Page 64 of Borrowed Time

I wasn’t feeling nearly as cheerful when we returned a few hours later. Sure, we’d dutifully trooped up and down San Francisco and Leroux Streets, and had also gone to the train depot and asked questions there. Not many people had any encounters with “Eliza” to report, although one of the porters at the station had told us that he’d heard from the night watchman that the ticket taker who was on duty that night swore up and down that he’d seen the young woman and her companion board a train for San Francisco.

Which was exactly the fake story Jeremiah had made sure to circulate throughout the town, so it appeared his ploy had been somewhat effective. Seth and I had appeared appropriately shocked, and made noises about going on to the West Coast after we were done here in Flagstaff, with Seth even mentioning needing to hire Pinkerton detectives since San Francisco was such a large city.

Maybe we’d sounded convincing, and maybe we hadn’t. I supposed the important thing was that we’d made the rounds and been visible, and now pretty much everyone who owned a business downtown had spoken to us personally.

What more could we do than that?

We went to the Bank Hotel’s restaurant for dinner that night, wanting a change of scenery. While we were there, Seth chatted up our waiter, since I could tell he needed some closure on the whole situation with Lawrence Pratt.

“Do you know where that performing troupe went after they were finished with their run in Flagstaff?” he asked as the waiter set down a plate of nicely roasted pheasant in front of him.

“Last Saturday was their final night here, sir,” the waiter said. “I believe they were going on to the West Coast after this.”

“All of them?” Seth inquired.

The waiter had been putting down my own plate — also of pheasant, which I’d had once at a restaurant that specialized in game meats and thought would be interesting to try in this setting — as Seth asked the question, and he straightened before replying.

“No, I overheard the man who did the magic tricks talking to one of his fellow performers at breakfast the next morning, and he said he had urgent family business that would take him back home. Somewhere in Minnesota, I believe.”

Seth’s brows lifted just a fraction upon receiving this news, and I inclined my head toward him even as I reached for my glass of wine. It sure sounded to me as if Mr. Pratt had taken our advice to heart and was returning home to be with his clan. I still couldn’t help feeling guilty about how all that had turned out, even if I knew deep down that it was the best place for him to be, substandard magical abilities or not.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Seth said. “Too bad — the man was very skilled.”

“Yes, I heard that he could perform quite amazing feats. Perhaps he will be able to rejoin his troupe after his family business is handled. But I see I’m needed at one of my other tables. Excuse me, sir, miss.”

He nodded toward us by way of additional apology, and hurried off in response to the lifted hand of a diner several tables away from the spot where Seth and I sat. I waited until I could tell the man was safely occupied with his other patron, then said, “All’s well, I guess.”

“It sounds that way,” Seth replied. “I just hope we did the right thing.”

Almost of its own volition, my hand went to touch the high neck of the wine-colored gown I wore. The amulet still hung around my throat, safely hidden. All day, I’d felt it there, but I hadn’t once tried to use my powers, not when I still didn’t feel safe doing so unless supervised by Jeremiah Wilcox. What exactly he could do to prevent things from going sideways, I couldn’t even say, but it still made me feel better to have him around whenever I was experimenting with my time-travel magic.

“You know we did.” Even though we were speaking in low enough tones, I still made sure to use neutral phrases, the sort of thing no one could impossibly interpret to mean we were talking about witchcraft. “He would have gotten himself into trouble eventually, so it’s much safer to have him back where he belongs.”

Seth nodded, but his expression still looked dubious, as though he was having a hard time reconciling himself with what we’d done. I had to admit I didn’t like it much, either, but since Lawrence Pratt had been breaking about every witchy rule I could think of by performing in public like that…and we definitely needed that amulet if we were ever going to get the hell out of here…I wasn’t going to examine the situation too closely.

For the next couple of minutes, we were both quiet as we attended to our neglected meals. The pheasant was excellent, accompanied by some kind of currant sauce and wild rice and steamed vegetables, but I doubted either of us was thinking too much about our food. No, my thoughts stayed with Lawrence Pratt for a moment…I didn’t know how fast trains in this day and age traveled, but I guessed he was probably back in Minnesota by now…and then moved to our appointment with Jeremiah on Friday afternoon. Would my wobbly time travel power behave itself, or would I overshoot so badly that he’d have to go on tothe birthday party and pray I’d reappear at a time that wouldn’t cause too much of a stir?

No matter what sort of scenario I cooked up, none of them seemed very appetizing.

After an awkward silence, though, Seth commented on our work that afternoon talking to the rest of the shopkeepers downtown, and we were able to go back and forth on that subject long enough that it took up the remainder of our meal. As usual, no one seemed to be paying much attention to us, but if anyone had been eavesdropping, they wouldn’t have learned anything new…and probably have been bored out of their minds.

Eventually, we were done with our meals and walked back to the hotel. The night was just as crisp and clear as the day had been, the stars bright overhead, so huge and so close that it felt as if I could reach out and scoop them up in my hand.

Of course, I couldn’t do anything like that, but it made me feel better to see that the clouds appeared to be staying away for now. Although I wasn’t a weather witch, I prayed with all my might that the skies would remain clear and that Seth and I would be able to return to Lockett Meadow the next day. A few more hours with him there…a couple more stolen kisses, or probably more than just two or three…would be just what the doctor ordered.

Holding that happy thought in my head, I said my usual goodnight to Seth before I headed inside my hotel room. For just a moment, his gaze had held mine, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was — that he wished with all his might that he could go inside with me, and together, we could chase away the chill of this frosty November night.

That wasn’t going to happen, though…well, not if we didn’t want to get run out of town on a rail, whatever that meant…so we’d have to continue to tough it out and see what materialized on Friday.

As with all the other nights I’d stayed here, a maid had already come by to turn down the bed and add some coal to the potbellied stove. Its warmth filled the room, although I was still acutely aware of the cold seeping past the window frame, of how it might well get down into the single digits tonight, with no cloud cover to keep the minimal warmth of the day from evaporating into space.

I worked as fast as I could to climb out of my dress and hang up the individual pieces, and then pull on the flannel nightgown before my teeth could really begin to chatter. The bedwarmer the maid had slipped between the sheets helped a little, although I couldn’t quite banish the image of Seth holding me close and keeping me much more comfortable than any stoneware contraption filled with hot water could do.

My eyelids slipped closed, and I let out a breath. Unlike the night before, sleep came quickly, probably because of all the fresh air I’d gotten earlier in the day, whether up in Lockett Meadow or while traipsing around town with Seth.

But with that sleep came unwelcome dreams.

The same man I’d seen before, movie-star handsome with his jet-hued hair and eyes, his chiseled nose and cheekbones. Not my type — too haughty and sure of himself for that — but still, I know my head would have swiveled in his direction if I’d seen him walking down the street.

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