“You need to tell Ryan too.”
“I know, and he’s not going to like it.” She looked up and coquettishly batted her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d tell him for me?”
Andreas laughed, a rich sound that warmed her heart. “Not bloody likely. You have to fight that battle by yourself. Why don’t you talk with both of them today? It will save you time tomorrow. I will be busy making my own arrangements for the club and the court. What would you think if I took Gabriel with me and left Oliver in command?”
Ari’s eyes flew to his face. “Oliver would do a fine job, but why? Are you concerned about Gabriel’s handling of things while you were kidnapped last fall?”
Andreas looked surprised. “Not at all. He is very good in social situations. He has much more patience with protocol than I. If Bastian and Porbius are intent on trouble, we may need Gabriel’s skills to head off a confrontation.”
“You’re so clever.” She pulled his head down and kissed him. “Then I’ll see you for dinner at 7:00?”
“Seven it is. Try not to be late. If I am not to see you for two days, I insist on some quality time with my wife tonight. Does that meet with your approval?”
“It’s a date.”
* * *
Ryan didn’t take it well, but Ari hadn’t expected him to. He didn’t understand the magical concepts involved, so she skipped the details. It was sufficient that he knew she was attempting a magical trip to the past, and there was a small chance that she wouldn’t make it back.
“I didn’t want to just disappear and have you turning over every rock in an attempt to find me.” Ari shrugged, trying to keep it casual, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. She forged ahead. “If I’m not back at the prearranged time, then I won’t be back.”
He got quiet after that. She promised to call with her return schedule, but the huge gaps of silence became awkward. Ryan’s voice was suspiciously gruff when they parted.
From the police station Ari turned west toward the restored 1800s tourist district with its brick streets, electrified gas lanterns, and hitching posts. She stopped to peer in a store window, debated if the vintage dress on display would be appropriate for 1800 Italy, and went inside to talk with the proprietor. After inspecting the dress, Ari glanced at the clock, saw it was almost closing time and realized she’d been stalling for thirty minutes. She told the shop owner she’d be back tomorrow and hurried out the door.
Claris’s Basil & Sage herbal shop nestled among other quaint stores on the second block. The bell tingled merrily over the forest-green door, but the young woman who looked up from arranging a basket of dried herbs was anything but merry. Ari hurried toward her, disturbed to see that Claris had been crying.
“Oh, honey. What’s gotten you so down today? Too many memories again?”
“Not this time.” Claris shook her head, the long braid of her light brown hair shifting on her shoulder. “I know why you’ve come to see me. Ryan told me.”
Ari’s mouth dropped open. Why would Ryan have called her?
“Don’t look like he did something wrong,” Claris said. “He wasn’t tattling on you. He thought I knew.”
“Goddess, I’m sorry. I made a stop on the way. I never thought…” She folded Claris in a hug. “It’s going to be fine. I promise I’ll be back on Saturday.”
She was making a lot of promises. She hoped she’d be able to keep them.
“Right now, I need your help to find clothes that are appropriate to wear in 1813. Even though I’m going to pose as an American visiting Italy, Andreas says I can’t wear my jeans.” She smiled coaxingly at Claris. “Help me? I suppose cutoffs and miniskirts are out too.”
Claris sniffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ll really be back Saturday?”
“Yep. So, see? That’s not so bad. I’ll only be gone forty-eight hours. But I’m leaving tomorrow, so I need a wardrobe, like right now.”
Claris gave her a critical once over. “We’ll have to do something with your hair, too. I may have a dress or two that I wear for the shop that would work, if we raise the hem.”
“I saw a dress in a window down the street,” Ari said.
“Excellent.” Her tears forgotten, Claris threw herself into the new project. By the time they’d drawn up a list of things to do in the morning, Ari had to hurry home to meet Andreas for dinner.
* * *
He was late. Andreas was never late.
She twisted her rings, took another sip of wine, and glanced out the window again. Where was he? She’d checked their telepathic link for any sense of trouble. Nothing felt wrong, so she waited. At 7:20 she opened the telepathic link.
