Luke's Gold Read online

  The first thing he noticed was the noise. Ungodly sounds all around him, sending his heart pounding. Luke scrambled to his feet and quickly stepped toward the building behind him. A man passing by shot him a curious look but continued on his way. He wore clothes Luke had never seen before, long breeches topped with a matching jacket that stopped just below his backside. A long neck cloth finished his dress, and Luke saw that most of the men hurrying past wore the same type of outfit. He glanced down at his own clothes and knew he’d draw attention if he stood here any longer.

  The busy street stretched wide in front of him, filled with shiny carriages making their noisy way without benefit of horses. The smells that assailed him were sickening.

  No sweet grass or strong earth or horseflesh filled his nostrils, just a burning scent that caused him to cough.

  Judging by the buds on the trees he reasoned it must be spring here, too. In the wide window of the building beside him he spied breeches and shirts like those the men here wore, along with softer looking clothes in pale grays and greens and blues. He felt in his pocket for the now money he’d taken from Seamus’s stash. Still there. Blowing out a breath, he entered the store.

  Luke took a moment to look around, pleased that the noise and smell of the street didn’t linger when he let the glass door close behind him. Here he smelled sandalwood and the sharp sting of perfume.

  “May I help you?” a feminine voice asked.

  He turned to find a woman eyeing him. She wore a simple skirt of black with a shirt that looked like a man’s, though it was tighter than a man would wear it and unbuttoned to reveal the tops of her breasts. As he watched, she arched her back and smiled. Luke swallowed in response. His charm worked on mortal women, then. Bloody wonderful.

  “Aye, miss.” He took a step away from her. “I be needin’ some clothes.”

  “I see.” The woman slowly ran her gaze over him. “But I must say I like your costume. Very PBS.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but he nodded anyway. She showed him some of the breeches and waistcoats the dandies on the street wore. Instead, he walked toward a rack holding shirts made of plaids he’d never seen on any Scotsman.

  He touched one shirt and found it as soft as if it had been washed over and over.

  “I like this.”

  The woman murmured agreement. “Oh, let me see if we have your size.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and he stilled. “Nice, broad shoulders.” As she walked toward the back of the store, her hips swayed.

  Luke found a male clerk standing near a humming box on the counter and crossed to him. “I’d like breeches, please. Like the pale blue ones in the window.”

  The man blinked at him. “Breeches? Oh, jeans.” He, too, ran his eyes over Luke but without the predatory gleam the salesgirl had shown. “Hmm. Thirty-two waist, I’d say,” he said. “Maybe thirty-six length.”

  Luke shrugged. The man turned to the shelves behind him and pulled out a few pairs of the pants Luke had admired in the window. He handed them to Luke and he found that they, too, felt like they had been washed many times. “You can try them on in there,” the clerk said.

  The woman returned with the shirts and Luke took them and the pants into the small room the man indicated. The shirts were soft. The pants fit like a second skin and buttoned like his breeches. They wouldn’t fit over his boots, though. He stood there in his bare feet and wondered what to do next.

  “What about shoes, honey?” the woman asked.

  Luke turned to see her feet beneath the edge of the swinging door. How long had she been standing there?

  She entered the tiny room and he stepped back to allow as much space as possible between them.

  She held up what looked like stockings. “I brought some socks.” She looked down. “Big feet. Nice.”

  Luke felt her gaze move up to his groin and gave a small shake of his head. “I

  thank you, lass,” he said.

  She handed him the stockings and pressed closer. “Gerald won’t bother us in here.”

  Luke placed his hands on her shoulders and gently eased her away from him.

  “The shoes, lass. Please.”

  “All right.” She pouted as she turned away. “I’ll find you something in a thirteen, I guess.”

  Luke rolled his eyes and pulled on the white stockings she brought for him. He picked up his old clothes and left the dressing room. When he came out he found the man, Gerald, waiting with a few pairs of shoes. The woman was nowhere to be seen, to Luke’s relief. He didn’t need the complication of a tryst, least of all with a mortal in another time.

  Luke looked at the shoes, as fine as any he’d made in their shop at home. The colors! He picked up one of the white and blue shoes and grinned. “It’s so light.”

  “Yes,” Gerald said. “These sneakers are very popular. Cross-trainers.”

  Luke had no idea what he was talking about, but he had to have the shoes. He slipped on the sneakers and chose a pair of the green ones as well. Uncle Seamus loved all things green.

  The man totaled Luke’s purchases on the humming box at the counter. A few

  pairs of pants, several soft plaid shirts, plain buttonless shirts for “tea” the man said could be worn beneath the plaids, and the remarkable sneakers. Luke went through the pocket of his old breeches and paid the man. Thankfully he’d taken plenty of Seamus’s now money. To pay so much for clothes, though? His brothers would have a good laugh over this.

