Page 4 of Out of Time (The Ice King Chronicles #3)

People speak of the past and the future, but all there ever is, really, is the here and now. The past is only a memory and as for the future—well, who knows what it might bring? But the illusion of time can appear to be very real, and it flows like a river all around us. Timeroamers have found a way to navigate that river and travel along it wherever they choose.

Now I was traveling it too, and it was terrifying. The air inside the illusion was black and thick with screaming. Hot wind beat at us, as dark, powerful currents swirled against my skin. I felt a hand on me, so I reached out my own, but Drogheda pulled it sharply back and wrapped an arm around me to hold my hands down by my sides. She was surprisingly strong. I thought once I felt teeth on the back of my neck and cried out in pain and alarm, but it was fleeting and soon stopped. It felt as if we were descending from a great height, though we stayed upright. We suddenly landed with a little thump—and the sun came out.

My first impression of the future was that it was incredibly noisy. I put my hands over my ears as I stood there swaying a bit on some rock-hard surface that was nevertheless smooth beneath my boots. It was white and stretched out everywhere around me, covering the ground. I began to tremble, and beside me, Lady Drogheda took pity on me and touched my shoulder.

“It’s just a bit of noise. Nothing to harm you.”

I realized then that I’d had both hands over my ears and quickly took them down, feeling embarrassed.

I was standing in a wide street, but there were no carriages or horses. Just mortals everywhere, coming at me in a stream and parting around us, as if we were boulders in the middle of a river. I’d never seen so many mortals before. They were walking up and down, going into shops, usually in groups of two or three or more. Some of the females wore short pants on their bodies—some of those pants so short they were practically cut off at the crotch. I wondered if these mortals could somehow be related to the pixies.

Their feet were almost bare too, or stuck into sandals, like the Greeks wore in the old stories. And they were so many children—running around everywhere, or else crammed into small basket-things, with wheels attached, so their mothers or fathers could push them in front of them to keep them contained. Almost everyone carried flimsy looking bags out of the shops they exited, and a few wore strange, pointed hats, like a witch might wear. The majority of the men wore close fitting caps in various colors, and each cap had a rounded bill that shaded their faces.

“What is this odd place?” I asked the Lady, standing closer to her as two tow-headed children raced past me, narrowly avoiding crashing into me, their harried mother chasing along behind and yelling at them to stop.

“This is Salem, Massachusetts. It’s a town in America. I know you’ve heard of that country.”

“America. Yes, but I don’t know this Salem, Massa—whatever it was you said.”

“Salem is old and existed in your time too,” Drogheda said, standing close so she could murmur quietly in my ear. “Now it’s mostly a place for tourists—people who are just visiting. Almost none of these people you see actually live here year around.”

“But why do they come?”

“It’s a well-known city in America. Famous in its way for its witch trials in the 1600s.”

Witch trials were nasty business, and I’d heard of them, of course, in Germany and England and other countries in Europe during the sixteenth century and beyond. Most of the people killed had been harmless, and not witches at all. One of my tutors had told me that when the insanity had taken hold of a town called Trier, located near the border between Germany and Luxembourg, the townspeople had killed something like 200 blameless mortals a year for a time.

“The purges weren’t as bad in America as they were in Europe. In this town,” Drogheda told me, “There were some thirty mortals found guilty during the trials, twenty of whom were executed, and some who died in jail.”

“And mortals still want to visit this place?”

She shrugged. “No one really believes in witches anymore. Just like they no longer believe in Fairies or Elves or other Fae creatures. They like to come here year-round, but especially at Halloween—what you will know as Samhain—to pretend to be scared.”

“Yet they still come.”

“Yes,” she said. “Mortals can be very odd. None of these people will hurt you, though. Let’s go find my grandson. He has a shop in this square.”

“What kind of shop?”

“A souvenir shop and bookstore with books on witchcraft for the tourists. He also stocks real ingredients for spells and potions for the more serious of the mortal practitioners. Along with other items the tourists like.”

“And these are the ‘tourists?’ These mortals I see all around?”

