Wilde Omens Read online

  I set my duffle bag down beside his chair and poured myself another cup. We sat there in companionable silence, the earlier tension between us evaporating.

  After a few moments of listening to the birds chirp outside the bright kitchen window, Watson spoke. “Your father is a complicated man.”

  I knew this, so I remained silent.

  “I hope you understand that even at his worst, he is a blazing sun.” He stared into his mug, his jaw tight and shoulders hunched.

  I reached over to touch his arm. His shoulders relaxed some, though most of the tension remained. “What do you mean?” I wanted him to keep talking. I wanted to understand why their relationship was so weird and strained.

  “I’ve never met a more brilliant mind. But that intelligence, that thirst for knowledge has resulted in some terrible things.” His amber gaze searched mine. “He is your father. I know this and I respect this, so please take this in the spirit it is intended.” He set his coffee mug down and took mine from me, setting it down as well. He wrapped his larger hands around my smaller ones. “You must always, always, retain your humanity, Penelope. There is no research, no knowledge worth losing sight of those very things that make us human.” His voice was fevered, fervent, and passionate.

  I blinked and my face heated. What horrible things had my father done to the world...to my mother? To John?

  “Love, loss, hope, kindness, passion...these are the things that matter. We cannot hope to achieve perfection. In trying to achieve the impossible, we play God. We screw around with things not meant for humanity. We are not gods. We are human. We live for a brilliant, glorious blip in time, and then we die.” He dropped my hands. “Or we are supposed to. Promise me you will remember that.” He picked his mug up, drained the rest of the coffee, and stood.

  I nodded, truly afraid for the first time since my life had come crashing down around me. Even though his words were cryptic, just like almost everything else he’d ever said to me, the meaning was clear. My father would do anything if it meant a new discovery, no matter who it hurt or how he damaged the world. John, my mother, and I were walking, living proof.

  Watson grabbed my duffle bag and held out my hand. “Ready?”

  I shook my head no, but stood anyway. What I really wanted was to rewind time back to before my father found me, curl up in my unburned bed, and sleep for a week. Alas, who would have ever thought just a few days later I’d be virtually indestructible and able to travel through time?

  I sighed. Not this girl.

  Watson held out his hand. “Take a deep breath,” he said.

  I shut my eyes and inhaled as Watson tore the world apart.

  My mother sounded strange when she called my name this morning. I stepped out of my bathroom and into the kitchen only to see her back turned from me. She faced the window wearing the same cotton gown she always wore. Every morning I woke up, she’d be standing in the kitchen making breakfast or tea, wearing the same faded blue cotton gown.

  But this morning, even though I couldn’t see her face, her hands trembled.

  “Mom?” I took a step forward, reaching a hand out to touch her.

  She spun around, bent down, and gathered me in her arms.

  “Oh Penelope.” She brushed a long lock of dark hair back from my face. “What am I to do with you?”

  Confused, I said nothing, only leaned in to my mother and inhaled her sweet jasmine scent.

  She held me by the shoulders and leaned back so I would have to meet her serious, tear-filled gaze.

  “Mom?” I asked again. “What’s wrong?”

  She offered me a wobbly smile and stood. She held out a hand and I slid my small one into hers. Mom led me over to the table and ushered me into a seat. She sat in front of me and took both of my hands into hers. “You are so very, very wonderful. And smart. So bright and intelligent.”

  I perked up. “Did you get my tests scores back?”

  She nodded and squeezed her lips together. A stray tear fell down her face.

  I frowned. “I didn’t pass?”

  She choked on a laugh. “I only wish, Penelope,” she murmured half to herself. She stood and gathered an envelope lying on the counter’s bar. With trembling fingers, she slid the white piece of paper out and unfolded it in front of me. As she sat back down, she scooted her chair closer to mine.

  “184,” she whispered as she stroked my hair again. “You, darling, are a wonder.”

  I squeezed her hands. My mother didn’t sound particularly happy at this moment. She sounded strange.

