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

Tara stared at the jagged remains of a white label. It was cracked from spider-webbing of glass beneath the cheap paper and glue holding the pieces together. The edges of the label were furring and disintegrating in the steady rain, but one word stood out clearly:
Absinthe
. 

"We landed on the filthy cur," Adrian explained, placing an arm about Tara once more. "And broke his bottle of spirits. He didn't care that we nearly killed
him
, he only cared about losing this." He lifted his cane in his fist and with one forefinger extended, traced the lines of glass cracking through the label in Tara's hand. "He claimed it is a gift from the enchanted ones."

Tara's gaze darted to Mick and Riley, her fairy brothers.

Riley stepped close and took the remnant from her. His head bent as he carefully examined the peculiar object. When his eyes lifted again to meet hers, the look in them unsettled her. He reached into his coat, shook out a handkerchief, wrapped the label in it to blunt the sharp edges, and handed it carefully back to her. "Would you keep this safe for me, sweet sister?"

The melodic quality of Riley's voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Tara nodded, happy to do as he asked, and gazed again at the shrouded trinket placed in her keeping. She slipped it into the inside pocket of her cloak and swiped at her eyes with her sleeves in a futile effort to escape the annoying wash of soft drizzle over her brow and cheeks. The water was dripping down the back of her neck and seeping inside her clothing, making her shiver.

"I should not have let him go." Adrian released a potent sigh that wreathed about his head like cigarette smoke. "We could have questioned him to learn our location."

Thunder rumbled above, threatening to release another torrent from the leaden skies.

“I know exactly where we are. I hate Paris in the spring, it's a fucking cliché'."

Shivering as she huddled into her husband for a shred of warmth, Tara recognized the voice without needing to look up. The lack of an Irish brogue, coupled with the liberal use of swear words meant the comment came from Dan, her companion from the future.

The wind picked up once more, billowing Tara's cloak around her like a wide sail on a turbulent sea. Streaks of lightning lit up the purple sky. They were standing in a clearing in what appeared to be a spring woods with vibrant green foliage, getting soaked to the bone.

“How can you know this is Paris?" Adrian asked. "Our smelly assailant spoke French, but we could be anywhere in Europe. Many smaller principalities on the continent speak French.”

“See that big ugly thing over there,” Dan growled, pointing behind Tara and Adrian. “It's a landmark in my time, the international symbol for Paris.”

Turning to look where he directed, Tara placed her arm over her eyes to shield her view from the increasing drizzle. Far in the distance, above the tree line, the familiar steel tower cut boldly into the leaden skies and disappeared into the fog. "He's right. It's Paris. But, I don't understand, the tower has always been black . . . why is it painted red?"

Dan shrugged and spat on the ground. "You're the historian, kid, not me."

"Let us move toward the city to find shelter," Adrian made a sweeping gesture with the end of his cane in an attempt to herd his troops. "My lady is getting soaked."

“And we’re
not
,” Dan replied with sarcasm as he marched past Adrian.

They walked through the woods, moving steadily toward the looming tower in the distance. As the trees receded they came to a dirt road leading in the direction of the tower. They were forced to keep to the grass at the edge of the road to maintain their footing. The rain had eased to a fine mist. It wasn't any less cold, but at least they could see in front of them.

After a couple of miles, a stark outline of two pillars arching over the brown, muddy road came into view ahead. Low buildings rose from the horizon beyond the pillars, signifying they were coming into the town. The Eiffel Tower was still a great distance beyond the village, a bright red line leading up into the clouds. Windmills dotted the landscape as they moved toward the tower. With the angry skies, it was impossible to tell what direction they were heading, but her heart eased at the thought that beyond the village lay the city of Paris--and
civilization!
 

When they reached the pillars, Tara stopped to catch her breath. Exhaustion crept up on her and she grew a little light headed from their hurried march. She touched the rough, wet fieldstones erected to mark the entrance to the village ages ago, and noted the lush growth of verdant green moss between them. The profound sense of history emanating from the ancient monument astonished Tara.  

"Come," Adrian offered her his arm, urging her on. "We'll find a warm hearth soon."

