Hidden time, p.8
Hidden Time, page 8
I tutted my answer.
“Seriously, sweetheart.” Now there was a word. “Just ignore it. Eventually, she’ll kick the crap out of someone else and everyone will move on. Trust me.”
Oh, but if I could. Cage had scarred me. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fight hand to hand again.” So long as I wasn’t fighting a rogue, it wasn’t a big deal, but if I was to have any hope of capturing the scum who’d killed my mother, I needed to be proficient enough to beat a human. A lowly human who didn’t have spell power.
He gave me one of his smoldering gazes, and my panties melted. “We could spar if you want. Get you in the groove before your next workout with her.”
Next workout with Cage? That was a thought to lock down the chastity belt. “Oh, no. No. No. No more workouts with Miss Cage.” I pulled away and moved to walk around the room because I couldn’t think with his body pressed against mine, his arms wrapped around me, and his voice melting away all my angst. I needed the angst to continue refusing that particular bit of training. “Artie can forget it. Not gonna happen.” He didn’t answer. “No, siree. No way. No how.”
“You know Artie and I discussed setting you up with her. Plus, everyone feels that way after their first training session with Cage.” I walked around a table that wasn’t usually in this room and was topped by various crystals and potion bottles. I picked up a crystal and stared at it and Craig moved closer, so I put the crystal down and took a couple more steps down the line of the table. It was like we were performing a choreographed dance, a chase. He moved when I moved, stopped when I stopped.
“You and Artie sat down and discussed ruining my self-esteem?” I shook my head, not nearly as angry as I could’ve been, probably should’ve been. Hell, I was smiling, wondering how long I should wait before I let him catch me. It was a potent kind of man who could dispel my anger and disappointment with a smile, a touch, or the promise of either.
“We discussed your need for advanced challenges. We discussed keeping you on your toes.” He moved a few steps closer and stopped again. “There are seasoned veterans who can’t hold a candle to that woman.”
“I bet you beat her.” I couldn’t see anyone putting him down, analyst or prize fighter.
He shook his head with a wicked little glimmer in his eyes as he advanced, and I waited for him. “She kicked my ass in the first three minutes. Had me face down, one arm twisted behind my back and made me tap out with the free one before she would set me free.”
I let him capture me and clasp his hands at the small of my back. I rested mine on his chest, palm over the steady beat of his heart.
“Is she human?” If so, I could find her weakness. They had plenty. Normally. She probably had weaknesses even if she was a witch. Heavens knew I did. I would just have to work a little harder to find them if she used magic to cover them.
He shook his head, and his fingers started rubbing little circles against the skin just under the waistband of my workout pants. “I don’t know. Her background is above my pay grade.”
Interesting. TIME was a government agency, regulated by various other agencies, governed by the laws of the land, and yet, one of their agents had a history that the boys and girls at the top of the pyramid pecking order weren’t cleared to know.
Since Craig didn’t know—I had to assume he was telling the truth—there wasn’t much point in asking more questions. Besides, he was still caressing my skin. It gave a girl thoughts.
And later, when I didn’t have a class to get to, I was going to indulge the hell out of those thoughts, but right now, I had a full hour of Theory of Magic to get through, and I needed to focus. It was bring a spell to class day, and I had Artie’s book in my backpack.
“I have to go. Professor Jenkins”—she’d been a Dixon before she married some human— “waits for no witch. Assassin or not.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, as he leaned in one last time to press his lips against mine. When he pulled apart, he smiled. “Come on. I’ll carry your books to class.” He picked up the backpack I’d slipped off at some point then threaded his fingers through mine, and we walked into the hall. I flashed back to Jeremiah Miller, a high school boyfriend who’d spent hours in detention after school because being with me between classes always made him late. It was as sweet now as it was back then.
It was nice to be able to see Craig like this. To sneak in minutes we wouldn’t get if we didn’t work together. I was lucky, and I wasn’t going to take it for granted. I just hoped it didn’t end up as one of those sad exhibitions about why not to date a coworker.
