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She, however, did not have a choice. He seemed to have her in his arms, and the earth she had just been standing on was no longer there. Ha, no longer there, she said to herself, which meant … oh, yes, it meant he was holding her above the widening crack, and together they were floating about in the air.
Sure, why not, Jazz, she said in her mind. It fits with everything else you don’t understand.
Blackness enveloped them, and she found herself holding tight to the Royal Fae with no intention of letting go.
They were falling but not just straight down. They were being battered through what seemed like a wind tunnel, though she couldn’t see it through the blackness—she only felt the stickiness of walls as they bounced from side to side. She hoped he wouldn’t release her, because now he seemed the only thing standing between her and sure death.
He shouted above the roar of the wind, “Don’t let go!”
“Damn straight I won’t! What’s happening?” But she never got her answer, because just then the wind force managed to yank her out of the Seelie prince’s hold and sent her flying off and away.
She couldn’t see through the blackness and felt as though she couldn’t breathe. She struggled not to pass out as her lungs seemed to be collapsing.
Dying? Was she dying? She felt as though she were dying.
And then, just as she began to lose consciousness, she felt strong arms surround her and heard an Irishman’s rough brogue declare, “Well, bless me, where did ye coom from, lass? And not that I be complaining, but whatever is that ye be wearing?”
~ Two ~
THE FIRST THING Jazz did was look up and into the rugged face of a burly stranger who leered back at her. The second thing she noticed was that he was wearing an old-fashioned style of clothing. His form of dress made him look as though he belonged in the eighteenth century.
She frowned as she tried to take it all in. Where was she?
He shook her and said, “Are ye daft, lass?”
He looked like a blacksmith … how odd, but he had that look about him. They appeared to be standing outside an old-fashioned stable, she thought, so a blacksmith was what he must be. She gave him a tentative smile and said, “Ah … um …”
“Aye, daft it is.” He laughed and gave her rump a hearty pat.
She backed away from him and put up a finger. “Hey!” Deciding it was time to vamoose, she took a quick glance around and saw they were in a village of sorts.
Huh, she thought, it looked like the restoration village she had taken her seniors to just yesterday.
It was no longer afternoon—the sun seemed to be setting—and she glanced down the sandy street, wondering how she had gotten there.
A ruckus caught her attention, and she saw a tavern across the sandy avenue. Two men with their arms about each other’s shoulders went in to the cheers of other men.
Where was she? What was this place?
No sense. It made absolutely no sense.
“I don’t know what ye be wearing, but no matter—we’ll soon have it off ye, darlin’,” said the burly man, who then reached for her top.
She slapped his hand away. She didn’t need to know where she was to know she was in a bit of trouble and needed to get away—and fast.
He laughed. “Frisky lass, aren’t ye? Well, there be no one about to bother or interrupt us, so give over, do
,” he said on a slur as he grabbed hold of her and pulled her roughly to his leather-vested chest.
Although Jazz possessed several very different Fios powers, each unique in its own way, super-strength was not amongst them. Even so, she had a few tricks up her sleeve.
She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know how she got there, but she knew what and who she was. She waited for the opportunity to break away from him.
Thinking perhaps she was hoping for too much, she decided the situation needed a bit of manipulation. She went into action.
Relaxing, she pretended to faint, hoping it would trick him into easing up on his hold.
It worked too well—he almost dropped her.
