Page 3 of Killing Time

Probably better to hold my tongue there. I was on their side in this, and trying to explain how the Wilcoxes and McAllisters were allies in my time would only muddy the waters…especially since I had a feeling we’d never get to that place of peaceful coexistence at all if we couldn’t figure out a way to steal Ruby back.

“I saw Jasper in my dreams,” I said clearly, and everyone went still, their gazes focused on me. “At the time, I didn’t know who it was, of course. I just kept seeing a black-haired man and a black car that didn’t look like anything from 1926. But when this happened — ” I paused there to take a quick breath — “I realizedthe dreams had been trying to warn me about him, about what he intended to do.”

A tense silence followed that announcement. The elders looked at each other and then at Abigail, but she only shifted in her chair, as though not completely sure how she should respond to my words.

The silver-haired elder stepped in there. “Did your dreams show you anything else?”

The black-haired man…the black car…the cold, black night, studded with stars but with no sign of a moon.

I explained what I’d seen as best I could, and the two male elders exchanged an alarmed look.

“The dark of the moon,” the gray-haired one said, and the other one nodded.

“What about the dark of the moon?” Helen asked, her voice sharp. It seemed clear to me that she wasn’t exactly thrilled that her fellow elders possessed knowledge she apparently didn’t.

The silver-haired man was the one who responded. “It is not something commonly known in our clan, as we don’t dabble in that kind of black magic. But I am sure the Wilcoxes are familiar with the power of the dark of the moon, and I have a feeling that Jasper will wait for that day to share the consort kiss with Ruby. He will be able to bend all his magic toward her, bolstered by the black moon. She is a very strong witch, but I doubt she will be able to resist him. He is also an extremely strong warlock, just like all theprimusesof the Wilcoxes have been, and if he employs the proper incantations to bind Ruby to him, there is very little she will be able to do to get away or even block the binding.”

Something in my stomach turned over, and I doubted the queasy feeling had much to do with how the last meal I’d eaten was going on eight hours ago now.

Or maybe a couple of decades.

“When is the dark moon?” I asked. In my own time, I’d noticed the McAllisters were pretty attuned to the cycles of the moon, but I didn’t know whether that was tradition or whether they’d gotten a little more woo-woo over the years.

Abigail looked at her husband. “Charles, fetch the almanac.”

Without a word, he left the room, presumably heading to the library we’d passed on our way to the back parlor. The rest of us waited in awkward silence while he was gone, but his errand didn’t take very long, and he was back in only a minute or two.

He paused near his wife’s chair and leafed through the almanac. “It looks like the dark of the moon is November twelfth.”

That was something, I supposed. At least it wasn’t tonight. With more than ten days to work with, we might actually manage to accomplish something.

However, the elders…and Abigail…didn’t look as pleased with this information as I’d thought they would be.

“That isn’t much time,” theprimasaid. “But also, far too much time for Ruby to be spending in Wilcox territory.”

“So, what…you’re just going to give up on her?” Seth cut in, and the gray-haired elder sent him a pitying look.

“Of course not,” the older man said, and even though his voice was calm enough, it had a chiding note to it as well, as though he didn’t think Seth had the right to address a clan elder in such a way.

Maybe he didn’t, back in the middle of the twentieth century. Things were a lot mellower in my time, and although everyone seemed to treat the current elders with a great deal of respect, they also weren’t put on a pedestal, and all the members of the McAllister clan felt free to go straight to them with any concerns they might have.

That didn’t appear to be the way of things in 1947, however.

“I will consult with my elders,” Abigail said. Her voice was still whispery, and probably not nearly as commanding as she would have liked it to be. “We will do our best to formulate a plan. In the meantime, I think it best that you go home, Seth.”

“‘Home’?” he repeated, looking blank.

Charles stepped in there. “Like I told you earlier, your bungalow has been sitting empty for most of the year. Even though you won’t necessarily need it, I’ve still got the key at the shop — we can stop there on the way over and pick it up, along with anything else you might need. We’ll also need to get you a car.”

“What happened to my convertible?” Seth asked, looking understandably upset. I could see why — the little black roadster had been his pride and joy.

His older brother didn’t even blink. “After you were gone for two years, Mother and Father gave it to our cousin Freddie. He moved down to Cottonwood to open a bookstore and took it with him. Held on to the thing for nearly a decade, so it had a good run. But it wouldn’t be safe to drive now.”

I supposed that made some sense. While a lot of people in my time had some serious hobbies involving restoring and fixing up old cars, I had no idea whether that was even a thing in the 1940s.

Seth looked less than thrilled by this news. However, he seemed to realize that asking whoever had eventually taken over his little bungalow down on Juarez Street to inherit the roadster as well was a bit much, especially since it sounded as if the cousin who’d been living there with her family most recently wasn’t the type to be hauling toddlers around in a convertible. Instead of arguing, he said, “What car?”

A very small smile tugged at the corner of Charles’s mouth. “A ’46 Stylemaster. Dad bought it early last year.” He paused, then added, “He didn’t have much time to drive it before he wasgone, so it’s got very few miles on it. Abigail and I already had a Cadillac, so I covered up Dad’s car and left it behind the shop. I was planning to sell it, but….”

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