Touch Of Enchantment Part 24

She painted word pictures for them until they could see and hear the people she spoke of as clearly as she could a" Auld Nana, her broad face wreathed in a smile; sweet Jenny with her elfin nose and cropped curls; Arjon with his dry wit and fondness for a pretty face; the lovely Lyssandra, who'd finally won his fickle heart. She told them about everything except the shattering pleasure she and Colin had discovered in each other's arms and that last awful moment she couldn't bear to relive. Maybe if she never said the words aloud, they wouldn't be true.

When she was done, they sat in silence for a long time before Tabitha turned to her mother. "Please, Mama, you have to help me get back. I know he'll wait for me. If I can just find a way backa"

Arian shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, darling, but traveling through time without the amulet is completely beyond my capabilities. And yours," she added gently.

Tabitha shifted her frantic gaze to her father. "You can make it work, can't you, Daddy? You're the one who designed the amulet all those years ago. All you have to do is make another one. I know you have a photographic mind. Even if you've destroyed the specs, you must remember how to re-create it."

Tristan shot Arian a helpless look before covering Tabitha's hands with his own. "And risk it falling into the hands of another monster like this Brisbane? Is that what your Colin would want?"

Tabitha bowed her head. "No," she finally said softly. "He wouldn't want that at all."

She withdrew her hands from her father's and stood. "Thank you for coming by," she said, her voice so lifeless her parents exchanged another anguished glance. "I think I'll take the day off if you don't mind."

As Tabitha shuffled off to the bedroom, the blanket dragging the floor behind her, Arian cast her husband a beseeching look, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Oh, honey, what are we going to do? She was always such a self-sufficient little thing. I never thought she needed us."

Tristan drew her close, brushing her hair with a kiss so she wouldn't see the calculating glint in his eyes. "Well, she needs us now. And I have every intention of being there for her."

Tabitha called in sick for five weeks.

She spent most of her time lying on the sofa in her pajamas, watching soap operas and game shows, barely moving, barely thinking, and never crying. She also spent hours sitting cross-legged at the window with Lucy in her lap, gazing dry-eyed at a world full of strangers. The days and nights began to blend into one formless mist, broken only by the daily visits from her parents, who came bearing crock pots of chicken soup and gourmet meals from her favorite restaurants. Soon her refrigerator was crammed with their untouched offerings.

After four and a half weeks, they could no longer hide their concern behind brave smiles and false cheer. Fearing that she'd picked up smallpox or the plague or some other obscure disease from her trip to the Middle Ages, her father insisted that she see a doctor.

Tabitha informed him that she didn't need a doctor.

She wasn't sick.

She was dying.

Although her body had been transported neatly back to where the amulet must have figured it belonged, it was nothing but an empty sh.e.l.l. She'd left her heart in that sunlit meadow with Colin.

Her father had finally gotten angry and shouted that it was time for her to stop mooning over a man she could never have, but she'd seen the fear in his eyes and was sorry to have caused it. But not sorry enough to eat the Big Mac in the crumpled sack he carried.

Later that afternoon she was lying on the couch staring sightlessly at the television when her mother stormed off the elevator, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the remote, and thumbed off the power.

Before Tabitha could murmur a protest, Arian stamped her small foot, reminding her eerily of Lyssandra, and shouted, "Your father went to McDonald's for you! Do you understand how hard that was for him? He's never set foot in any restaurant that boasts less than a four-star rating." Her mother paced the length of the coffee table, then whirled around to point a finger at her. "He could have sent your Uncle Sven or one of his other security men, but no! He had to go himself. He had to make sure his baby girl got the freshest sesame seed bun and the crispest pickles in the entire franchise. Why, he practically made the poor manager cry!"

Tabitha couldn't have explained why, but her own eyes were beginning to fill with tears. When Arian hurled a crumpled sack at her, she was so surprised she caught it.

"I told Daddy I wasn't hungry," she whispered weakly.