“Yes, but they aren’t important. What’s important is that I’ve talked my grandson into helping you and letting you work here.”

“Work?”

“Yes, Ethan was tiresome about it and insisted you earn your keep. But come with me and meet him.” She pulled on my arm as I began to move forward, dragging my feet only a little. “I warn you. He doesn’t like Fairies, though his grandmother was full Sidhe, as was her mother and so on all the way back to me. He’s liable to be quite rude at first. Try not to pay too much attention. I think he’ll get used to you eventually.”

“But will I get used to him ?”

She didn’t answer my question, and feeling even more apprehensive, I allowed Lady Drogheda to take me with her. We began walking down the street that she was calling a square, though it didn’t have that shape as far as I could see. She explained that it wasn’t an actual street, because there were no vehicles allowed inside it, unless for emergencies. She called these motor vehicles “cars.” I had heard of them in the large mortal cities of the world in my own time, now a hundred years in the past. I thought these might be similar, though vastly different in size and shape, not to mention speed. But since my head was already reeling, I didn’t ask any more questions.

She took me to a shop with a sign above it that read, “Salem Magic Shoppe.”

We entered and a blast of frigid air hit me immediately. What strong magic was this, to make the shop interior feel so cool when it had been hot enough outside that sweat was still running down the sides of my face? My heavy woolen under clothes, so necessary in a drafty castle, were a hindrance here. I began to understand why these mortals wore so little clothing.

“Is it always so hot here?” I asked, but Drogheda shook her head.

“No. The season now is summer. It gets quite cold in the winter.”

I nodded, still impressed by how cool it was inside the shop. Too cool for me, actually. I like the temperature to be more moderate. Considering the heat outside, I thought the witch we were going to see must be powerful indeed.

I looked around, noticing first all the books and book displays, but other odd things too. Some of the hats that I’d seen everywhere so far, along with what looked like magic wands. Though these were simply short sticks made out of some hard substance I was unfamiliar with. Drogheda said they were made of “plastic” when I asked. They looked cheap and flimsy and had no magic in them at all that I could sense. Little witch dolls with brooms between their legs were lined up along one counter, and inside a case with glass on the front were some type of clothing with the name of the town emblazoned on the front. It was all in shockingly poor taste, in my opinion.

“Welcome to the Magic Shoppe,” a deep voice called out as a bell rang over the door. From the back of the store, a man began walking toward us, and my breath caught in my throat.

It wasn’t that he was particularly handsome. Well, he was handsome enough for a mostly-mortal, but I came from a world where beauty was a relative thing. Compared to a Fairy, he was...all right, damn it, he was alarmingly fuckable.

More importantly, I felt the power in him from across the room. The air around him was charged with it. His features were more rugged than strictly beautiful, but still there was something about him that was almost unbearably seductive and that had to be thanks to his Fairy blood. Maybe it was those long, curling black eyelashes or his incredibly warm chocolate-colored eyes that were flashing at me with a great deal of irritation in their depths. They sparkled with mischief and danger. His jet-black hair was short, and he had a scruff of beard on his tanned cheeks that made him look a little like a pirate. His full, passionate mouth was currently falling open a little in disbelief as he gazed at me.

“What the actual fuck?” he snarled to his grandmother as he got a good look at me. “You said you wanted my help in breaking a wicked curse on someone from the past. You never said he was a fucking Fairy!”

“I’m just a plain Fairy, not a fucking one,” I said archly. “Though I certainly have been known to fu…”

“Drogheda!” he shouted, cutting me off, and both Drogheda and I gasped at the volume, but as there was no one else in the shop at the moment, I suppose no great harm was done. A few ceiling tiles rattled though, along with some dishes in a cupboard somewhere. I wondered again about how powerful he had to be.

“What the hell were you thinking? This Fairy has magic too. I feel it buzzing inside him.”

“Only Woodland Fairy magic, dear,” Drogheda said, rather dismissively, I thought, seeing as how she was from one of the Fairy tribes herself.