She took his proffered arm and they passed rows of crude wood picket fencing outlining the hovels below the hill. The road was mud leading up the hill. When they crested it they seemed to have entered the village proper. Brown, dreary buildings and warehouses with dark windows passed on either side. The road gradually changed from gooey mud to sturdy cobblestones beneath their feet. The buildings became stone instead of wood, and grew taller, providing more of a wind buffer as they traversed the narrow streets.

"My feet are numb," Dan complained as they marked the empty streets about them.

Her brothers and her husband remained stoic and silent.

"Damn it, we're in for another dousing," he continued.

As Tara paused to gaze up at the roiling skies above, agonizing pain shot through her. She clutched her belly and bent double. The pain sharpened. She groaned.

Adrian's voice was a distant shout as her knees weakened and she started a slow descent toward the wet cobblestones. Her cheek sank into a cushion of damp soft fabric as Adrian's arms bore her weight. He caught her, preventing her fall as he sank to his knees beside her.

The men huddled about them to shield her from the weeping skies.

Tara cried out again, and blessed darkness embraced her.

Adrian tried to stand. He swore as he wavered and stumbled with his precious burden. His wound ruled him with punishing pain. Tara was hefted into Dan's arms. Mick helped Adrian stand properly and handed him his blasted walking stick.

"Above the shop, over there. I see light in the window," Doc Riley hurried to the side door in the alley. The door was locked against entry. He pounded on it vigorously and called out.

"Damn, what I wouldn't give to be back in my own time," Dan muttered. "At least there a fellow could call an ambulance and duck into a mini-mart to escape the rain." 

“What is an ambulance?” Adrian grew impatient with the fellow's constant grousing.

“A vehicle, like an enclosed carriage, that rushes out at a moment's notice to collect the ill or injured and takes them to the nearest hospital for medical care. Judging by our surroundings, there aren't such conveniences here. Damn it, I miss the digital age, cell phones, free Wi-Fi on every street corner, and fricking automobiles with heaters.”

Adrian stood by the giant, his hand on his wife's arm, feeling lost at the man's mystifying speech. He was still trying to digest the reality that his wife could deliberately move through time. Adrian met Tara on a stormy night in County Cork, Ireland. British soldiers had dragged her into the barn to interrogate her, believing her to be a rebel spy for the Irish. Adrian rescued her from King George's men. It took a full week before she could speak clearly after her strenuous shift through time, and she’d suffered temporary paralysis from the experience.

Tara seemed fine today after traveling through time once more. She had been talking and moving easily, appearing unaffected. Was this a delayed reaction to her use of powerful magic? This time, Tara had transported not just herself and Dan, but four more men. They started out as a group of six, but seemed to have lost Mr. Lawless in the time jump.

Transporting five extra bodies, all men, must have been too much for the slender waif.

Tara looked so pale. She was soaking wet, even with the addition of Adrian's cloak about her and Dan's hat shielding her head from the fine, light drizzle. “Can you hear me, my love?" Her eyes remained closed.  Adrian took her slim hand between his own, shaking it gently and patting it. "Tara, wake up.”

"What's wrong?" A middle-aged man in a white artist's smock emerged from a door Riley had been pounding on. He stepped out to join them in the alley. "Is that a woman?" He drew closer to inspect Dan's burden. "What happened to her? Do you need a doctor?"

"It is not your concern." Mick Gilamuir waved his hand as he spoke, as if performing magic on the curious fellow. "My sister is exhausted from our arduous journey. We walked several miles in the country to get here, in the rain. Can you direct us to lodgings nearby?"

"Just there, at the end of the next street," the Englishman pointed out the way to Mick. "Flats in Montmartre are let very reasonably. All the better in places in Paris are full due to the exposition. Tell Mr. Leroux at number 84 that Arthur Bellows sent you to him, and he will see you are well taken care of."

*   *   *   *

The rain ceased and so had her retching.

Tara was lying in a bed, on an old, lumpy feather mattress.

"Why is she bleeding so much?" Adrian demanded. His hand stroked her sweat dampened hair and his voice cut through the room like a sword. "Answer me--damn it!"

