More Time Kissed Moments Page 3

  Taylor reached into the closet and depressed the switch buried in the inside frame of the door. With a heavy click, the back of the closet swung toward them a few inches, revealing light behind it.

  Taylor pulled the hidden door open, revealing a well-lit set of stairs heading downward. She moved down them.

  Veris closed the hidden door behind them and followed her down.

  On the official blueprints lodged with the Canmore authorities, the big log house didn’t have a basement. The entire house appeared to have been built on a concrete pad. The pad had thermal pipes buried inside it, to distribute warmth through the house, all documented and approved.

  What the blueprints didn’t show was the added reinforcement and support struts added beneath the pad in the dark long hours of the night when the construction crews had gone home. Veris and Brody and a rotating roster of volunteers from around the globe, including Rafe and Alex, Sydney and Remy and Neven and other trusted friends and family, had spent nights working beneath the concrete pad. They had excavated the earth down to the native rock twenty feet beneath, lined and finished the cavity, then added facilities which would raise the brows of officials, if they knew.

  Only after the house was deemed finished, above, did they break through the concrete pad which roofed the hidden basement, and add the stairs and hidden doorway.

  The stairs were thick wooden planks, planed and sealed, and glowing with golden warmth. They led down to the far end of the basement. The side of the stairs was open.

  As soon as Veris was low enough to see into the big room, he looked down at the colorful rag rugs covering the hardwood floor and the worn sofas and armchairs—veterans of a dozen different lives and houses. Their used, comfortable patina matched the warm golden wood paneling on the walls. The lighting was also a pleasant yellow, although daylight emitting overhead fluorescents could be switched on if decent working light was needed.

  Sydney stood with her arms crossed, chewing at the ball of her thumb, her golden brows creased together. She wore gym pants and no makeup and watched the monitors on the wall which showed views of the main floor of the house and every potential angle of approach on the outside.

  Veris glanced at Alex, then came to a halt on the stairs, for Alex was covered in dried blood, his clothes ripped and dirty, his hair ruffled and his eyes haunted.

  “What the hell happened?” Veris demanded, moving down the rest of the stairs at a speed which would have made Kit McDonald’s jaw drop.

  Sydney dropped her arms and turned to Veris, her jaw working. “Rafe is missing.”

  Veris frowned. “Missing,” he repeated. He tried to fathom how anyone could go missing when at least five people in the family—including Sydney—could reach across the timescape and find anyone, no matter where they were.

  “He was taken,” Alex said, his voice strained.

  “I need Marit to search for Rafe on the timescape,” Alex said.

  “Didn’t Sydney scan the timescape already?” Taylor asked, as Veris prodded at Alex’s perfectly healed ankle, beneath the destroyed hiking boot. She put her phone aside. “Brody is heading back. Twenty minutes.”

  “I did look,” Sydney said. Her voice was low, harsh with control. “I’m not Marit, though.”

  “Someone who knows how to hide on the timescape took him,” Alex added. “That’s a very small group of people.”

  “Rafe knows how to hide on the timescape, too,” Veris pointed out. “You said you were arguing.”

  Alex shook his head. “No. He’s not doing a Brody, Veris.”

  Veris grimaced. Taylor winced.

  “Sorry,” Alex added. “But you know what I mean.”

  “No,” Veris said. “I don’t. Explain it to me again. You argued…?”

  “We all argued,” Sydney said. “Then I told them to go sort it out.”

  “Which we did,” Alex said, his tone just as sincere as Sydney’s.

  “While hiking up Silleta de Padul,” Veris finished. “Then you fell off the mountain. How did that happen?”

  “I…just wasn’t paying attention,” Alex said. “I slipped. There was nothing to grab, not for thirty meters. When I landed, my boot jammed in a crevasse. Rafe hiked back to the car and brought back the jack. We levered the rock open enough to free my foot, then we hiked back to the car.”

  “Looking like that,” Taylor said, eyeing Alex’s bloody and alarming state.

