Quantum Wanderlust

Copyright © 2017 Primacasa Press

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Primacasa Press, Lower Burrell, PA15068

Primacasa Press is an imprint of AIW Press, LLC.

https://aiwpress.com

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN 10: 1-944938-17-6

ISBN 13: 978-1-944938-17-8

QUANTUM WANDERLUST

A Time Travel Short Story Anthology

Ignoring the question, she clutched his hand. Her touch was unnaturally cold. They took my child.

Family Tree

By

Mae Clair

Coke or Snapple? Kevin Gardner pitched the question over his shoulder as he stood in front of the refrigerator, one hand holding the door open. The shelves were mostly bare—milk, mustard, bacon, a head of lettuce, half a leftover pizza. Mushrooms and pepperoni dotted the top of the pie, the crust curled up like a hard-toed slipper. It looked like he and Eric would be hitting a burger joint tonight.

Snapple. His friend's voice was muffled, Eric's head and shoulders concealed beneath the kitchen sink. A clang of metal and one swift curse later, Eric plopped to a cross-legged seat on the floor. This isn't working. Don't you have a wrench somewhere?

Kevin's gaze wandered over the boxes in the kitchen, just a few of the many scattered throughout the house. Passing Eric a bottle of unsweetened tea, he tried to remember what tools he'd packed. Maybe. In the shed.

Eric uncapped the bottle and took a swig. Why'd you want this old house, anyway? A broken garbage disposal is going to be the least of your worries. Have you seen the furnace? It's a dinosaur.

Doesn't matter. I lived here as a kid.

Seriously? Eric quirked an eyebrow. How come you never told me?

Kevin rolled his shoulders. There were some things you didn't talk about even with friends. He and Eric had hit it off as co-workers at Kale Screen Printing, and though Eric had since moved to a competing firm, their friendship outlasted the job transition.

I thought you told me you lived with your aunt after your parents died. Eric had apparently forgotten the garbage disposal.

Yeah, but before that, I lived here with my parents. He didn't want to make a big deal of it. Didn't want to admit he'd written an offer on the place the day the property had gone on the market. His past was here, woven into the scratched wooden floorboards and peeling wallpaper. Even the garbage disposal that probably hadn't operated in years. The previous owner had neglected the upkeep as well as the mortgage, sending the property into foreclosure. It was the reason he'd been able to get the home so cheap.

So, you were like what—five or six? Eric asked.

Four. No wonder he didn't remember his parents. His standard line was that they'd died in a plane crash, but only his mother had been on the flight out of Cincinnati. He didn't know if his father was alive or dead.

His aunt never had anything good to say when he'd asked about his dad. It's better you don't know. He was nothing but a no-account drifter Janette got involved with. Good riddance, I say.

That's too young to lose people you care about. Eric's mouth twisted as he set the bottle of tea aside. He peered under the kitchen cabinet at the disposal.

Too young.

Kevin knew little about his past. There were only a few grainy photos of his mother, most from childhood when she and Kevin's aunt had spent family summers at the beach. He didn't even have a name for his father. His only ties to his parents were this house and the odd medallion he wore beneath his shirt, a silver charm etched with flowering vines. His aunt had grudgingly told him it had belonged to his dad. Odd, she seemed to know so much about the man she'd dubbed bad news. Even odder that she'd refused to say more than a few words about him.

Hey, Kev, you want this thing fixed or not? Eric's voice shook him from his thoughts. The wrench, remember?

Yeah. Sorry. Eric was doing him a favor. The least he could do was stay focused. Let me check in the shed.

He headed down a short hallway to the back door. Outside, twilight had begun to settle with the gray mist of early November. Shadows bled from a wooded copse butted up against the perimeter of the yard. The locals called the dense patch a haunt—a place inhabited by hobgoblins and ghosts. When he was twelve, Kevin and his friend Jon had ridden their bikes six miles from Aunt Ruth's house to explore those woods. They'd ended up with was a bad case of poison ivy and a two-week grounding. No ghosts, no hobgoblins... not even a creepy spider's web strung between the trees. It was the last time he'd stepped foot in the place.

A wisp of movement in the corner of his eye drew him up short shy of the shed. Something white flitted between the trees.

Hello? The action had been too fast to follow.

Probably just someone's cat.

Eric would be waiting, maybe rummaging around in the fridge, eying up the zombie-pizza and wondering what was keeping him.