The word boyfriend was a little presumptuous, and I hadn’t thought it thus far, but this relationship was more solid, more real than some of the others that slipped right into that term earlier in my life. Now though, the word sounded strange. Juvenile even, maybe because I hadn’t had a boyfriend in years.
Try lover. Sex slave. Man-mountain. Panty-melter.
I stumbled, almost fell face first into said panty-melter. Fred in my head was getting out of hand. And dangerous.
Later, mister, we’re going to have a long talk about you and your eavesdropping on my brain.
“It’s called telepathy, Ro-Ro.”
It’s called Rude, Frederick.
The only upside was that Craig’s arms came around to steady me. He used his hands, his body, and I was glad for it. Smiling like I couldn’t stop because I couldn’t stop.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I could’ve told him about Fred and the random bits of eavesdropping, but I chickened out. What the heck would I say if he asked how or when or exactly what Fred had heard?
Although, logically, Craig wasn’t just anyone. He was a section chief. A higher up, so certainly he would know about, or at least be aware of the relationship between a familiar and a witch, the powers that existed between them.
Craig pulled us to a stop in front of Jenkin’s classroom.
“This is me.”
But of course, he knew that already. I just wanted another few seconds of looking at him, of hearing his voice.
“Can I see you later?” His voice was a soft purr that went straight to my stomach and spread fingers of warmth through me.
“I’ll probably be too sore. I am supposed to”—but no guarantees— “have another session with Cage.” Cold seeped through me. I hate getting knocked on my ass.
His adorable grin heated all the spots where the cold had been. “I might know a couple little hacks that can help.” His hands ran from my shoulders to my elbows then back again and stopped, his thumbs stroking the sides of my throat. If this was a preview, I could wholly endorse his methods.
I would’ve bet big money on his methods. And I would’ve made that bet all night long and twice more in the morning. But right now, Professor Jenkins waited for no witch.
“I’ll see you tonight.” I took my backpack and turned, blew him a kiss, and winked as I walked into class. Magic Theory. Oh, boy, did I have theories, but I kept them to myself and took a seat near the front of the classroom.
Time to get down to business.
Chapter Fourteen
It’d been about three weeks since my first session with Cage and things were going better. I wasn’t spending nearly as much time on the ground with her knee in my back. I’d gotten stronger, faster, better at dodging punches and kicks. All good news since I’d been given the okay for the rogue mission to the seventies. My ability to hustle and rollercoaster gave panic at the disco all new meaning, but at least if I couldn’t dance the part, I could dress for it.
I fluffed my daisy crown—fake flowers, but pretty anyway— ran my hand through the tassels at the bottom of my leather vest, then adjusted my John Lennon sunglasses. The platform shoes gave me a good couple of inches of lift but did nothing to make me a better dancer. More than once, Fred had to tell me if he wanted to see this much crack—low-rider bell bottoms completed my ensemble—he would break the sink and call a plumber.
I didn’t care because I was having fun. Living for the moment I was heading back to. My playlist switched from the Bee Gees to the YMCA. God loved the Village People and a dance I knew!
I showed Fred the moves, and he tried so hard, but his wings weren’t arms and twice he biffed me in the head. Not that I fared much better. Hence, the YouTube disco lessons.
“Ro, why are we doing this? Are you planning on hunting Rogues at a nightclub?” Fred fanned himself with a wing while I finished the song.
At this point, I would hunt wherever the trail led me. “I take my assignments seriously. I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I don’t belong there. So, I can’t be dropping it like it’s hot or doing the cupid shuffle back in the seventies.” Not that I could do either of those things in my time, either, but Fred didn’t know that. “I can’t alter the past to change the future, remember?”
Oh, but if I could, there would be lottery winnings for us all.
“Aren’t you just George Washington and the cherry tree.” Oh, pardon Fred. He’d spent a couple of weeks watching the History Channel.