  “Which is why I hung back behind the tree line at the edge of the parking lot,” Alex said. “Rafe went ahead to see if anyone was around who would remember me looking this way.” He swallowed, his gaze dropping to his discolored hands, which hung from his knees. “He didn’t come back.”

  “Doesn’t mean he was taken,” Veris pointed out.

  “What else could it mean?” Alex demanded, lifting his head and glaring at Veris. “There was no trace of him. I quartered the area, using every sense, for two hours. Sydney can’t find him on the timescape. Someone took him, Veris.”

  Veris lifted his hand, in a calming gesture. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I just want to make sure we need to panic, before we reach out to Marit.”

  Alex leaned forward. “The argument we had—that’s what it was about, Veris. About leaving without notice. About…” He swallowed. “About drifting away.”

  “We’re all sensitive about it, after Brody,” Sydney added softly. “I’m sorry to mention it again, only…”

  Veris sucked in a breath, exhaled heavily. “Okay, you argued and sorted it out.”

  Alex nodded. “That’s why I know this is not Rafe abruptly dropping off the map because of some obscure need to avoid us. He wouldn’t do that, not after…today.”

  Veris knew Alex had changed what he was about to say, to avoid speaking Brody’s name again.

  “I know you and Marit are not on speaking terms at the moment, Veris,” Sydney added. “She isn’t talking to us, either. Only, she’s the other polytemporal. She can find Rafe, if anyone can.”

  Veris’ middle jumped as he focused on Sydney’s careful phrasing. “The other polytemporal” reminded him of the first polytemporal. He soothed his heart back to silence and killed his anger before he spoke again. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to get her here?”

  Alex’s eyes widened. “You don’t know how to reach her?”

  His heart thudded, despite the control he was asserting. Veris made himself speak the words. “Marit changed her phone number.”

  Taylor stared at her knees.

  Alex pushed his hand through his hair. “Mother Mary…what did you say to her, Veris?”

  Veris held his teeth together. “Nothing which is relevant right now,” he growled. “The point you’re missing is that I don’t know how to reach her. She ghosted me. Us.”

  “Taylor knows how to reach her,” Sydney said, her tone flat with certainty.

  Taylor looked startled. Her gaze flickered toward Veris, guilt touching her expression.

  Veris picked up Taylor’s hand. “Thank Christ for that,” he breathed and squeezed it gently. “Is she well?”

  Taylor took a deep, deep breath. “She’s as angry and stubborn as you, Väinä, but for this, she will come here.”

  Relief touched him. Veris schooled his expression so the relief and the hope it generated didn’t reveal themselves. He nodded. “She’s a pragmatist, too. Reach out, Taylor. Let’s find Rafe.”

  Alex found Veris in his office, where Taylor had sent him while she spoke to Marit.

  Alex had showered and wore a pair of Brody’s jeans and a button-through shirt. His feet were bare and his hair slicked back.

  “You look almost indecently casual, for you,” Veris said.

  “Right now, I don’t give a damn,” Alex replied. He threw himself in the chair beside Veris’ big desk. “You agree with me, then, that someone has taken Rafe?”

  Veris sat back. “Something has happened to him,” he said carefully. “It doesn’t matter if he was taken by an enemy or met with
some misadventure…either way, he’s in a position where he can’t reach out for help. We have to find him.”

  “We?” Alex repeated and raised his brow.

  “You’re not thinking you’ll go after him by yourself, are you?”

  “Sydney and me. Yes.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Veris shot back. “What if the two of you end up in the same black hole he’s in?” He rested his hand flat on the desk, to avoid curling it into a fist. “Rafe isn’t helpless, Alex. I’ve seen him fight solo against three pissed Roman legionnaires. For him to be unable to reach us, whatever happened to him, it’s overwhelming.”

  “Exactly,” Alex replied. “I won’t ask anyone to take on the same risk.”

