Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2) (19 page)

"Did you get my note?"

"
Oui, mon cher
." She wasn't smiling, however. She looked--startled.

Okay, now you've done it, old man. You've crossed the line, from fuck buddy to stalker.

"I wanted you to have these." He shoved the flowers in her face. She took them, and he turned to go up the stairs before he said something really stupid that would make them both uncomfortable. "I'll talk to you soon." He started to trudge up the steps to his apartment.

"Wait, M'siuer Dan, wait . . ."

He turned.

Gisele had slipped out of her apartment and stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the fourth floor. She wore a silk bathrobe, and it appeared, nothing else. She held the flowers to her breast. "A kiss, please? A woman doesn't like to be left standing at the door with no kiss, M'siuer."

Dan's boot lowered one step, then his other one did the same. He was at her side in an instant. Without further ado, he gently tilted her face up and kissed her sweetly on the lips. It brought an instant reaction to his loins. He ignored that zing of desire, and pulled back from their kiss. Not now, don't muck it up again. "A beautiful woman deserves flowers."

She smiled, and rose on her tiptoes, her delicate ivory little toes, and kissed him on the cheek.

Damn, he wanted to kiss those cute little toes, and the arch of her foot, work up to her shapely calf and then kiss her knees. Oh, Christ, he was sunk.

"I'll check in on you in a day or two," Dan said, holding his screaming libido in check.

He turned again and strode up the stairs. When he reached the top, he turned, just to see if she were still there.

Gisele stood clutching his bouquet to her chest, her hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, and those big blue eyes shining up at him.

*  *  *  * 

Mick led Tara up to the top floor of their apartment building. They stopped at the open door of the small studio apartment.

"Hello George," Mick called merrily, waving at the fellow as he leaned against in the open door with his arms crossed over his chest. "A glorious mornin' to you."

"Mick, come see my latest painting." George lifted the brush in hand, a brush dripping with vibrant green paint. He had a ridiculous grin on his face. "Who is that lovely creature?"

"Ach, my baby sister, George. Tara, say hello to the man." Mick's eyebrows arched up and the smile on his face was mischievous, if not downright wicked. "On with you now. Go in and greet the man. We'll never get past him if you don't allow him to say a proper hello."

"Good Morning, George. I'm Mrs. Dillon." Tara peeked into the small, one room studio apartment. She glanced about the room. An old pot belly stove was on the interior wall. The small round wood kitchen table beside his easel held paint cubes and brushes. There was a stool for him to sit while he painted if he chose, and a comfortable but tattered reading chair in the corner near the bed. It was sparse and cluttered with canvases leaning in rows against the walls.

There were canvases everywhere, in different stages of completion. He was good, in fact, much better than good. His paintings were like captured dreams. Smoky factory towers were stark and sharp against the pink-orange sky, the plumes rising from the stacks had stoic, almost threatening faces. Some of his paintings were pretty floral renditions. Others were dramatic to the point of being downright horrifying. Most were landscapes, but he created haunting faces on gnarled tree trunks, or in roiling clouds, even on a portrait of staid, brown rocks. There were a few human portraits among them, some unfinished.

George came over to where she stood gazing at his works, frowning a little, as if he were near sighted. He wore the same stained smock he'd had on last night, and the same pants with blobs of yellow and blue paint on them. "Oh,
you
. The one waiting for her wings. Any day now, right, Mick? Any day she'll be able to fly high and away."

"Aye, any day," Mick repeated. "And proud we will be when it comes."

She looked from the eccentric painter who was admiring at her with squinty eyes, to her elder brother. Mick nodded and smiled at her, as if their words made perfect sense.

"No visitors, I should hope?" He directed the odd question at George.

"No. Just your fair sister and her man dropped in last night." George reported.

"Do you need anything?" Mick stepped into the studio to glance around. "Riley's on an errand. He'll stop in when he gets back. Have ye enough paint, old man?"

"I've paint enough to color the moon, thank you. Will you be posing again soon?"