"Open it," Arian commanded.

Tabitha obeyed, staring with shock at the contents. It was a home pregnancy test, the kind you could purchase over the counter at any drugstore. She'd never even suspected her sheltered mother of knowing about such things. After all, Arian had been born in 1669 when such things didn't exist.

"You may have given your father the PG version of your little adventures, but I know that look in your eyes. I've seen it often enough in my own." Arian nodded toward the bathroom. "Go."

Refusing to even let herself hope, Tabitha obeyed. As she pa.s.sed the bathroom mirror, her reflection caught her eye for the first time since returning from the past. She could not help but stare. The woman gazing back at her was a painfully thin stranger with gaunt hollows beneath her cheekbones and dark circles around her eyes. Tabitha felt a bleak flare of shame. The woman in the mirror didn't look like someone Colin would have fallen in love with.

When Tabitha emerged from the bathroom, Arian was sitting on the sofa, stroking the kitten in her lap. She watched her daughter warily, but neither said a word.

Tabitha simply went to the refrigerator, fished out the crumpled McDonald's sack, and began to cram bites of Big Mac into her mouth as fast as she could. She ate as if she were starving, as if she hadn't eaten for years and would never get the chance to eat again. When she finished the sandwich, even licking her fingers clean of dripping sauce, Arian handed her a banana cream pie and a tablespoon, grinning through her tears.

Tabitha went to the doctor the very next day.

To her father's pretended chagrin, twenty-first century medical technology determined that she hadn't picked up the plague or the pox, but a baby boy. Although Tristan bl.u.s.tered and fussed because some Scottish ne'er-do-well had gotten his little girl pregnant, he went to F.A.O. Schwarz that very afternoon and bought a stuffed giraffe so big they had to fold it to get it on the elevator.

Tabitha still wasn't sleeping well, but now at night when she lay in the darkness aching with emptiness, she would fold her hands over her stomach and whisper to the baby. She told him stories about his father a" a bold and true knight who always fought on the side of right and had once slain a dragon to win the heart of his lady fair.

She returned to her job the following week. She was surprised by how easy it was to throw herself back into her daily routine, to let the soothing rhythms of work dull the loneliness gnawing at her soul. She only had one bad moment on her first day back, when she was delivering a late report to the Accounting Department.

A dark-haired man was sauntering down the carpeted corridor ahead of her, his rolling gait betraying just a hint of a swagger. As she teetered after him on her high heels, Tabitha's heart began to skip more beats than it hit.

"Sir," she cried, unable to keep the pleading note from her voice. "Wait, please wait."

But when he turned around, his eyes weren't the color of sunlight, but a dull muddy brown. He looked blankly at her. "Yes? Can I help you?"

She recoiled a few steps, swallowing a bitter lump of disappointment. "I thought you were someone else. I'm sorry, Mra.?"

He extended his hand. "Ruggles. George Ruggles."

At one time Tabitha might have thought his bland face, neatly trimmed hair, and friendly smile were handsome, but now she preferred men with at least a day's growth of razor stubble and hair that looked as if it hadn't been combed in a week, even if it had.

Weekends were the hardest for her and one Sat.u.r.day morning in early spring she found herself standing on the steps of the New York Public Library without knowing how she'd gotten there. The stone lions flanking the entrance were rumored to be the guardians of the truth, but she was afraid their n.o.ble and uncompromising visages might reveal more than she could bear.

But as she touched a hand to her belly, she knew she owed the child she carried more than fairy tales.

She could have probably found the information she was looking for on-line, but she'd always loved the vast Main Reading Room with its diffuse sunlight and bronze reading lamps. After she'd made her request, she sat at one of the tables and patiently waited, hoping the staff wouldn't be as efficient as she remembered. But a smiling blond woman quickly appeared with her selection.

As Tabitha thumbed through the thick sheaf of photocopies, her hands began to shake. She didn't even know why it should matter if Colin died that sunny morning in the meadow. After all, whether he lived or died in that moment, he'd still been dead for over seven hundred years. Even his bones would be nothing but dust by now.

