Dalton was the same, as well. His nose was red, his eyes were swollen and weepy, and he was covered in hives.
“Man, you really are suffering, aren’t you?” I said in commiseration with his misery.
“Does it show?” He tried to crack a smile, but failed.
“Don’t worry, Dalton, the doctor will have you de-hived in no time.”
His eyes, red and running, looked startled. “I’m sorry, but do we know each other?”
I bit my lip, realizing I’d slipped up. “Urm…yeah. We met a little bit ago.”
“I don’t remember—achoo—telling you my name.”
“You did, though,” I said, crossing my fingers at the slight aberration from the truth. He had told me his name…but that was in the previous version of this day. “You told me you were Dalton McKay at the same time I told you I was Kiya Mortenson.”
“Kiya. What a very pretty name. Would you mind handing me that box of tissue, Kiya? I appear not only to be forgetful of meeting lovely women, but I’ve also gone through my supply of tissues.”
I handed him the box and winced in sympathy when he sneezed again, mentally trying to run over anything of importance we had said to each other. Peter had never mentioned it, but I had a horrible feeling that if I did something different this time, it might affect the future in some ghastly, unimaginable way. “You’ll feel better soon,” was all I could think to say.
“I hope so. I want to get away from the vicious plant life of this area.”
“Yeah, you might want to stay out of the forest, since it’s loaded with mountain sagebrush.”
He gave me another startled glance.
I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “You told me you were allergic to the sagebrush at the same time we exchanged names.”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember—I suppose it’s the allergy medicine I took earlier in hopes it would make the suffering bearable. No doubt it’s muddled my brain.”
“We can’t have you muddled,” I said carefully, gently patting a spot on his arm that was free of hives. “I’m sure you have lots of important things to do here.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You just might want to rearrange any scheduled meetings you made in the woods to a less-sagebrushy area. Somewhere that isn’t—”
The thought struck me like the bolt of lightning that had left the mark on my skin. I stared at Dalton, feeling little tingles of electricity going up and down my arms.
Dalton had been in the woods. He had met Peter there the evening that we had been caught in William’s RV. But he hadn’t been affected by the sagebrush. I cast my mind back to the entrance of the lumber camp, where Peter said that Dalton had met him. Yes, it was lined with sagebrush, long arms of which brushed against Eloise’s side every time I drove in or out.
“Holy jebus!” I shouted, standing up. No allergy medicine in the world worked so fast or so well that an allergic person would stand near a known allergen shortly after starting treatment. Which meant the man who had stood next to the sagebrush while he talked to Peter wasn’t Dalton. I had to tell him immediately. Sometime between now and four nights from now, Dalton would be killed, and someone would take his place.
I twirled around, ready to bolt, but where was I going? I had no idea where Peter had been while I was at the doctor’s office. What I needed was a way to contact him and warn him.
Like a cell phone.
I pulled out my phone, but the number that Peter had put in it wasn’t there. Of course it isn’t, my ego pointed out to me in a smug voice that I could have done without. That meeting hasn’t happened yet.
“Peter!” I shouted again, and grabbed Dalton’s arm, heedless of the poor man’s hives. He squawked. I released it and apologized. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you itch worse. What’s Peter’s phone number?”
He reared back like I had struck him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Peter’s number. Peter Faa. I need it. Desperately. I have to tell him that the you he met wasn’t really you, and that the body I found was you. I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to step on you, but if you would just give me Peter’s cell number, I can call him and we can figure out when you were killed, and thus keep it from happening again.”
Dalton’s expression went from startled to completely blank. I realized with hindsight that I had gone about getting information the wrong way—he was a professional detective, or whatever they had in the Watch, and I had just mentioned one of the men working for him without any warning.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly, or as stiffly as he could, given his runny nose, eyes, and hives. “I would, however, like to know just who you are, and what sort of glamour you’re using on me. I’ve heard that there’s a magician in this area who is doling out unauthorized magic, and if you do not have the correct paperwork for whatever deceptive magic you are using, I’m afraid that I will have to bring you before the committee to face charges.”
“I’m not the one using a glamour. Andrew was.” The second big thought hit me then, causing me to gasp, literally gasp in realization. “That’s what he wanted it for! Don’t you see? Andrew was pretending to be you. Somehow, he found out about Peter working with you, and he did whatever it is you do to appear like someone else, and whammo! He was you. But he couldn’t be you if you were still here, so he had to off you.”
Dalton pulled out his phone and, with a wary eye on me, spoke into it softly.
I wrung my hands, ignoring my id when she warned me that such a dramatic gesture was becoming a habit. “We have to find Andrew and stop him from getting that glamour. And killing you. That’s really important. Oh, don’t you see that I have to talk to Peter? He’ll understand all of this. At least I hope he will. He should, because he said that people who were in close proximity when the time theft was conducted would remember what happened during the lost time. Oh man, what if he was wrong? What if I have to seduce him all over again?”
“That’s it,” Dalton said, getting to his feet, and immediately sneezing. “I am authorized by the L’au-dela to place you under—”
“Gah!” I yelled at him, realizing that nothing I could say would get him to give me Peter’s phone number. “Fine, I’ll go find him the hard way. But if you’re killed because I’ve spent two days trying to find him, don’t come whining to me!”
