Tick-Tock the Murder Clock

Marraige?
What about Poppy?
What about the murderer?
What about her completely screwed up life? Her real life? The one she wanted back?

She dropped the shard of glass with a thud against the Aubusson carpet beneath her. The rug's frayed edges protected a large portion of the planked wooden floor even as her heel dipped against the uneven surface. The carpet, like her fairy godmother, concealed more than it revealed.

Tasha flexed her hand and looked down to find the shard had left a confusing criss-cross indention on her skin. "I don't understand, Elvira. You're supposed to be my fairy god-mother. You're supposed to protect me."

"That's exactly what I've done." Elvira twisted her fingers together, her expression pleading for understanding.

"Is anything you told me the truth?"

"Tasha ..."

"She's not your fairy god-mother." Bracken-slash-Demitri wiped his hands against his coat before he straightened his lapels. "Will you tell her?" He turned to Elvira. "Or shall I?"

Elvira turned away.

"She's your mother." Bracken said more softly.

"I don't have a mother." She shook her head. "It was just Dad and me. I'd know if I had a mother--"

Bracken-slash-Demitri shook his head sadly.

She supposed there could be a chance Elvira was her mother. Even before her hellish first tumble of jumps, Elvira had been part of her life. First as an imaginary friend only she could see, usually at her birthday parties and holidays. Later, after her father died, as an inconstant companion. But, if Elvira was her mother ...

"She's not a fairy god-mother?"

"Of cou..." Elvira shrilled as her hair bounced in time with her temper. "Of course ..." She stilled, tested a breath and clamped her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Of course, I'm a fairy. Are you daft, girl?" She advanced, stretching herself on tip-toe until she was nose to nose with Tasha. "Your grandmother would be turning over in her grave to hear such a thing come out of your mouth."

"Does that mean ..."

"You're only half fairy." Demitri confirmed. "Which is why your magical potential has been shrouded. Our destiny is tied, Tasha." He touched her shoulder. "Let me help you. Together we can find Poppy's murderer and free ourselves from this fate."

"And find herself tied to the Fairy King?" Elvira pushed Demitri away. "If you continue to jump, you will eventually be free. If you marry Demitri, your fate will be tied to him forever."

"No!" Demitri's reply echoed off the glass window. "I mean to end it. Once my full power is restored, I will bestow them upon my brother and renounce the throne."

"Liar," Elvira spat.

The room grew quiet as Demitri and Elvira glared at each other. Tasha took a step back and rested against the bed. Could she trust him to keep his word? Forever was a long time. But how long could she stand to jump from one body to the next? When would it end? Would it end?

"Bind yourself to me, Tasha, and I swear I will make your days and nights memorable, for as long as we both live."

"Mortality? With the dethroned Fairy King?" Elvira stamped her foot. "I won't allow it!"

"You have manipulated the situation long enough, Elvira." Demitri stepped in front of the smaller woman, effectively blocking her from Tasha's view. "Listen to me, Tasha. Please. The choice is yours."

She looked from Demitri to Elvira and longed for the simplicity of Poppy's life. Things had been so much simpler when her only worry had been who was trying to murder her.

Soul Mates

Bracken tightened his grip on the wrinkled old neck.
Elvira squeaked, “You’ll wed her over my dead body.”
“That’s the idea, old woman.”
Tasha tugged on Bracken’s arm. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, dear. This war was waged century’s ago.”
What? Tasha had do something and fast. She grabbed a pitcher from the wash stand and threw it hard against the wall. Pieces flew across the room. The noise should have garnered their attention. But fairy godmother and Bracken remained deadlocked.
Tasha grabbed a large shard of glass and pressed it against her throat. “Everybody listen or the girl gets it!”
Bracken shifted his gaze to Tasha. “What the hell?”
“Let her go or I’ll end it for everybody.”
“You don’t know what you are asking…”
“I think I do. Now let her go.”
Bracken released Elvira. Gasping, the fairy godmother slid to the floor rubbing her neck. “Well, Demetri, you have found her at last, but you’ll not have her, I’ll see to that.”
Tasha stepped between them. “Whoa! Somebody explain what the hell is going on!”
Bracken folded his arms across his chest. “Have you ever wondered why you are continually zapped from one miserable body to the next? Has she ever given you a reasonable explanation?”
Tasha’s mouth flapped open but no words escaped.
Elvira stood. “I’ll tell you why, to keep you safe from the likes of him.”
“What tall, dark and handsome?”
“His real name is Demetrius Alexander. He comes from a long line of philanderers. When the fates matched your souls I vowed to keep you safe from this vile excuse of a man.”
“You mistake me for my father, Elvira.” Turning to Elvira, he pleaded, “Most of what she says is true. My father and his father and his father before him were no good scoundrels but that is their trait, not mine. I have followed you for centuries, always one step behind you.”
Bracken dropped to one knee. “Tasha, don’t you see. If we unite we can end this ludicrous jumping. We can lead a normal life, have children, grow old together, die together. Ours souls belong as one. Marry me Tasha.”

