“Storytelling requires two minds. The writer draws the basic outlines and adds some detail. It’s never complete, however, until the reader fills in that outline with the colors and experiences of his or her own life.”
“And one day, if I see your smile on her face, maybe that'll keep me from feeling I've left a piece of my heart behind.”
“If your faith is so shaky that it can be undermined by books that challenge it, then something is rotten at the core.”
“Don’t even think it. Move all the way back. Both of you. On your stomachs, hands behind your heads. Now!”
Yeah, it’s straight out of NCIS. I guess Mom’s crush on that Gibbs guy came in handy.”
“Pru shrugs. “I wasn’t sure how long they’d hold our reservation.” A sly grin spreads over her face. “I thought maybe you and Kiernan were just catching up on old times. Although I guess that might have been awkward with your new guy around.” Mom chokes on her tea and gives me a questioning look. I start to respond, but Trey beats me to it. “Perhaps,” he says in a level voice, staring directly at Pru. “But no more awkward than sitting across the table from the aunt who sneaked into her boyfriend’s bedroom.” Pru’s eyebrows rise gradually, and she does a slow clap, her grin widening. “Ooh, touché! After your rather”
“I nearly miss it, given Tate’s need for speed, but as we zip by the guy in the alley, I catch a brief glimpse of his face.
It’s Kiernan. How did he get out before we did when he was behind us?
A few seconds after we pass, Kiernan darts out of the alley, but he can’t keep up. Usain Bolt couldn’t keep up with Tate.”
“Do you still have the tux you wore as Boudini?”
“It’s in the loft at the cabin. Why?”
“You’ll need it in order to pose as a server. Unless you’d rather be a male companion?”
“No thanks.”
An evil little part of me is dying to say he has more experience as a companion, given his time with Prudence, but I bat it down.”
“I don’t know anything for certain. You and I could both explode in the next two seconds. Or the swimming pool over there could have a clone of the Loch Ness monster swimmin’ about on the bottom, ready to spring out and have us for a midnight snack.”
He’s trying to make me laugh, but I’m tired enough and jumpy enough that I cast a wary glance at the pool before looking back at him.”
“So why didn’t he vanish?” Charlayne nods toward Kiernan. “After Max took his key, he should have disappeared, right?”
“I would have,” Kiernan says, “except someone was wise enough to give me a backup when I was eight. This isn’t the first time it’s saved me.”
“Charlayne is in front of me, holding a rifle identical to the one in my hand, raised to shoulder height and pointed at Kiernan, who’s sitting on the bed. He looks more bored than afraid.”
“But then he rolls his eyes and gives me a half smile. “Fine. But if you must give me the Mark of the Beast, at least put it where I don’t have to see it constantly.”
“Such as?”
“If we want to be in keeping with what I think of the damned symbol, I’ll drop trou and you can stamp it on my ass. But in the interest of propriety . . .” He rolls up his left sleeve, and I stamp the inside of his arm.”
“Kiernan hoists one of the bags and slips the strap over my shoulder. I grab the other one, and soon I’m loaded like a pack mule, lugging two bulky military duffels in addition to my backpack.
Trey leans down to give me a goodbye kiss, but his lips are quivering with barely suppressed laughter.
“What?”
“You should see yourself. The toga, the sandals, and now this. You look like a short Greek Rambo.”
“Athena, Goddess of Modern War,” Kiernan cracks as they get into the car. And now they’re both laughing.
I pull up the stable point and blink out, now completely certain that the two of them riding in the same car was a very bad idea.”
“Kiernan spins around nervously, eyes flicking between the door we just entered and one at the other end of the room. “You forgot to mention the guards. Kind of important, Pru!”
“Why? You’ve got a gun. And Evie says your friend there is a baby ninja.”
“Watching people you love walk into danger is a hundred times harder than walking into it yourself.”
“You need one of those recap sequences,” Trey says. “Like, ‘Hi, I’m Kate. Here are a few things you might need to know.’”
Charlayne smiles. “Previously on The Vampire Diaries.”
“Or,” Ben says, “‘ The Timeline So Far,’ like on Supernatural.”
“Mom says I should erase it. That this present is our reality and everything on this little drive is fiction.
She may be right. But there’s plenty of truth in fiction.”
“I’m not sure why he’s flustered until I realize there are now five of us and the table is set for four.
Pru waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t bother. The dark-haired one is just my bodyguard. He can stand.”
Kiernan seems entirely unfazed by the comment, but her tone pisses me off.”
“And don’t get all pissy if they laugh at you.”