His expression was priceless, but not one that I had time to stay and enjoy. I dashed out of the doctor’s office—there was no need to stay, since I knew the lightning strike had not harmed me—and begged, pleaded, and cajoled Eloise to start.
What had Peter been doing before I had seen him in the woods, that first day when I was walking the pugs? “I don’t think he ever told me,” I said aloud as I drove down the winding mountain road toward Rose Hill. “But I bet I know someone who was completely aware of where Peter was, and what he was doing.”
I gritted my teeth as I drove the roads, aware of the logging trucks that rumbled so ominously toward me, and careful to keep Eloise from being driven onto the side of the road again. Because I hadn’t waited at the doctor’s office as I had done the first time, I knew Gregory wasn’t right behind me on the road, but chances were fair that his cousin was at the family’s camp.
The lumber mill was just as I remembered it, from the mildewy sign on a chain across the track leading up to the mill proper, to the shiny RVs, the handful of children and women, and the shrill yapping of the pugs as Mrs. Faa hobbled forward.
“Andrew!” I yelled as I crawled out of the window of my car. “Where’s Andrew?”
“Who are you?” asked one of the grandsons—to be honest, I couldn’t tell Piers from Arderne. “What are you doing here? What do you want with Andrew?”
“Mrs. Faa, this is very important. I know you don’t give a damn what happens to me, or Peter for that matter, but an innocent man’s life is at stake, not to mention all the people who Andrew has killed.”
S
he stiffened up, but the pugs gamboled and frolicked around my feet. “What family are you from? You are mahrime.”
“Yes, I am, not that I appreciate you greeting me with that statement, although I guess I did just greet you with the news that I knew Andrew is the one behind all the murders that Peter is investigating.”
“Peter?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “You are a friend of Peter Faa?”
“I’m going to marry him,” I told her. “And you don’t remember this, because Peter used up a bunch of my time to Travel back four days, but I used to work for you. I took care of the pugs. Terrance, you’ll get slivers in your naughty bits if you try to get it on with that log.”
Mrs. Faa was silent for a moment. I couldn’t tell if she was stunned or angry, or what—her wrinkled face seemed to be slack and devoid of any emotion. “Peter Faa…Travelled?”
“Yeah. And your shuvani person evidently decided it was OK, because my lips are perfectly fine, and I’m not dead and all. Look, I know this is a shock, but it really is important that I find Peter before it’s too late. Before Andrew—”
“Before Andrew what?” came a low, mean voice behind me.
I spun around to face the man himself. “Before you kill Dalton McKay. Oh, don’t look so surprised—I know it was you who killed him and used the glamour you got from some magician to pretend you were Dalton. I’m sure your plan all along was to get the evidence from Peter so he couldn’t turn you in, but it’s over, do you hear me? I know what you were doing.”
The world twisted for the space between a second.
“What family are you from? You are mahrime.”
I looked at Mrs. Faa, then turned around and ran at the man who lurked at the far edge of his RV. “You do that again, and I’ll see to it that you never steal time again!” I bellowed at Andrew.
But it wasn’t Andrew who stood there. It was William, and he caught me as I flung myself forward, intending to beat the snot out of him, or at least subdue him until Peter showed up to accost me in the woods. He swung at me, sending me flying until I slammed into the side of the RV. I hit it hard enough that my vision went black for a few seconds, but I did hear William order someone to fetch a rope.
Groggily, I tried to rally my wits, but my body didn’t seem to want to respond to my wishes. Before my vision could clear, I felt a harsh, scratchy object wrapped around my neck, following which I was jerked to my feet.
“Get the children in the caravans,” someone ordered, at the same time I was dragged backward. My eyes slowly began to focus, the blurred colorful shape before me resolving itself into Andrew’s face as he followed the person hauling me. Behind him, Mrs. Faa stood, her expression black.
“You can’t hang the girl,” she said. “She has done no crime.”
“She’s dangerous,” William growled. “I told you Peter Faa is trying to make trouble for us. She’s obviously working with him.”
“Peter’s innocent,” I choked out, struggling to pull the rope around my neck slack enough that I could take a proper breath. “It’s Andrew who is the murderer. Mrs. Faa, help me.”
She shook her head, but at the same time said loudly, “Vilem, I forbid this. She is a Traveller, although she is mahrime. We do not kill our own kind.”
“A Traveller?” William stopped for a couple of seconds as he looked down on me. “You are sure?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated, then with a grunt slammed me up against a tree trunk, throwing the rope up and over a couple of branches. “It matters not. She is mahrime. The loss of her kind will not harm us.”
I didn’t wait for him to string me up; I grabbed the rope with both hands, and bolted.
Smack-dab into Andrew.
Andrew threw a left hook that caught me under my chin, making my head snap back with an ugly sound. I was dazed, dimly aware only of the extreme pain in my head, and growing pressure on my windpipe. My id, ego, and superego all screamed at me to get a grip before it was too late, but when I finally did manage to clear my head, it was to find myself being hoisted up by the rope around my neck. I kicked and fought and tried desperately to get my fingers between the rope and my flesh, but the black spots that had appeared began to grow and leak into one another. I realized that I would asphyxiate if something wasn’t done in the next few seconds.