“Where are you?”
“Look out the front window.”
She pulled back the drape in time to see him vault over the wrought iron fence. She smiled and met him at the door. “Is there some reason you don’t use the gate?”
“I was in a hurry.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry to be late, but I was with Zylla.”
Ari’s heart leaped into her throat. “Has something more happened?”
“No, no, cara mia. I was taking witchcraft lessons.”
She calmed her over-active imagination and lightened her tone. “Not satisfied with my teaching methods, huh?” She was secretly delighted he’d taken the initiative.
He gave her a rueful look. “She is a harsh taskmaster, who gives no quarter. You, on the other hand, love me. And indulge me.” He took her arm, and they moved toward the study. “I have much to learn in a very short time. The Maleficus has been found; you are taking a great risk to retrieve the heirlooms. Considering everyone else’s efforts, I must be ready. After we get you to sleep,” he cocked his head suggestively, “I plan to practice with her the rest of the night. The things you taught me are starting to come together. I have finally accepted that I can, and must, master them.”
She fought against a grin. “Harsh taskmaster? If I’d known that would work, I might have scrounged up a whip and chains.”
“Not exactly Zylla’s style.” He gave her a sideways look. “I could envision you in the role, but it would be entirely too…distracting.”
“Really?” She tilted her head to consider him. “Would you enjoy that?”
He laughed, pulling her closer. “I do not need any role-playing to enhance my interest in you.”
* * *
Ari slept fitfully that night. Tension perhaps. Early the next morning, she called into the Magic Council to talk about the final details. Tom Bodie was in town, so her regular duties were covered. The lab had come up with an ideal departure time of 7:12 p.m., based on complicated calculations. Her return would be scheduled for forty-eight hours later, Saturday, 7:12 p.m. Her actual arrival should be within minutes of that, either direction. They’d have the coordinates waiting for her.
After hanging up, she slipped into the master bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed as Andreas slept. What would happen to him, to them, to Riverdale and everything they knew in the next two or three days? Would she see him again after tonight? Would she be stranded in 1813? Even worse, would she make a mistake that would change time and wipe out all this? She leaned over him and brushed her lips against his dark curls. Then she left the room.
She spent most of the day with Claris. They shopped, Claris sewed, and as a last touch, they styled Ari’s hair. First, they dyed it dark brown. Although she was posing as an American girl, she would stand out less among the Italian population if her hair was dark. Then Claris braided most of it, leaving loose curls to dangle around her face, and wound the braid on top of Ari’s head. She anchored it in place with an old-fashioned hair comb, and they’d purchased two spares for her to take. If she was in Italy long enough to need to wash her hair, she could always pile it on top unbraided by using the combs.
They’d decided on three basic dresses, very similar, with long skirts that covered her ankles. Two in white cotton with empire waistlines; one pale green with a regular waistline and white trim. To add v
ariety, they’d chosen four shawls, two cameo necklaces and two pairs of white gloves. Claris had also discovered a ladies parasol in a costume shop. Everything, including two pairs of flats, one white, one black, fit into a nondescript brown woven bag. Ari hated all of the hats but finally chose a simple hair comb with a scarf attached that could be tied under her chin.
Ari stood in front of Claris’s mirror and wound a dark curl around her finger. Hair color was kind of nice, the braid was OK, but the scarf…it looked silly. She wouldn’t be using it unless necessary.
By mid-afternoon she was home with her clothes and her coordinates from the lab. As she approached the house, she pulled the hood of her coat over her head so no one would see the change in hair color until she could surprise Andreas. Once safely inside, she even took the precaution of locking her bedroom door.
Opening the bag, she added her pouch of magicks and her stiletto, but regretfully set the guns aside. Then she tried on one of the white dresses, added a blue shawl, and was studying the outfit in the mirror when Andreas knocked.
She hurried to fling the door open. “Well, what do you think of Abigail Foster?”