  Afraid.

  Chapter 10

  I was in the clock room again. At least I wasn’t as freaked out as I was the first time. Watson stood beside me, unaffected by the travel. I hated him right now because all I could think about was not hurling. I hoped this was something I would get used to. Feeling like my entire body was being ripped apart and then put slowly back together with a guy who had four thumbs wasn’t making my inception into this new life any fun.

  I swayed a little on my feet and felt the warmth of Watson’s hand on my elbow.

  “Steady,” he murmured. “A Time Warden never shows weakness.”

  I wanted to punch him in the balls and see what he said about weakness. I settled for giving him a watery-eyed glare. Breathing steady through my nostrils, I shut my eyes and waited for the nausea to pass. He let go of my elbow and brushed past me.

  When I opened my eyes, my father was peering at me through a monocle.

  I jumped. “What the—?”

  Holmes took off the monocle and polished it on the inside of his waistcoat. He looked like the dude on Monopoly, Mr. MoneyBags, and I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face. At minimum, I found my father to be highly amusing. While I knew I should never underestimate him, I should at least be able to enjoy his eccentricities.

  “Nice to see you, daughter.” He measured me with his eyes for a moment, and then, as if satisfied by what he saw, he nodded once. “Now that the pleasantries have been done away with, we should get to work.”

  There were pleasantries involved in this exchange? I raised my eyebrows and made eye contact, but he gave me a look like I should already be used to this. “Get to work how exactly?” I asked, and then smiled again. My father...well, he looked absolutely ridiculous. As if Mr. MoneyBags wasn’t bad enough, his hair stood out everywhere, which seemed to be less of a situational hairstyle and more like he didn’t give a crap about it. The goggles were gone today, replaced by the monocle, but his face was so dirty, you could see where he’d worn the goggles—it was the only clean area on his entire face. I was too much of a lady to ask how often he bathed. He didn’t smell, but he didn’t look too clean either.

  “How?” He stared at me like I’d grown two heads. “Self-defense! Guns! Time Travel 101!”

  I blinked. “All that in a day, huh?”

  “Young lady, science is a life-long process.”

  I snorted. One more thing about Daddy Dearest: he couldn’t recognize sarcasm.

  Watson smiled and ducked his head. He turned and walked out of the room.

  Holmes put his monocle back on. I was pretty sure he didn’t need it.

  “Are you joshing me?” He stared at me, no smile evident.

  “Joshing?” I scratched my arm, thinking about what he was asking me.

  “Yes, yes.” He waved his hand. “Joking, teasing. You know, joshing me?”

  I’d never heard that term before, but it amused me that my father used it. “Yes, I am ‘joshing’ you.”

  He harrumphed and took his monocle off. “Josh Tatum, an enterprising little thief he was.”

  The abrupt change in subject made my head spin. “Who?”

  “Tatum. He’s the young man responsible for the term ‘joshing’. The one you obviously knew nothing about. He was singlehandedly responsible for the United States’ halting production of the nickel.”

  “Huh,” I said. “Another wrinkle in my brain.”

  Holme
s snorted in disgust. “Myth, Penelope. Myth. I’m disgusted you’d believe learning something new would give you a new brain wrinkle. The wrinkles you have in infancy are the same you will have your entire life, provided you don’t get cancer. This is not to say your brain doesn’t grow as you learn, just not as you would believe.”

  This was going to be a long immortality. I picked up my duffel and motioned for Watson to lead the way. He did so, and looked happy doing it.

  “Penelope!” my father called.

  I didn’t slow my steps, but turned back and kept walking. “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” He fidgeted with his waistcoat, his handsome face betraying his hope at my response.

  My steps faltered for a moment. Was I glad to be here? I wasn’t exactly sure about that. So I lied. “Me, too.” I smiled at the grin on his face, adjusted the duffle bag on my shoulder, and turned around to follow Watson.

