The Art of Stealing Time: A Time Thief Novel

  No solution had struck me by the time I entered my mothers’ tent, but I had resolved two points: I was going to warn them about the woman who wanted my soul, and I wasn’t going to tell them about Gregory and me. Over the course of my life they had both, singly and jointly, gone into periodic matchmaking modes, trying to hook me up with men and women . . . and one or two androgynous individuals about whom I was never really certain.

  Usually I resisted their efforts, but sometimes, when I was feeling particularly lonely, I’d go out on a blind date or two just in case they were right and they really had found me the perfect person.

  They never did. Trust the one organization that made my life a hell to bring my attention to a man who actually might well be the person with whom I wouldn’t mind spending the next few hundred years. Regardless of whether he was or was not a life mate, I wasn’t going to inform my moms about him. They would be merciless in their attempts to find out information about Gregory and would probably demand that he do something silly like marry me. They were very big on binding ceremonies.

  “I’ll just keep mum about him, and focus their attention on ways to deal with the Death woman,” I told myself, slapping on a carefree smile when I entered their tent. “Mom! Mom Two!”

  “Hello, Gwenny, dear,” Mom said, not glancing up from a large mixing bowl where she was vigorously beating a viscous pink liquid. “Eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety. There, that’s the sleeping draught finished, Alice.”

  “Did you make it into a batter so we can bake little Eat Me cakes?” Mom Two asked. She had her back to me and was busily measuring various powders and liquids and placing them in little stoppered vials. “Gwen, you’re just in time. The alchemist has a tiny supply of fey motes in, and I told him you’d like to buy it from him. I know how hard it is for you to find them.”

  “Yes, absolutely.” The only other person in the tent was the tiny form of Mrs. Vanilla, curled up in a voluminous armchair. Her hands flitted about in quick little movements, knitting small octagons one after another in a giant object so massive that it spilled out over her lap and onto the floor. I relaxed, the sight and scents of my mothers busily creating potions and physical manifestations of spells making me think of home. How many years had I perched on my favorite three-legged stool and watched as they practiced the physical side of their craft? I dipped a finger in the pink batter and touched it to my tongue. It tasted of peppermint. “How much does the apothecary want for them?”

  “Now, Gwenny, that’s not for you. Lady Holly asked us to make something that would cause all of those nasty soldiers to the north to fall asleep so she can capture them all and force the evil king into subservience. You don’t want to be falling—” My mom looked up in midsentence, and froze, her eyes growing huge. “Alice!” she shrieked, making me spin around in fear that something horrible had crept in behind me.

  There was nothing, just the tip of the tent flap—pulled aside to let air and light into the interior—gently moving in the breeze. Behind it, a couple of dogs rolled on the ground outside, and a weary-looking old man wandered around with a bucket and a metal scoop, the latter obviously used to keep the grounds poop-free.

  “What is it—” Mom Two started to say, but then she, too, stopped and stared at me. Mrs. Vanilla glanced at me, made a few squeaking sounds, and returned to her knitting.

  Mom pointed a shaking finger at me. “She’s found him!”

  “Or her,” Mom Two said sagely. “Is it a her, Gwen?”

  “She’s found a man!” Mom said, still pointing.

  I gawked. “How the hell can you tell that just by looking at me?”

  Mom dropped her finger, and Mom Two strode over to give me a hug. “Oh, Gwenny, dear, you should know better than to ask that.”

  “We’re your mothers,” Mom Two said, as if that explained it.

  “We can tell these things,” Mom added, wiping her hands on a cloth before coming around the table to give me a hug as well. I hugged them both back, giving them each a kiss on their respective cheeks before shaking my head.

  Mrs. Vanilla got creakily to her feet and shuffled over to us. I hugged her as well, and even gave her wrinkled cheek a little peck. She made happy noises and returned to her chair.

  “It’s like it’s witchcraft,” I said with a smile. “It is a him and not a her, Mom Two. I’m sorry.”