His mouth dropped open, and he stared at her as if he’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
“But I do. Very much.”
He’d recovered, and the emotion that had flashed through his eyes was gone. Maybe she’d been mistaken, because he seemed fine now. “Are you sure? Not that I’m trying to impress anyone, but I do want to look appropriate. Will I pass for 1800s or not?”
“Definitely. You remind me so much of the young ladies in my youth it is astonishing.”
“Claris and I picked the name Abigail, and we borrowed Ryan’s last name.”
“Good choices.”
He still looked at her a little strangely, but it was probably the hair. She patted her dark curls. The color changed her entire appearance.
Since she planned to dress in the caverns rather than wear a long skirt through the snow-covered streets, she changed back to jeans and packed the clothes in the bag. She and Andreas spent the next hours talking, sometimes about his trip to Toronto, but mostly about life in Italy in 1813.
“Will I recognize the food?” she asked.
Andreas laughed. “Not if you are expecting pizza or cheeseburgers and fries. Fish, stews, roasted vegetables, pasta. Lots of wine. It has not changed that dramatically.” They sat on the couch in the study, his arm lying casually across her shoulders. His fingers absently played with a strand of her hair. “You will do fine. Just follow the lead of others.”
“Easy for you to say since you’ve lived there.” She sat up straight, a hand going over her mouth. “Will you be there? I mean, the other you?”
He hesitated. “I was in Italy at the time Fredrico died, although I frequently traveled to the cities on one type of business or another.”
She leaned back again. “I don’t suppose you’d remember after two hundred years, but I wonder if we saw each other. I mean, will I meet you?” She frowned and studied her hands. “So tell me what I should know about Fredrico. What was he like?”
Andreas seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Do you remember that his portrait hangs in the staircase?”
“I stopped and studied it earlier, so that I’d recognize him. Dark hair, dark eyes. You resemble him a lot.”
“Not when he was a hundred and five. White hair, white beard, stooped shoulders. In the last year or two he didn’t walk well, and if I recall correctly, his tongue had grown sharp.” Andreas smiled faintly. “He was an admirable man, almost a father to Luis and me after our father died. He had a wooden wheelchair, an odd contraption with three wheels.” Andreas tapped her shoulder to get her attention. “He enjoyed sitting in the garden. You might look for him there.”
She scooted around so she could see his face. “I’ve been wondering how I could meet him. Would it be strange for me to be out for a walk and say hello?”
“It would be unusual so far out in the countryside. But since you are from America, they would not be surprised to see a bit of odd behavior. I think that might work, if you can find no better way.”
“Good. One less worry.” She looked at the clock on the wall. 6:00 p.m. Her stomach churned. “We should go, so I have time to change.”
He bent forward to kiss her lightly. “Don’t be nervous. You will handle this as you do everything else. I, on the other hand, will be eager for Saturday evening to arrive.”
“You can’t be worrying about me. You’ll have to be alert to every word, every twitch from Bastian and Porbius. I don’t trust them.”
“Nor do I. I will be cautious, my love, but I hope I am allowed to worry just a little about my wife.”
“Just a little,” she conceded.
* * *
By 7:10 p.m. Ari was dressed as a young woman of the 19th century and standing beside the vortex in Spirit Cave. She kissed Andreas one last time and slipped her wedding and engagement rings into his hand.
“Keep these safe for me. I’ll be back to reclaim them.” She grabbed her cloth bag.
His hands touched her shoulders, sending his magic racing through her body. His eyes captured hers. “I will be waiting, cara mia.”
She trembled and fought back a rush of tears. “See you soon.”
Ari turned, took a deep breath, and stepped into the swirling vortex, repeating the magic words of transition.
CHAPTER NINE
Andreas stared at the multicolored glow of the vortex, his dark eyes hooded, uncertain. Should he have told her? He shook his head once and turned away. No, that might have changed things. He climbed through the cave entrance and started toward the surface. What would happen next was destined to happen, but was that uncomfortable feeling a touch of jealousy? He gave a small chuckle. Jealous of himself? That had to be a new twist.
