Stolen Time Page 2

  It was an unsettling side effect of knowing exactly how and approximately when he was going to die. The visions haunted him.

  Besides, there were worse things to be known for than stubbornness. He could be known for betrayal, like Roman. Or viciousness, like Quinn. Given the choice, he’d take suicidal idiocy.

  “The Second Star is moving into position for departure.” He spoke out loud, a leftover habit from his days learning to fly fighter jets during World War II. There wasn’t anyone around to hear him, but it felt wrong to prepare for takeoff without announcing it. Tempting fate even more than he already was. He increased the throttle, eyes trained on the windshield, heartbeat thudding like crazy. His ship began to hover.

  “Easy, darling,” Ash murmured, speaking in a tone of voice most people reserved for puppies and kittens. Sweat had gathered between his fingers and the yoke. He wiped his hands on his jeans, telling himself he’d managed hundreds of takeoffs worse than this one. Thousands, maybe.

  You won’t die today, he thought. You might be badly maimed. Blinded. Arms and legs might be ripped from your body. But you won’t die. The thought wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped it might be.

  Ash crossed himself, a habit left over from hundreds of Sundays spent in the Church of the Sacred Heart back in his sleepy Midwestern hometown. He pulled back on the throttle. Smoke filled the air around him as his time machine shot into the sky.

  3

  Dorothy

  JUNE 7, 1913, JUST OUTSIDE OF SEATTLE

  The hairpins had worked perfectly—better than real lockpicks. Dorothy’s hand-embroidered gown was covered in burrs, and mud squelched between her toes. She carried a painful pair of heels in one hand, doubting she’d be desperate enough to put them on. She rather liked the feel of mud beneath her feet. Besides, the train station was only a mile away.

  She started working on her sob story as she walked. Please, sir, I was supposed to be married today, but I was kidnapped on my way to the chapel, and I only just managed to get away. Could you help me buy a train ticket?

  Or was that too dramatic?

  Thunder rumbled ahead of her. Light flashed through the clouds.

  Dorothy tilted her head toward the sky. She’d always loved storms. She and her mother had spent a few months in Nebraska when she was very young, and the thunderstorms there had been strange, monstrous things. Dorothy used to lie on her back in the grass, counting the beats of silence between the shock of lightning and the crash of thunder to guess at how long it would take for the storm to reach her.

  This storm was different. The clouds directly in front of her were roiling, and near black. But when Dorothy glanced to the side she saw sunshine hitting a grove of trees beyond the churchyard, the sky above blue and endless. The storm—or whatever it was—seemed confined to the area above the woods, leaving everything else untouched.

  More light flared behind the clouds, and then an object appeared, sleek and metallic against the black.

  Dorothy’s heart skipped. Was that . . . could that be an airplane?

  She watched the metallic object streak through the clouds, awed. She’d never actually seen an airplane before, but the sketches she’d glimpsed had shown small, clumsy-looking structures with zipping propellers and wings that looked like a strong wind could break them in half.

  This was different. Big. Sleek. It had no wings or propeller, but two huge, circular contraptions that roared from the back of the vessel, burning red against all the black and gray. Its nose dipped toward the ground, and Dorothy gasped, taking a quick step backward.

  It was crashing.

  The strange vessel zoomed toward the earth, disappearing beyond the tree line. Seconds later, smoke curled above the gnarled branches, just a few yards away from where Dorothy stood.

  Dorothy’s chest tightened. She hurried through the trees like she was in a trance, ignoring the twigs pressing into the bottoms of her bare feet. The smoke smelled odd, not earthy and familiar, like campfire smoke. This was acrid. It burned the skin inside Dorothy’s nostrils and left the air dry and hot, like it was in danger of bursting into flames.

  A voice echoed through the trees, cursing.

  The voice had the effect of fingers snapping, breaking Dorothy’s trance. She stopped moving, fear zipping up her spine. What was she doing? She needed to get to town. The road was just a few yards ahead, and from there it wasn’t far to the train station.

