The Art of Stealing Time: A Time Thief Novel by Katie MacAlister
“I appreciate such thoughtfulness, but in my case it’s unnecessary. I assure you that I am as heterosexual as they come. Risqué pun not intended.”
We reached the far edge of the open park area, and I judged that we were about as distant from my mothers and Mrs. Vanilla as we could get without actually pushing him off the park grounds altogether. I dropped his arm and gave him a bright smile. “Nice to know that! Well, it’s been super fun, but I really have to get moving. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“A plane?” He looked moderately interested.
“Yes. I’m returning home to Colorado.” I didn’t want to have to lie outright to him again—I’d already done so once, and many members of the Watch had very finely tuned mental lie detectors. In addition, my mothers had taught me that every lie was returned threefold, so I didn’t say any more than that I was returning home. That, at least, was true enough. “I’ll let you get back to your girlfriend. Or wife. Or significant whatever. Thanks for the walk!”
“You’re welcome, but I feel obligated to point out that the fireworks display is still going on, and the only people I’m here with are my cousin and his wife. They are newly married and probably are enjoying my absence more than they would my presence, so if you’d care to drag me back toward that wall with the stone animals, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Ha ha ha ha!” I did the hysterical laughter again, looking around quickly for the nearest means of escape. Damn him for noticing where I had bumped into him! One thing was certain: I couldn’t let him go back there. I ignored the odd look he was giving me and said quickly, “I hate that wall. It gives me the willies every time I’m near it. You couldn’t pay me to go back there.”
“Do you know,” he said slowly in a near drawl, “I get the oddest feeling that you don’t wish for me to see the Animal Wall. Which is a very odd thing, for which I have very few explanations. And yet, the sensation is there. It leads me inevitably to the question of why you have so carefully hustled me across the width of the park.”
I stared at him in abject horror for the count of seven, then spat out, “I have to run!” And I did. I turned on my heel and ran like the hounds of Anwyn were after me, weaving in and out among people, hurdling small children, and dashing past booths and tents to the parking areas beyond the edge of the park. I ran until I had a stitch in my side, whereupon I slowed down to a jog until I spotted my mothers’ car. I stopped next to it, gasping for air, searching the lit streets behind me for signs of pursuit. There were none, thank the gods, but that didn’t mean anything. Hurriedly, I dialed Mom Two’s phone number.
“Where are you?” I gasped in between panting breaths.
“At the entrance. I thought you’d be here by now. Mrs. Vanilla has something to show you.”
“The Watch is there.” I unlocked the car and got in, starting it up as I continued. “He’s blond, about six one, and is wearing a sapphire blue silk shirt and black pants. Fancy shoes. Little cleft in his chin. Golden stubble. Earring. Hair slightly curly in the back and crinkles around his eyes. If you see him, get the hell away and call me. I’ll be there in about two minutes, traffic willing.”
I pulled out into the traffic, my fingers tight on the steering wheel. How on earth could the man see through me so easily? What if he found the moms? How was I to get them off of a kidnapping charge? The people at the L’au-dela had been very specific when they arrested me, believing I was my mother—they’d said one more crime, one more incident of straying from the path of righteousness, no matter how small, and they’d toss my mother into the Akasha, where she’d stay for all eternity.
“That was an unusually detailed description, Gwen,” Mom Two said thoughtfully. “What is this golden man’s name?”
I turned onto the road leading to the park drop-off zone. “Gregory Faa. Don’t call him Greg.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t like it. I’m almost there. Stay safe.”
The three of them were waiting for me when I pulled up a minute later. I was nervous as hell as the moms assisted Mrs. Vanilla into the backseat of the car. I scanned the people around the entrance until everyone was strapped in.
“Right,” I said, jerking the wheel and slamming my foot on the accelerator. “Now we take you to Summerland.”
“What?” My mother shrieked a little at the way I took the corner and clutched madly at the back of the driver’s seat. “Dear, you almost knocked Mrs. Vanilla to the floor, and she’s already been down there when your other mother was driving.”