“Which I don’t approve of. It’s cruel and capricious just like they are.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said, with ice in my tone. I turned to Drogheda. “I believe both of you are from one of the Fairy tribes too. Oh, gods, don’t tell me,” I said, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. “Is he one of those white light, nature loving, mortal Wiccan witches? Or mostly mortal. How on earth is this person going to help me ?”

Lady Drogheda patted my arm. “Ethan is very powerful, Prince Glorfindel, as I’m sure you’ve noticed already. He may only have a small amount of Sidhe blood, but if he had any more power, the entirety of the Seelie and Unseelie courts would have tried their best to kill him by now. As it is, they fear and avoid him and dread the day he might decide to come live in the Fae realm. The nearness and influence of the Folk would make him even more dangerous.”

“Fat chance. And this isn’t about me anyway,” Ethan interrupted. “It’s about him! Just look at him, Drogheda!”

He glared down at me, as if trying to intimidate me with both his volume and his size. The man was loud and rather massive, I admit. I was tall for a Fairy, but he was a great deal taller and more muscular. And very attractive, though his personality was rather making up for that in spades.

He shook his head in disgust and shifted his glare to Drogheda. “Do you actually think no one will notice the way he looks?” he continued in his blunt and dogged way.

But Drogheda was made of sterner stuff. “Of course, they’ll notice, Ethan. The whole point of this is to have someone notice him, in fact, and then fall madly in love with him to break his curse. Do try to keep up, dear.”

He turned a bitter gaze on his grandmother, stepping closer. He lowered his volume a bit as he hissed at her. “He doesn’t look even remotely mortal, Drogheda.” He reached out and flicked one of my ears. “Pointed ears? Seriously?”

I grabbed the offending appendage and held my hand over it. “That hurt. You can’t just go around flicking people’s ears,” I said hotly. “Not to mention talking about them like they’re not even there. How dare you?” I growled at him, and he looked down at me almost in surprise, as if one of the dolls lined up on his counter had suddenly started making remarks.

“It’s easily disguised, Ethan,” Drogheda said, turning toward me. “ Troglear verisas sorithal ,” she said, making my ears tingle. I felt for them again and this time found the tips were gone, leaving rounded rims, like all the mortals had. “Now,” Drogheda said. “I have a glamour on them that will last until he returns to his own realm.”

“Now you do something about his clothes, Ethan dear,” Drogheda said. “I’m not really familiar with the current fashion like you are.”

He waved a hand over me and muttered, “ Nova vestimenta videntur .” But I noticed how he slurred the words, corrupting the spell a bit so nothing too fancy would appear.

My rich, velvet clothing disappeared with a whisking sound and suddenly I was standing in front of them wearing pants made of some soft, shapeless material. They were about three sizes too large and had a matching shirt that came to my knees and covered my hands.

“I might have overshot that a little,” he said, “though I kind of like how covered up he is. It might prevent trouble.”

Drogheda frowned. “Oh goodness, Ethan, that will never do. Oh, very well, I’ll give it a try myself.”

She said the spell again, and this time I was left wearing a pair of blue pants of a canvas like material that were so tight they were just short of obscene. My feet were ensconced in shoes made of canvas and rubber, and I wore a soft blue shirt that came down only to my midriff and stopped, exposing a wide and creamy expanse of my stomach. Drogheda ignored the incredulous look Ethan gave her.

He got an angry look and called out, “Florilal!” and the shirt obediently got longer.

“Let’s keep our eye on the prize, Ethan,” Drogheda said, frowning and shaking her head. “He needs a love interest if he’s ever to go home and get out of your way.”

“He’d have done far better to stay with his own kind. This isn’t the place for him.”

“Nevertheless, he’s here now. Can you just show him his room, dear?” Drogheda said, interrupting our hostile stare-down.

“I don’t have time at the moment,” he said, turning away from both of us. “I need to get back to work. But his room is ready, if you want to take him upstairs.”

“Are you always so rude, or is this just my lucky day?” I said, before I could stop myself.

He whirled around and took a step closer to me. “Watch your mouth, Fairy boy.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of you,” I said, glaring back at him.