  “Eh.” She patted my cheek and returned to her worktable. “I had hopes that someday you’d find the right woman, but so long as this man makes you happy, I can live with him being male.”

  “Who is he? Where is he? Is he here with you in Anwyn?”

  “He must be here, Mags. We’d have known if she’d met him before.”

  “You tell us all about him, dear,” Mom said, leading me over to a small love seat in the corner of the tent. The interior was quite large, consisting of the main work area and what looked to be a smaller sleeping quarter that was hidden by long silken draperies. “Although you’re going to have to be quick, because Lady Holly likes to see us directly after breakfast, and it’s almost that time now.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did meet him before we entered Anwyn, although I hadn’t realized that he was—” I bit off the word “good” and tried to think of a way to explain about Gregory without mentioning the fact that he worked for the Watch. I had a feeling they would plan copious ways to take advantage of him if they knew who his employer was. “I hadn’t realized he was quite so wonderful at that time.”

  “What’s his name?” Mom Two asked, packing a bunch of bottles into a wicker basket.

  “Gregory Faa. He’s a Traveller.”

  “Faa?” She draped a linen cloth over the top of the basket, her brows pulled together. “Mags, do you remember that woman we met right after the war?”

  “Which war?” my mother asked, giving me a pat on the hand before she set about filling muffin cups with her pink sleeping batter.

  “The one with the nuclear bombs.”

  “World War Two?” I asked.

  “That’s it. We met a woman Traveller whose husband had been killed. She was very distraught, and one of her daughters-in-law had come to us seeking something to ease her pain. There was nothing we could do, of course, because there is no magic but love to heal a broken heart, but her name was Faa. I wonder if she could be related.”

  “I have no idea. While we’re on the subject of Gregory—”

  “Oh, mercy, look at the time, Alice!” Mom said, hurrying over to a line of baskets that had already been packed. She shoved two of them at me, picked up three herself, and nudged me toward the door. “Mrs. Vanilla, you stay here where you’re comfy. We won’t be long, and then we’ll get you a nice cup of tea and take you for your walk, all right? Gwen, dear, take this. We’re going to be late, and Lady Holly is most acerbic when that happens. You can tell us about your young man once we’ve given her the day’s potions.”

  “Er . . .” I held back when they bustled out of the tent, not wanting to risk seeing Holly in case she had heard that I was working for Aaron. There was also a chance that Death’s minion might be lurking about. I peeked out of the tent, but didn’t see anyone aside from the usual collection of dogs wandering around, begging for food, playing, sleeping, and generally just lounging and watching all the people moving to and fro. No one resembled the woman Gregory had described.

  “Don’t dawdle, Gwen!” Mom Two called before disappearing into the large tent next door.

  I swore under my breath, sent a little prayer to the lord and lady that I wasn’t about to step into a trap, and followed them into the big tent.

  “You remember our daughter, Gwenhwyfar, don’t you?” Mom was saying to the gaunt, leather-wearing Holly. She shot a quick disinterested look my way, then continued pulling out items from one of the baskets. She raised her voice to say, “Lord Ethan, have you met our daughter, Gwen?”

  Mom sidled over to me and whispered, “He’s a bit odd, dear. He has an illegal alien hand.”

  A ma
n walked toward us from the far end of the massive tent, which, like my mothers’ accommodations, had floor-to-ceiling silk hangings that blocked out sections requiring privacy. He wore an odd leather harness that strapped his alien hand to his belly, the hand encased in a red glove.

  “We’ve met,” I said, politely smiling at him. “Good morning. How’s Diego?”

  Ethan glanced at his hand, frowning when the fingers twitched. “No, you may not fondle her breast. Stop it. No, stop that, too. It’s rude, and there are ladies present.”

  No one said anything. My mothers both attended to unpacking the baskets. Holly rolled her eyes and picked up a potion, unstoppering it to take a sniff. Ethan waited until his hand stopped making obscene gestures, then addressed me. “He is a bit angry this morning. He did not have a solid night’s sleep because some idiot woman kept charging into my tent and demanding to know where two mortals were. I know you.”

