Chapter 4
Saints, it was warm this morn. Callan stretched, feeling every day of his score and two years. Used to sleeping rough, he brushed off his plaid, pulled several twigs from his hair, then tied it back with a bit of fabric he kept in his sporran.
If ’twas not possible to return to his own time, then somehow he must determine how to make his way in this odd land.
With no idea of how to travel through time, Callan decided he would break his fast. Then he would find someone who might know how to send him back to his own time. Surely in this land there would be powerful witches who might aid him?
All he wanted was to go back, get to know William, to stay at Blackford, and make a life there.
In time, he hoped to take a wife and have babes of his own that would play with his brother’s children.
The day the clan had forsaken him and his mother was clear in his mind even though ’twas years ago.
So Callan would make a new family with his brother at Blackford Castle, even if William was a bloody Englishman.
Once he was sure the caretaker had passed by, Callan slipped outside the gates of the park, as the sign said the place was called, and walked the streets of this metal city.
From listening to the man behind the glass, he now knew he was in a land called Massachusetts in a country he had never heard of, called America.
’Twas even more intimidating in the daylight. The gleaming glass and steel towers stretched up to the heavens, people rushing past him, paying him no mind. He was a ghost in this place, unseen and unheard.
As he wandered, Callan followed his nose to a shop. The aroma was unlike anything he had ever smelled before as he inhaled deeply.
There were people sitting at tables, tapping on the small bricks they carried everywhere, while a serving wench called out to people, handing them cups and plates of food, making his stomach rumble.
He approached the counter, but when it came time to order, he didn’t know what to do.
Instead, he stood back, one booted foot against the wall and observed, trying to make sense of the surrounding scene.
Without one of the small rectangular objects people handed to the serving wench to pay, Callan knew he would find no sustenance here.
As he left the delicious smelling shop, a woman stopped him, patting his arm. She was older, with a warm smile and kind eyes.
“You look like you had a bit too much fun last night. Good for you, living it up on a weeknight.”
A tinkling laugh escaped. “I remember the days I’d lose my keys or wallet because I was having so much fun. Those were the days.” She handed him a warm roll of some sort, the smell making his stomach rumble.
“Get some sleep. You’ll feel better.”
She pursed her lips. “You shouldn’t hang around here. Those busybodies don’t like it and they’ll see that you’re tossed out of here.”
The woman nodded to a group of younger women with large heads and emaciated bodies who were watching them, a look of disgust on their collective faces. Mouth full, Callan nodded. He swallowed and called out after the woman as she left, “I thank ye, mistress.”
Despite his confusion, everything he saw fascinated him. This world was so different from his own. Did Lucy miss this time? Regret giving it up to stay at Blackford?
Callan squared his shoulders. He might be lost, but the fates would not defeat him.
As the morning wore on, hunger drove him to a busy food hall. He followed a man talking into what he now knew was called a phone into the building. The phone allowed a person to speak with another person far away, a most marvelous wonder.
The scent of warm butter and spices led him to a small stall. Callan reached into his sporran, pulling out a few of the coins he had tucked away.
He offered them to the vendor in exchange for the food, as the roll the woman had given him earlier had only made him hungrier.
The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked at the coins. “What kind of funny money is that?” he asked gruffly.
Confused, Callan noticed a woman at the next counter handing over green paper.
He put the coins away and pulled out the paper the man had given him, wishing he had one of the small cards people used for money.
The man took a piece of the paper, rolled his eyes and gave Callan back more green paper than he had given him.
Ah, the green paper ’twas money like the small cards. What kind of money was made of paper?
The hot buttered bread was delicious, laden with some kind of meat he’d never tasted before. As he stuffed the other half of the roll into his mouth, Callan went back to the stall and bought two more.
“What is this strange meat?”
The man frowned at him.
“You think you’re funny? It’s a lobstah roll, you idiot.”
Aye, Callan liked this lobster. He ate the delicious rolls, then decided to see what other food awaited him.
Weaving through the crowded hall, he accidentally bumped into a man hurrying past. The man yelled and shoved Callan, who instinctively reached for where his dagger would normally be sheathed. Finding nothing, Callan quickly dropped his hands and backed away.
His actions caught the eye of a nearby man dressed in a uniform. The man approached Callan, eyeing his strange clothing.
“What’s your deal buddy? You lost?” he asked, a hand on his hip.
Not wanting a fight when he had no weapons to defend himself, and distrustful of the uniform, Callan turned and ran as the man shouted for him to stop. He gave chase but was slow and quickly fell behind as Callan ran like the devil himself was after him.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Callan was crossing the road when a woman’s scream echoed down the empty street, followed by harsh, threatening voices.
Peering around the corner, Callan saw two men brandishing knives, attempting to take the metal beast from a young woman. Instinctively, his hand went to his side.
“Damned fates.” Finding nothing but air, he swore and stepped forward. The two men sneered at him.
“Mind your business before we cut you. This is our car.” One of the men brandished the small knife at him.
When the man’s companion tried to move behind him, Callan reacted without thinking.
He disarmed one bandit with a swift, precise motion, sending the knife clattering to the ground.
The other, taken aback by someone fighting back, hesitated just long enough for Callan to land a powerful blow to the man’s nose as a crunch filled the air, followed by a womanly shriek.
The man ran, one hand holding the knife, the other pressed to his nose to stop the blood flowing down his pockmarked face.