  Watson bowed and swept his hand across like he was an English butler. “Madam, your quarters. I presume they are to your liking?”

  I stepped inside and knew right away Watson was being sarcastic. Spartan couldn’t even begin to describe my “quarters”.

  I speared him with a glance. “Are you serious?”

  He stood to his full height. “Deadly, I’m afraid.”

  I turned back to stare at the dull, gray thing awaiting me. The walls were gray; the floors were gray. One weak lightbulb dimmed sickly and swung to and fro on a rat-chewed cord. There was no way in hell I was living here.

  “No,” I said.

  “Penelope—”

  “No,” I said again. “There is no way in hell I am giving up everything and living in a rat infested shit hole!”

  I rounded on Watson. “Do you understand me?”

  Red-hot rage clung to my skin. Heat climbed up my cheeks and my brow broke into a cold sweat. I had not walked away from everything in my life to be treated like a boot camp recruit.

  His first mistake was not taking me seriously.

  “These are the only quarters we have.” He shrugged, like that should be it.

  I raised one eyebrow and stepped closer to him, feeling my hands shaking at my side. I am not normally an irrational person. Nor am I one prone to outbursts, but less than a week ago, a supposedly fictional man dropped into my life and made it one big ball of tangled yarn. And this was how I was supposed to deal? To just go quietly into the night like I wasn’t a person? Like I was just a tool?

  I was inches away from Watson. I leaned in, my voice low and deadly. “You will fix this.”

  He sighed. “I can’t. You aren’t to be treated any differently than anyone else.”

  Something inside me snapped. I’d left my home. My life. My few friends. My mother. My bed lay in ruins in my apartment. Worst of all, worse than any other thing, I would never, ever die. Perhaps that is what made me brave. Perhaps I could blame what happened next on those emotions.

  Perhaps.

  My hand lifted and with strength fueled by rage and the element of surprise, I grabbed Watson by his red flannel shirt and shoved him against the fragile wall inside of the hole he called my bedroom. We crashed against the wall, the noise a boom in the otherwise silent hallway. To steady himself, Watson wrapped his hands around my waist. I leaned into him, and whispered, “You will fix this or I will have your head. Do you understand me?”

  His hands tightened, searing his warmth into the hollow of my waist. Our lips were inches away from each other. I quivered with rage, and then with something...else. His breath quickened and deepened.

  “I don’t take orders from anyone.” His head moved a fraction closer to mine.

  “Neither do I,” I whispered.

  He closed the distance, his lips claiming mine in a searing kiss. One of his hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. The scent of him was intoxicating—male, wild, and something entirely inhuman. I moaned against his lips, pressed myself further into his hardness, and clenched the shirt still between my fists harder.

  With one deft hand, he freed my hair from its knot. It spilled around us, a sheet of black ink around my shoulders, flowing through his hands. He brushed it back from my face and broke away, both of us staring at the other in shock.

  My hand released his shirt. I touched my swollen lips, the taste of him still there, teasing me. I could have more if I just leaned in again. I was still pressed against him, one of his arms still around me.

  I knew the exact second the moment was over. His gaze shuttered over and he roughly pushed me away. I stumbled back, banging my hip on the edge of the crappy counter.

  Anger and desire warred for first place on his face. We stood there in uncomfortable silence until he finally broke it.

  “I will see about new quarters, Miss Wilde.” His fingers lifted to straighten out the wrinkles I’d left in his shirt. He nodded once and spun on his heel, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him.

  I rubbed my hip where it had struck the cheap, plastic counter. That was going to leave a bruise. Weak light filtered in from the one small window overlooking a kitchen sink that had seen better days. The steady drip, drip, drip of the leaking sink offered a constant background of noise—one I’d either get used to or end up wanting to eventually gouge my eyes out with a spoon.

  The cabinets were pressboard and several hung precariously by a single hinge. Seriously, was this some kind of test for me? If I was supposed to be grateful and humble, it was a good assumption I failed.