  “You and your ethics.” Veris sighed. For a moment, ancient memories he usually kept locked away swam to the surface of his mind, as bright and clear as if it had happened yesterday…

  Time and the Northman

  Somewhere between Constantinople and Pergamum. Anatolia Peninsula. 491 C.E.

  They had been four days on the road—the most uncomfortable and angst filled days Veris had ever suffered. It had little to do with the bouncing delivered by the jolting cart as the wooden wheels rolled into and out of every crack and hole in the road. Most of the discomfort was generated by the man sitting on the flat board beside him, his brown-eyed gaze on the road ahead.

  Rafael of Iberia. A friend, he claimed. In the last few days that claim had been demonstrated. Rafael remembered the way back to Pergamum. Veris could recollect not a single detail of the journey which had drawn him away from his medical studies in the old healing center, to travel all the way to Constantinople as a guest of this man.

  Wine and women had propelled Veris, Rafael had explained. Even more strange was that Rafael understood that consuming wine, for Veris, was an indirect business which required feeding from one already drunk. That one being Rafael.

  Imbibed wine and slack women had beckoned, apparently. Plus, a need to drown his growing disquiet about a woman called Tyra—his wife, he had been told—about whom Veris also remembered not a single thing.

  Eight days were missing from his memory. As vampires remembered everything, it was disturbing to recall nothing of eight entire days. This was the second time such blankness had gripped him. The first time, he had still been human. That was when the woman everyone said was his wife had disappeared. They had blamed him and ejected him from the village and the kingdom.

  No one was screaming about murder this time, which was a small blessing.

  Despite the missing memories and the shock of finding himself in Constantinople, when his last memory placed him on the coast of the great sea, Veris might still have accepted Rafael’s explanation about what had happened. It sounded feasible. It sounded exactly like something he might do.

  Only, Rafael was lying.

  The evidence was there for any half-aware man to notice. The pale skin around the man’s wrists, which spoke of slave bands recently removed, were the greatest proof that Rafael was not the successful Byzantine merchant he claimed to be. It meant the modest but graceful house from where they had departed, close by the walls of St. Sophia, was likely not Rafael’s house.

  The lies added up after that. The business trip Rafael had undertaken, traveling to Panormos, where he and Veris had met, also seemed logical but was a lie.

  Plus, Veris would not have left Pergamum and uncovered the trove of riches he’d hidden in the cave a day’s ride north, just to clear his head about troubling times in the past. Finding Pergamum in the first place, then begging to be permitted to learn from the masters there, had taken a year of toil and trouble. He would not have left on a whim.

  Unmentioned by Rafael, yet clearly visible to Veris, were the markings of the Blood all over the man. Veris had fed from him, which wasn’t an enormous surprise—although why the man was still in his company after such an event was a smaller puzzle.

  There were also markings from another of the Blood. Strange markings Veris had never seen before.

  Both sets were faint and faded with each passing day. However, as four days had already passed and they were still visible, it meant the contact with the other vampire had been recent and possibly violent.

  Rafael had mentioned nothing of a second vampire.

  The only true note in Rafael’s story was that he had promised to show Veris the way back to Pergamum, which the man was doing. Among all the lies and omissions, this one fact sustained Veris and let him tolerate the man beside him, for the urge to return to Pergamum and take up his interrupted life was strong. When he got back there, when he was immersed in medicine and healing, he could put this business behind him.

  Only then could he dismiss the liar sitting beside him and never see him again.

  Today, they would turn east and lose sight of the sea which had laid to their right for four days. The salt in the air would diminish and the dust and heat would increase.

  Yet they would be closer to Pergamum.

  The thieves leapt upon them two miles beyond the crossroads, after they had turned east. The road plunged into a grove of ancient olive trees, their gnarled trunks a dark contrast to the white road and the bleached leaves.

  Four filthy men lunged from the trees, yelling and brandishing rusty weapons. The gesturing and screaming were designed to freeze their victims with fright. Instead, Veris dropped the reins and calmly drew his knife. He reached under the bench and picked up the sword but didn’t jump down to deal with the thieves. It would remove the height advantage.