  Dorothy started to turn, but then a bit of metal caught the sun and glinted.

  Damn it all, she thought. When was she going to get another chance to see a real airplane? She only wanted a glimpse, just to see what it was like. She gingerly picked over the brush and into the clearing where the airplane had crashed.

  A man crawled out of the cockpit, his face creased in frustration. He didn’t see her, seeming lost in thought as he bent over his aircraft.

  Dorothy stayed hidden, her eyes roaming over his thickly muscled arms, the blond hair falling across his forehead, the reddened skin at his neck. A heartbeat passed and, still, she didn’t move. He seemed so different from anyone she’d ever known before, rugged and windswept, like he’d just blown in from another world. He was attractive, sure, but that didn’t matter much to Dorothy. She’d known many attractive men. Usually their looks were the only interesting things about them.

  But the pilot was . . . odd. Fascinating. His rough hands hinted at days performing hard labor, and his red skin told Dorothy he’d spent a lot of time in the sun. She wondered what sort of life he must lead, that he was outdoors so often. Her mother had always steered her toward slim, gentlemanly types in fancy clothes, with the kind of soft hands that’d never done anything more strenuous than lift a pen to sign a check. She cringed, remembering the feel of Avery’s smooth, perpetually damp palm resting on hers. She didn’t like her mother’s taste in men.

  The pilot swore, loudly and colorfully, making Dorothy flinch. She shook herself and turned back to the airplane, her eyes widening. It was massive—twice the size of any drawing she’d glimpsed in a book—the aluminum siding gleaming beneath layers of dirt, the words Second Star flashing beneath the grime. The nose of the ship came to a sleek point, and someone had painted a face on it—a toothy smile, narrowed black eyes.

  The face made Dorothy grin, and she found her eyes wandering back to the pilot, wondering if he’d been the one to paint it. She stepped out from her hiding place without really planning to do so. Seeing her, the pilot stood too quickly, knocking his head against the side of his airplane.

  “Jesus. What are you doing out here?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head. He was taller than he’d looked when he was all crouched over, and his eyes were a nice, light hazel.

  Dorothy found herself staring, again. She wanted to ask him about his airplane and his odd clothes and the funny painted face but, instead, she blurted, “I-I’m getting married.”

  She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. The whole point of running away was that she wasn’t getting married, and, for some reason, she didn’t want this man thinking that she was. She lifted her chin as the pilot studied her, hoping her cheeks hadn’t turned pink.

  “You’re getting married?” the pilot said. Dorothy was used to the way men looked at her, how they leered, like she was something to be possessed instead of a person with thoughts and opinions that she’d come up with all on her own. But the pilot only frowned at her wedding gown, which was torn and muddy from running through the woods. “Today?”

  It was such a strange sensation, to be charmed because a man hadn’t looked at her, but Dorothy was charmed anyway. She found herself talking too quickly, her voice oddly breathless.

  “I mean, I was getting married today, but now I’m not. I’m leaving, actually. As you can see. The, um, train station is just over there.”

  The pilot blinked. “Well. Good luck to you,” he said, and he gave a little nod, almost like he was bowing, or saluting, or something gentlemanly like that. If he’
d been someone like Avery, Dorothy might’ve giggled and batted her eyelashes at him, but he wasn’t like Avery, so she just balled her hands up in the sleeves of her gown.

  How was she supposed to talk to a man if she wasn’t trying to con him? She realized she had no idea.

  The pilot bent back over his airplane, muttering another colorful curse under his breath.

  Dorothy watched him work in silence for a moment before asking, “Is this yours?”

  “Yup.” He maneuvered a bit of machinery back into place, hands black with engine grease. He seemed rather good at . . . whatever it was he was doing. It was quite impressive, actually. Avery could hardly be counted on to prepare a cocktail without spilling it all over himself. It was a wonder they let him cut people open.

