The Art of Stealing Time: A Time Thief Novel by Katie MacAlister
Gregory stopped brooding over the hell that was his life and looked around again, this time searching not for a short, round woman but for the slim young man who had formerly been a ball of golden light. “Where is Sunil?”
“He saw a carousel and couldn’t resist it. I’m so glad he got his body back. Being confined to a ball of light was hard on him when he has such . . . such . . .”
“Joie de vivre?”
She nodded. “That’s what comes from being killed when you’re only eighteen, I guess. As long as you’re here keeping me company instead of looking for that sweet little woman—”
“Gwen?” How did she know that he fancied her? Did it show? He slid a covert glance down to the fly of his jeans. No, all was well there. Not that he felt he was sporting an erection. Usually he had a warning of such things, and although he was perfectly willing to admit that Gwen could probably cause that result in him with very little effort on her part, all he’d felt while she dragged him across the park was a pleasant tingling that swept up his back and inner thighs.
“No, not the woman you saved. The other one. The kidnapper.”
Guilt drove him back onto his feet to resume the visual scan of the area. “What on earth makes you think a woman who sells magic to mortals as well as kidnapping them is sweet?”
“She looks nice. Did you guys ever consider that maybe there was a perfectly good reason for her taking this old lady out of her home? Maybe she was a friend and promised her a night out watching the fireworks. Or maybe she wanted to do a random act of kindness, and getting the woman out and about was that act. Or perhaps—”
“Perhaps she has a history of illegalities where mortals are concerned, and this is simply the latest in a long line of transgressions.”
Kiya got to her feet as well, stretching before shaking out the blanket and folding it into a square. “I just think that maybe Peter and you are jumping the gun a bit. All you heard on the police scanner was that she was seen driving off with the woman. Maybe the old lady called her and asked her to take her somewhere?”
“The nursing home would hardly be likely to call the police and say she’d been abducted if that was the case. Ah, there’s Peter.”
“I think you should take another look at what’s going on,” Kiya said, turning to smile at her husband. “There may be more there than you think.”
That was certainly the case with Gwen, at least. Why had she dragged him across the park? Had she been hiding from someone? Had she been nervous about being alone? Was someone threatening her? He dug through his memory of the cases he’d read up on in the last few months, but came up with nothing regarding Gwen Byron.
“No luck?” Gregory asked when Peter was within hailing distance.
“None. It’s an impossible task. I walked half the park, but everywhere I looked, there were a hundred possible hiding spots. If she’s here, we’ll never find her.” He stopped next to his wife, smiling down at her with obvious affection.
“I’ve come to exactly the same conclusion.”
Kiya leaned into Peter, kissed him, giggled when he squeezed her behind, and handed him the blanket while announcing, “I’m going to go see what Sunil is up to, and perhaps ride on the carousel, too. I haven’t seen one in donkey’s years, and if there’s one thing that living with a former-animus-now-turned-lich has taught me, it’s to embrace whatever life gives you.”
Both men watched as she walked off to the bright section of the park where a couple of carnival rides were running, their garish lights and tinny music enticing many people into nighttime revelry. Gregory smiled at the besotted expression on his cousin’s face, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “You’re going to be the one who’s arrested if the local coppers see you with that leer on your face.”
Peter grimaced, then smiled. “You have to admit she’s a sight for sore eyes.”
“She’s very pretty, but I prefer my women dark rather than strawberry blond.” That hadn’t been the truth until a few days ago, but it was perfectly natural that now and again a man’s tastes changed.
Peter shot him a curious look, and slowly the two men followed the path that Kiya had taken. “Since when?”
Gregory shrugged. “Brunettes usually have an air of mystery to them that bodes well for not losing interest after a few weeks. Have you ever heard of Gwen Byron? Full name Gwenhwyfar Byron?”
“Yes.”
Gregory stopped, startled.
“She’s the woman you saved the other day. At risk of not only your own life but your career, and quite likely mine as well,” Peter continued, giving him a dark look.
“Ah.” Gregory continued to stroll alongside his cousin. “I thought you meant that you had heard of her in an official capacity. Other than the events of two days ago.”
“No, the name doesn’t ring a bell, although we can always run it past Dalton.” He pulled out his cell phone and typed in a text to his boss. “You’re damned lucky, you know.”
“That you didn’t tell Dalton the full truth of what happened?”
“No. Well, yes, but what I meant is that the shuvani didn’t punish you for saving that Welsh girl’s life.”
“I’ve always paid my debts,” Gregory said somewhat stiffly. “That minion of Death was well rewarded for the time I took from her. Besides, she’s immortal. Yes, we have to pay for that which we take, but the shuvani only comes down hard on us when we steal from mortals. She minds less if you take time from someone who has the potential for a life measured in millennia rather than years.”
