CHAPTER TWELVE

TAVIS WOKE WITH a gasp. The time vault lid was open, and Ian stood there watching him. “Bloody hell, what are you doing?” He couldn’t change his mind now. They both knew there was no other way. He sat up and realized the man wasn’t Ian. He was a stranger.

Tavis’s chest felt heavy. He pulled in a few more desperate breaths. It had worked. That meant his family was dead. Ian was dead. His chest ached. The man didn’t look dangerous, only shocked. Had the clan sent him? Where was Faelan? Tavis didn’t even know what year it was. It could be five hundred years later for all he knew.

“Faelan Connor. My God. It’s true.”

Tavis tensed. This man thought he was Faelan. He knew about Faelan. It could be a trap. The man could be a demon or a minion. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Angus—” His introduction was interrupted by a noise over their heads. The soft sound of footsteps. The man extinguished the light. “Quiet,” he whispered.

Tavis took advantage of the darkness and climbed out of the time vault, holding the satchel and his dirk close. He didn’t even hear the man move, but the dark outline of his body appeared next to Tavis. He moved quietly. Like a warrior. Or like a demon pretending to be a warrior. If Angus were truly a warrior, he should have known this wasn’t Faelan’s time vault.

“We have to leave,” Angus said, easing toward the hidden doorway. “I have get you to safety. Stay here until I make sure it’s clear.” He slipped up the steps and returned a moment later, motioning for Tavis to follow him. “There’s no time to hide the doorway.”

Tavis stepped over a pile of scattered stones that had been part of the wall when he and Ian first entered the place. He could make out shapes in the chapel, pillars and pews, some broken. He stopped by the one he’d sat on just minutes ago with Ian. Ian. Oh God. What had they done? What they’d had to do. What about Faelan? Was he alive or dead? Tavis passed a window. It was still dark outside, with a lightening on the horizon that signaled the coming dawn. He glimpsed a figure near the graveyard.

“Stop,” he whispered. “There’s someone outside.” Tavis signaled out the window, but the figure had vanished. “He’s gone.”

“Come on,” Angus said. “We have to get out of here.”

Tavis wanted to check on Faelan’s time vault, but this man thought he was Faelan. Tavis had to protect Faelan’s location until he knew if Angus was friend or foe. Tavis followed him across the yard behind Frederick and Isabel’s house. It looked different. Faded and in need of repair. The gravity of what he’d done hit him like an arrow in his heart. He felt weak with it.

Angus put his arm around Tavis’s back and helped him through the woods. “You look like you’re going to pass out. God knows what you went through inside that time vault. Here.” Angus led Tavis to a…Tavis had no words for what it was. It was big and made of metal, with wheels, but not like a carriage or wagon. “Get in the car.” Angus opened a door and pushed Tavis inside.

Tavis stared at the inside of the thing while Angus climbed in on the other side and turned a key. A rumbling noise sounded underneath them. Tavis gripped the seat. “What is this?”

“It’s a vehicle. That’s the engine you hear. It runs on gasoline.”

“What?”

“Fuel. I’ll explain later. We’ve got to—dammit, there’s one now.”

Tavis looked out the window and saw a man coming toward them. Two men. They wavered and became one again. Or were they men?

Angus moved something, and the vehicle shot forward, throwing Tavis back in the seat. “Buckle up. There.” He pointed to a strap mounted on the side near the door.

Tavis fiddled with it, finally hearing a click as he managed to get the metal pieces locked. He was alarmed, though. What would this vehicle do that would require a man to be confined like this? He soon found out. The vehicle moved faster than any racehorse, tossing them one way, then the next as Angus followed a narrow trail between the trees. They came out of the woods, and the vehicle bounced onto a road like nothing Tavis had ever seen—a dark ribbon stretching as far as the eye could see. The ride wasn’t bumpy now, but so smooth Tavis couldn’t tell they were moving except for the trees and signs coming at them in a blur. His head felt like it was in a barrel. Angus was saying something, but his words were jumbled together. Tavis looked at him and saw he had two heads, then one, then two, again. What the hell?

Angus frowned and reached for Tavis.

When Tavis opened his eyes, Angus was pulling him out of the vehicle. They were in front of a house, not Isabel’s. “Come on, we’ve got to get inside before Mrs. Edwards sees you. I don’t want to have to explain the kilt.”

