As Timeless As Magic: Kismet, #2

INTRODUCTION

Even the centuries between these star-crossed lovers cannot keep them apart.

A Victorian lady crashes into a brick wall when she spots a bare chested, ancient Egyptian with a chiseled body and warm brown eyes that melt her heart.

Heru, who was swept through the ages to nineteenth-century London, rushes to her aid.

Once he lifts Felicity into his broad arms, he doesn't want to ever let her go, but is forced to, as the couple collides with treachery beyond their control.

Can the fated lovers find a way to overcome these obstacles or will time… which threw them together …ultimately tear them apart?

PROLOGUE

On his last morning in ancient Egypt, Heru stretched his long legs in a comfortable position, seated on the woven rush cushion on the stool beside his father’s wooden framed bed.

Mother is worried.

His father’s head was slightly raised by a crescent-shaped wooden headrest, covered and padded in cloth. But his face was so pale and thin. He had lost so much weight.

You must tell her to stop worrying about me. I am healing, I can tell. Ricard’s whacking cough overtook him once again. Once he was able to stop, he continued on, ignoring the fact that he obviously wasn’t fine. Let us speak of something else. You pestered me all the time when you were a little boy, to tell you stories of Paris. Would you like me to tell you more about the future?

You are coughing a lot. I’m not sure you should talk much.

Talking with you makes me feel better. Don’t take that away from me.

Then, if you are sure you are up to it, tell me of the magic place you came from that Mother visited. I often think of it.

How odd. At your age, I thought of nothing but ancient Egypt. It is why I became an Egyptologist in that faraway future. Ricard’s forehead wrinkled. You know, the pocket watch, the time machine, doesn’t work as far as going forward. There is a glitch, it can only go back. So, it is of no use. You cannot time travel to Paris, it’s just fanciful to think so.

I know, but I love to hear the stories. He needed to learn more about the future. He was going there soon to seek a cure for his father. But he could not tell him that. He might worry, which could worsen his condition. Also, both his parents would forbid him from time traveling. They had decided this time and this place were best for them and their children. 

I do not think you would like it if you went. The city stank like rotten eggs and urine. There was rioting in the streets. I have never wished to return. I do miss Jean Francoise, my friend, and I miss my cook, Charlotte. His eyes held a faraway look. Of course, my greatest hope was to be with your mother, and I have that here. My time did not allow for acceptance of the lower classes or people from other lands. They judged your mother unfavorably because her skin is darker than mine.

Why would anyone judge a person by the shade of their skin?

Heru, your heart would break with disappointment at how hateful people become in the future. The more human beings have, the more they want, and the more they abuse those who have less than them. He had another spell of uncontrollable coughing. 

Forget the tales. Rest now. Heru stood and walked over to a low wooden table, and from the clay jug, he poured a cup of sweet barley beer, then handed it to his father. This will soothe your throat.

Yes, thank you. Ricard drank the beer down.

Heru set the cup back on the table. You can tell me more stories of how you transformed Mother from stone later.

Yes, I will. His father shut his eyes and fell asleep.

Heru slipped out of the bedroom and into the empty guestroom, where he dropped to his knees, lifted a woven mat, and pulled out a clay brick that blended in with the floor. He withdrew the hidden box, small but beautiful, painted white with intricate designs in black and orange. He opened it and pulled out the gold pocket watch. Flipping it over, he read the cartouche of Ricard on the back that his mother, the priestess Seshat, had inscribed there, which meant she suspected the glitch could be corrected. Otherwise, she would not have gone to the trouble of enchanting it with that mark, which would keep it out of other people’s hands. 

Mother was right. And I fixed it. Broke the spell, worked on the clock, adjusting it to move forward to take me thousands of years into the future. The Louvre, the strange clothing, and the cities my parents often spoke of.

He let out a long sigh. I have always wanted to see them. Now more so than ever, for my father’s sake.

His father thought their conversation was nothing more than his eldest son checking on him, but in fact it was Heru’s way of saying goodbye for now, though he would hurry back. After all, he didn’t have much time…though time was the only answer.