It's all in a name

Bracken bolted up on the bed like a man who’d seen a ghost. He had – sorta. Elvira had that effect when people saw her the first time. Maybe it was her Mick Jagger styled hair; maybe it was the voluminous flower print moo-moo, or the bangled sets of large loop earrings and up-the-calf drawstring sandals. Bottom line, Tasha’s fairy godmother was a hold over from the 60s, the bad version of too much drugs, sex and rock and roll.

As Bracken climbed from the four-poster monstrosity, placing distance between the amorous tangle of their bodies, his glance never leaving Elvira's bad tangerine dye job, he seemed to think Tasha, er, Poppy needed his safe-keeping. With little more than a snag of his strong hands, he pulled her with him, securing her, tucking her behind his broad shoulders and standing between her and what had to be drop-your-drawers frightening for someone of the 19th century. “You know this . . . creature?”

Tasha had to give credit where credit was due. Bracken’s steady voice and quietly spoken question gave more than ample credence that he could hold up to a massive amount of shock. Either that or he was simply exercising good ole fashioned common sense and not startling what had to be a strange apparition to him. She didn’t fault his caution. Elvira could grimace with the best of them, and right now, she looked primed for reprisal.

But her trickster fairy godmother could just swallow a chill pill, and choke on it. “Elvira, can the smoldering eye routine . . . it’s way overdone. And that mountain of baby blue eyeshadow you’ve coated on kills the effect.” Tasha let her own aggravation color her tone, as she side-stepped from behind Bracken. She was fed up with the whole save the chick-routine-before-she’s-murdered-for-real anyway. The last four years of jumping had warn out her patience, not to mention been more than a little rough on her body. “On top of which, you’ll have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when the council finds out you showed up, unannounced, and in front of an innocent.”

“Immediate steps were necessary. There’s an emergency,” Elvira sassed, but she didn’t quite pull off a ‘what the hell’ look as though her actions wouldn’t have major repercussions.

Tasha knew the rules as well as any of the other jumpers. The institute’s five-thousand page instruction manual had seen to that mandatory wisdom. She eased over to the lady’s lounger and perched on the edge, as she considered her fairy godmother’s serious security breach.

“Tick tock. Time’s a wasting.” Elvira tapped her wrist, where a non-existent watch should have been – that is if the old gal believed in keeping any sort of schedule. “Of course, if you’re perfectly happy being stuck in this century then it shouldn’t make any difference if someone cuts your throat. Your real throat. . . back in your own world.”

Bracken reacted in an instant. With a single long stride toward Elvira, his hand closed around the fairy godmother’s wrinkled throat. “You dare threaten my bride.”

But it wasn’t a question, and his fingers which should be seared by the contact against the entity’s unearthly flesh tightened as Elvira’s face actually turned blue.

Tasha found her feet. This certainly wasn’t in the rule book. She was at Bracken’s side and tugging on his arm before she could draw a deep breath. “Tempting as it is to throttle the old broad, if you squeeze the stuffing out of her, Bracken, then I can’t get home.”

He didn’t relax his grip. “You are home, Tasha. I’ve waited a life-time for you.”

With a suddenness that had the world tilting, her knees shook and took on a bad rendition of the cha-cha. Like a poorly built Lego house, she lurched away from him and swayed toward the bed. Because whatever, she thought she knew, thought she understood about her purpose here in this time, suddenly everything crashed without warning. “You called me by name. By my name.”

Marry Me Before I Die

Bracken took Poppy’s hand. He absently stoked her palm with his thumb. Turning his eyes from the study of their hands, he turned his focus to Tasha. His green eyes narrowed in concentration, tension lines tightened his lips.

Tasha saw a ghostly pale Poppy reflected in the large dark pupils. She pushed upright, wincing at the sharp pain across her stomach. Bracken helped ease her into a sitting position, his strong arm secured at her waist.