  “I’ve never seen an airplane in real life before.” Dorothy peered over the pilot’s shoulder. “Does it still fly?”

  “Of course it flies.” The pilot scrubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. “Listen, miss, I don’t mean to be rude, but this isn’t going to fix itself. And, well, you look like you have places to be.”

  Dorothy could tell she was being dismissed but couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She’d heard stories of men going up to the Alaskan territories to mine for gold and wondered if that’s where he’d come from, if he’d been trying to fly his airplane over the Pacific Ocean.

  As the thought entered her head, church bells began to ring, the sound a haunting warning that echoed through the trees. A shudder moved up Dorothy’s spine. The service was beginning.

  She bit her lip, looking into the woods beyond the pilot’s head. The train station was just past those trees. She could lift a pocketbook, buy a ticket, and be well on her way to . . .

  Where? Another dusty frontier town? The thought had seemed thrilling that morning as she’d planned her escape, but now she couldn’t believe she’d been willing to settle for so little. She’d lived her whole life in towns like that, and she always assumed she’d die in one, too. Something about this airplane had her dreaming of more.

  The church bells stopped abruptly. Silence filled the air as Dorothy forced her mouth into a practiced smile.

  “Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help me,” she said, tilting her head. “I appear to be lost.”

  “Excuse me for saying so, miss, but it looks like you meant to get lost.” As soon as the pilot said this, the backs of his ears turned pink. “Sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That was rude.”

  Dorothy smothered a grin. The pink ears were sort of cute. They didn’t fit with his rugged windswept-pilot image. She could see how it might be fun to tease him, just to get him to blush.

  She stared a moment too long, and the pilot looked up, meeting her eyes. His eyebrows drew together, questioning.

  Focus, she told herself. Cute ears or not, she didn’t have time for teasing right now. She needed to get out of here.

  “It must be terribly frightening, flying through the sky all alone,” she said, shivering in a way that she hoped made her look small and helpless. “You should consider taking someone along for company.”

  “Company?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, leaving a trail of grease on his face. “Why would I need company?”

  “You don’t get lonely?” Dorothy said this in a low, breathy voice, and any other man on earth would’ve picked up that she was flirting, but the pilot just blinked at her.

  “Lonely? In the sky?”

  “Or . . . other places?”

  The pilot frowned, like the concept of loneliness was only just occurring to him. “I don’t suppose I do.”

  “Right.” Dorothy’s lip twitched. This was not going well. She peered in through the airplane’s front window. Shiny, brightly colored pieces of paper littered the floor, and there seemed to be half a sandwich sitting on the passenger seat. It was a mess. But there was room for two. “How fast does this thing go?”

  “What? Oh, don’t—I mean, please don’t touch that.” The pilot tried to step between Dorothy and the plane, but she moved around him before he could touch her, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket while he was distracted. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—a wallet, maybe, or something to sell—but her fingers closed around what felt like a pocket watch. She slid it up her sleeve with two fingers. Then, she inched toward the front of the airplane, wiggling the door handle behind her back. Locked.

  The pilot no longer seemed amused. He crossed the space between them in just two steps, and Dorothy backed into the cockpit, her body pressed against the hot metal.

  “I’m going to need to ask you to stay away from my plane, miss,” he said in a huskier voice. He was leaning over her, close enough that Dorothy caught the dry, smoky smell of his skin. He looked a little brutish up close. All hard angles, like a beast from a fairy tale. Only his eyes stayed soft and golden.

  Dorothy felt a strange sense of familiarity when she looked into those eyes. Right now they were tired and frustrated, but she could picture them bright with laughter as clearly as if she’d seen them before—

  Then the pilot looked away from her, shaking his head. “What do you want?”

  Dorothy’s mouth suddenly felt dry. She wanted to get away from this place. She wanted him to take her somewhere she’d never seen. The strange, hollow feeling opened up inside her.

  More. I want more.

  Despite all her training in deception, she found herself telling the truth. “Please. I just need a ride. I can’t stay here.”

