Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (8 page)

She grasped her shoulder and staggered to the darkened bedroom across the hall, her voice a ragged whisper. “Hold together, hold together. Come on, do not fall apart!” She sat on the bed and rocked back and forth to still her trembling body. “Please hold together. Let us not fall to pieces. So you see someone else’s
face in the mirror. So what? Th
ey are only dreams.
Shona, you are sleep-
walking that is all.” Her shaky voice was not very convincing even to herself. She bit her lower lip in confusion and frustration. “What am I saying? I have never walked in my sleep
in my life!
Oh blast it all
there
is
an explanation! A person cannot experience things like this for three months and there not be a logical explanation!”

Shona crawled beneath her blankets and curled into a tight ball. “So why can I not think of one?”

She rolled onto her back only to grimace with pain and grab her shoulder, tears in her eyes. Never had anything hurt so badly. “And what on earth did I do to this?” She carefully turned to her other sid
e and curled up again. “I can't believe this
shoulder
hurts this bad
and
...
blast these
stupid dreams!
” She thought a moment, and groaned aloud. “I do not believe this. I am talking to myself!”

Shona
groaned and
let her mind wander over the past several months an
d the start of the dreams haunting
her. But now it wasn’t only the dreams that got her thinking. Nothing was familiar anymore.

Simple things, a piece of furniture in her room, her clothes, favorite objects about the house in which she grew up and sti
ll lived, all seemed alien now, like some sort of weird disassociation. 
The most puzzling thing, however, was the unexplainable loneliness that began to plague her a few weeks ago. It was an odd sort of loneliness, almost like being homesick. She had had the fee
ling once before when at age fi
ve she spent part of the summer with her aunt and uncle in California while her parents went to Europe. She could remember trying to talk her aunt into sending her home, but her pleas
had been ignored, and she suff
ered through the long weeks with no hope of going sooner than expected. It was the only time she had ever been separated from
her parents. It was also the fi
rst time she had experienced one of
the dreams now haunting her four
teen years later.

Shona again tried to get comfortable and fall back to sleep, her best defense against the unwanted emotions rallying within her for recognition.
To give in to them would mean pain, and she didn’t want to deal with any more pain tonight. Her shoulder was enough, let alone any emotional pain on top of it.

No luck. The darkened room closed in around her as she
lay
there, her mind automatically turning to her
second-best defense. Logic. Th
ere must
be some suppressed fear from childhood causing this. But what on earth could have happened to her? And why would she be dreaming of a little boy she’d never met before? At least she didn’t think she had. Why in her dreams did she always sing? What was the little boy doing or about to do when she sang? She could never recall much after seeing her face change, probably because she was too t
errifi
ed to notice.

“This is ridiculous. I have got to get a grip. For crying out loud! I might end up talking to myself all night! Maybe I should call Kitty.” Shona
bit her bottom lip and
glanced at the phone layi
ng dormant on her nightstand,
then looked at the clock. Two a.m., not a good time. “And not a good subject to be talking to Kitty about
I suppose
.”

No
not a good subject at all. Kitty Morgan may be her
best friend and as much a misfi
t as Shona herself what with her dozen or so cats, her frenzied shopping habits, and her constant search for the perfect man. No, even Kitty had her limits, and Shona wasn’t about to push them. She’d just have to battle on her own.

The clock ticked endlessly as sleep continued to elude her. Reluctantly, Shona once again let her mind drift to the inevitable.

The boy.

As if against her will, she began to answer him, the boy who seemed to cry out to her from so far away. Or was it she who called to him? At this point she never knew. She only responded. She only sang.

Shona softly hummed the tune, a short song from the movie
Camelot,
one of her favorites. For some reason it made her feel better to sing after the dreams, to evade the strange feelings she had afterward. Out of nowhere they would come, the wave of emotions that welled up into her being as if from another source, making her feel helpless, even enraged.
She had never experienced anything like it in her life a
nd was somewhat reluctant to fi
nd out its true mea
ning. Was it desire?
Or some other
emotion
.
Love? If so, it was certainly not the type of love she was familiar with. She knew family love, the love she had for her parents, and the love of a friend—Kitty, of course, and Julia. But her tutor Julia couldn’t be counted as high as Kitty. Julia didn’t want to be close to anyone, it seemed.

Love. Funny how she couldn’t quite recall how it felt. Like so many other emotions she experienced during childhood, the love for those closest to her had quietly tucked itself away somewhere in her heart, along with joy, anger, and several others. They just disappeared one day, never to be seen or heard from again. She had been almost emotionless ever since and was often considered cold, even snobby by those who didn’t know her.

Actually, she didn’t mind. Strong emotions were rather bothersome from what she could remember, and extremely hard to deal with at times. She didn’t have to deal with a lot of things others did and never had to worry about pesky emotions interfering with her music or studies.

Until now.

“Blast it!” Shona abruptly struck her pillow, confused by the unknown feeling and her lack of control over it. It pulled at her, teased her, and most of all, frightened her. Tonight something h
ad happened. Something was diff
erent. Something about her had
changed.

She sighed in frustration at her inability to sleep then shuddered as a dark cloud of dread rushed to encircle her. It hit hard and fast, causing her to cry out suddenly. What did all this mean? She continued to search desperately for an answer as she gripped her blankets and battled the urge to bolt from her bedroom and run to her parent’s room downstairs. Like a frightened child that just had a horrible nightmare.