“Bracken, what's your first name?”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew. Earlier you planned to marry within the hour. This is the only way to protect Poppy and get you your money.”

“I have made clear I need your inheritance. You do me great service by marrying me,” he said stiffly. “I will protect you, Poppy. I promise I shall not shut you away to languish in an asylum.”

“Well that’s good then.” She licked her lips. “What do you need the money for anyway?” she wondered aloud.

Bracken tightened his hold on her. He glanced down at her cleavage then back to her face. Tasha licked her lips as his eyes dilated with desire. He raised his other hand to cradle her face. Their foreheads touched.

“I must tell you though. I have been ordered, compelled by another to marry you.”

“I don’t care.” Tasha didn’t care. Poppy would be dead when she left. Why was she fighting this attraction? Bracken needed the money and she needed to kiss him.

He parted his lips, waiting for her acquiescence. She wanted to kiss him. Started to kiss him, opened her mouth to take him. Footsteps hurried down the hall.

Tasha stopped. Bracken did not. He kissed her. Took her mouth. His tongue invaded, filling her with the heady taste of wine and desire. She angled her head to deepen the kiss. He smelled of sweat and leather. His palm slipped down to caress her throat. She clutched his shoulders.

She fell back on the pillows pulling Bracken on top of her. Her ears echoed with the sound of her heartbeat, birds twittering outside, their urgent breaths and a sharp rap on the door. “Damn,” he muttered into her mouth.

“Bracken,” hollered Jacob.

“Damn,” he said more vehemently.

“Great,” she answered sarcastically. Tasha tilted her head back and silently apologized to Poppy. She pushed at Bracken’s shoulders

“You are pissing me off!” Elvira squawked. Hands on her hips, Tasha’s fairy godmother stood next to the bed and Bracken. She stomped her foot. “I can’t keep your other body alive indefinitely. Would you get married already?”

The Plan

“Completely out of the question.” Bracken adjusted the damp cloth on her forehead. “The blood shortage has reached your head. You’re not well enough.”

The compress, blissfully chilled from the morning air, eased the pulsing heat at her temples. Her body answered with a surge of excitement. “Don’t you see? The longer we put off the wedding, the more time we give the killer to succeed. The union will bind you to the money, forever putting at rest any futher claims to it.”

“You can barely stand up.”

“But I’m of sound mind. Any clergy will see that.”

“That remains to be seen,” Bracken muttered, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “No one can know about this, then.”

“You’re wrong. Everyone must know. We’ll shout it from the nearest spire. The gardens will be perfect.”

“For God’s sake, Poppy, isn’t two attempts on your life enough for one day?”

“Three. Don’t forget the near-drowning.” The cloth slipped in the wake of her animated gestures. She swiped it from her eyes. “We’ll set the stage and be ready.”

“It’s far too dangerous. An assassin could hide anywhere in those gardens.”

“Then I shall wear the chainmail from your study beneath my gown.”

His gaze detoured south and snagged somewhere between the hostile territory of her corset and the Valley of the Absurd. “I doubt much more shall fit between you and that dress.”

“We’ll think of something. Leave the wedding arrangements to me.” Tasha lifted the bell from her bedside table and shook it.

“We’ll need a sketch of the grounds and a handful of men you’d trust with your own life,” she whispered.

“I don’t know about this.”

“It’ll work. You’ll see. It’s the only way to stop this. The only way to ensure you’ll be—”

“A widow?”

“Protected.”

The light in his expression sobered, as if he’d come to an impasse only he could see. “Poppy, there’s something I have to tell—”

The maid who’d helped her dress earlier entered. “Yes, Miss?”

“Send for Nattie. Notify Lord and Lady Devonshire and everyone else you can think of. We have twelve hours to plan a wedding.”

The girl hurried from the room, her quicksteps as infectious as the prospect of snaring the killer and leaving Poppy’s insane world. But she remembered the damp cloth in her hand. The way Bracken held it to her skin as if he had the capacity to look past Poppy’s insanity to what lay underneath. The line between her and the insane girl she’d shared a body with was no longer clear. Had she given him back his fiancé or introduced him to a part of herself he’d never find again once the real Poppy returned?

“I’m sorry,” said Tasha. “You wanted to say something?”