Tavis’s head and stomach swirled. He felt worse than he had when he and Faelan had drunk two bottles of the elderberry wine their mother had made. He let Angus drag him inside the house and up a set of stairs. The walls were fading, and he felt himself sinking to the ground.

“Blimey, but you’re heavy. Hold on. Don’t pass out until we get to the bed.” Angus opened a door and helped Tavis across the floor. Tavis saw the bed and white quilt coming closer and closer to his face and realized he was falling.

When he woke again, the room was dark. He heard noises outside the door. A woman’s voice, and a man’s. It sounded familiar. Was it Angus? He felt an odd pang, something compelling him, and Tavis started to rise, but his head spun and the darkness took over again. The next time he woke, he was alone, but at least the room wasn’t spinning. He eased out of bed slowly, and his feet seemed to be working. Someone, Angus he supposed, had undressed him. He stood and saw his clothes folded on a chair near the foot of the bed.

His head was clearer now, and the grief he’d held off before hit him hard. His family was dead. All of them except Faelan. And he might be dead too. A thousand years could have passed for all he knew. Faelan could’ve been released, destroyed Druan, and died of old age.

He could look inside the Book of Battles and see if Faelan’s name was there. Did the book give dates? It was forbidden for anyone but the Keeper to look inside the book. He’d only touched it because he’d sworn to Quinn that he’d keep it safe. Where was it? He needed to hide the book before Angus got back. He’d given Tavis no reason to believe he was evil, but until he was sure, he couldn’t risk the Book of Battles being discovered. Tavis flung clothes aside but couldn’t find the satchel. Had Angus taken it? Perhaps he was a demon and he only wanted the book.

Tavis put on his kilt, intending to find the privy outside. Angus had told him not to leave this room, but Tavis needed to piss. Perhaps he’d left a chamber pot. Tavis looked under the bed. Nothing there. He checked the other room attached to his bedroom and found an astonishing sight. There was a small white bowl with a water tank on the back. Similar to a contraption he’d seen once in a duke’s house, but this was far fancier. He made use of the bowl, then tried to figure out how to get rid of the piss. There was no way to carry the thing and dump it outside.

He lifted the cover on the lid of the tank and saw some sort of mechanism inside. Replacing it, he noticed a small, silver handle on the front of the tank. He tried to lift it, but it didn’t move. He pushed, and the water in the bowl swirled with a loud gush and disappeared. Well now. That was better than freezing your arse off in a cold privy in the middle of winter.

He explored further and discovered remarkable things. There was a basin and a tub with heated water, and knobs that controlled the spray. What else had humans accomplished in this time? Sent a man to the moon? He gave a sarcastic chuckle which echoed off the walls, making him realize how alone he was. Ian had been right. Tavis had no idea what this place was like.

He might have to ask directions to Frederick Belville’s place. It wouldn’t do to look as if he’d emerged from a grave. He turned all the knobs and got the water running in the fancy tub. The last knob had water shooting out of the wall. He whipped off the kilt and stepped under the spray. Two bottles stood on the side of the tub. Soap, he figured. He opened one, smelled it—pleasant—and then scrubbed his head and body.

After he’d turned the water off, he found a thick cloth hanging beside the tub. This time had certainly made some improvements, but as nice as it was having warm water coming right inside the house, the world was at stake. If they wanted to continue to live and breathe and use their hot water and bottled soap, he’d better find Faelan fast. Someone had to destroy Druan. If Faelan hadn’t survived, then the task would belong to Tavis. If a warrior fell, usually his talisman went to his oldest brother. But there was no time to waste. Druan could have another virus ready by now. And God knew where Voltar was.

His stomach rumbled. He needed food. All he had was a few coins in his sporran. If Angus wasn’t back by the time he was dressed, he’d leave without him. He found some odd containers next to the sink. They weren’t made of glass. “Antiperspirant,” he read, the words strange in his mouth. After reading the writing on the outside, he decided it was to keep a man’s oxters from sweating. Maybe it was a custom in this time. It took him a minute to figure how the stuff worked. He raised an arm and smeared the stuff underneath, then did the same for the other side. It felt a bit like grease, but it smelled nice. The other container said toothpaste. He found a wee brush and cleaned his teeth, pleasantly surprised at the taste.