“Why should I take it personally? I didn’t pick this costume, so they’ll be laughing at you, not me.”
A faint ghost of his old grin surfaces, but disappears almost immediately.”
“If you look back through history, most visionaries are one step away from madmen.” I”
“The manager rolls his eyes. “Sorry, miss, already picked my dozen—”
“So make it a baker’s dozen,” someone yells from the back.
“Bet she can’t hit the bloody nail anyway. Give us somethin’ to laugh at.” That voice is clearly Kiernan’s, and most of the men chuckle.
-
Kiernan comes back about ten minutes later and takes his seat. “Good work.”
I snort. “Don’t give me that. I heard you back there.”
“Just seeding the crowd. A time-honored practice among showmen and politicians alike.”
“I toss the formal dress from 1905 onto the chair next to him. He glances up, removing the headphones.
“Did you decide to do a bit of shopping in London?”
I give him a wry smile. “Does this look like something I’d buy? Your great-grandfather picked it out.”
“Kiernan, the less you know, the better. You’re always telling me to just trust you and do what you’re asking, and I do—”
He snorts. “When it suits you.”
“Okay, but I do when it seems important. And this is really, really important.”
“I’m not following any of this, you know. Beecher who?”
“Henry Ward Beecher.” Another slug from the bottle. “He’s a preacher. Hey, that rhymes.”
Well, that answers any questions about whether the alcohol is working.”
“Victoria Woodhull and her sister were the 1870s equivalent of the Kardashian sisters.”
“The manager is busy, and our policy is absolute. No respectable establishment—” The man breaks off in midsentence about the time I feel a hand on my elbow.
Kiernan leans in and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. “So sorry to leave you stranded, dearest. You were right—my notecase was lying on the bed, right where I left it. Don’t they have a table?”
The maître d’ lets out a relieved sigh. “My apologies, sir. Your . . . wife . . . failed to tell me you would be joining her. Please follow me.”
“I do hope she wasn’t battering you with the whole women’s rights routine. If so, you have my sympathies. I hear it day in and day out.”
Two middle-aged men at the table we’re walking past seem to find Kiernan’s comment amusing. One barks out a cloud of foul-smelling smoke as he laughs.
There’s this scene in an old martial arts film I watched with Charlayne once upon a time in that faraway reality where the Cyrists and CHRONOS were of no concern. Jackie Chan, or maybe it was Bruce Lee, single-handedly took out every man in the restaurant. While I’m under no illusions that I could actually do that, the feminist inside me would dearly love to try right now.”
“Kiernan reaches to pull out my chair, but I beat him to it and then nudge the chair across from me out about six inches with my foot.
He pulls it out the rest of the way and says, “Thank you, dearest,” in a droll tone before retreating behind the menu.”
“I’d pegged you as cute-but-boring. But it looks like Kate’s little pet has claws.”
“Kiernan leans forward. “I’m guessing that’s because you can make it work, Mr. Houdini. Maybe that’s how you manage . . .” He pauses when my kick lands on his shin, but finishes the sentence anyway. “. . . some of your more elaborate escapes.”
“You see, I’ve read Mr. Grumbine’s treatise on auras, and while it does depend on the shade, a green aura can be a mark of deception or dishonesty.”
I shoot Kiernan a smug glance. While I’m certain this aura stuff is total bunk, he and Prudence both see the light as green. “Does this Mr. Grumbine say anything about blue auras?”
“Again, it depends on the shade. But it’s usually associated with truth.”
“Wishes of one's old life wither and shrivel like old leaves if they are not replaced with new wishes when the world changes. And the world always changes. Wishes get slimy, and their colors fade, and soon they are just mud, like all the rest of the mud, and not wishes at all, but regrets. The trouble is, not everyone can tell when they ought to launder their wishes. Even when one finds oneself in Fairyland and not at home at all, it is not always so easy to remember to catch the world in it's changing and change with it.”
“He's a really nice guy, if only I weren't me.”
“Chip, I know you don't understand this, but I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd stop trying to marry your mother off to my brothers.”
“Her mind is a bird that's trapped inside her skull, flapping and thrashing, never breaking free.”
“I have often wondered what was the source of her beauty, her radiance. It’s not the size of one’s nose, the color of one’s skin, the shape of one’s lips or eyes that make one beautiful or ugly. So what is it? Can you, as a woman, tell me?
I shook my head.
I will tell you: It’s love. Love makes us beautiful. Do you know a single person who loves and is loved, who is loved unconditionally and who, at the same time, is ugly? There’s no need to ponder the question. There is no such person.”
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