But this was no nightmare. This was real.

* * *

Back in the far and distant future…

“What was
the most serious lie you ever told?” John cast out to see what he could catch. “As a young man or an adult,” he added hastily. So far, so good as far as today’s interviewing went. He certainly hoped it stayed that way.

Dallan leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. John had seen the Scot do this before while observing from a distance. He knew it meant Dallan was giving the
matter some serious thought. Th
is was Dallan’s thinking pose, his
deep
thinking pose. John felt himself getting somewhere at last.

“Mind if I interrupt?” Came a voice from outside the half open door. John and Dallan looked up to see Lany poke his head in.

“No. Come in, Lany,” John told him as Dallan eyed the newcomer with suspicion. “Dallan, this is
my assistant, Lantzaro Mosgofi
an. I’m afraid the two of you were not formally introduced yesterday in the arena.”

Dallan made no move to get up. “I assure ye, John, I’m quite used to no being introduced to anyone unless I take it upon myself.”

Both John and Lany caught the bitter edge to his voice and exchanged a quick glance. “Well,” Lany began. “I’m off to do those errands you asked me to take care of, and I brought you what you wanted. Uh, have fun and good luck, Eaton. You’re going to need it.” His last words were mumbled as he ushered a small boy into the room.

Dallan stiff
ened unconsciously in his chair.

“Thank you, Lany.” John turned to the boy whose attention had been immediately drawn to the Weapons Master, much to the Scot’s irritation.

“Dallan,” John began as he
motioned to the little boy. “Th
is is Lany’s
younger son, Vynant; he’ll be no bother I assure you.”

Dallan turned his now-scowling face to John. “Bother?” he managed to say through clenched teeth.

“Mr. Eaton off
ered to keep an eye on him while I take care of some things,” Lany explained. “You don’t mind, do you, Mr. MacDonald?”

Dallan thrust his scowl at Lany, who caught it gracefully and seemed to toss it over his shoulder to land somewhere outside, a pleasant smile on his own face. “Ah, I see you don’t mind. Then perhaps you could help Mr. Eaton out. Vyn can be a trial at times.”

Dallan sucked air through his nose as his jaw began to twitch slightly. He swallowed hard, obviously at war with some unwanted emotion.

“He’ll be fi
ne, Lany,” John grinned. “Oh, I do need to give you a few instructions before you leave.” He turned to Dallan who now sat like a statue, nervously eyeing young Vyn. “If
you will excuse me, Dallan? Th
is
will only take a moment.”

Dallan suddenly looked at John as if he’d just sentenced him to hang. All he could do was give the Councilor a tight-lipped nod as the twitch danced merrily across his usually handsome face. A face now contorted into something resembling a gargoyle. He watched the two Councilors exchange a look before they slipped out the door, leaving him alone with what he knew was trouble.

Sure enough, as soon as they left, the boy sauntered up to the big Scot’s chair, got his face as close to Dallan’s as he could, squinted his little eyes, and began to study the legendary Weapons Master of Genis Lee. Reluctantly, Dallan looked into those eyes.

It was one of the biggest mistakes he could ever make.

Vyn’s eyes were alive. Their gray depths hinted of steel and independence, promisi
ng to one day
hold
their own fi
erce warrior’s stares within them. Dallan didn’t want to respond to what he saw, but he did, and smiled lopsidedly.

Vyn grinned back. “You’re going to be the new Time Master!”

Dallan’s lopsided smile deserted him. He glared at the boy, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Yep, thought so.” Vyn stated as he nodded to himself and again studied Dallan with a professional eye. What sort of profession, the Scot had no idea,
but the child had such a confi
dent look on his face he could think of no other way to describe it.

Dallan folded his arms over his chest and snorted. Vyn copied the action, sans snort, and took on the same scowl as well. “You’re not happy, are you?”

Dallan raised a cu
rious brow but said nothing. Th
e chestnut hair, gray eyes and outright boldness of the boy reminded him too much of another.
He swallowed again and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“How come you don’t talk?” Vyn demanded, his mimicked scowl and stance still in place. He blew a few st
r
ands of hair out of his e
yes and continued to glare defi
antly up at Dallan.

“How come ye feel ye need to ask?” Dallan growled back. He suddenly caught his tone and quickly reminded hi
mself this was only a child. Th
ere
was no need to frighten him.

“You talk funny!” Vyn’s face suddenly took on a look of bright curiosity. “How come you talk like that?”

Dallan’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to answer. By all the Saints
;
this lad was so much like Alasdair. So much it hurt. “Because I come from some place far away.”

“Where?” Vyn asked as he
leaned closer to the Weapons Master.

Dallan began to fi
dget again. “Scotland,” was whispered shakily as he fought to keep control of his surging emotions.

“Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it before,”

“If I ken where it was, lad, I wouldna be here.”

“Why not? Don’t you like it here? I love it! I
think it’s great!” Vyn replied and
then unexpectedly
jumped up into Dallan’s lap.

“Oh, the
two of you are getting along fi
ne,” John said as he stood in the
doo
rway, looking immensely satisfi
ed about something. At the moment Dallan didn’t care what he was so happy about, so long as he took the wee lad from his lap.