  Luke thanked the man and took his bags. As he stepped back out onto the busy

  street he glanced about. Now what? His amber was cold and still beneath his new shirt, giving him no direction to find the thieving Pixie. He needed to rest after the time jump, and the jarring dose of the future hadn’t ease his mind or body. His stomach growled. He had to have something to eat. He’d worry about where to sleep later.

  Lining this main street of the city were plenty of places that served hearty food and stout ale. One looked much like a pub back in the dell, with dark woods and green-shaded lanterns, so he entered. He ignored the curious looks his manner of speaking drew and ordered some items by their intriguing pictures on the menu. The chicken wings cooked in piping-hot sauce stung his mouth and the things called “cheese fries” dripped an ungodly orange dressing that was salty and tangy. Oh, the food was nothing like Mrs.

  O’Grady made. He smacked his lips and grinned, drinking down two full mugs of ale to cool his mouth.

  He put off leaving the pub as long as he could. Where would he go? The noisy street held no draw for him. He didn’t want night to fall without having a place to sleep.

  He left enough money on the table to pay his bill and braced himself as he went back out onto the sidewalk.

  That rustling sound came again, the shuffle of feet, and Luke turned to see nothing but more strangers hurrying past him. Strange. He lifted his head he sniffed the air. No ocean smell, he was disappointed to find. No lake that he could see. He saw a sign for the White River State Park and walked a few blocks toward the river. To his disappointment the White River bore little resemblance to its name. Brown and slow, it was unappealing. There were no places to stay beside it anyway. He turned from the river and continued down the sidewalk.

  Thanking God for his quick Braunach mind, he set the noises and confusion of the city aside and focused on finding a place to settle. The sound of water drew him at last

  and he soon found himself near a fountain. Canals snaked away from it, manmade from smooth-hewn stone. Tall buildings stood near these canals, and one resembled an inn despite its height. Luke pulled open a wide glass door and stepped into what looked like a drawing room. Settees lined the walls and large floral arrangements colored the room.

  Luke shifted his bags of clothes to one hand and stepped toward a long desk.

  “Excuse me.”

  The dapperly-dressed man behind the desk smiled up at him. “May I help you?”

  “I need a place to stay for a short
time, sir.”

  “For how long?” The man’s brows drew together. “We don’t lease by the night, but if you furnish references and pass a credit check we can do a month-by-month.”

  Luke had no time to furnish the references or credit checks the man mentioned, whatever those were. Surely some of his uncle’s money and his own charm could secure a room. A gentle push would have the man seeing things Luke’s way.

  “That would be fine,” Luke said.

  The innkeeper escorted him to double doors made of some thick brass-colored metal. With the dinging of a bell the doors slid open and Luke glimpsed a small square room walled with glass within. The outside was visible through the glass walls and Luke looked at the man in question.

  “The apartment is on the ninth floor, Mr. MacDonald,” he said.

  Luke didn’t see any stairs in the glass room. The man stepped inside and looked at Luke expectantly. Luke got in just as the doors closed with a whoosh behind him, and he jumped as the little room began to shake. Suddenly his stomach fell to his feet as the glass box rose. He closed his eyes and willed his stomach to settle as his heart raced.

  When he opened them he found the manager watching him.

  “Don’t like heights, I take it?” the man said with a knowing smile.

  Luke couldn’t speak. Heights? He peered over the man’s shoulder to see sky and clouds. What the devil..? His heart pounding, he turned to the double doors at his back.

  They opened with another of those little dinging sounds and after the innkeeper stepped out Luke took a tentative step out onto the carpet. Back on firm ground, thank the Lord.

  A long hallway stretched before him and he followed the other man past several paneled doors to stop in front of one of them.

  “Ninety-two thirteen,” the man read off the plaque next to the door.

  Luke could only nod, his head still spinning after the flight in the glass box.

  The man opened the door and waved an arm as he showed off the rooms. The flat was dull and drab with all the life of a February morning in Dublin.

  “Here is the living room,” the man said. “The bedroom is through that door. I think you’ll find it very suitable for one man.”

  “Very,” Luke answered. Especially for one Braunach who didn’t plan to be here long.

  “You have a full bath with a shower in there,” the man went on. “And the kitchen is stocked with dishes and silverware. There isn’t a washer and dryer but you can call the desk and we’ll clean your clothes for a fee.”

  Luke nodded again, feeling like the biggest fool. A shower? Was it raining in there? He didn’t hear any water. The laundry he understood. Mrs. O’Grady looked after their domestic affairs in the dell; there was probably a housekeeper somewhere in this big building, too.

  The man handed Luke two matching keys. He took a folded paper from his pocket and spread it out on the small round table near the kitchen. “Two months’ rent, Mr.