  The only two things I was feeling right now were pissed off and horny.

  “Stupid Watson,” I muttered under my breath. I leaned back against the dusty wall and waited for someone to come get me. If I had to stay here, I would leave. I might have been acting childish, but I didn’t care. There had to be some perks to giving your life away, right? And since I was the long lost daughter of a legend, didn’t that give me some leeway?

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  Chapter 11

  My eyes flew open as soon as I heard hesitant footsteps enter the room. Before me stood a man I had never seen before. A handsome man, I should clarify. Even though I was sitting down, I could tell he was extremely tall and lean, much like Watson. However, where Watson was craggy and fierce looking, this man had a friendly face. It was hard to explain, but I bet this man laughed a lot.

  But he didn’t look like he was amused by me.

  “Miss Wilde,” he said in a brusque, no-nonsense tone.

  “Yes?” I scrambled to my feet and dusted my pants off. I wasn’t sitting for long, but when you failed to clean a place for ten years, it got a little bit dusty.

  One of his eyebrows rose, but his expression gave no hint to what he was thinking. “You are to follow me into more acceptable quarters.” He didn’t say anything other than that, but from the disapproval in his voice and his aloofness, Mr. Friendly wasn’t too impressed with me.

  Sensing it wouldn’t be welcome, I said nothing, picked up my duffel, and followed him into the hallway. Mr. Friendly had a nice back and an even nicer backside. Black cargo pants hugged long, lean legs, which, I suspected, were taut with muscle. His pants tucked into sage green combat boots, and across his chest stretched a tight, gray-white t-shirt. He looked like a commando. Sort of strange attire, but so far nothing about my father surprised me.

  Mr. Friendly didn’t speak as we walked, so I, because I cannot be stopped, tried to make random conversation.

  “So…” I drawled, “do you come here often?”

  He stared straight ahead. I tried again.

  “Any idea of where we’re going?”

  Silence.

  I whistled Shave and a Haircut, hoping he’d join in. Nothing.

  “You’re a talkative guy, Roy.”

  His name probably wasn’t Roy, but if irking him resulted in anything other than this icy silence, I was all for it.

  Still more silence. I sighed and gave up. After a few more minutes of walking—how big was this freaking compoun
d anyway?—we stopped in front of a large office. Mr. Friendly held the door open for me and motioned for me to go inside. I glanced up at him, wondering if maybe I’d annoyed him to the point where he was about to throw me into a room with poisonous spiders. Amusement flickered in his gaze, something that didn’t make me feel any better. I steeled my shoulders and entered the room.

  It was dark, the only light coming from a few lit lanterns scattered around. I stopped as soon as I entered and was about to turn around and head out when a boom startled me. I spun around, only to see Mr. Friendly had shut the door right in my face. I suspected we weren’t going to be friends any time soon.

  I turned back around and tried to make sense of where I was. This room was definitely not new living quarters. If it was, someone had quite the sick sense of humor. I fumbled around on the right hand side of the wall looking for a light switch. Nothing there. I tried the left side…to no avail. The candlelight cast grotesquely large shadows all over the place, giving the room a decidedly macabre air.

  “Penelope.”

  I jumped and shrieked like a teenage girl in a horror flick. “Shit!”

  “No need for such vulgarities now.”

  My ears followed the sound of his voice until I tracked him over to the other side of the room. He sat in a large, wingback chair, engulfed by the behemoth desk he was behind. I walked slowly over to him, picking my way carefully through the room. Although it was candle lit, it appeared my father had a hoarding problem. There was crap stacked everywhere—on tables, the floor, overflowing on bookshelves.

  When I stood in front of the desk, I waved my hand around the room. “What’s this about?”

  This time, he wore eyeglasses. I was pretty sure he didn’t need those either. He pulled them down to the bridge of his nose and stared at me with steady green eyes. “I hear the accommodations are not to your liking.”

  “Yes. That is true.”