Turning back to the shed, he grasped the door handle, his gaze immediately shifting to the crescent-shaped birthmark on the underside of his wrist. When he was a kid, his aunt had insisted he keep it covered, yet another fixation she wouldn't explain. He'd buried her two months ago, a loss that made his stomach clench whenever he thought of her. Despite her reluctance to talk about his parents, he'd loved her unconditionally. She'd raised him, taking on the role of both mother and father. Now, at twenty-five, he was without parents, siblings, or relatives of any kind.

Maybe it was time to buy Melody a ring. Things were getting serious between them and he no longer had to worry about not having space for a family.

Hell, he was getting ahead of himself.

Shaking his head, he pulled on the shed door. It stuck briefly, then swung open with a burst of musty air. The flicker of white came again, flitting through his peripheral vision like a cloud skimming over the moon.

Enough already. Far too big to be a cat. That flash looked human.

Kevin sprinted for the woods. The odor of turned soil, decay, and the slick damp of coming night permeated the air as he threaded between the trees. Dry leaves carpeted the ground, rustling in old-man voices when his shoes crunched over them. The shroud of twilight was heavier, snugged between the moss-covered trunks of spruce and oaks. Shriveled ferns surrendered their lives to the biting chill of November. Too late, Kevin realized he should have grabbed a jacket.

White again. Closer this time.

Hey! The movement flowed like air, too ethereal to be made by a person. Giving chase, he clumsily vaulted roots and rocks, the ghostly wisp flitting ahead. He ducked beneath a branch and the phantom—if a phantom he chased—vanished. The copse opened wide, spilling into a clearing.

Kevin stumbled to a halt.

The glade was smooth, bare of vegetation or obstruction but for an old well erected in the center. The stone walls of the fount had crumbled in numerous places, creating hidey holes and gaps the rising moon would never reach. A tangle of weeds, brown with the taint of coming winter, sprouted at the base. He didn't remember the clearing and certainly not the well from his childhood adventure with Jon.

Help me.

Kevin turned at the sound of a woman's voice. Like a ghost, she emerged from the trees, a slim auburn-haired girl dressed in a white peasant blouse and a filmy skirt. Her feet were bare, her eyes large, colored like cinnamon in the thickening twilight. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old.

Who are you? Was she the wraith he'd chased through the woods?

Ignoring the question, she clutched his hand. Her touch was unnaturally cold. They took my child.

A kidnapping? He looked about quickly, jolted to think he might have stumbled onto a crime scene. But for the girl, the woods were empty. Maybe he'd misunderstood. Who?

He's just an infant. The girl's voice cracked. One trembling hand flew to her lips, her eyes rounding in desperation. There was something inherently wild about her—the long copper snarl of her hair, the frenetic edge of hysteria turning every movement jerky and sharp with an edge like cut glass. The air was cold enough that Kevin felt the bite beneath his long-sleeved chambray, yet the girl—in bare feet and thin clothing—gave no indication of being chilled.

You must help. Ilairen took him from me. She pointed to the mouth of the well. He took him down there.

Kevin fought the urge to recoil. She was obviously crazy, probably why she was running around in the woods dressed for a summer picnic. Should he leave her and call 911 or try to coax her back to the house? Easing his hand into his pocket he felt for his cell phone but came up empty. He'd probably left it on the kitchen table, along with his car keys. The girl certainly didn't seem threatening. If he kept her talking, he might be able to lead her back to the house. Who's Ilairen?

Her face crumpled. My husband.

Husband? She was more messed up than he thought.

Before he could utter another word, the black maw of the well mushroomed upward, leeching into a gelatinous hole. The ground rolled and buckled, slamming him with a blast of vertigo. Reeling off balance, he plunged feet first into a fish-eyed bubble of pulsing darkness and light. The sensation of plummeting catapulted his gut into his throat. He choked for air and surrendered to the hard-knuckled punch of freefall.

The sudden touch of sunlight brought his descent to a screeching halt. On hands and knees, he fought to clear his head. The cushion of grass beneath his palms was thick and green, sheathed in the high heat of summer.

What the hell?

The girl appeared at his side, wary like a doe. He waited for the world to settle, for his gut and head to catch up with his thoughts. Did you drug me?

She bit her lip. No drugs, but I had to bring you. This is Ilairen's world.

Craziness.

He stood warily and looked around. Either he was dreaming or hallucinating—or she wasn't as insane as he'd first thought. How else could he explain the fields of wildflowers where trees had stood only moments before? The glade was no longer tucked inside an autumn copse, but had become the nucleus of sun-drenched meadows.

Maybe this was some kind of trick Eric had staged.

