that you are one,” he said sternly, then leaned back against a tree and contemplated her. By the saints, she was captivating. The way the sun gilded her skin, burnishing her hair and warming her body so that her scent, the intoxicating scent of a sun-warmed, sensual woman, reached his nostrils, binding him with little silken cords of desire. “Travellers are an ancient people. They originated in India, and later moved north and west until they were found in every country in Europe. Some migrated to the British Isles and Scandinavia. Others went to the New World with the explorers. My family remained in what is now Romania for several centuries before my grandmother brought us to the United States.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, disbelief written clearly on her face. “So you’re like, what, super-Gypsies? Sorry, super-Romanies?”

“We are not Romany, although many suspect we have common ancestors if you look back far enough, and many facets of Travellers have been used to describe the Rom.”

“Such as?”

He looked at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether she was playing him along. Her eyes were as clear as the sun-washed summer sky above them. “Travellers have been persecuted for centuries, as have the Rom. Both are feared and shunned because of their nomadic lifestyles. Even the word ‘traveler’ in some places means the Romany people. But that is a misnomer, since they do not have the skills that we possess.”

“What skills are those?”

“We tend to be migratory, have tight-knit extended family units, shun outsiders, and we are thieves,” he said simply. “Time thieves.”

Kiya’s delicious mouth hung agape for a second or two. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish that I was.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said, her face obstinate. “How can you
steal
time?”

“The same way you steal anything else.”

She stared at him, her gaze locked to his. Genuine disbelief was clearly readable in her eyes, affirming his suspicion that his family hadn’t told her who they—or she—was.

“Prove it,” she said finally.

He didn’t hesitate; he didn’t stop to ponder the repercussions of his actions. He simply pointed to something over her shoulder, and when she turned to look, he stole ten seconds of her time.

“You’re kidding me,” she said.

“I wish that I was.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said, her face set in an expression of obstinacy. “How can you steal—holy garbanzo beans!”

“No jebus?” He pulled a half-dollar out of his pocket and pressed it into her slack hand, closing her fingers around the coin.

“That was…I mean, we just said those things…and then it was happening again. Like super déjà vu.” She sucked in a large quantity of air. “Just like what happened this morning!”

He sat up straight. “What happened this morning?”

“That thing that you did. Making me déjà vu. That happened this morning.”

He made her describe exactly what happened, grinding his teeth when she did so. “That bastard.”

“What bastard?” she asked, suddenly looking down at her hand. “Why did you give me fifty cents?”

“One of them stole your time. Andrew or Gregory, that is.”

“What?” Her voice was shrill with panic. Without thinking, he put his arm around her and pulled her tight against his side. “Someone stole my time?”

“It’s all right. It sounds like it was only a few minutes.”

“But…but…” She shook her head, and leaned into him, clearly seeking comfort. Unfortunately, his body didn’t realize that, and began celebrating the fact that the woman who was beginning to consume his thoughts was pressed against him, all warm and soft and smelling good. Parts of him that were previously warm and soft quickly became otherwise.

She turned her head, her nose brushing against his. “Someone stole my time, Peter. I don’t know what to do about this.”

It was more than he could resist. He dipped his head toward hers, and allowed his lips to caress that sweet, sweet mouth. Her lips parted on an inhalation of pleasure, inviting him to explore the delights that lay within. It would have taken a stronger man than him to turn down such an offer.

“The raccoons have ceased mating. It was most interesting while it lasted. Did you know that the male—merciful goddess! I am being so embarrassed at disturbing you at the time of your great seduction! I will most very immediately take myself off to see…er…something. Carry on, Peter-ji.”

Peter didn’t stop at the interruption. He couldn’t. He kissed Kiya gently at first, tentatively, almost hesitantly to make sure she was fully on board with the idea of the kiss, but when she started making little happy noises in the back of her throat, he unleashed his passion, deepening
the kiss until his mind and body and, hell, even his soul were caught up in the sweetness that was Kiya.

“Holy hand grenades, do you know how to kiss,” Kiya said against his lips as she came up for air. “That was the best kiss ever. My whole body is tingling. However, there’s a rock digging into my back, and although I don’t mind the fact that we got kind of carried away, we are out in the open where anyone can see us.”

It took him a second or two to come to his senses enough to realize that they were lying prone, entwined like lovers, and that poor Kiya was bearing the brunt of his weight.

“If I didn’t know better,” he grumbled, rolling off her and helping her to sit up, gently massaging her back where she had lain on the rock, “I’d say you have cast a spell over me. But you don’t know how to cast glamours, do you?”

“Glamours?” She looked thoughtful, which was so endearing, he just wanted to kiss her again. “That’s a word that means something magical, right? I remember seeing it in a book about vampires that I read last summer. I didn’t think they were real, though.”

“Vampires, or glamours? It doesn’t matter—both are real.”

Her eyes widened. “Get out of here!”

“Why? Is it Sunil? He won’t harm you.” He leaped to his feet regardless, swiftly searching the area for the threat that she had obviously seen. There was nothing but a small family of rabbits rustling about in the shrubs.