“Told you to strap her in,” Mom Two, who was riding shotgun, said complacently. “Not my fault if you didn’t do that.”
“I did strap her in, but she must have unhooked it. No, dear, leave it on.” Mom was addressing Mrs. Vanilla, gently patting her hands. “Gwenny is a very . . . intrepid . . . driver, and you’ll need to be wearing that for safety’s sake. Gwenny, we cannot go to Summerland.”
“You don’t have a choice now,” I said through my teeth, swearing under my breath at the red light. Every ounce of my being urged me to flee the area, to take my mothers and hide them somewhere safe, out of the reach of the handsome Gregory and the organization he worked for. “The Watch is here. They’re still looking for you. And that damned man is too smart for my comfort. Why can’t you go to Summerland?”
“The man you fancy?” Mom asked.
I shot her a startled look in the rearview mirror. “Huh?”
“Alice said you fancy him. I’m pleased for you, naturally, because you’ve been alone for a hundred and forty years, and you’re not getting any younger.”
“I am only a hundred and twenty-four, thank you,” I said somewhat acidly. “And I’ve had boyfriends. Now, about Summerland—”
“Pah.” Mom Two said, gesturing away my past. “Emphasis on the ‘boy.’ Your mother has always said that what you need is a real man, not one of those manosexual flibbertigibbets who walk around with their messenger bags and their manicured hands and such. I believe you can’t go wrong with a woman, but that doesn’t seem to be something you wish to pursue.”
Manosexual? It took me a few seconds to work that one out. “There’s nothing wrong with metrosexual men, Mom Two. They tend to like arty movies and visits to Starbucks. And, no, I’m sorry. By now you know I prefer men for romantic relationships.”
“Pah,” she said again, then returned to the previous subject. “We can’t go to Summerland, and that’s that.”
“You have to go!” I said, pounding the steering wheel when another light turned red. “Dammit, I don’t want either or both of you sent to the Akasha! You have to go somewhere to lie low until the Watch gives up trying to find you. I’ll take Mrs. Vanilla back right now, and then we’re getting you two to safety. They won’t keep after you long once she’s back. You’ll only have to stay there for a few months. Six at the most.”
“No,” my mother said, and I could see in the mirror that she was shaking her head. Worse, she had that stubborn look on her normally placid face that I knew boded ill for me.
“Then where do you want to go? It has to be somewhere beyond the reach of the Watch.”
She gave a little half shrug. “I suppose we could visit Anwyn, as you suggested.”
I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel, but knew that would do no good. Besides, the light had just turned green. “I’d take you there in a heartbeat, but we don’t know how to get in.”
“Mrs. Vanilla does,” Mom Two said.
I shot her a startled look. “She does?”
“Yes. That’s what she wanted to show you. Mags, do you have it?”
There was a click as my mother unfastened her seat belt in order to lean forward and wave a piece of paper in front of my nose.
Suddenly blinded, I swore and jerked the car to the side of the road. Luckily, it was empty of parked cars. “Mom!”
“See? Mrs. Vanilla drew a map showing the entrance of Anwyn.” Mom sat back and with a smug look snapped her seat belt
I stared at the crumpled piece of paper, willing my heart rate to slow down as I smoothed out the wrinkles. “OK, this is a mistake.”
“I doubt if it is, dear.”
“No, see, this can’t be right. The old biddy—sorry, Mrs. Vanilla, no offense intended—the old lady is a shrimp or two short of a cocktail. She has to be.”
Mom Two frowned. “Why would you put a shrimp in a cocktail?”
“That was a reference to a shrimp cocktail. I was trying to be witty. It relieves the feeling that I’ve gone insane.”
“Mags,” Mom Two said, her gaze never wavering from my face, “I have changed my mind. A second visit to Dr. Gently may well help our girl.”
I shook the paper at her. “I am not the one who needs to see a mental health counselor! I didn’t the first time you guys dragged me in to see her, and I sure as shootin’ don’t now, although all the little gods and goddesses know that I’m entitled to one, given what you’re putting me through.”