Peter held up his hand. “You don’t need to lecture me about the ways and hows of Travellers, cousin. I might not have been raised in the family, but I assure you that I am well versed in how we can be punished for thefts. Ah, here’s Dalton’s response.”
Gregory leaned over to see the text on the small phone.
No records for person with the name Gwen Byron. Are you sure it’s not an alias?
“Hmm,” Gregory said, mulling that over. “I have a pretty accurate mental lie detector, and it didn’t seem to me like she was giving me a false name.”
“It’s a bit odd that there’s no record whatsoever,” Peter said, frowning at his phone.
“But not unknown. After all, the Watch doesn’t maintain a database of all individuals in the Otherworld. It didn’t have me in it.”
“No, but you said that the lawyer had killed Gwen. The first time, before you rescued her. That would imply that she had something to do with him.”
“She isn’t Magdalena Owens. She’s not old enough, according to what Dalton told us yesterday.”
“That’s only because he found some updated records from a few months ago when there was a mix-up in an arrest of someone who was erroneously thought to be Owens. Your Gwen might be Owens wearing a glamour to look different. Younger,” Peter suggested.
Gregory shook his head. “No. I’d have known once she touched me.”
“She touched you?” Peter looked surprised. “After you saved her?”
“No, tonight. She’s here in the park.”
Both of Peter’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a bit of a curious coincidence, don’t you think?”
“How so?” Unreasonably, Gregory felt irritated by his cousin’s suspicion, and then was irritated at his irritation. He wasn’t so new to either women or the Watch that he couldn’t separate his own emotions from facts.
“She shows up two days ago when we were supposed to find the Owens woman. And now, after Owens has kidnapped a mortal, she’s here in the park at the same time.”
“There is a festival going on,” Gregory pointed out, gesturing at the people still present. “She probably lives around here. There had to be at least six or seven thousand people here tonight.”
“I’m just saying it’s a bit of a coincidence.”
His temper got the better of him, something that seldom happened. “Yes, all right, it’s a coincidence. And it’s true that Gwen is hiding something. It was quite clear that she
Peter’s round, startled eyes gave Gregory pause.
“Did I just rant?” he asked.
“Yes.” Peter looked thoughtful. “Interesting. Very interesting. You don’t . . . uh . . .”
“Of course I do. She’s got a magnificent ass. But that is neither here nor there.”
“I don’t know,” Peter said as they continued forward toward the rides. “I think it’s pretty here. But I suppose your interest in the woman whose life you saved—again, I feel obligated to point out at the risk of your own life, your job, and possibly my job—being present at the park at the same time as the Owens female doesn’t necessarily mean they’re related. She dragged you across the park?”
Gregory laughed at the incredulity expressed in Peter’s last sentence. “She did. She was trying to be subtle about it, too, so I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by letting on I knew she was doing it. So I simply allowed her to pull me where she wanted me.”
Peter gave him an unreadable look, started to say something, stopped, then finally shook his head and spoke. “We haven’t known each other for long—obviously, I knew of you and the other members of Lenore Faa’s family—”
“Of which you’re one,” Gregory interrupted. Although Peter and Lenore, their grandmother, had somewhat made their peace, it was clear that Peter still didn’t feel that he was truly a member of the family. And given his past, and their uncle’s and a cousin’s actions of late, Gregory didn’t blame him one bit. But since they had started working together, he felt it important to remind Peter that he was, in fact, part of the family.
“Yes, thank you, of which I’m one.” Peter grimaced slightly before continuing. “Regardless of the length of time I’ve known you personally, I feel obliged to discuss something that could have an impact on your career.”
“What have I done wrong now?” Gregory asked wearily. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if being a member of the Watch was going to be worth all the sacrifices he was making.
“Don’t make that face,” Peter said, pointing at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt that you do.”
“Then you’re fooling yourself. You’re thinking that you’re a Traveller, renowned through the centuries for your ability to manipulate time and lightning, and that it goes against your nature to deny access to both powers as you have been asked to do for the last few months.”
“I understood the rules of the Watch when I joined,” Gregory said carefully. Then he added with a wry smile, “All right, you knew what I was thinking. I only admit it because I know damned well that you think the same way. You just have better control over yourself.”
“And that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about—control. I don’t question your dedication to the job at hand, and yet despite your desires to the contrary, you let a woman you hardly know haul you all over the place. You have to ask yourself why you did that, and whether you’re allowing your emotions and desires to rule your mind. I’m sorry to say that if so, it will affect your future as an investigator for the Watch.”
Gregory was silent while he struggled with his inner self, hating to admit that his cousin was absolutely right, and yet the truth was that he did feel resentment toward the loss of his natural talents. Why was he expected to deny his true nature, when other members of the Watch were not? Oh, he was used to being persecuted for who and what he was—Travellers had always been outside of society, both mortal and immortal—but the demands placed on him by the Watch had been more onerous than he had imagined.
