Chapter Thirty-Four
Rachel
Though I cannae wait to go home, to my own time, I convince Joey to show me one last thing---his favorite place in all of New York City. The noise and the crush of people unsettle me. Still, I want to learn a wee bit more about Joey's past before I close the portal that brought us here and that should never have existed in the first place.
We've just left the cafe behind.
"My favorite place?" he says. "I know exactly where to take you."
I follow him through the maze of streets, flinching at the blaring horns and screeching brakes. The buildings tower overhead like mountains of glass and steel, reflecting the afternoon sun in blinding flashes. 'Tis a wonder anyone can breathe here.
"Almost there," Joey says, taking my hand. His touch is warm and reassuring. "You doing okay, Rachel?"
"Oh, aye. Just a wee bit...overwhelmed."
He chuckles. "That's New York for you. Even those of us who grew up here feel that way sometimes."
"Ye move like water through these throngs," I observe, clutching my cloak more securely.
"Years of practice, Rachel," he replies with that crooked smile, the one that still makes my heart flutter every time I see it. "When you grow up dodging foster parents and truancy officers, you learn to navigate crowds."
We board something called a "subway," a sinuous metal beast that roars beneath the city. The way these people trust such contraptions without a second thought! Joey stands protectively close as the carriage sways and rattles, his arm around my waist. I try not to show my anxiety as we're hurtled through darkness at speeds no horse could match.
"Almost there," he whispers, giving me a reassuring smile and an equally reassuring squeeze of my hand.
When we finally emerge from the underground, the air tastes sweeter. Joey leads me through quieter streets until we reach a vast expanse of green nestled amid the towering buildings.
"Central Park," he announces, pride evident in his voice. "Eight hundred and forty-three acres of sanity in this madness. You saw a small part of the park earlier when we popped out into the modern world on Bow Bridge."
"I remember that. It was a lovely location."
"Let me show you more of the park."
Joey kisses my cheek, then begins to lead me onward. I feel my shoulders relax as we walk beneath ancient oaks and maples, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The din of the city fades to a distant hum.
"I used to come here when everything got too much," Joey says, guiding me to a rocky outcropping overlooking a serene pond. "It was the only place where I could breathe." Joey's voice grows softer, almost reverent, as he helps me onto the smooth stone. "Sometimes I'd spend whole days just sitting here, watching people live their lives, imagining what it would be like to have a real home."
The sun shimmers on his dark hair, highlighting strands of amber I've never noticed before. His whisky brown eyes seem far away, lost in memories I cannot touch.
"Did ye ever find it?" I ask, "A real home, I mean."
Joey turns to me, his expression unguarded in a way I've rarely seen. "'Til now? Not really."
I let those words settle between us, the weight of them making my heart ache and soar all at once. My fingers fidget with the small leather pouch of protection herbs my Great-Aunt Morna insisted I carry.
"Look there," he points to a couple rowing across the pond, their laughter drifting toward us on the breeze. "That's what I always wanted. Not just someone to love, but someone who'd choose this crazy world with me."
I watch the couple for a moment, feeling a strange tightening in my chest. "They look so happy."
"Yeah," Joey murmurs, his lips curling sweetly. "They do look that way. It's beautiful, wouldn't you say?"
"Absolutely beautiful."
We sit in companionable silence, our hands linked, my cheek on his shoulder. The park sprawls out around us like a fragment of the Highlands, though tamer, more sculpted by human hands. Still, 'tis a relief after the chaos of the city streets.
"I never belonged anywhere," Joey continues, picking up a small stone and turning it over in his palm. "Foster home to foster home, then the streets, then...well, you know the rest. The bad company I kept."
"The mafia, aye. Forget about that, mo chridhe . It's all in the past, literally." I nuzzle his cheek. "Are there any other spots you'd like to show me?"
"Sure thing. But first, feast your eyes on this view." Joey leads me away from the rocks, his arm encircling my waist as we gaze across the park's expanse. "This was my sanctuary when everything went sideways."
The tranquility stretches before us like a dream---families sprawled on blankets, children chasing squirrels, lovers walking hand in hand. 'Tis hard to reconcile this peaceful haven with the chaos just beyond its borders.
"I can see why ye loved it here," I say, resting my head on his shoulder. "Reminds me a wee bit of home---if ye squint hard enough and ignore all the strange contraptions."
Joey laughs, the sound vibrating against my side. "Come on, let's keep moving. There's more I want to show you."
Joey and I follow winding paths past street performers who conjure music from instruments I've never seen. One lad creates gigantic bubbles that float through the air like transparent spirits, delighting children who chase after them with squeals of joy.
"Witchcraft," I whisper to Joey with a wink.
"Just soap and water," he replies with a wink of his own. "Though I admit, some of the magic in your world makes more sense than the technology in mine."
He leads me deeper into the park, where the trees grow thicker and the paths less traveled. The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across Joey's face. I cannae resist studying his profile---the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows when he's thinking, the way his eyes hold secrets I'm still discovering.
"This way," he says, pulling me gently off the main path.