He pictured Arianna when they’d first met in Goshen Park—the immediate connection, a certain sense of familiarity. He had mentioned it during one of their early meetings but eventually shrugged it off as an inexplicable instance of déjà vu. But damnation. This afternoon—she’d stood there in that old-fashioned dress, the deep-brunette hair making her green eyes glow—and announced her name was Abigail. Memories had come rushing back. It might have been two hundred years ago, but those green eyes were unforgettable. Perhaps he should have recognized them earlier and made the connection, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he would see Abigail again.
He reached a hand up to pull himself to the surface of the cliff-top and took off running across the snow. What was happening with Arianna was out of his hands for at least forty-eight hours. He could not spend his time worrying how she would feel about him when she returned. A plane waited at the airport to take him to his own challenges.
Gabriel, Russell, and Lilith were seated in his private jet when he hurried aboard. Instantly barraged with questions, he assured them the time travel ritual had gone well.
“We should know on Saturday night whether the rest is successful,” he added. “For now, the best we can do is concentrate on the meeting with Bastian and Porbius.”
“I can’t believe Daron’s going to let two of the elders just walk into his compound.” Lilith had clearly had second thoughts about the risks involved. The events of Germany were too fresh in her mind.
Andreas’s response was calm, matter-of-fact. “Vampire hospitality requires it.”
“Who cares about that?” Lilith demanded.
“It’s too late to withdraw the invitation. The insult would give them an excuse for war.”
Russell put a restraining hand on his wife’s knee, and she glared at him.
Andreas ignored their silent exchange. “Arianna has arranged for the local guardian, Zoe, to be present at our meetings, and the Toronto area Magic Council is providing added protection. A local witch coven has placed the same wards around the compound that are protecting our own buildings in Riverdale.”
“B
ut Ari didn’t think they’d be enough.” Lilith’s tone was argumentative, challenging.
Andreas suspected she was annoyed that Arianna had gone anywhere, even back in time, without her. Perhaps she’d also transferred her fierce protectiveness to making sure Andreas was in one piece when her friend returned.
He kept his response mild. “That is why other precautions have been taken. Some are behind the scenes, and we are deliberately keeping them that way, but Mike and his team of werewolf guards will be present in the room and armed with assault rifles.”
“Like swatting flies with a toothpick.”
Andreas’s mouth twitched with humor at her analogy. “Perhaps, but better than nothing.” He fingered the chain at his throat. He’d unconsciously echoed Arianna’s words when she had urged him to take the carnelian ring. “We should be grateful to Prince Daron for holding these so-called negotiations, rather than have the elders appear in Riverdale. I welcome his support and the partial immunity that his presence offers.”
“Partial immunity?” Russell asked. “From what?”
“You don’t know?” Gabriel stretched and sipped a glass of wine. “Daron has the protection of an O-Seven member. All very mysterious, but the elders have never been allowed to harm him. We can assume they won’t burn the building or cause some catastrophic collapse that might harm Daron.”
“I’m more worried about mind control,” Lilith muttered.
No one responded to her comment, and the conversation dwindled into idle talk about the arrival time in Toronto and the expected weather upon landing. Lilith pulled out a paperback book; Russell took a nap.
Lost in his own thoughts, both past and present, it was some time before Andreas noticed Gabriel had nearly finished the bottle of wine. “Are you especially thirsty tonight or is something on your mind?”
Gabriel tilted his empty glass, then frowned at the bottle. “Overcompensating, I guess. I’d hate to see the elders spread their iron-fisted regime to this continent.” He set his glass down and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Something’s not right. First”—he ticked off the points on his fingers—“they don’t make visits to foreign courts. They force people to come to them. Second, why Bastian and Porbius? And why the heads-up from Bastian?” He dropped his hands. “I could go on, but I tell you, Andreas, there is something weird happening.”