And yet the reason for his being there with Peter was compelling, and one that he knew was right. Travellers as a whole were an insular group, not mingling with outsiders unless such contact could not be avoided. Over the last few centuries, they had withdrawn even more into their own society as the mortal and immortal worlds had grown more fearful of their powers. The mortals saw them as Gypsies, Romany folk whom they were unable to distinguish from the similar—but quite separate—Travellers. The members of the Otherworld were little better, viewing Gregory and his kind as thieves and worse.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said slowly, knowing in his heart that he couldn’t go back to his life of just a few months ago. Too much had happened since then; he had seen himself and his family through his cousin’s eyes, and he knew that he had to make a stand against the old way of life. “I can swear to you that I’m devoted to the job. To the Watch. To the idea that Travellers must be held accountable for their actions. But at the same time that I fully agree that our people must cease reveling in their status as outcasts, I recognize that it is our very nature to do so. To go against nature itself seems impossible at times. Perhaps you are able to control your need to use your powers because you are . . .”
“Mahrime?” Peter asked, his eyebrows rising slightly.
Gregory’s shoulder twitched at the word. “Mahrime” could mean simply an outsider, one who was not a Traveller, or when applied to one of their own people, someone who was unclean. Tainted. Impure. “I was going to say that you and Kiya have distance, growing up outside of the Traveller society, whereas I do not. To us, acting in accordance to our true selves is as natural as breathing.”
“You don’t need to lecture me about that. I’ve had ample proof that Travellers go blithely about their way regardless of who they hurt or how many laws they break.”
“And I don’t condone either. I’m simply trying to explain that what you see as impulsiveness is my way of coming to grips with this new way of life. It might be easy for you to not steal time as you go throughout your day, but I assure you that I’m aware every time I pass by a mortal of the potential to steal just a few seconds.”
To his surprise, his cousin gave him a swift, rough hug. “I know it’s hard fighting what is an automatic reaction.”
Gregory’s expression caused Peter to laugh. “Where did that come from?” he asked when the laughter died down.
Peter made a face and nodded toward the carousel. “Kiya. She says I need to hug more. She thinks it’s good for me to be more open with my emotions. She is probably right.”
“Possibly, but if she convinces you that you need to kiss me next, I warn you that I have a mean right hook.”
“Noted. Now—”
“Well, well, well. What a coincidence finding you here.” The voice that drifted through the blare of music was filled with suspicion. Gregory turned to see its source, his fingers tightening when he beheld a slight woman in a smart cherry red wool suit coat and skirt. The light flashed off the lenses of her glasses as she eyed first him, then Peter. “Two Travellers? How very interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know the location of my client, would you?”
“Who’s this?” Peter asked, sotto voce.
“Reclamation agent,” Gregory answered out of the side of his mouth before turning to face the woman, who now stood with her hands on her hips. “Good evening. To whom are you referring?”
“That woman who died on the rocks a couple of days ago. The one you were standing over.” Her eyes narrowed. “The one who was stolen from me a few seconds later.”
Gregory spread his hands in a show of innocence. Employment with the Watch prohibited him from lying except in the most dire of circumstances, and while he might have been inclined to play a little fast and loose with that rule in private, he couldn’t very well disregard it in front of Peter . . . especially coming on the heels of the grand speech he had just made about his dedication to t
“Of course you haven’t. But have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”
He chose to answer the second question, since he could do so truthfully. “I have no idea where she is.”
“Odd,” the woman said, giving them both another once-over. “According to my sources, Owens was seen coming to this park in the company of another woman and a mortal.”
He exchanged a startled look with his cousin.
“Owens?” Peter asked. “What is your interest in her?”
“I just told you. She owes me a soul!”
“Are you saying that the woman who died on the rocks a few days ago was Owens? Magdalena Owens?”
“Yes, of course. Although I thought her first name was something else. Oh, it doesn’t matter. She’s the one, all right.” The woman made an impatient gesture. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have to find that woman and take what she owes me.”
“I don’t know for certain,” Gregory said with a nonchalance he was far from feeling, “but I suspect that she’s not going to want to give up her life just so your records will balance. Or whyever it is you are pursuing her.”
“Look, I have a job to do, one simple little job: I collect the spirits of those who’ve passed on. I’m responsible for those spirits, and when someone goes and gets herself resurrected”—here she gave them both a very stern look—“then I can’t go back to my boss and say, ‘Oh, well, that one got away.’ I mean, he’s Death! He’s just not going to understand! Plus it does throw the books out of balance, and the accountants get all pissy if you mess with their books. You wouldn’t know how to resurrect someone, would you?”
Gregory smiled a grim, grim smile. “I have no knowledge of resurrection at all. I believe that is the purview of necromancers.”