  “We met a few days ago,” I said, wanting to change the subject quickly. I needed time to warn my moms about the two hit men and Death’s agent. “You loaned me your mother’s sword.”

  Holly glanced up at that, skewering him with a look. “You what?”

  “Ah, yes, that’s right. The Nightingale. You’re one of my soldiers. Holly, which head shot do you favor? I think this one makes me look too serious, but it highlights my cheekbones superbly, don’t you agree?” He held out a couple of large photographs.

  “You gave this woman the Nightingale?” Holly’s frown grew when she turned it on me, taking in the sword belted around my waist. She ignored the photos, gesturing toward me. “Don’t you think that was a bit unwise, Ethan?”

  “If I thought it was unwise, I wouldn’t have given it to her,” he said quite reasonably. “What do you think, warrior?”

  I considered the pictures he showed me. “I like the cheekbones one.”

  “You have good taste.” He tossed the pictures onto a massive mahogany table that sat smack-dab in the center of the tent. “Now then, who are these ladies?”

  Holly, who had been watching me with suspicious, narrowed eyes, stopped that in order to give him a long-suffering look. “They are the witches I told you about two days ago, Ethan. The ones who are making magic for us to use to defeat Aaron.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s right. I remember now. You will make an excellent addition to a future chapter,” he told my moms.

  They beamed at him.

  “I want to get to the bottom of you giving away valuable swords—” Holly started to say, but didn’t finish the sentence. At that moment there was a brief struggle at the door, and two large men entered, blocking out all of the morning light.

  “There now!” the biggest of them said, catching sight of me. “I thought I might find you hereabouts.”

  “Hello, Irv,” I said wearily, one hand easing the hilt of the sword out of its scabbard. “I thought you were being held by Aaron’s guards?”

  “Aye, and that we were, but Frankie here, he got an idea.” He looked proudly at his friend, who responded with a deprecatory gesture and a modest expression.

  “I know I shouldn’t ask,” I told the room in general. “And yet I’m unable to keep from doing so. What idea was that?”

  “Frankie thought we ought to use some of the magic them witches give us.”

  “Oh, no, moms, tell me you didn’t . . .”

  “That’s right, I did think that, and so we did, and as soon as them soldiers of that other boss got a whiff of the happy juice that we got from those two, they was laughing so hard, they couldn’t stop us if they wanted to. We took care of them while they was rolling around laughing, and then ups and walked right out of the tent they was holding us in.”

  “You sure do know your business, all right,” Irv told my mom. She looked pleased with the compliment until she caught my eye.

  “Threefold law, Mom,” I told her sternly.

  She donned an aggrieved expression. “I don’t know why you cast that at our heads, Gwenny. We are always accountable for our actions and have done no one any harm.”

  “Including giving potions to two hit men?” I pointed to the men with my sword. “The potion you gave these two has resulted in the deaths of who knows how many innocent guards. That is doing harm.”

  “We did not give them any potion,” Mom Two said indignantly while my mother snorted to herself. “They took it while we weren’t looking. Didn’t you?”

  “Liberated it,” Frankie said, scratching his belly. “Boss likes us to call it liberating rather than stealing.”

  “Here, this lady’s your mum?” Irv asked, nodding toward my mothers.

  “They both are, yes.” I turned to Ethan. “I don’t suppose you’d like to lock these two men up? I can assure you that they are murderous villains and should not be allowed to remain free.”

  “Oy!” Frankie said, looking oddly hurt. “None of that, now.”

  “These men are working for me,” Holly said, looking up from where she had been writing in a small notebook. She’d been so quiet that for a few minutes I’d forgotten she was in the tent with us.

  “Then you share the blame for the death of Aaron’s guards.”

  She seemed immune to my cold stare, but my mothers weren’t. They moved together for solidarity, both their faces wary.

