Katie MacAlister: The Art of Stealing Time

“Me always come to the park for the big festival?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha!” The braying laughter was of a quality that was well over the border of merry and smack-dab in the middle of deranged, but honestly, my brain refused to come up with any sort of an explanation, feeling that laughing it off was the way to go. My brain was wrong. “No, of course I meant to say that I always come to the park.”

The look he gave me was no longer one filled with amusement, and that, for some bizarre reason I didn’t even want to examine, made me sad. “I see. Would you think me boorish if I were to inquire where you’re taking me?”

“Taking you? I’m not taking you anywhere,” I said, pulling on his arm when he tried to stop again. “We’re just out for a little stroll to see the fireworks. Oh! Unless you’re here with someone. Someone female? Or . . . er . . . male?”

He gave me an odd look. “You’re the second attractive woman in two months who’s hinted that I’m gay. Do I give off some sort of homosexual vibe of which I’m unaware?”

“No! Far from it! That stubble is really . . .” I coughed and sternly reminded myself that he was the Enemy and I needed to stop thinking of him as a sexy, sexy man. “I don’t like to assume. People’s sexuality is their own business, and I’d hate to presume.”

“I appreciate such thoughtfulness, but in my case it’s unnecessary. I assure you that I am as heterosexual as they come. Risqué pun not intended.”

We reached the far edge of the open park area, and I judged that we were about as distant from my mothers and Mrs. Vanilla as we could get without actually pushing him off the park grounds altogether. I dropped his arm and gave him a bright smile. “Nice to know that! Well, it’s been super fun, but I really have to get moving. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“A plane?” He looked moderately interested.

“Yes. I’m returning home to Colorado.” I didn’t want to have to lie outright to him again—I’d already done so once, and many members of the Watch had very finely tuned mental lie detectors. In addition, my mothers had taught me that every lie was returned threefold, so I didn’t say any more than that I was returning home. That, at least, was true enough. “I’ll let you get back to your girlfriend. Or wife. Or significant whatever. Thanks for the walk!”

“You’re welcome, but I feel obligated to point out that the fireworks display is still going on, and the only people I’m here with are my cousin and his wife. They are newly married and probably are enjoying my absence more than they would my presence, so if you’d care to drag me back toward that wall with the stone animals, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Ha ha ha ha!” I did the hysterical laughter again, looking around quickly for the nearest means of escape. Damn him for noticing where I had bumped into him! One thing was certain: I couldn’t let him go back there. I ignored the odd look he was giving me and said quickly, “I hate that wall. It gives me the willies every time I’m near it. You couldn’t pay me to go back there.”

“Do you know,” he said slowly in a near drawl, “I get the oddest feeling that you don’t wish for me to see the Animal Wall. Which is a very odd thing, for which I have very few explanations. And yet, the sensation is there. It leads me inevitably to the question of why you have so carefully hustled me across the width of the park.”

I stared at him in abject horror for the count of seven, then spat out, “I have to run!” And I did. I turned on my heel and ran like the hounds of Anwyn were after me, weaving in and out among people, hurdling small children, and dashing past booths and tents to the parking areas beyond the edge of the park. I ran until I had a stitch in my side, whereupon I slowed down to a jog until I spotted my mothers’ car. I stopped next to it, gasping for air, searching the lit streets behind me for signs of pursuit. There were none, thank the gods, but that didn’t mean anything. Hurriedly, I dialed Mom Two’s phone number.

“Where are you?” I gasped in between panting breaths.

“At the entrance. I thought you’d be here by now. Mrs. Vanilla has something to show you.”

“The Watch is there.” I unlocked the car and got in, starting it up as I continued. “He’s blond, about six one, and is wearing a sapphire blue silk shirt and black pants. Fancy shoes. Little cleft in his chin. Golden stubble. Earring. Hair slightly curly in the back and crinkles around his eyes. If you see him, get the hell away and call me. I’ll be there in about two minutes, traffic willing.”

I pulled out into the traffic, my fingers tight on the steering wheel. How on earth could the man see through me so easily? What if he found the moms? How was I to get them off of a kidnapping charge? The people at the L’au-dela had been very specific when they arrested me, believing I was my mother—they’d said one more crime, one more incident of straying from the path of righteousness, no matter how small, and they’d toss my mother into the Akasha, where she’d stay for all eternity.

“That was an unusually detailed description, Gwen,” Mom Two said thoughtfully. “What is this golden man’s name?”

I turned onto the road leading to the park drop-off zone. “Gregory Faa. Don’t call him Greg.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t like it. I’m almost there. Stay safe.”

The three of them were waiting for me when I pulled up a minute later. I was nervous as hell as the moms assisted Mrs. Vanilla into the backseat of the car. I scanned the people around the entrance until everyone was strapped in.

“Right,” I said, jerking the wheel and slamming my foot on the accelerator. “Now we take you to Summerland.”

“What?” My mother shrieked a little at the way I took the corner and clutched madly at the back of the driver’s seat. “Dear, you almost knocked Mrs. Vanilla to the floor, and she’s already been down there when your other mother was driving.”

“Told you to strap her in,” Mom Two, who was riding shotgun, said complacently. “Not my fault if you didn’t do that.”

“I did strap her in, but she must have unhooked it. No, dear, leave it on.” Mom was addressing Mrs. Vanilla, gently patting her hands. “Gwenny is a very . . . intrepid . . . driver, and you’ll need to be wearing that for safety’s sake. Gwenny, we cannot go to Summerland.”

“You don’t have a choice now,” I said through my teeth, swearing under my breath at the red light. Every ounce of my being urged me to flee the area, to take my mothers and hide them somewhere safe, out of the reach of the handsome Gregory and the organization he worked for. “The Watch is here. They’re still looking for you. And that damned man is too smart for my comfort. Why can’t you go to Summerland?”

“The man you fancy?” Mom asked.

I shot her a startled look in the rearview mirror. “Huh?”

“Alice said you fancy him. I’m pleased for you, naturally, because you’ve been alone for a hundred and forty years, and you’re not getting any younger.”

“I am only a hundred and twenty-four, thank you,” I said somewhat acidly. “And I’ve had boyfriends. Now, about Summerland—”

“Pah.” Mom Two said, gesturing away my past. “Emphasis on the ‘boy.’ Your mother has always said that what you need is a real man, not one of those manosexual flibbertigibbets who walk around with their messenger bags and their manicured hands and such. I believe you can’t go wrong with a woman, but that doesn’t seem to be something you wish to pursue.”

Manosexual? It took me a few seconds to work that one out. “There’s nothing wrong with metrosexual men, Mom Two. They tend to like arty movies and visits to Starbucks. And, no, I’m sorry. By now you know I prefer men for romantic relationships.”