If only. Even as Kevin seized on the idea, he knew it was impossible. The surroundings were too elaborate, the touch of sunlight and warm air something that couldn't be conjured.

Shaken, he tugged at his collar. His fingers brushed over the chain holding his father's medallion, cool metal that told him he wasn't dreaming. Whatever madness had taken place, this was real.

The girl touched his arm, guiding his attention across the glade. Ilairen comes.

A trail of people approached, the shimmering hues of their clothing jewel-bright beneath the crowning sun. Several carried staffs trimmed with colorful ribbons and small, tinkling bells. Others had adorned slim walking sticks with sprigs of forget-me-not and fennel. An old woman led the way, an infant cradled in her arms. A young man with a long fall of pale hair followed two steps behind, his face expressionless.

Kevin swallowed as they drew abreast. Maybe he'd stumbled onto a religious commune. His gaze darted to the child, then the man. The man had eyes as silver as his own. Elfin eyes, Aunt Ruth had called them.

Edrea. The girl in the peasant skirt bowed to the crone. I've come for my son.

Edrea's skin was weathered, aged like parchment. Her gaze shifted to the baby. The child belongs to Ilairen.

I've brought a Champion. The girl indicated Kevin.

Champion? He had no intention of getting involved in their insanity, real, imagined, or drug-induced. Wait a minute.

Ilairen raked him with a dismissive glance, quickly shifting his attention to his wife. You bring an innocent to fight for an innocent. He motioned behind him. A short man dressed in clothes the color of steeped tea passed him a staff. Ilairen tossed it to Kevin. Take your place, Champion.

What? Dumbfounded, he looked from Ilairen to Edrea. Look, I don't know what's going on, but I think you have me confused with someone else.

Ilairen turned away leaving Kevin to gape stupidly at the stick. Approximately five feet in length, the wood was twined with plum-colored ribbons and silver thread. Sprigs of honeysuckle and clover dangled from the tip. He felt like he'd stepped into a carnival sideshow. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

Edrea left, cooing to the baby as she walked away. Only the girl remained, her gaze downcast. I'm sorry to involve you.

Yeah. About that... He flexed his hands on the staff. The thing felt weightless, almost insubstantial. Whatever's going on, I think you need to talk to Ilairen. The guy's your husband, right?

We come from different worlds. He is one of the Fey.

Fey? You mean like—

The Fair Folk, she interrupted. Those of the Faerie Glade.

Oh. Okay. Someone had checked out on reality. If he stayed much longer, he'd be joining her. He took a step backward. I'm sorry about your kid, but I've got to go.

A loud blast rolled over the meadow, rooting him to the spot. The boom rocketed through his head and shot to the bottom of his feet. A few feet away, the man who'd passed Ilairen the staff blew on a tulip-shaped instrument, launching another thunderous bellow. Cradled snuggly in Edrea's arms, the baby giggled and waved chubby hands as if delighted by the ungodly noise.

Please. The girl in the peasant skirt sent Kevin a desperate glance and pushed him forward. For my son. So he can be raised in my world.

But— Kevin got no further. The girl darted backward. Left alone in the center of the glade, Kevin looked to Ilairen.

The man circled him slowly. Taller than Kevin, he moved agilely, twirling his staff like a Kung-Fu master. Suddenly, the ribbon twined rods didn't seem so harmless. Although Ilairen''s features were that of a young man, the hard light in his eyes said he was much older.

Struck by a flickering twinge of panic, Kevin backed away. Ilairen swung his staff, the rapid sweep a blur of blond wood and black streamers. The rod never touched Kevin, passing within inches of his temple, but a sharp knife of pain exploded in his head.

He tottered off balance, nearly dropping his staff. The wood had warmed in his hands, an almost primordial pulse that dialed down the pain. Ilairen thrust toward his gut, and Kevin doubled over, wheezing for breath. Again, the weapon never touched him.

Your staff! the girl cried. Strike it on the ground.

Anything to stop the pain. He struck the base to the soil, sprigs of clover and honeysuckle wobbling absurdly at the tip. The sting in his gut receded and he gulped greedily, sucking down wildflower-fragrant air. The ground warmed under his feet, pinpricks of heat radiating through his shoes. An orb of violet light ballooned from the top of the staff, bobbing like a globe attached by invisible string.

That won't save you. Ilairen swung again.

Kevin recoiled, blocking by luck. Whatever wicked enchantment Ilairen had intended, the orb deflected the spell back to its wielder. Ilairen grunted, stunned by the blow. Buoyed by the upper hand, Kevin swept his staff between them. Violet light exploded from the tip.