  The first black-toothed fool ran onto the end of the sword. His last expression was one of surprise as he looked down at the burnished blade buried in his guts.

  Veris kicked the body off the end of the sword, leaned to his right and across Rafael’s legs, to jam the point into the eye of the second man.

  Rafael sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to draw himself away from the thief. Only, there was nowhere to go. The cart was an open, high-sided thing with the single bench on the front for the driver.

  While Rafael quailed and shook, Veris pushed off with his boot, throwing himself forward to where the third ragged thief was trying to grab the horse’s halter. The gray tossed her head and lashed out with her hooves, for she had once borne Veris into battle and was a stalwart fighter.

  Veris let his hand slap onto her back and pivoted from the arm, bringing his feet around. His boot slammed into the thief’s temple, dropping him instantly.

  That just left the last one. Veris landed a pace beyond the mare’s nose, then sprinted to the back of the cart, where the more enterprising of the four men worked at the ropes which held down the canvas over the goods beneath.

  The thief was too busy sawing and imagining what he would do with his unexpected wealth. He swung about, bringing the blade up and blocking Veris’ sword, although he had no battlefield experience.

  Veris dispatched him cleanly with a slash to the throat, then wiped the knife upon his rags. He returned to the front of the cart, enjoying the dappled sunlight and the scent of warm, green olives.

  Rafael was still curled into a defensive hunch on the bench, shivering.

  All Veris’ simple enjoyment of the day evaporated. He tossed the sword under the bench. “You are no merchant. You have never defended goods in your life.”

  Rafael lifted his head. His eyes were haunted.

  Veris didn’t like the uneasiness Rafael’s horror stirred in him. He swore and walked back to the mare and gave her a pat and stroke and thanked her for her efforts. She had shown more grit than the man cowering on the bench.

  Then Veris levered himself up onto the bench and picked up the reins. With a click of his tongue, he got the mare moving once more.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Rafael said. Even his voice shook.

  “I didn’t save you. I saved the cart,” Veris said stiffly, as his uneasiness rose higher.

  It was the last thing either of them said that day, until they had stopped
for the night in a shallow dip in the land, where they would have a little protection from the night winds.

  If Veris had been traveling alone, he would have continued into the night for as long as the mare was willing to plod. However, Rafael was human, forcing Veris to make allowances.

  He made a fire and a meal from the grains and dried fruits stored in a bag on the back of the cart, stirred together and stewed in water. A hunk of bread. Wine from the stone jar rammed between two locked trunks to stop it from tipping. Rafael ate silently, his gaze on the fire, his brown eyes watching the flames dance. They were expressive eyes, yet there was nothing to be read in them tonight. He had not spoken much throughout the journey, yet his silence was thought-filled now.

  Veris expected the man would roll himself in the blanket and sleep as soon as he had eaten his fill. He had done so every night.

  Instead, Rafael stirred and got to his feet. He moved around the fire to where Veris sat on the other blanket, a long branch in his hand, stirring the flames and breaking apart embers. For a moment, Rafael stood looking down at Veris. Then he dropped to his knees and considered Veris closely.

  “Would you teach me how to fight?” Rafael asked. “As you do…so fearlessly?”

  Veris sighed. “I cannot.”

  Rafael’s face fell. HIs shoulders slumped.

  Veris realized this was what he had been brooding upon all evening. He had been winding himself up to ask the favor.

  Veris shook his head. “No one taught me how to fight. Everything I know, everything I do…I learned it from fighting. I’ve lived so much longer than you, Rafael. When you are a very old man, you might know as much as I do.”

  “Might?” Rafael’s brow lifted.

  Veris touched his chest. “The real power driving a blade comes from here. The drive, the determination. A man’s will.” He made himself stop speaking, for in his mind, all he could see was the shuddering man hunched upon the bench, terrified.

  “More philosophy?” Rafael asked, his tone dry.

  “More what?”