“Gwenhwyfar Byron Owens!”
I looked upward, knowing full well what was coming next.
“You are very well aware how offensive we find it when you say things like that. We raised you to be a proper Wiccan, one who worships the Deity, not a mingle-mangle of assorted gods and demigods.” Mom had her sternest face on, the one I had run into quite a bit in my teenage years when I rebelled against their Wiccan beliefs.
I was older and wiser now, however. “I don’t think ‘mingle-mangle’ is technically a word, and don’t try to change the subject. We need to be focusing on how to find the entrance to Anwyn, and no”—I held up my hand with the paper in it—“this isn’t it. The entrance to heaven isn’t in a Krispy Kreme shop.”
“Have you ever had their cocoa?” Mom Two asked. “It’s pretty close to heaven.” With a hurried look over her shoulder at my mother, she added, “If I believed in such a thing, which of course, I don’t.”
“Anwyn is not in a Krispy Kreme,” I said firmly.
“How do you know? Have you been there?” my mother asked.
“No, but—”
“Then I don’t think you have the right to say harsh things to Mrs. Vanilla about her lovely map.”
“Mom, it just doesn’t make sense. She’s either kidding, or . . .” I made a circular motion with my finger.
“I don’t think she is either. She seems to know where the entrance is. Perhaps she has been there herself.”
Mrs. Vanilla made her peculiar squeaking noises and fretted at the seat belt.
I looked up and over to Mom Two, shaking my head as I said, “This is crazy.”
Mom Two smiled and patted my hand. “I’ve always said that crazy is in the mind of the beholder.”
“Yes, but we can’t indulge in that when so much is at stake.”
“Drive,” my mother ordered, tapping me on the back of my shoulder. “We’ll see when we get there.”
“Oh, for the love of all that’s shiny and sparkly!” I took a deep breath and pulled out onto the road, mentally plotting the fastest route to Mrs. Vanilla’s nursing home. “Fine, we’ll go to Krispy Kreme, although the mall is sure to be closed at this time of night. First, however, we’re going to take Mrs. Vanilla back where she belongs.”
Both mothers opened their respective mouths to protest, but as I stopped at an intersection, waiting to turn onto the road that led to the nursing home, two police cars suddenly zipped across our line of vision.
I swore under my breath and jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, pissing off the car behind me. “Right. Krispy Kreme it is. But when we get there and it’s closed and there’s no entrance to Anwyn, you guys will owe me a great big apology. And a hot chocolate. With extra whipped cream.”
THREE
The fireworks were over, but Gregory Faa felt as if he’d been caught up in some sort of residual whirlwind that left him baffled, intrigued, and with an overwhelming sense that he’d just been duped.
“And I don’t like that feeling,” he announced after arriving at the spot where his cousin’s wife, Kiya, was sitting on a small woolen blanket.
“What feeling?”
“That someone has just pulled the wool over my eyes. A lot of wool. At least three or four sheep’s worth. Perhaps a small flock.”
Kiya scrunched up her nose, pursed her lips, and looked thoughtful. “That’s kind of odd, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not the easiest person to pull the wool . . . over . . . on. That got mangled. How should I end that sentence?”
“—‘on which the wool can be pulled.’ At least, that seems a fairly grammatically correct version.” Gregory scanned the area, but didn’t see his cousin. “Where’s Peter?”
“He went to the north gate to watch for the lady you guys are after. I’ve been stationed here with this”—she showed him the blurry printout from a security camera that showed a short, round woman stuffing a tiny elderly woman into a blue sedan—“and strict instructions that if I see either woman, I’m to call Peter immediately and not attempt to talk to the lady myself.”
“I take it you haven’t seen anyone?”
“Lots of people, but none who look like this lady.” She studied the picture for a moment. “She doesn’t look like a kidnapper.”