But she pored over the genealogical charts anyway, learning that the name Ravenshaw had eventually become Renshaw, slowly tracing its evolution backward through the centuries until she found the notation she was looking for.

A tear splashed on the page as she traced his name with her finger. It seemed that Laird Colin of Ravenshaw, the seventh son to bear the family t.i.tle, had lived to the ripe old age of eighty-seven. Despite the exceptional length of his life, he had married only once. His wife was not named, but she had borne him three sons and two daughters, all remarkably healthy and long-lived for children of their era. Their love had sp.a.w.ned a family dynasty that continued over several pages, stretching all the way to the present day.

Tabitha's tears were flowing freely now. She cupped a trembling hand over her mouth, the joy she felt at learning Colin had survived Brisbane's attack marred by bittersweet envy of the nameless, faceless woman who had shared his life, his love, and his bed for over fifty years.

The blond attendant who had brought her the photocopies appeared at her shoulder. "Miss, are you all right?"

"I don't think so," she whispered before s.n.a.t.c.hing up her purse and fleeing the woman's puzzled gaze.

Chapter 30.

Michael Copperfield pushed open the swinging door to Lennox Labs and poked his head inside. The lab was deserted. Most of the employees had taken off early, eager to rush home and prepare for the c.o.c.ktail party their boss was hosting later that evening. A c.o.c.ktail party where the new Vice President of Operations of Lennox Enterprises was to be named and honored by a fawning throng of New York luminaries and the media.

"Tristan?" he called out.

There was no reply. Feeling a little like a thief, he stole past the glowing banks of monitors, seeking Tristan's inner sanctum. Despite all the success Tristan had achieved in the financial world, he always seemed to be most at home in his state-of-the-art laboratory where science and computer technology so frequently fused to create magic.

It was a measure of his friend's concentration that he hadn't even bothered to key in the sequence of numbers that would close the secret panel and hide his private lab from prying eyes.

Tristan was hunched over a sterile white counter, frantically scribbling figures on a yellow pad. He wore a rumpled lab coat and his immaculately moussed hair looked as if he'd been running a weed-eater through it. The ruthless fluorescents highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes.

Crossing his arms, Copperfield leaned against the door frame. "How many days has it been since you've slept?"

Tristan started, then turned, eyeing him over the gold rims of the antique reading gla.s.ses he so stubbornly clung to. "I caught a little napa" His lips moved as he silently counted. "Sat.u.r.day, I think."

Cop sighed. "You're not nineteen years old anymore, you know. Does Arian know what you're up to?"

His friend's shrug was sheepish. "I think she suspects."

"What about Tabitha?"

Tristan shook his head. "I don't want her to know. There's no point in getting her hopes up. I don't think she could survive having them crushed again."

Copperfield frowned. "I thought she was doing better. I saw her on the elevator yesterday and she looked d.a.m.n good. She even seemed excited about her new position."

"Oh, she's putting on a brave face. She's determined to make a life for herself and the baby, which is why I offered her the Vice Presidency of Operations. But her smile still doesn't quite reach her eyes." He dragged off his gla.s.ses and pinched the bridge of his nose, revealing his weariness. "There were so many years when I could have given my little girl anything her heart desired and she never asked. Now the one time she asks, I can't help her." He slid his gla.s.ses back on, giving his friend a bleak smile. "It's killing me, Cop."

Copperfield propped himself up on one of the stools that flanked the counter. "I thought there was more at stake than just what Tabitha wanted. Didn't you swear you'd never risk the amulet's technology falling into the hands of another s.a.d.i.s.tic son of a b.i.t.c.h like Arthur Linnet?" He shuddered, remembering their own near fatal trip to the past all those years ago. "From what you told me about this Brisbane, he sounds like Arthur's even more evil twin."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of my new design." Tristan marched over to the nearest keyboard, a hint of the old excitement in his eyes. An impenetrable tangle of wires rested on an a.n.a.lysis pad next to the computer. "I'm not trying to create a tool for wish fulfillment. I'm trying to deliberately duplicate what Tabitha achieved by accident that night in her apartment. By locating and isolating the one component within the amulet that allowed both Tabitha and Arian to breach the time continuum, I hope to create a stable conduit that could be used to travel back and forth across time."