Bracken cleared his throat and found an inordinate interest in studying his clenched hands. “I just wanted to tell you…”

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

"Do you think my assassin would actually leave any kind of evidence that will help us identify him?" Tasha met Bracken's inflexible glance. She felt sure men of the 19th Century didn't change their minds when a mere woman voiced a different opinion than their own, but she'd try nonetheless. She truly wasn't up to traipsing in the grass in the cloth slippers women of this era called shoes. She was also more than a little sore from her encounter with her knight-in-shining-armor when he'd tackled her onto the floor. Not that she hadn't enjoyed the encounter.

"You'd be surprised what some fools can and do leave behind in the heat of battle." He motioned again toward the open doorway.

"All right, let's say we find the man who shot at me." Once again, Tasha felt a warmth come over her and began to perspire. She felt as if all her energy was draining out through her pores. "What about the poisoned tea? Do you believe the same person who tried to kill me and shot at me through the window also tried to poison me?" She wanted to stomp her foot and tell the much too handsome Bracken she didn't want to go out into the garden unless he was going to make passionate love to her. But truly all she wanted at this moment was to go to her room and and to her bed.

"Let's take one thing at a time, Poppy." Bracken stood none too patiently at the door.

With his straight dark hair combed away from his brow and the gleam in those dark eyes, Bracken reminded Tasha of a racehorse chomping at the bit in anticipation of the challenge to come. She moved toward the door and her pretend fiancee. Who knew? Maybe they'd find some clue to the indentity of the shooter. Once she found the identity of Poppy's murderer, she'd be on her way to another body and another mystery.

Tasha moved by the tall man and even in her tiredness she felt her heartbeat move up a notch. But she wasn't expecting the dizzy spell that followed. She moved a hand to her forehead. Her legs suddenly felt as if the bones had been removed and she staggered. She tried to regain her balance but it was no use, her legs wouldn't hold her up and she began to crumble toward the floor.

"Bloody hell." Bracken sounded more than a little peeved.

Tasha saw his arms move toward her to keep her upright. One of his large warm hands moved against her spine while his other pressed her lower chest pulling her into his solidness.

"I've got you Poppy." His tone had completely changed. His words were almost tender. "You're not going to fall."

Bracken's soothing words traveled straight to Tasha's love parched heart. But his comforting words were forgotten as the hand pressing near her abodomen became a hot piece of steel burning through her protective layers of clothing. It burned into her and into her unprotected midsection, boring a raw hole. A loud groan escaped Tasha's lips as a wave of indescribable pain hit her.

"Damn it, Poppy." Bracken looked down at his hand covered in blood. Poppy's blood. "You've been shot!"



Tasha awoke to see a pair of dark eyes filled with concern staring at her. "Hello." She smiled. She'd never in her entire life had anyone look at her in quite that way.

"We were worried about you." He continued to stare at her as if there was some bad news he didn't want to tell her. "Are you in pain?"

"Not much ... " She tried to move and realized it was a lie and amended her statement. "If I lay perfectly still." Would this be the first time she'd be unable to find out who'd killed her subject? It had to be about the money. Money and power brought out the worst in people. But who wanted it enough to kill for it. She gazed at Bracken's somber face. "Am I dying?"

"No ... no ..." He tried to smile but failed miserably. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression with my somber appearance. It's just that you've been unconscious for a good three hours. We were getting a little worried." He almost smiled this time. "It's not a serious wound as gunshot wounds go. A flesh wound, a glancing shot as it were. It merely grazed the skin. You've lost some blood but you're young and healthy. You'll survive. I'm hazarding a guess that all those layers of clothing you ladies wear most likely saved your life."

Tasha was light-headed with relief. She wasn't leaving him, umm, here ... not yet, at least. When she'd tried to move she realized she was wearing a nightgown beneath the bed covers. She felt like teasing him and removing some of that worry from his face. Her eyes widened in mock horror. "Do you realize this is the second time you've removed my clothing?"

"It was quite properly done. Your housekeeper assisted me. In fact, she has quite an apothecary. You're lucky to have her." He raised a dark brow in inquiry. "I think the next time I endeavor the task of removing your clothes, we should be alone. What do you think?"

As she gazed at the gleam in Bracken's eyes, Tasha suddenly pictured herself and the large muscular individual staring down at here, naked, disheveled and entangled in silk sheets. She saw a flash of white teeth. Could he read her mind? She felt the heat move up her neck and onto her cheeks. She was blushing. Blushing for goodness sake! She never blushed!