The woman yelled her thanks for saving her from a carjacking and much worse. She jumped into the metal beast and sped off as the wheels left black marks on the road. A car. ’Twas an odd name for the metal carriage, but they went fast and Callan thought it would be exciting to ride in one.
Invigorated from the wee skirmish, Callan looked around. The streets in this part of the city were empty. As he tried to find his way back to the park, wandering along the streets, afternoon gave way to evening.
With his belly full of lobster and a delicious drink someone called a fresh-pressed orange juice, Callan decided in the morn he would seek out a powerful witch who could send him home.
He had seen enough of this time where people were busy rushing to and fro.
All he wanted was to go back to his own time. There was nothing here for him.
Daisy fiddled with the button on the front of her floral print maxi dress as she waited in the sleek, modern lobby of the high-rise building.
If she’d known the company was going to call so quickly for an interview, she might not have called at all.
But she’d promised Zara and knew her friend had pulled strings to get her the interview, so here she was, watching people coming and going, the women’s heels tapping against the tile floor.
It was time. When the elevator doors slid open, Daisy took a deep breath and stepped inside with other people going about their day, her heart pounding with anticipation.
As she rode to the top floor, she mentally reviewed her talking points, reminding herself to highlight her creativity, attention to detail, and love of storytelling.
While she might not have a college degree, she’d held a variety of jobs in the four years since she’d graduated from high school.
“You must be Daisy.” A guy dressed in navy slacks with a blue button-down shirt and the reddest hair she’d ever seen smiled at her.
“This way.” He led her to a conference room, pushing the glass door open for her.
The room was bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering stunning views of the city. Daisy greeted the interviewers with a warm smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
“Please, have a seat.” The guy with red hair sat in a chair across the table from her.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Daisy noticed they all had a copy of her resume in front of them. She barely had time to take a drink of water before the questions were coming fast and furious.
She spoke confidently about her previous marketing experience, her innovative ideas for campaigns, and her ability to connect with audiences on a personal level.
As the interview drew to a close, Daisy felt like the walls were closing in. This was a great opportunity, a real career, and yet the thought of spending her days trapped in a building made her want to run screaming into the daylight.
“I realize it wasn’t noted in the job description, but the role requires frequent travel.” The woman named Jane explained, as Daisy struggled to keep her face neutral.
She listened as Jane outlined the expectations: meetings with clients across the country, conferences and events, and the occasional international trip.
While traveling around the world would be fun, the job paid incredibly well, and she’d have the stability of regular paychecks. Something held her back.
Not to mention, Frankie was getting up there in years.
The shelter didn’t know how old he was when she’d adopted him, but thought he was around eight years old.
She’d had him for a year, so at nine he was approaching the geriatric phase of his life.
Plus, she adored all the dogs she walked on a regular basis. They’d miss her.
Jane smiled. “Any other questions?”
She asked a few questions about the company culture and, with a sinking feeling, asked the last question. “Is this a hybrid role or in-office?”
The guy with red hair made a face. “We require all employees to be in the office as we find the collaborative environment keeps everyone productive.”
Jane jumped in. “During the summer, we allow everyone to work from home one Friday a month.” She beamed as if it were a gift as Daisy tried not to cringe.
With a pounding head, Daisy thanked the interviewers for their time. They promised to let her know this afternoon as she was their last interview. As she rode the elevator back down to the ground floor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this job wasn’t the right fit.
Later that day, Daisy found herself in a luxurious penthouse overlooking the city. The man traveled six months out of the year and always called Daisy when he was gone. He also tipped almost as much as she charged, saying the plants always did better when she took care of them.
She watered the plants, fed the fish, and marveled at the opulence surrounding her. Talk about a stark contrast to her own modest studio apartment, but then again, she’d never been one to covet material possessions.
As she stacked the mail and packages that had been delivered, her phone rang.
“How did the interview go?” Zara asked eagerly.
Daisy sighed. “I got the offer, but I turned it down. It requires at least fifty percent travel, and I just can’t leave Frankie that long, not to mention, I like my house and pet sitting jobs. My clients depend on me.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I know you pulled strings to get me the interview.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Zara spoke again, her tone colored with frustration. “Daisy, when are you going to grow up? You can’t be a free spirit forever. It’s time to get a real job. How long do you think you can survive doing what you’re doing?”
Daisy’s heart sank. She knew Zara meant well, but she couldn’t help feeling a little misunderstood.
“I know, but I just can’t imagine living any other way.
You know I work at the Renaissance Faire every year for two weeks, and I get the feeling they won’t like that.
Yes, my schedule is erratic, but I love my life, and I love being able to do what I want, when I want. ”
They talked for a bit longer about Zara’s hunt for an apartment in Philly and Daisy promised to come by and pick up a chair she’d always loved that Zara wasn’t taking with her.
As she ended the call, leaving the penthouse behind, Daisy couldn’t help but wonder, why couldn’t she be a free spirit forever? What was so wrong with living life on her own terms, even if it meant passing up opportunities other people wanted?
While she craved stability in relationships, she always assumed her finances would work out. Deep down, she knew she wouldn’t be happy with that job. Turning it down had been the right decision.
No way was she trading her freedom for a cubicle, not for all the money in the world. As she made her way back to her own cozy apartment, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life she’d chosen, no matter what others might think.