Copperfield was thankful he was already sitting down. Tristan had attempted to defy both the forces of science and nature before, but this time he was afraid his friend's desperate desire to help his only child had finally pushed him over the edge. Cop cleared his throat, but could not quite dislodge the lump of skepticism that had lodged in it. "You're trying to build a tunnel between the centuries?"

"Precisely! A tunnel that could only be accessed and operated from this very location."

Cop forced a strained smile. "My, my, wouldn't that be convenient come Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the baby's first birthday!"

Tristan slanted him a glance that was a curious mixture of guilt and defiance. "I want my daughter to be happy, but I'm not sure I'm willing to give her up forever." He slid the mouse across its pad, highlighting a complex chain of numbers on the glowing screen. "I had a breakthrough today. I think I just might be on to something here."

His fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting the final sequence of his formula with a flourish. Something popped and sparks flew. Copperfield ducked behind the counter, having been the victim of Tristan's flying test tubes and exploding Bunsen burners too many times in the past.

He didn't dare peek over the counter until he heard Tristan bite off a less than paternal oath. His friend was staring down at the ma.s.s of singed wire on the a.n.a.lysis pad, his hair charged with static electricity, his face blackened with soot, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Cop gently took him by the elbow and led him toward the door. "Come on, Pops, we've got to get you scrubbed and in your tuxedo. Your daughter's party is less than an hour away and Arian would never forgive you if you missed it."

As Cop dimmed the lights, neither of them noticed that they'd left the panel to the private laboratory ajar.

Sven Nordgard had been Chief of Security of Lennox Enterprises for nearly twenty-four years.

Although he'd never fulfilled his dream of starring in a successful string of action-adventure films and his TriBeCa loft was still papered with blowups of the romance novel covers he had so proudly posed for in his youth, the towering Norwegian took great pride in his current job.

Which is how he happened to be patrolling the hall outside Lennox Labs a half hour before the party on the eighty-fifth floor was scheduled to begin. He knew the job could have been entrusted to one of his underlings, but it was his policy to do a final walk-through of the Tower from top to bottom before any major event. In all of his countless patrols, he'd yet to find any potential a.s.sa.s.sins, kidnappers, or terrorists. But he never stopped hoping.

As he pa.s.sed the lab, he heard a whisper of movement behind him. He whirled around, drawing his gun from his shoulder holster. His heart thudded with antic.i.p.ation as he slunk back to the lab doors and keyed in the sequence of numbers that would release their computerized lock.

At the telltale click, Sven burst through the swinging doors and dropped to one knee. He swept the perimeter of the room with his outstretched gun, bellowing, "Freeze!"

The laboratory was empty, its gleaming tile floor reflecting nothing but the dim reddish glow of the security lights overhead.

Disappointed, Sven sighed and bolstered the gun. As he exited the swinging doors, he would have almost sworn he felt something brush against his leg. His nose began to twitch. The twitching worsened until he sneezed a" once, twice, and, after a brief respite, a third time. He hastened his steps down the corridor and glanced nervously over his shoulder, wondering if Tabitha's kitten had escaped the penthouse again. He'd never cared for cats, especially black ones. He'd much rather confront an Uzi-toting terrorist.

He thought he saw a murky shadow slink through the swinging doors of the lab, but rather than return to investigate, he managed to convince himself it was just a trick of his watering eyes.

Lucy was a very unhappy little cat.