“Peter,” I croaked, tears filling my eyes at the thought of never seeing him again, never feeling his warmth, never watching him trying to be all business, and failing miserably. I wanted him more than I wanted anything else, and just hoped that whoever was in charge of such things would allow my ghostly form to be assigned to him the way Sunil was. “Although not as a ball of light,” I said in a voice that was inaudible to all but me. “Something with a proper body, please.”
The inky spots merged together, then grew lighter and lighter until they dazzled me, setting my body alight with electricity and making me feel as if I were floating on a warm, delicious cloud.
One that smelled like the woods. Woods that murmured the most wonderful words in my ears, and pressed steamy kisses all over my face and neck. Woods that had hands and arms and a chest that I snuggled happily into.
A chest? Arms? Hands? What the hell, mind? I asked the egos and id.
Wake up, you ninny! You’re not dead!
I opened my eyes to see two beautiful eyes of the purest violet, their color shaded with concern and fear.
“Peter?” My voice was rough and harsh and as soon as I spoke the word, feeling flooded back to me in the form of a pounding headache, and a burning sensation around my neck. With shaky hands I reached up to touch his head. “Is that really you? Am I alive?”
“It’s me. And you are very much alive.”
“I am here, too.” A little light bobbled around over Peter’s shoulder.
I gazed into Peter’s eyes, not seeing any of the love I wanted to see. “Oh no, you don’t remember me, do you? I’m going to have to seduce you all over again!”
The lines around those glorious eyes crinkled as he laughed, and gently, as if I were made of glass, he hugged me and kissed me. “I very much remember you, my darling Kiya, but if you wish to seduce me, it would be rude of me to refuse.”
Now his face was full of all the love I expected. “I love you so much. I thought I was going to die, though.”
His expression changed like quicksilver as he looked over my shoulder. I sat up, astonished to see Gregory sitting over the bodies of both William and Andrew. “You almost were killed. If I hadn’t stopped to find Gregory, I’d have been here much earlier and would have kept them from attacking you.”
“You stopped to get Gregory? Why? To make him admit he was hiding from us?”
“He wasn’t hiding, love. That hasn’t happened yet, remember? Not that I think he was hiding from us even then. But today—the day you first arrived—Gregory was just arriving in town. I’m very much afraid that all of your suspicions as to his guilt are false.”
“Well, hell!” I said, struggling to my feet with Peter’s able assistance.
“Thanks,” Gregory said, giving me a wry smile. “I take it you’re the woman who Peter says I met a few days ago. Nice to meet you…again.”
“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. It’s just that…I had it all worked out that Andrew had you pretending to be gone so he could blame us. And now I’m wrong and Peter was right all along.”
“Not so right as all that,” Peter said, assisting me to the nearest picnic table. “It turns out that Andrew wasn’t the one committing the murders—William was. Andrew was working for him at covering his tracks, and put him in contact with the magician who set William up with the whipping boys, but he himself didn’t have a hand in the murders.”
Mrs. Faa sat in the chair, her gaze watchful, but her expression as unreadable as ever. At a gesture from her, the pugs swarmed me. I picked up two of them to cuddle, suddenly exhausted at the near-death experience. “Oh, Peter,” I said, snuggling my face into a pug. “I’m so sorry that
it was your own father who turned out to be the murderer. A cousin was bad enough, but a father—”
“Not a father.”
We all turned to look at Gregory. He was looking at his grandmother. “Puridaj, you must tell them.”
“There is no reason to do so,” Mrs. Faa said, her hands on the cane before her.
“There is every reason to tell Peter who his father really was,” Gregory argued. “If you do not, then I will.”
She shot him a dark look. “You would betray our family to outsiders?”
Gregory took a deep breath, and to my utter surprise walked over to Peter and held out his hand. “I have long wanted to tell you how much I’ve admired and envied the work you do for the Watch. I am honored to call you cousin.”
Gravely, Peter shook his hand. “There is always room in the Watch for people who wish to see justice served.”
“No!” Mrs. Faa struggled to her feet. “I will not have it! It was bad enough that Tobar left me to be with that mortal woman, left the family, left all that he was raised to honor and cherish. I will not lose another member to the gadjos!”
“Who’s Tobar?” I asked Peter.
He shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Tobar is your father,” Gregory said, assisting Mrs. Faa when she stumbled, helping her back to the chair. “Tell them, puridaj.”
She seemed to sink into herself for a few minutes before finally saying, in a very small voice, “Vilem is not your father. You are the son of my oldest son, Tobar. He mated with a mortal woman, and died before you were born.” Pain twisted her face as she continued. “Tobar was very dear to me. He wished to marry the mortal, but I refused. I would not have him bring that shame on the family. He said hurtful things about not wanting to live the life of a Traveller if it meant cutting off everything else. I forbade him to continue. He did not heed me, and left the family for the woman. He did not return.”
“Oh, Peter,” I said, squishing a pug between us as I hugged him.
“He died?” he asked, watching Mrs. Faa closely.