Page 8 of Alec

Chapter Three

When Olivia came to and saw the dead FBI agent dressed in medieval garments and looking very much alive she almost burst into tears. Had she fallen down into some sort of Wonderland, like Alice? Or was this the place everyone went to after death?

“It’s all right, Miz Gibson,” Ava Travars said in a soft voice that had a subtly twanging accent.

“Did I die, too?” she whispered.

“Nope, we’re both alive and safe.” The other woman held out an unglazed pottery cup. “Here now, have some water.”

A long-fingered male hand took it from her and brought it to Olivia’s lips. That made her aware of the warm, hard body behind and under hers. Was she still sitting on Alec McKeran’s lap? She was. Had he held her the entire time she’d been passed out? Evidently he had. The embarrassment of having imposed so much on him made her try to rise, but his arm came around her waist.

“You’re still shaking, lass,” he said, his voice stirring her hair and making a shiver run down the side of her throat. “Stay still for now, and drink.”

Olivia could do that, and sipped from the cup before she asked the woman, “How do you know my name?”

She held up her license. “Your wallet fell out of your jacket.” She handed it to her before she added, “Obviously you recognize me, but in case I’m wrong about that, I’m Ava Travars, and in our time I was an FBI agent.”

In our time. Just those three words seemed huge and ominous to Olivia.

“What time is it here?” she asked carefully.

“You’ve come to a place where time doesn’t exactly exist,” Ava said. “This is McKeran’s Castle as it was in the twelfth century.”

Suddenly Olivia saw everything that seemed strange in the room differently; the stone of the walls showed no signs of age, and the hearth had scorch marks inside indicating it was regularly used. Unlike the castle she’d entered, this place had no cobwebs, dust or debris. If it was staged from modern materials to resemble the original castle, then whoever built it was an expert on medieval construction.

“Are we in the twelfth century?” she asked Ava, hoping she’d say no.

“It’s more like we’re not in any time at all,” the FBI agent said. “Nine hundred years ago the clan and their vassals were imprisoned in a magical trap. It cuts them off from the real world and the passage of time and forces them to keep reliving the same year in a loop. We can’t escape, but no one grows old or gets sick here. The enchantment also replenishes the food and supplies we use every morning.”

“Making me entirely superfluous.” The red-haired man who had accompanied Ava came over to Olivia and crouched down to peer into her eyes. “I’m Dr. Ben Miller, also from your time.”

His name triggered a memory. “I read about you. You disappeared inside McKeran’s Castle two years ago.”

“I did,” he said, as if he were pleased that she knew him. “With your permission, Ms. Gibson, I’d like to check your hands.”

She nodded, and watched as he gently inspected her bloody fingers. “I think some of my bones were broken, but now nothing hurts.”

“That is one of the few benefits of the spell trap,” he said, rising to his feet. “Any injuries you have when you come inside are instantly healed. Both hands are fine, Ms. Gibson.” He hesitated, and then asked, “May I ask how tall you are?”

“I’m four-foot-ten.” For the first time she glanced down at her legs and saw how high her slacks had ridden up—they looked more like capris now. Yet when she reached to tug them down she didn’t recognize the long, slender arm attached to her shoulder. She also couldn’t pull down her sleeves.

“You’re a bit taller now, ma’am,” Ava said.

“Wait. What is this?” Olivia looked all over herself. “How am I like this?”

“The enchantment has healed your body of all the injuries that you suffered,” Ben said, his voice very gentle.

He knows. Tears welled up in her eyes, making it difficult to see. “Everything? Even—even the permanent damage?”

“Yes.” He glanced at Ava. “I’ll let you tell her what more she should know about this place, Agent Travars.”

Listening to what seemed like a crazy fantasy story scared Olivia even more than the way her body had changed and her fall into this strange world. She couldn’t be in a place with computer-generated images, so it had to be real—yet unreal at the same time. The intense colors and flawless textures made her wonder if she could be hallucinating. That would explain why she had suffered an instant growth spurt, too. Could she be having some sort of trauma-induced psychotic break because of that old man who had attacked her? Or could it have started before that?

If I see a bottle labeled Drink Me, I’m going to have a meltdown.

“Miz Gibson, if you’d rather wait to hear all this, I can come visit you tomorrow,” Ava said.

Olivia was tempted to agree, but she promised herself ten years ago that she would always face the truth, no matter how hard it was to hear.