He kicked back, shaped his body like he was in a recliner, and pulled a beer from his dimensional pocket. “How are things with you and your hunka hunka burning love?”
We hadn’t discussed Craig since the video incident when I had banned him from touching my phone or my thoughts.
“Like you don’t know.” Banned or not, I was pretty sure he was still poking around in there. I was salty about it to say the least.
“Of course, I know. I can’t help it. I just wanted to hear it from your perspective.” He belched and stared while I non-answered. I reached to kick up the volume on my playlist, but Fred flicked off the iPod. “Come on, Rowena.”
He hardly ever said my full name anymore. It was Ro-Ro, or Ro My Boat, or some other rhyming ridiculousness that only made sense in his head. “I’ve apologized a thousand times.”
“Twice.” And one of those was only because I’d caught him rewatching the video and critiquing the performances therein before I deleted it.
“Okay, twice, but… I really do mean it.” He huffed out an irreverent breath. “I’m sorry and I’ve quit eavesdropping on your thoughts.” Pointing one wing at me, he hovered and glared. “You know how hard that is for me.”
Of course, I did, but only because he was such a naughty Fae. I rolled my eyes and switched the music on again. The truth was, I’d forgiven him a long time ago, but still had some residual trust issues.
“Ro! Look out!” My poor tiny Fae dragon fluttered and fell, but I only heard the thud because I had the reflexes of a ninja and I’d reacted to the portal window that had formed behind me. I Jean-Claude Van Dammed a spinning heel kick at the opening. I would’ve connected, too, if not for the eleven pounds of platform heel I was wearing.
Good thing, too because Artie stepped out, hands in the air. “Ho, ho, ho, stop! It’s me!” He was hanging half in and half out of the portal.
“Holy dog bones, Artie. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” I blew out a hard breath and patted my recklessly beating heart. Of course, I’d almost kicked him back a few generations in time, so I couldn’t be very mad.
Fred fluttered at Artie, billows of fire streaming from his nose. But he laughed. “Check your adult diaper, Ro Ro Ro Your Boat.” Again, with the names. “JK.” A gazillion year old dragon using teen slang didn’t feel as odd as it maybe should’ve, had my gazillion year old Fae dragon not acted like an ornery teenager most of the time. “Artie tried a sneak attack. You totally almost kicked his as—”
“Fred! Language.” I shook my head at him.
“I was going to say kicked his Adam’s apple.” He pulled another beer from his pocket and a donut because the six hotdogs he’d eaten an hour ago obviously hadn’t been enough. He ate like a teenager, too.
I shot him a look and he shrugged, bits snorting from his snout as he spoke. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t. Who knows?” He laughed and puffs of sugary sweetness hit the air. The literal kind.
This time, I ignored him and turned to Artie. “What’s up, buttercup? Why didn’t you call?” It wasn’t a requirement, but he was usually more considerate than just showing up.
“I tried three times. You didn’t answer.” And in Artie logic, a non-answer meant pop on over.
But I would’ve answered if he’d called. I slapped my pockets searching for my cell, which wasn’t there. It had made my bell-bottoms look lopsided, so I’d left it in the bedroom. Then I’d switched on music, meaning I wouldn’t have heard it anyway.
“Sorry.” I turned and went to the bureau in my room and picked it up. Sure enough. Three missed calls from Artie.
I stood in the doorway to my bedroom and watched Artie, then quickly started the camera on my phone. He was going all greased Lightning, mimicking Travolta’s moves in the middle of my living room. When I cleared my throat—no need to embarrass him since I had the video to rewatch later—he waved me in.
“Rowena! You’re the One That I Want!” The song changed, and I couldn’t ever remember the quiet, usual sour faced and dispositioned Artie being this enthused about anything.
I chuckled and Olivia Newton-John walked toward him so we could Danny and Sandy around the living room.
When we finished, I fell onto the sofa. “So, I see you got the info about the mission.” He motioned to my hair crown then scanned his gaze over my outfit. “The seventies are such a blur, but are you sure about the daisies?”