He stared at the pocket watch, recalling the conversation he’d had yesterday with the wr swnw. As chief physician, he should have been able to heal Ricard, but Heru could see he was steadily getting worse rather than better. 

Nothing you’re doing seems to be working. Is he going to die?

"I conferred with his regular swnw as well as with the pure healer—the priest of goddess Sekhmet. The chief healer set his hand on the hip area of his white, pleated kilt. All of us concluded that his illness is unlike any we’ve ever seen. We have no cure. The healer physician lifted his chin and gazed into Heru’s eyes. Your mother says he came from the future."

Yes. Do you think that has something to do with why he is sick?

What I think is, if we don't have the cure now, but doctors might have a cure in the future, the chief healer said. There might be herbs that grow in the place and time he came from that could cure his ailments.

Heru felt the physician was right and decided to travel to the future to find a cure for his father. 

He drew in a deep breath and clicked the button. As he entered the date, his fingers slipped and instead of 1830, the numbers 1877 came up. He started to change it but didn’t. If he went forward to the same period his parents had been there, he might run into them and create a disturbance in time. Heru had given a lot of thought to this journey. He’d dreamed of it since he was a small boy. He knew the clock was not precise in time travel. His father explained once, variables existed that could never be mathematically calculated to exactness. He couldn’t control exactly when he would appear, so he left it to his ba to choose that number. He pushed the button on top. Bright lights flashed around him.

1

Heru spun in a weightless funnel while he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Piercing lights stung his eyes. He blinked. As fast as the snap of a crocodile’s mouth, the falling and the spinning stopped.

The tension in his body uncoiled like a charmed cobra rising in the air, free from its cramped basket. As his breathing slowed, he glanced at his feet. He stood on a wide path of flattened stones.

Heru squeezed the smooth, hard brass pocket watch while he gaped at the sights, trying to adjust to his strange surroundings. Horseless chariots with flat roofs filled the stone road. People sat on the top of a long one, which whizzed by faster than the pharaoh’s finest stallion at a hard gallop.

His gaze locked on the curious silhouette of a lady, who looked more like a brightly plumed bird. Beneath a waist so tiny he could wind one arm around it, her stiff skirt flared out like the dome-shaped granaries in Egypt and fell all the way to her feet. Her pale yet perky face featured the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and a crown of flowers and feathers with bits of shiny pink fabric crested her dainty head.

The lady walked to a machine with two wheels, one directly in front of the other, not side by side like a chariot. She lifted her skirts and tucked a layer of fabric in the ribbon sash tied around her waist. That adjusted her skirt to knee length. She swung her leg over the thin seat and mounted it as one would a camel. She grasped a bar in front of her with one hand, and with the other she yanked a lever and a puff of white steam rose. The roar of the machine vibrated through the air. Gripping both sides of the bar, the arms of the machine, it blasted off with her on it.

Heru’s heart pounded. He watched the lady transform from an ethereal bird to a fierce, seductive woman, riding a machine beast. As if she sensed someone watching her, she snapped her head toward him. Her eyes grew wide, and her brows arched as if surprised, then she squinted, peering hard at him. Her lips parted into the full circle of a shocked expression. In an instant, she careened off the road. With an explosive bang, she crashed into a stone building. The woman and the machine toppled to the ground.

He rushed to her, close enough to reach her almost immediately. Are you all right?

All right? You’re speaking French? Are you a Frenchman? She climbed off the machine. Why are you standing naked on a London street? She stood before him, shaky but intact.

Heru glanced down at the shenti draping his lower body from his waist to above his knees. Naked? No. He looked at the machine, grabbed the arms of it and heaved it back from the wall. Other than a large gash in the front, both it and the building were unscathed.

As he raked his gaze over her to make sure she wasn’t hurt, a spiral of heat swirled through him even though the odd garments concealed her body. Her complexion resembled rich, sweet cream and his palms itched as he imagined the soft, smooth feel of her skin beneath those ridiculous clothes. Flustered for causing her accident, he reverted to old Egyptian. French is the language of my father. What language should I speak?