She missed the warm summer wind stirring her whiskers and the fat, juicy gra.s.shoppers she loved to crunch between her teeth. She missed the children who rubbed her furry tummy and crooned what a bonny wee cat she was. And she missed the man with the gentle hands and rumbling voice that perfectly complemented her purr.

But most of all, she missed her mistress's laughter.

So it was in a fit of boredom and defiance that she'd stowed away on the elevator when a maid had arrived to turn down her mistress's bed for the night. Not even antic.i.p.ation of the dish of leftover caviar her mistress was sure to bring her when she returned from her party could coax her to remain in that lonely apartment with its recycled air and sealed windows.

She slinked past the blond giant, silently chuckling at his fear of her, and b.u.t.ted open the swinging door to the lab with her head, hoping to find some mischief to get into. Her pupils expanded, her extraordinary eyes automatically adjusting to the dim light. She reached into a trash can with her paw, overturning it, but scowled to find it empty. Overzealous janitors and exterminators were the bane of her existence.

She trotted into the next room, mewing in triumph when she spotted a juicy mouse cord dangling from an overhead counter. She gripped it between her teeth, giving it a fierce little shake. The hard-sh.e.l.led mouse came tumbling off the counter. Lucy settled into a tense crouch, waiting for it to make a dash for freedom so she could pounce on it and subdue it with her mighty claws.

But the disagreeable thing just laid there on its back, refusing to join the game. Wrinkling her nose at its cowardice, she bounded to the countertop, landing on a computer keyboard.

A jumble of numbers appeared on the glowing monitor. Lucy spent several minutes batting at them before realizing they were out of her reach.

Bored with that game, she pranced merrily over the numerical keyboard, enjoying the satisfying click-click of her paws striking the numbers.

Until a sizzling jolt of electricity charged the air.

Lucy jumped a foot, her fur bristling to twice its normal size. She'd felt that peculiar sensation once before, and if her mistress had been in the lab at that moment, the kitten would have run up her sleeve or her dress or whatever shelter was most readily available.

But this time, Lucy was on her own. As a shimmering ribbon of mist appeared in the air, she pranced sideways down the countertop, hissing to hide her terror.

The mist slowly coalesced into a tear in the fabric of the room. Lucy blinked in astonishment as a rush of warm wind poured through the circular tunnel, perfuming the stale air with a breath of summer. She crept nearer, curiosity overcoming her fear.

She was perched at the very edge of the hole when a bright yellow b.u.t.terfly fluttered through the tear and perched on her nose. She shook her head and when the b.u.t.terfly took off, disappearing into the rift, she bounded after it.

Colin lay on his back in the meadow, gazing up at the crisp blue sky. The air was hot and hazy, but he could feel deep in his bones that it was summer's last gasp. Autumn was coming, and after autumn, winter, when a mantle of snow would bury the meadow, freezing every bloom, every branch, and every blade of gra.s.s.

He'd already worn the gra.s.s bald on this small hillock. But he would have sworn it was where he had last seen Tabitha. She had been nothing more than a glimmer in the air, but sometimes when the breeze blew soft and sweet, he swore he could still catch a whiff of her scent and his entire body would ache with need.

He knew his time for languishing in the meadow must soon come to an end. His people already thought him half-mad for pitching his pavilion so far from home and even Arjon had begun to cast him pitying glances when he visited with news and fresh supplies. But Arjon had no right to pity him, not when he had the woman he loved in his arms and in his bed. Not when she had become his wife and would bear his child during those very months when winter was laying its bitter blanket over the meadow.

Sighing, Colin sat up. There were times when he wished Brisbane had killed him in that moment when Tabitha had vanished. But Auld Nana never would stand for anyone bullying her babes. So she'd snapped Roger's neck like a twig, forcing Colin to keep living, even without a reason.

Colin shook his head to clear it. This was not what Tabitha would have wished for him and he knew it. She wouldn't have wanted him to waste his life pining for something that could never be. She would want him to rise from this place and march boldly toward the future, to seek some manner of happiness, even if it was only a shadow of the joy they might have shared together.