“I can’t go back,” he said. “Ever. The instant I loaded my life spider onto the internet through your computer and went after Len so he couldn’t come through your window to kill you, I broke my connection to home. I created a new branch in time, a new past relative to my own time. In this past, you live. In the past I come from, you always will have died – but there’s no way to this past from there. And no way there from here.”
“But your family? Your friends?”
“I had them. I’ll miss them. But I had a dangerous job, and they knew it, and so did I. Research historians get swallowed into alternate pasts from time to time. It’s why we travel with life spiders.”
“Which do what?”
“In your time, they create validation in public databases for all the information that lets me prove who I am. Every research historian working in the age of the internet carries a life spider with him that creates a name, social security number, driver’s licence . . . all of it. Complete with past. In my case, even a nice bank account.”
“You came planning to stay?”
“I camehopingto stay. Big difference. If you had not been you; if you had wanted to die so your books would live on; if you had notwanted me – then I would have disappeared. No light. No magic. I just would have blinked back to where I was supposed to be.”
“But you’ve given up everything to be here. And you decided knowing that I had just met you. You couldn’t know whether I would change my mind . . . and now you can’t ever go back.”
“Life doesn’t come with guarantees, Nila. What it does come with is chances. You’re the chance I wanted to take.”
I slid my hand into his. I might never be famous. I might never change someone’s life. I swear I’ll try . . . but when I’m gone, maybe no one will remember my name.
That’s all right.
I know what it is to be loved. I know what it means to love. And the chance I’ve won is better than any guarantee.
The Gloaming Hour
Cindy Miles
Savannah, Georgia
Present day
Are you awake yet?
Kylie’s eyes fluttered open. The hazy light of an approaching dusk filtered through the canopy of moss-covered oaks and looming pecan trees. She glanced around then inhaled. The sweet scent of magnolia blooms blended with the sharp tang of salt marsh, and a slight breeze, barely even there, stirred the reeds and sawgrass. A pine cone thudded to the ground. It’d only been the wind. It felt strange being back on the Vernon River. As childhood recollections crashed over her, she inhaled, and the scent of Granny’s fresh-fried beignets and peach cobbler drifted on a faraway memory. So vivid and real, she could taste the sugar on her tongue. If only other memories could be as sweet.
But, they couldn’t. Some reminiscences would haunt her forever.
She heaved a sigh and gave the porch swing a push with her bare foot. The gentle swaying coaxed her lids to fall, the creaking of the rusty chain lulling her back to sleep.
I need your help, lass. Wake up. Besides, you’ll miss the gloaming hour . . .
Kylie shot up out of the swing and glanced around. Her heart pounded, her breath hitched. “Who’s there?” The words squeaked from her throat.
Good God, woman. You’re sae bonny.
She whirled around and stared in the direction of the deep, accented voice. Nothing. The white verandah, in desperate need ofa few coats of fresh paint and bare of the gauzy Boston ferns which used to hang from the rafters, sat empty. No one was there. But God, the voice sounded as though it’d been right in her ear.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Not only had she imagined a voice, she’d imagined it with a sexy Scottish burr. “You’ve lost your mind, girl.” Maybe it’d been her subconscious self calling to her, pulling her out of sleep. She loved the gloaming hour – that small window of time between day and night, when a haunting darkness stretched across the land, and burnt colours from the faded evening rippled the sky and canopy above. Stars peered out, and night birds called to one another across the marsh. Seventeen-year cicadas made their presence known, and crickets sang their sweet, eerie lullabies, and the sound floated over the salty air. A slight breeze rustled the sawgrass, sounding almost like a hushed whisper . . .
Aye, that’s better, girl. I knew you’d come round.
Kylie jumped and whirled around. Fear gripped her insides. “Who’s there? I mean it – cut it out!” She looked around, then grabbed an old fly-swatter hanging on the post. “I’m . . . armed.”
Deep laughter rumbled out of nowhere.Aye, an’ so you are, wee one.Another laugh.But put doon your weapon for now. I need you.
Kylie dropped her plastic armour and ran. Skidding around the corner of the porch, she flung open the door and jumped inside, then turned and bolted the lock. Her breath came out in harsh puffs, her chest heaving as adrenalin pumped through her veins. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, what’s happening to me? Why am I hearing voices?”
A heavy sigh broke the silence.My apologies, mo ghraidh.’Twas no’ my intention tae frighten you.