"Aye, but not today. I've business to attend to. Perhaps after dinner." Mick scrutinized the room, his eyes sweeping from corner to corner as he spoke. Tara watched him. He seemed to be searching for something very precise. He paused just below the streaked windows above their heads and then did an acrobatic spinning jump up ten feet into the air to land on the horizontal wooden cross beam running just below the tent of glass planes.  "Paint, George, mind the paint."

George muttered something unintelligible as he went back to working on his canvas. He made sweeping strokes with his wide brush, seeming to forget they were still there.

Tara moved to stand under Mick. "What are you looking for?" She craned her head up to the rafter beam above where Mick was perched like an angel, a handsome wingless angel. He crouched with his knees bent and was peering up at the sky.

"Evidence of unwanted guests." Mick touched the vertical beam to his left that was rising to the ceiling and traced his finger over it.

Tara's eyes widened as she saw sparkly purple dust emerge from his forefinger and float in the air before attaching itself to the wooden beam like a tattoo. It was a symbol, one she didn't recognize. "What's that you're doing?"

"Come up and see," Mick taunted, grinning down at her playfully.

Tara extended her arms out from her sides. "I can't."

He sighed in exasperation, his long white-blonde hair hanging about his face like a halo of silver as he continued to look down at her. "Well, if you put it that way, then I guess you can't. Tis a pity. If you tried, you might be surprised at what you could do."

She was wearing a long skirt and blouse. Not only a skirt, but a petticoat, pantalets and a bustle cage. Add to that her corset, and it was safe to say she was stitched up fairly tight. There was no way Tara could make the same gliding, twirling long-beam gymnastics jump her brother had and land on a beam ten feet in the air.

Mick extended his hand to her, as if he expected her to float up and meet him. "As you wish, but I'm only helping you this once. 'Tis time you learn to do this on your own."

Tara was instantly standing on the beam next to him. George was blissfully painting ten feet below them, muttering to himself. Mick's warm hand held Tara's, and the grin he gave her was as bright as the morning star. "This, is a protection seal. A ward to keep us from being discovered by our enemies." He pointed to the purple squiggly mark on the wood that was shaped like a crescent moon with a diagonal line crossed over it. "This symbol makes our lair invisible to the others of our kind. It's like a lock on a human door, so to speak. It's always placed on a high point, and shields the place from unwanted eyes."

He took her finger in his hand and showed Tara how to make the symbol. First, the crescent moon was drawn, arched down like a circle to the left, up to the right to form the hook and then back left and up to close the moon outline. Then, he made a quick cut through the moon like the backlash symbol on the computer, going from top right to lower left, diagonally. The last gesture was to place curling squiggly lines on either side of the backlash. He made three of them.

"You make one for each of us Fey born residing within. And then you must chant the verse to seal the house;
None but Light may enter in, and none but Light invited. Darkling hearts feel naught but peace, and pass this abode unsighted
.'  We put them on the doors, too, and the windows of our apartments. It is like a cloak, concealing us from the dark ones."

"My finger doesn't have sparkly things coming out of it," she observed, disappointed. "And why would we need to hide ourselves? Surely there are no dark Fey here?"

"They are everywhere, sister. They lurk in dark places, but like insects, they are attracted to light." He pointed upward with his forefinger, and the glass panels above their heads parted like doors. Holding her hand, Mick rose and took them both through the doors to the roof. 

"What's the story on George? Is he one of us, or one of those beings that serves fairies?"

Mick set them down on the rooftop patio, near the little round table and the plants. He seemed perturbed by her questions, but honestly, Tara couldn't help asking, as all this was new to her. "He is a friend, a human ally. A sentinel who can see us as we truly are instead of the human form we appear to be for others. He's happy, as long as we keep feeding him and bring him paint and canvas so he can devote himself to his work. He's having an exhibition in a few months, at the Louvre, no less. It is his reward for helping us since our arrival. We reward our allies with good fortune, whether they give us food, or perform some other service to us when asked."

Okay
, Tara thought.
So, George was sort of a fairy watchdog
?
A watcher on the rooftop? Could this day become any more bizarre?
 