We duck beneath low-hanging branches, following a barely visible trail. The overgrown path leads us to a secluded clearing encircled by ancient oak trees. A small, forgotten stone bench sits nestled against a moss-covered boulder.
"Not many people know about this spot," Joey says, brushing leaves from the bench before offering me a seat. "Found it by accident when I was running from some guys who weren't too happy about the results of a card game."
"Ye cheated them, did ye?" I ask playfully.
Joey grins. "They cheated first."
My laughter echoes through this private sanctuary. "I can see why ye'd hide here. 'Tis like a wee piece of the Highlands."
"That's what I thought when I found it," he admits, sitting beside me, our thighs touching. "It reminded me of something...something I couldn't quite name. Maybe I was remembering a place I hadn't been to yet."
"The Highlands," I whisper as a wee shiver runs through me. It has nothing to do with the gentle breeze. "Perhaps your soul knew where it belonged before you did."
Joey slips his finger between mine, his callused thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Maybe that's why I felt so at home when I landed there. Despite everything---the danger, the confusion, the fact that I was centuries out of place---something about it felt right."
I study his face, searching for the boy he must have been, seeking refuge in this hidden corner of the park. The thought of him alone makes my heart ache.
"Did ye come here often, then?" I inquire gently.
"All the time." His gaze goes distant, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Especially in winter. There's something about this place when it snows, like the whole world goes quiet. I'd sit right here and watch the flakes fall until my fingers went numb."
The image of a younger Joey, huddled alone on this bench while snow gathered on his shoulders, brings tears to my eyes. I blink them away before he notices.
"And what would ye think about?" I ask, "During those quiet moments?"
Joey's gaze drifts upward to the canopy of leaves. "Escape, mostly. Where I'd go if I could just...disappear." His lips quirk into a half smirk. "Never once imagined Scotland in the 1700s, though. Guess my imagination had limits."
"The universe had other plans for ye."
"I guess it did. And I'm grateful for that every single day."
A comfortable silence falls between us, broken only by birdsong and distant laughter. I close my eyes, breathing in the earthy scent of this place, committing it to memory. When I open them again, Joey is watching me with such tenderness that my heart aches---in the sweetest way.
Joey stands up, offering me his hand. "Time to go home, Rach. I miss my best buddy, the Laird of Dùndubhan. I'm feeling lonely without him threatening to run me through with his claymore and then rip out my entrails."
"Dinnae fash, Joey. I'm certain Father will be waiting for you to come home so he can murder you."
Aye, MacTaggarts are a strange, bloodthirsty lot. Joey fits into our miniature clan quite nicely.
This charming, cloistered spot seems like the best place for invoking magics without being caught in the act. Joey and I stand facing each other. I excavate the book from inside my cloak and hold it in my palm with one hand, then encourage Joey to do the same. Our palms are now sandwiched---a word Joey taught me---with the book in the middle.
I begin to chant in a hushed tone.
The words flow from my lips like water from Loch Fairbairn, ancient Gaelic phrases that my ancestors have whispered for generations. The air begins to shimmer, almost imperceptibly at first, then with growing intensity until it seems we stand within a veil of liquid light.
"Is it working?" Joey whispers.
"Shush," I hiss. "The spell requires intense concentration."
The book between our palms grows warm, then hot---not burning, but alive with energy that pulses in rhythm with my words. I feel the magic gathering, swirling around us like Highland mist, binding us together as it prepares to tear a hole through time itself.
Joey's fingers tighten around mine. His eyes never leave my face, and in them I see both excitement and a flicker of apprehension. This man who faced down mobsters without flinching is nervous about returning to my time---our time. It's disarmingly sweet.
He opens his mouth---to speak, undoubtedly.
But I give him a stern look. "Relax, Joey. My magic has never failed me."
Joey snaps his mouth shut, but his lips form an impish smile.
Sighing, I continue my working the magics. Wee sparks ignite, surrounding us as the spell magnifies. Small objects---leaves, twigs, even Joey's strange metal "keys" that he insists upon keeping in his pocket---begin to rise from his pocket, suspended in the swirling energies.
"Rachel," he whispers, ignoring my earlier directive for silence. "Your hair..."
I cannot see what's going on, but I can feel it. My hair is floating around my head as if I were underwater. The spell is working, gathering strength with each syllable I utter.
" A Dhia ," I gasp as the book pulses with blue light, illuminating Joey's face in an ethereal glow.
"Rachel, your eyes---they're glowing," he whispers, awe replacing uncertainty. "Like actual blue fire."
I cannot break my concentration to respond, so I merely squeeze his fingers and continue the incantation. The words feel ancient on my tongue, each syllable vibrating with power as the veil between times grows thinner.
"Is it supposed to---" Joey begins, but his words cut off as a sudden gust of wind whips around us, bringing with it the scent of heather and peat smoke---aromas that don't belong in this modern park. The magic is working, pulling elements from my time through to this one.
The book between our palms flares with blinding light, and I hear Joey gasp. The pages flutter wildly. Then suddenly, the commotion snuffs out.
And we are standing in the solar at Dùndubhan.
My parents and the aunts rush to embrace us, smothering us with their excitement and love.
Aye, 'tis good to be home.