“Maybe you should be,” he snarled down at me, his eyes fiery. I held my ground, glaring up at him and hating the extra inches he had on me in height. The air around us was shot full of sparks. Drogheda shifted her feet nervously, afraid of what might happen, I suppose. I was a little apprehensive myself, though I’d have died before I showed him.

Drogheda laid a hand on his arm. “Ethan, dear, why don’t I just show him to his room now?”

After a tense moment, he gave a quick jerk of his head. “Knock yourself out. It’s the second room to the left at the top of the stairs. Get him settled in and come back so we can talk. Though personally, I think this whole thing is a lost cause. He’s going to be nothing but trouble. I can feel it.”

I tried to stay quiet—I truly did, but the unfairness of it all made me mouthy instead. I challenged him, by glaring up at him. “Why is it you feel you know so much about me when we’ve only just met?”

“I know all I need to know.”

“Perhaps you don’t know nearly as much as you think you do.”

He took another threatening step and the air around us thickened and shimmered with menace. Time seemed to stand still, and something hot and dark and almost palpable sprang up between us, crowding out all the oxygen from the air. We might have continued glaring at each other for hours if Drogheda hadn’t interrupted us. My legs went weak, and my breathing was fast and unsteady, and I saw his chest rising and falling rapidly too.

“Oh, never mind all this. Just come with me, Glorfindel,” Drogheda interrupted, inserting herself between us and tugging on my arm.

Ethan whipped his head around to look at her, breaking the spell. “Wait. What the fuck did you just call him?”

“Glorfindel,” I said, drawing myself up to my full height. I swept into a graceful bow. “Prince Glorfindel Alluro Splendiferous of the Woodland Fairies at your service, sir.”

“You’re not a prince here and seriously... Glorfindel ? Like the character in the books by Tolkien?”

“What character? What books?”

“He’s talking about a series of mortal novels, dear,” Drogheda explained. “Very popular, and the character in them named Glorfindel was an Elf. I’m sure it was a coincidence when your mother gave you that name, since I doubt she ever read or even saw the books.”

“My mother was Elven, though. Perhaps it’s a common name among them?”

“Well, common or not,” Ethan said after a moment. “I can’t call you that, for God’s sake. Don’t you have any other names?”

“Yes, I told you. Alluro and Splendiferous. Then there’s my true name, but I can’t tell you or anyone else that name, lest you use it to gain power over me and thus control me.”

“Oh god, true name bullshit too? How cliché can you get?”

I flushed and continued. “My father calls me Glori, if you like that better.”

He made a gagging noise, and I could feel the heat rising up my neck. “But I see you don’t like that either.”

“If anyone asks, just say your name is...Finn. But that’s only if someone gets curious. Don’t improvise or volunteer information. With any luck, bringing you here will work soon, and I can send you back home again.”

I nodded. “Anything you say.”

“Please don’t pretend to be all agreeable. I know what you really are.” I glared at him. “In the meantime, you’re going to have to earn your keep. I’ll show you around the shop later, so you can help customers find what they’re looking for if they ask. You can dust the stock and keep the floors clean too. And don’t you dare try to use any of your magic. Not on me and not on anybody else. Is that understood? I’ll be watching you, and I’ll know if you do.” He took a step closer to me. “And I’ll make you sorry. Do you understand?”

I pursed my lips tightly together, lifting my nose even higher in the air. “No need for threats,” I said, “and though I do have magic, I have no plans to use it. If I did, you might find I’m more than a match for you.”

“Oh, is that right?” He snorted, and it angered me, so I took an aggressive step toward him, my hand already pulled back to let my magic fly, just to put him in his place. Drogheda put a hand on my arm to stop me.

“Glorfindel, no.” She gave both of us a fierce look. “And you too, Ethan. What’s wrong with the two of you?”

“On second thought,” the insufferable man said, though I noticed his face was incredibly flushed. “I think we need to rethink this, Drogheda,” he said, still glaring at me but addressing her. “This is never going to work.”