"You don't just have a textbook I could read about this stuff, do you?" Her tone was hopeful. A book about fairy rules and habits she could handle, but all this weird floating about and sparkly dust was starting to make Tara feel as if she were lost in some twisted dream.

"No, we do not write down our ways, lest the mortal men find them. We teach our own. Now, enough random questions, let us begin your transport lessons."

Tara was a little afraid of this new business of transportation, as she feared that any inaccuracy on her part would cost her life.

"How it is done is through the will." Mick tapped his brow, "and the power of thought. Last night, you thought about home, willed yourself here, and your own magic brought you here. The magical wards we set up on the rooftops guided you here."

"Adrian was with me. Don't forget I also transported him. George came out here to greet us, and Adrian was distracted with getting around your guard dog, so, I still have to explain this to him. When we got back to the apartment I passed out. We haven't talked about it yet."

"You talk a great deal," Mick's eyes narrowed. "Are you as ready to listen and learn?"

"Yes," Tara was piqued at his terse remark. This was an awful lot to take in for one morning. "But what do I tell Adrian? 'Sorry honey, I sometimes just pop from one place to another if I think too hard, hope you didn't get sick. Would you like an in-flight barf bag?'"

"He is not like other humans. He will adjust to all your talents with ease. You waste time with idle chatter. Are you afraid?"

Tara rolled her eyes. Mick's patience was not his strong point. She looked about them, at the sky, and at the city far below. "Yeah, a little. I don't exactly have wings. Hey," she pushed at his shoulder playfully, "what did George mean about my wings coming in any day?"

"Now don't be changin' the subject again, young Fey," Mick chastened in a cross tone. "You hop about from one subject to the next like a bee floating from flower to flower. I'm trying to help you master the gift of simple geographic teleportation, without moving through time, so listen and learn." 

As they stood on the roof overlooking the city of Paris, he spoke of using the mind to think about a place and imagine actually being at that place. The trick was to choose an open space such as a flat rooftop, a courtyard or a field. It was important in the beginning to not transport oneself inside a sealed structure like a crypt or a hollow stone column, as it could trap a young Fey new to the gift of teleportation. Some stone columns had iron spikes inside them for added support. Iron could trap a fey and keep them bound in the same place forever.

"What about the pyramids? If I willed myself inside one, would I be trapped?"

His lips wiggled back and forth, sort of like a rabbit. "I am not sure. Did they use iron supports that far back?" His eyes fixed her with reproof. "Iron can trap us. Mind what I say. Your life can depend upon it."

Concentration was key. He suggested she visualize an open space within the city, like a park, and take them there. He took her hand firmly and sandwiched it between his own, waiting for her to do as he instructed.

Tara closed her eyes, and thought of the roof beneath her feet. The solid roof. Her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of actually flying somewhere, or thinking herself somewhere. She didn't want to do it. Last night, she'd been exhausted, too exhausted to climb the hill to their home. It had been a natural occurrence, not a forced one.

"Why are you hesitating?" 

She opened one eye. "Is this necessary? I mean, I don't have to do this, really, do I?"

"You did it without intention last night." His arched eyebrow challenged her. "Wouldn't it be prudent to learn to control this talent lest you get your dear husband killed by hurtling into a stone wall with him in tow, simply because you would not take the time to learn the correct process?"

"Oh, you're worried that I could kill
him
," Tara jerked her hand free of his warm cocoon of flesh. "Thanks. What about me? What if I panic and fall while I'm trying to learn this stunt?"

"I won't allow you to fall. Trust me, that's why I'm here, to guide you."

Tara tilted her head slightly to look at him with incredulity. He was asking her to jump off a roof with him. And yet, the thought of harming Adrian, inadvertently, by trying this unschooled, that was too much to bear. She relinquished her hand to Mick again.

"Do not let fear cloud your perceptions. Focus on a place you wish to be. Not a place in time, leave time out of this, no dates in your mind. Just a place you wish you could be right now in the city of Paris. An open space, easy to see clearly. Think of it, and take me there."