Ilarien dodged and retaliated with a burst of radiant blue. Still on the offensive, Kevin failed to shield. Lifted by the magical blast, he was tossed backward, legs and arms caught in the upsweep. His back struck the ground, a harsh rasp of breath whistling between his teeth. Pain detonated in his head, then railroaded to his chest. Pinioned by magic, he gasped, unable to move.

Ilairen kicked his staff aside. Stupid fool. Knotting his fingers in the front of Kevin's shirt, he yanked upright, reducing Kevin to a fish on a gaffing pole. Kevin tried to croak out a protest, but the cloying perfume of the glade clotted in his throat. Buttons popped on his shirt and his father's medallion slid free of the heavy cotton.

The cold anger in Ilairen's eyes gave way to shock. Who? White-faced, he looked from the medallion to Kevin. Slowly his hand uncoiled. He caught Kevin's wrist and pushed his sleeve back, exposing the crescent-shaped birthmark.

He lurched backward. How is this possible?

Edrea moved to his side, her feet a mere whisper in the grass. Whatever had occurred to upset Ilairen, she did not appear fazed. Do you concede?

Please. Ilairen's wife spoke softly. Stepping closer, she gazed up into his face, her eyes wide and pleading.

He regarded her silently, then dragged a thumb down her cheek, a tender gesture. Turning to the old woman, he dropped his staff. Edrea, give me the babe.

When Edrea shifted the infant to him, he brushed a gentle kiss across the child's tiny forehead. This is not the last I will see you. With a soft exhale, he placed the baby in his wife's arms. Your Champion has won fairly.

The girl's relief was palpable. Fighting tears, she cradled the child close and kissed him. You will not regret this decision, Ilairen. Time will favor us.

Still uncertain, Kevin struggled to his feet.

Ilairen regarded him, the shadow of a smile crossing his lips. You fought honorably and well. Your father would be proud.

Kevin was about to protest he didn't have a father when the sensation of time ripping apart catapulted him into a nosedive. Tossed like a tumble weed, he flung out his hands to halt the free fall. Seconds passed before he felt grounded enough to open his eyes. The sun-drenched glade had vanished, replaced by autumn trees wrapped in twilight. He shifted, sprawled at the base of the old stone well. The auburn-haired girl knelt at his side.

It's over now. She helped him stand, then immediately turned her attention to the infant in her arms.

Kevin shifted, hollow inside. There was something familiar about the way she gazed at the child. I don't know what happened, but I'll ever forget. I don't even know your name.

She smiled. Janette.

Coincidence. A cruel whim of fate that she bore the same name as his mother. He white-knuckled his fingers into his palms.

And the baby's name?

Kevin.

For a time he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Glued in place, he struggled for a foothold in reality, certain he was dreaming. Certain that soon the delusion would end and he would wake in his bed. Scarcely daring to breathe, he reached for the baby's arm. A crescent shaped birthmark marred the underside of the child's wrist.

That's not possible.

The girl kissed him on the cheek. Thank you.

He stared numbly, unable to speak. Did she know who he was? Did she understand the staggering impossibility of what had transpired in the glade? Had he pitched headfirst into blissful insanity or was this merely an illusion prompted by the ghosts of the old house he'd purchased? He faltered, no longer certain he wanted to know. You should try to make it work with Ilairen. A child needs both parents. Maybe both worlds.

She tilted her head, studying him openly. I have always loved my husband, and he me. It is not that which has kept us apart.

Then what has?

But he knew the answer. It had taken him to set foot in both worlds, braving the boundary between the mundane and the magical. Aunt Ruth had known, fearing he'd tire of the ordinary, eager to slip off into that realm of sun-gilded glades and endless summer. She shouldn't have worried. His life was here, wrapped up in a Monday to Friday paycheck, a girl named Melody who'd stolen his heart, and an old house where he wanted to raise kids.

As if reading his thoughts, the girl in the peasant skirt smiled. Turning without a word, she slipped away and vanished among the trees. Kevin glanced toward the well hoping to catch the faraway bleat of a tulip-shaped horn, but the air was thick with silence and the soft down of deepening night. Resigned to the stillness, he headed back to the house.

***

Did you find the wrench? Eric hadn't moved, squatting on the floor in front of the kitchen sink.

Kevin glanced at his watch. Only five minutes had passed since he'd left for the shed. How was that possible?

I—

By the way, your Mom called.

What? Kevin's mouth fell open.

"Hope you don't mind I answered your