He continued to scan the crowds of people moving to and fro in the night, many of them beginning to drift out of the park now that the fireworks were over. “Finding her would be so much easier if it was daylight. There would be fewer people about, for one.”
“Ah, but then your canny kidnappers seldom flee to parks with their victims, since they would be noticeable there. In fact, I think it’s downright odd that she came here to begin with. I mean, why? Why would you go to the trouble of kidnapping an old woman out of a nursing home only to take her to the park?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure she really kidnapped the woman?”
“I’m not sure of anything yet. The only thing we know is that a police report came across the radio, and they gave her name as being attached to the car.” Static and unintelligible conversation burst out of the small electronic device concealed in his pants pocket. He pulled out the police scanner that all Watch officers used when a case involved someone who wasn’t a denizen of the Otherworld, listened for a moment, then shook his head. “The mortal police are still trying to find her car. Thought they had spotted it, but it turned out to be someone else.”
“So she’s still in the park?”
“To the best of our knowledge, yes.” He made another visual sweep of the area, mentally cursing the fact that he and Peter had been there when the call came through that one of “their” cases had suddenly come to the attention of the mortal police.
Why hadn’t he left Wales two days ago, after arresting the man who had killed Gwen? The memory of that day rose up in his mind again, just as it had done approximately every hour for the last two days, the sight of the broken, bloodied body on the rocks before him driving him to do the unthinkable—steal time.
His shoulders slumped.
“You’re not still brooding over what happened, are you?” Kiya’s voice penetrated both the soft night air and the dark, twisted cloud of his thoughts. With a gesture of surrender, he plopped down on the blanket next to her, leaning his arms on his knees while staring glumly into the darkness. Pools of artificial light drove away some of the night, but the park was too big, and it was too late to find someone if she wished to stay hidden. “Gregory?” Kiya gently patted his arm.
“If I am brooding, it’s because I have every right to do so. If Peter ever wishes to disguise himself as a fish, he would be absolutely indistinguishable from a piranha. He certainly chewed me up and spat out my shredded remains just as good as any piranha.”
“That’s because you did something seriously illegal,” she said with a calmness that pricked his skin. He liked Kiya, he truly did, but he didn’t always appreciate her frankness. Not where his slipup was concerned. “Not that I think stealing a little time here and there
“I did, and I make no excuses now. I’m simply saying that when Peter found out what I’d done, he could have taken down a full-grown bull moose in about ten seconds flat.”
She laughed. “Now you’re being a drama queen, and that’s the last thing I ever pegged you for. Peter’s been very good to you, and you know it.”
“I do know it. He didn’t tell the Watch what I had done. He covered up the incident with Gwen. He read me the lecture of my life and came close to tearing off actual strips of my flesh with his tongue, but I’m still employed, and for that I’m truly grateful.”
She gave him a long look out of the corner of her eye. “Peter never told me just exactly why you saved that lady’s life. You didn’t know her, did you?”
“Not then, no.” He thought of how the light from the electric torches had shone in Gwen’s black hair. There was something about her that went beyond the appreciation that a mere buxom, pretty woman stirred in him. She was . . . mysterious. There were hidden depths in her, an undercurrent of tension that she tried to belie with light banter and smiling eyes, but he was no stranger to female wiles, and she was up to something. Just what that was, he had no idea, but he was a bit surprised to realize how determined he was to unveil her secrets one by one.
“So why did you?”
“Hmm?” He stopped worrying over whether or not his interest in learning more about Gwen bordered on unhealthy (the last thing he wanted was for her to consider him a stalker of sorts) and focused on what Kiya had asked. “Oh, Gwen? I didn’t really stop to think about it, to be honest. I simply reacted. And that’s why Peter was so furious with me: I stole the time as a gut reaction.”
“It’ll be all right,” she said, patting him again. “You’ve been a Traveller all your life, and you only just started having to rein back unauthorized time stealing. You’ll get used to reacting without automatically going into rewind mode. And to be honest, Peter isn’t a saint when it comes to stealing time. Sunil is proof of that.”