“I got the go-ahead with the mission slip yesterday,” I said.
Artie nodded and Fred handed him a beer while I retrieved the paper from a file on the table. When I handed it to Artie, he chugged half his beer as he read. Beside Artie, Fred tried to arrange his tuft of hair into a pompadour that stayed for a second then fell forward into his face. I laughed as he tried again.
Artie handed the paper back to me. “Good, good, good.”
The HANDLER line on my paperwork was blank. “Who’s going with me? You or Craig?”
Artie finished his bottle as Fred tried a staying alive move that spun him end over end with momentum he shouldn’t have had. When I righted him and set him on the table, he pulled out another beer.
I glanced at Artie who was very pointedly not looking at me.
“What’s up, Art? Are you so used to soap operas and bon bons that you’re content to sideline it while I do all the hard work?” I was only joking, and he shook his head.
“What? No. This is the crème de la crème of missions.” He cocked a brow. “You get the crème de la crème of handlers.” He paused, pretty dramatic by comparison to his normal no-nonsense approach to life. “Cynthia is breaking protocol, going against the higher ups because we’re all such a great team.”
“Yeah?” I wasn’t quite clear on what he was getting at.
“Yeah. You get both of us. This is a serious mission, a big deal. You have no idea of the ramifications.”
Oh, I was well aware of what TIME had riding on this. But it was personal for me. And he knew that. I didn’t need to explain.
There were other concerns, though. Ones that could destroy this mission before it ever got off the ground. “I’m worried, Artie.”
“About what? You’ve been working hard. Kicking ass and taking names.”
Good lord. What was up with the slang today? And it wasn’t the training. I’d been put through it and survived mostly unscathed. “I’m worried that with both you and Craig in the field with me at the same time, I’ll feel like I need to protect one or both of you instead of doing my job and killing my father.” Not a statement a girl like me made every day. Not until now, anyway. But I’d envisioned about a hundred less than comforting scenarios where I failed at this mission. This was the one that bothered me most.
“Rowena, Craig and I should be the least of your worries.” He grinned, and I knew the self-back-patting was about to begin. “I’ve been at this for a while and Craig is brilliant. He was trained as a field agent by your mother, no less. Plus, we’re only here to back you up if you need it or if your case goes sideways. You’re in the field. We’re in the safehouse.”
No pressure, though. Ugh.
“Rowena, you’re prepared. You’re physically stronger, mentally stronger, magically stronger than you’ve ever been.” He smiled and gave a short nod. “No one can touch you.”
He might’ve had a point, but I was the queen of self-doubt. “There’s still so much that could go wrong.”
“No one is going to get the drop on us. It won’t be like last time. We have the intel, the know-how and the right agent for the job. This is a straight shot. A quick in and out.”
God, I hoped so.
Artie glanced around, rolled his eyes once more at my outfit, then stood. “I’m heading home.”
I nodded. “You coming back for dinner later?” It was a training day even if I was the only one who’d trained.
He shook his head. “I have plans, but we’ll have a lot of dinners when this mission is over.” He smiled and winked. “You can count on it. See you in a couple of days.” He opened a portal and disappeared through. We really had to stop risking it with unsanctioned portals.
I nodded. A couple of days. By then, I would be ready. I didn’t have a choice. Too many people were depending on me for failure to be an option.
Chapter Fifteen
It was time to start the mission I’d been waiting weeks to move on. A new mission was always exciting. Always a rush, but today was bigger. Better. Today, I was working with Artie and Craig, one on each side of me, and Craig and I were dressed like the Carpenters—dressier than my previous hippy attire—while Artie resembled one fourth of the Beatles. He’d insisted on wearing a skinny gray suit with a slender long black tie and stark white shirt he’d probably had hanging in the closet since he lived through the seventies the first time. If anyone saw us before we got to the safehouse, we needed to look as though we were just a little group of folks heading to our new place.