"Keep your voice down," the soft sound of Doc Riley's voice surrounded Tara with calm. Her brother's lyrical tone seemed to echo in her blood. Riley was a fairy doctor--a fairy with the gift of healing. He used his magic to help humans as the Fey were rarely ill. "Dillon, if you insist on this belligerent vein I'll have you removed from the room."

"You will not. She is my wife. Kindly remember that."

"Adrian," Dan's deep baritone contrasted sharply with Riley's softer tone. "Let Doc Riley help her. Why don't you and I go out into the next room and give her some privacy?"

Tara kept her eyes closed so she could shut out the men hovering over her like crows arguing over a corpse. She heard Dan's heavy tread on the wood floorboards behind Adrian.

"Come now, it's difficult enough for the girl without you playing the cave man."

"I'm not leaving her." Adrian's hand tightened on her arm.

"Mick, we need you," Riley called into the next room.

"I said, I'm not leaving--"  Adrian's voice was cut off in mid-sentence. He rose from his perch on the bed beside her. She heard footsteps moving away from the bed, and the narrow door leading to the outer room close. Adrian's swift eviction brought relief.

Tara remained still, unmoving. She knew what was happening. She was losing their baby.

"Tara, I know you can hear me," Riley's voice moved over her like a breeze. "This is not your fault. If we had stayed in Dublin, we'd all be arrested, little one."

Tara opened her eyes. Riley was kneeling beside the bed. His emerald eyes had an odd shimmer. His hand was moving over her belly, like a wizard casting a spell. She started, and then relaxed as waves of peace enveloped her like a warm, safe cocoon.

"The ache will ease, in time." His voice had that unnatural timbre to it again, a sort of bell vibration, like someone running a stick over a singing bowl. "The loss is great to your heart, but you will find peace and solace."

Drowsiness was overtaking her. She fought against the drugging sound of her brother's voice. "But, will I be able to . . . have . . . another baby?"

"Sleep, Tara."

Her drowsiness increased, as did the feeling of well being washing over her.

She opened her eyes. Riley's skin bore a slight translucence that brought light to the room. Gazing behind him, she saw his shadow on the wall--a man's head and torso but with huge wings covering the expanse of wall.

Angels
.
Must be what people see when the Fey visit them,  humans with wings, glowing skin and  sweet-chiming voices . . .

When Tara awakened, the sun was shining.

The men were gathered in the room beyond her bed. They were whispering in low tones.

She lost the baby. As soon as they were safe beyond the prying eyes of the city, safe behind doors four flights up, Riley had taken charge. Her brother didn't need to examine her to know what was wrong. He had only to touch her to discern that she was suffering a miscarriage after the time jump.

Tara lay curled on her side with her knees to her chest. She hadn't thought past getting them safely away from Dublin by using her ability to move through time. She muffled her sobs and covered her face with her hands.

I'm sorry, my sweet one. I didn't realize our escape would harm you.

The low murmurs continued beyond the door. The voice most prominent was Riley’s.

Her heart burned and twisted. This must be what it feels like to have a heart attack, having your chest grow so tight you nearly die from the harsh crush. Her pain was grief, not a physical affliction, yet her heart felt just as raw and empty as her womb.

A hand touched her shoulder, cupping it from behind. “My sweet Tara,” the voice was thick, deepened nearly to a savage growl from sorrow. The hand lifted slightly, and the weight of a man made the mattress dip beside her.

Tara held her breath to stifle her tears as Adrian wrapped his arms about her from behind. She didn’t want to cry in front of him.  It didn’t matter what she wanted. The harsh sobs ripped past her resolve.

“My precious girl,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. There will be others.”

“But I wanted
this one
!” Defiance rushed forth at his words. Tara rolled over to look at him. Her face was saturated with tears. “Don’t you dare speak so callously! Have you no heart? It was your baby, too.”

Adrian’s face registered shock. “I’m only seeking to comfort you.”

A pained grimace twisted her features. Pain consumed her once more as harsh, frantic sobs overwhelmed Tara.

His arms pulled her tight again. This time she was facing him. Tara melted bonelessly into his solid frame, grateful for his strong arms as she wept for their lost child.