I would say English since you’re in England but -- Her eyes opened wider. How do you know Old Egyptian? Even in Egypt they speak Arabic. She slapped her hand to her chest. You must be an actor hired for the event. She swept her gaze over his body. How authentic. Her eyes beamed with approval. "And you even learned some Old Egyptian. How detailed. I should have guessed when I noticed the shenti you're wearing and your eyeliner. You look like you stepped off the wall of a tomb. She leaned closer and pointed to the amulet dangling from his neck, the eye of Horus. A marvelous touch."

"My wdjat. I am named after the god. I have worn this since birth."

So, you really are Egyptian. Long way from home. She reached out her hand to his. I am Felicity Mugrage. He shook her hand, and she patted the seat of the bike. Let me give you a ride there.

"Oui. He nodded. I am Heru."

He had no idea what or where there was, but she made him feel warm and bubbly, and he decided he’d go anywhere with her. She continued to speak with him in French. The language was a comfort, considering he had missed his target, Paris, and was now in a land called London where they spoke English. Obviously, he hadn’t fixed the time machine entirely. It still had glitches.

She circled her machine, checking it out the way a charioteer would inspect a horse that had taken a fall. She smiled at the vehicle, apparently relieved to find it unharmed. As she stuffed a layer of fabric in the ribbon sash tied around her dress, he fixed his gaze on her shapely legs as her skirts were again hoisted to knee length. She swung her leg over the thin seat, straddled the machine, then gestured to him to climb on behind her. He did so, encircling her tiny waist with his arms. His flesh tingled from the warmth of her body.

What is this vehicle I’m sitting on called?

A velocipede. Do you like it?

I don’t know yet. If I reach our destination alive, that will be a point in its favor.

She released a soft chuckle. Hold on. She pushed a lever, emitting a heavy, hissing stream of steam from the tiny boiler attached to the steering column, then she charged down the street.

The machine reminded Heru of riding a horse, a new animal they’d taken from the Hyksos. It was also similar to his father’s invention, the horseless chariots, which allowed them to defeat the Hyksos. Instead of a horse’s whinny, a vibrating rumble rattled his eardrums. But that thundering noise didn’t matter because he hung onto Felicity and her back felt as smooth as flowing water against his chest, like he’d sunk into her. A whiff of her flowery fragrance slowed his mind in a pleasant way. He longed for the ride to last forever.

She drove up to a crowd of people and yanked a lever. The roar of the machine and the huffs of steam died down. She swung one leg over the seat and stepped off. Heru eased off the velocipede as well.

So many people stood crammed together beside the river. In his day, this country called England and his father’s country, France, didn’t exist, just untamed land, bare of all but wild beasts and wild men garbed in animal skins. Look at it now, jammed with an overdressed throng waiting for something.

He glanced at the large coverings on everyone’s heads, wide ones for the ladies and tall ones for the men. "Hats." Heru remembered his father speaking about them when he ‘d told him of his life in Parris before he’d time traveled to ancient Egypt with Heru’s mother.

Yes, of course. You can put your hat and your regular clothes on after the event, but you look wonderful. A picture of perfection for the arrival of the obelisk. She yanked the fabric free of her sash and smoothed her full, stiff skirt, then adjusted her own flower-covered hat. Come. With dainty steps, she headed to the bank of the river as he followed.

When she came to a stop, he watched white steam rise out of the pipe of a barge so huge it had to belong to a pharaoh. It glided across the rippling blue water while the sun peeked through the clouds in the blue–gray sky.

What is an obelisk? It is a French word I do not know.

Don’t be silly. She let out a soft chortle that sounded as lyrical as the chirping of an Egyptian Nightjar. I know you are part of the show. She pointed toward the boat he gazed at. It’s a Greek word, but you must know what it is. Look, here it comes.

The ship, puffing steam out of a tall black pipe and tooting a loud horn, towed a huge, wide cylinder, about 200 hands long,