  The pilot considered her for a long moment. Something in his jaw tightened, and Dorothy felt a flicker of triumph, mixed with something like disappointment. She knew that look. She’d seen it on the faces of dozens of different men, seconds before they handed over whatever it was she’d asked them for.

  She had him. It was a shame, really. He’d seemed so different. He’d seemed better. But in the end he was just like everyone else.

  And then the pilot said, “No,” and Dorothy realized she had him all wrong.

  He turned back to his airplane and pulled open the front door. Dorothy was trying to remember the last time a man had told her no, and it took her a moment to react.

  She grabbed the edge of the door before he could close it again.

  “Why not?” The desperation in her voice made her cringe. “I don’t take up much room. I won’t bother you.”

  The pilot sighed. “Believe me, you wouldn’t like it where I’m going.”

  “How do you know what I’d like?”

  “I don’t.” He wrestled with the door. Dorothy grabbed it with both hands, holding it open. “No one likes it,” he grunted.

  “I could surprise you.”

  The pilot stopped struggling with the door for long enough to level her with a steady look. “Where I’m going, there are entire cities hidden underwater, and gangs that steal little old ladies on their way to the market, and a girl who lives off human flesh.”

  Dorothy opened her mouth and then closed it again. The pilot’s eyes flashed with victory. He’d meant to terrify her, she realized, and he thought he’d succeeded.

  But Dorothy didn’t feel terrified. She felt awed. The place he spoke of sounded like something from a story. “There are cannibals where you live?”

  “Only one,” he said, and pulled the door closed before she could recover. Dorothy swore and fumbled for the handle, but a tiny click told her he’d locked it. He raised two fingers to his brow in a kind of mock salute.

  So long, he mouthed.

  A rumbling, whirring sound filled Dorothy’s ears. The woods around her grew smoky and hot. She started to cough. This was it, then. Someone was sure to find her and drag her back to the chapel and her mother and Avery. It wouldn’t matter that her dress was ruined or that her feet were muddy. She’d be marched down that aisle, her mother standing directly behind her to make certain she said “I do.”

  Dorothy stumbled away from the airplane. The life of a doctor�
�s wife stretched out before her. Dull dinners and lonely evenings and boring women with nothing more useful to talk about than charity events and where they were planning to spend the fall. Her mother seated next to her, pinching the inside of her arm to make certain she laughed at the right times.

  The air was too thick, her corset too tight. Dorothy slid her fingers down the neck of her dress and tugged the lace away from her throat. She couldn’t breathe.

  It’d never occurred to her that she might actually have to marry Avery. She always assumed she’d get out of it, somehow. But now the bells were ringing for a second time, and the plane was about to take off and—

  Dorothy blinked, frowning. Wait a minute. Was that . . .

  There, at the back of the airplane, was a door.

  Dorothy cast a glance at the front window to make sure the pilot was distracted. He was bent over a sea of switches and buttons, worry lines creasing his forehead. She eased around to the door at the back of the airplane and casually tried the handle.

  Locked. Of course.

  Dorothy slid a single hairpin out of her curls.

  4

  Ash

  JUNE 7, 1913, THE PUGET SOUND ANIL

  Ash raked a hand through his hair, and his fingers came away wet. He looked at them and felt like he might laugh.

  Was he really sweating? Sweating? And over a girl?

  It was guilt, he told himself. And he did feel guilty, not for refusing the bride’s request for a ride—a girl like her wouldn’t last a day where he was going—but for taunting her with stories of Quinn Fox. The Black Cirkus assassin was rumored to eat human flesh and torture grown men without mercy and, as far as Ash was concerned, the less said about her, the better. There were already too many stories about her floating around his own time. It seemed wrong to allow her to taint another.

  He forced thoughts of Quinn out of his head, and the girl from the woods crept back in. He pictured her tilting her head, asking, You don’t get lonely?, and felt heat flare up at the backs of his ears.