"I'll stop teasing you." Bracken smiled as he straightened and moved away from the bed. "You should began to feel better in a few days." He walked toward a large window and gazed out.

"Unless I'm poisoned before I improve." Tasha spoke her fears aloud. But she also wanted Bracken to be reminded she was still in danger. She had to find the killer before he succeeded ... again.

"Not if I have anything to do with it." He walked back toward the bed, lifted her hand and held it between his. "Do you trust that I'll help you find the person responsible?"

"Yes, I trust you." Tasha gazed into Bracken's eyes and knew she spoke the truth. She could count on one hand the people she'd trusted in her life. "And because I trust you, will you grant me a wish?"

"And what would that be?" Bracken smiled but it was a little hesitant.

"I want you to marry me. Now. Today." Tasha watched a look of pleased surprise light Bracken's face. She knew now what she'd been sent here to do.

Crazy For You

“How insane?” Crazy was relative, considering I’d spent the last four years jump-frogging from one body to the next until I appeased whatever Magical Muckity-Muck I’d pissed off in my real life. Thanks to the curse, I’d seen a whole lot of crazy. Fainting spells and a few eccentricities, I could deal with.

“Pardon?”

“Exactly how crazy am I?” I pressed a hand to the radiating pain just under my rib cage. It was a twinge while I was on the floor. Now that I was standing, it had grown.

“You spent six months under a physician's care.”

“So, pretty crazy.”

“Bordering on the criminal.” He wore a puzzled expression. “Do you not remember the events of the last year?” Bracken cocked his head and didn’t bother to disguise his open suspicion.

“I don’t remember anything before waking up, soaking wet, downstairs.” The criminal part caught my attention.

“A year ago, you were Lady Poppy, only daughter of Earl Hatcher. Your mother pledged your hand to your brutish first cousin, Lord Hatcher. He inherited the title on your father’s death. It was considered a good match as the union would keep the title and the inheritance within the family blood line." He stopped. "Are you feeling well?"

"Is it hot in here?" The lack of air in the musty room made my head spin. I leaned against the window sill and sucked in a couple of breaths. "Please, go on."

"It was an elaborate ceremony well attended by the Ton. Your godfather, the Duke of Craymoor, gave the bride away.” He paced the room slowly, his attention flicking from me to the window and finally to the door. “Ring a bell?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t sound like much of a match.”

“Apparently, your thoughts were the same at the time.” He stopped in front of me. “You killed Lord Hatcher on your wedding night."

Poppy was a murderer? Could this assignment get any worse?

"The only reason you have not been remanded to live out the rest of your days in a sanitorium is your connection to the Duke," he explained. "Duke Craymoor convinced the high court you had suffered one of your spells during the murder and could not possibly be responsible for your actions.”

Not personally responsible. The words didn’t seem to cover the kind of crazy Poppy obviously suffered. Still, it had me thinking. The guy in front of me must be very desperate to take his chances with a girl like Poppy.

“Aren’t you afraid, Bracken? What if Popp--, I mean, what if I have a relapse on our wedding night?” Although why a girl would want to put a halt to anything which involved a naked Bracken was more than I could fathom at the moment.

“I have considered the possibility." He quirked a brow as an unreadable emotion contorted his masculine features. "I am certain the rest of civilized society has also taken my personal risk into consideration and come to their own conclusions on the matter. No doubt they have calculated the measure of my debt, as well.” He clenched his jaw and looked out the window behind me. "Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear Poppy."

“You’re still willing to marry me?”

“Yes.” He paused to hold my gaze for a long moment before he crossed slowly to the door. “There is little choice for either of us on the matter. But let me assure you, at the first sign of murderous intent, I shall have no recourse but to have you committed to Bedlam Asylum for the rest of your days.”

“That’s so comforting. Really. I’m all warm and fuzzy inside.” God, why did Elvira put me in Poppy? It was clear the girl was better off dead. Wicked Stepfather. Brutish dead husband. No mother to guide her ... If she weren't already dead, I'd poison her myself. Except I was very much alive inside this dead crazy woman. And I wanted to stay that way.

The pain in my chest had dulled. There was heat and something sticky between me and the torturous corset. But the urge to confide in Bracken was gone. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until I reached the safety and privacy of my room.

“I’d like to go to my room, now.”

“All in good time, my dear.” Bracken opened the door and motioned for me to precede him. “First, we shall investigate the lawn. Perhaps we shall find a clue to bring us closer to who is intent on killing you.”