  “I am responsible for many deaths. A few of that devil’s men are nothing to me. Ethan, I must go have that meeting I mentioned with the guards and warriors. I’ve heard a foul rumor that some of them aren’t fighting as they ought, and clearly I need to lesson a little motivation into them.” She gave me a look that I met with one of absolute innocence. “I will meet you after lunch to discuss the new weaponry.”

  “Eh?” Ethan continued to poke at his laptop with one finger.

  She shook her head and marched off, her long hair swinging like black and green silk daggers behind her.

  “She’s so intense,” Mom told Mom Two.

  “She’d be much better for having a cup of dandelion tea each morning,” Mom Two agreed.

  “Oooh, I’d kill for a cuppa right about now,” Irv said.

  Frankie laughed and elbowed him.

  “What?” Irv asked.

  “You’d kill for a cuppa.”

  “So? I haven’t had any tea this morning.”

  “No, you’d kill for a cuppa.” Frankie elbowed him again.

  It took Irv a minute to see the irony of it.

  “Aha ha ha. That’s right, I would,” he allowed with a chuckle.

  “I do not think killing people is funny.” I whipped the sword through the air so that it sang. Both men watched, their merriment fading. “Especially innocent people.”

  “What innocent people?” Irv looked at Frankie. Frankie looked at Irv.

  “The guards you said you killed in order to escape. Aaron’s men.”

  “Who says we orfed those blokes?”

  “You did.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. You said you took care of the guards while they were incapacitated with my mothers’ laughing potion.”

  He waggled his hand in the air while Frankie said, “There’s take care of, and then there’s take care of, if you see what I mean. Now, I’m not saying we didn’t tie them up, but Irv here, he pointed out that since this is heaven and all, the folks here was already dead, so there’s no use in trying to kill them when they can’t die again.”

  “That’s right,” Irv agreed. “It’s been our experience that once you’re dead, you won’t be coming back to life any time soon.”

  I shot a potent look at my mother when she opened her mouth to correct the two mortal men’s false assumption. “I’m glad to hear you’ve given up your propensity to violence. There’s no reason to go about killing anyone—or rather, trying to—when a simple conversation will clear things up.”

  “What conversation would that be?” Irv asked, looking confused.

  “The one that stops you from killing innocent people in Anwyn.”

  ?
??Do you know what the daft hen is talking about?” Irv asked Frankie out of the side of his mouth.

  “Not a clue.”

  “I think we’d best wrap this up as soon as can be. I’m thinking she’s not quite all there.”

  “I’m totally all here!” I protested, throwing grammar to the wind.

  “You may be, or you may not be, but either way, we was sent to bring you back with us,” Frankie reminded me. “Boss said he prefers you alive, but if we wasn’t able to do that, he said we could just bring your head back with us and you could be a lesson to those what would cross him.”

  I was feeling a bit more confident now. Not only did I have my spiffy sword, but the two men weren’t likely to hurt anyone in Anwyn due to their belief that everyone here was deceased. I saw a chance to get rid of them once and for all, and decided boldness would pay off in this case. Accordingly, I strolled around them, gesturing with my sword as I spoke. “I hate to break this to you, but you’re wasting your time. I have no intention of leaving Anwyn to speak with your boss.”

  “You said you wanted to earlier.”

  “True,” I told Frankie. “But I’ve since changed my mind. You can feel free to tell him that I’m armed and I resisted all attempts to subdue me. Thanks! Bye-bye.”

  I strolled over to my mothers, whistling a carefree little tune that didn’t at all reflect my inner turmoil.

  “Ha ha ha.”

  I spun around at the laughter. The two men were nudging each other and nodding toward me. “Daft hen thinks anyone would believe we couldn’t subdue her,” Irv said.

  “That’s a good one, that is,” Frankie told me. “You may be daft, but you’ve a wicked sense of humor.”

  “Look,” I said, my hands on my hips, my sword still clutched firmly. “I’ve just about had it with you guys. I’m not leaving Anwyn, all right? So you can just buzz off before I lose my temper.”