  MacDonald,” he said. “And security.”

  Security? Luke could use some right now. There was no way in Hell he’d step

  close to that large window behind the ugly beige settee.

  “How much, then?” Luke asked.

  The man named a large amount of money which Luke paid from his stash. The

  innkeeper arched a brow then grinned. “Corporate accounts are the best, huh?”

  Luke doubted the man would pry into his affairs. He left several lines on the sheet blank and signed his name. Then he stared into the man’s eyes and smiled. “I’m not from here. You can trust me to keep things as they are.”

  The innkeeper blinked, wiping his brow as he nodded. “Yes, yes.” He glanced at the paper where Luke had scribbled his information. “Ireland?” the man asked. “So you’re a consultant, then.”

  Why not? “Aye,” Luke said.

  He stared at Luke for a moment before his eyes cleared. “Call the desk if you need anything, Mr. MacDonald.”

  With that, the man left Luke to his odd quarters. The cost had surprised Luke, and he hoped he’d be home before he had to pay more to the innkeeper. Security, the man had said. Well, Luke would have all the security he needed when he had his family’s gold back in his hands.

  He tossed his bags of clothes on the wide bed in the tidy bedroom and stretched out beside it. The day caught up to him in a rush. He recalled that odd rustling he’d sensed right before the leap but the time jump had worn him out. His mind was as tired as his body.

  He wouldn’t think about the ride up to his apartment in a glass box that rose faster than smoke from a pipe, causing his stomach to drop just as fast. He wouldn’t think about the lass in the clothing store who had all but offered herself to him that afternoon. His head ached from using his charm and his wits since dropping into this strange place. He

  yawned. He’d look for the Pixie tomorrow. Tonight he’d sleep.

  Chapter 3

  In the morning Luke accustomed himself to the workings of marvels such as

  running water. Hot water! He was pleased to find with just the turn of a handle he could have steaming water to bathe with. This was surely the “shower” the innkeeper had mentioned. After a few tentative jiggles of the cold handle on the tall chamber pot, the sound of sucking water made him jump back. He did it again, watching the water swirl and swirl until it disappeared like before. He made use of the contraption, nodding with satisfaction when he sent the soiled water down into the hole. Interesting Little bottles of cleansers were lined up beside the washbasin, and he opened the one marked “shampoo.” Was that French? It smelled like spice and flowers, very nice.

  The bottle had a lot of long words on it, some that looked like Latin. One word on the label said “hair,” so Luke took it into the washtub. The soap was easier to fathom and lathered generously in the stream of hot water pouring down. The shower was vastly preferable to washstands and pots and hauling buckets of water. He’d miss these conveniences when he went home.

  Home. God, he missed the dell. And his family. He closed his eyes and let the water pound down on him. How was his uncle now? Did he even notice Luke was gone?

  Patrick and Sean were taking care of the old man in Luke’s absence. He prayed that Patrick was up to the responsibility. Sean was too young to do more than worry.

  Luke dressed in his modern clothes and laced up his sneakers. Nice. His stomach rumbled. He couldn’t eat all his meals at the pubs that lined that busy street. That was certain. His uncle’s money had to last until he found the bloody Pixie. Surely there was a market nearby. The innkeeper had shown him the cold box and the oven. Luke wouldn’t touch the oven, but the cold box would hold the food he’d buy. He rubbed his hands over his face. Lord, there was so much to keep straight. He wanted to focus on finding the

  Pixie, not on learning to function in Indianapolis.

  He took the keys the manager had given him and stepped out into the hallway.

  The up-and-down box was to his left. An elevator, Luke remembered the innkeeper had called it. He didn’t look forward to stepping into that thing again. He saw a sign for the stairs and gladly walked down the nine flights to the lobby.

  He stepped outside and lifted his head to sniff the morning air, finding it as stale and peculiar as yesterday. Keeping to the sidewalk, he made his way to the nearest market. The smell of coffee filled his nostrils and he couldn’t resist entering a busy little restaurant. He stepped behind several people barking out odd combinations of words while loud machines behind the counter ground and gurgled. Skinny double shot no foam? Tall mocha with whip? The man standing in front of Luke wasn’t as tall as he, and he carried no whip. Strange.

  “Half caf toffee nut,” the thin man behind the counter called.

  Luke looked around for a cow and only saw a cup made of paper topped with a glossy white lid.

  “Thanks,” a woman said beside him. She reached for the cup smiled as she lifted it to her nose, wearing the same expression Seamus wore when he listened to his
favorite songs. Or his brother Sean when Mrs. O’Grady set a platter of her special shortbread biscuits on the table. A pang of loneliness struck him.

  “May I help you?” the man asked.

  Luke glanced up at the board behind him, lost in the colored chalk and scrawled pictures.

  “Hello!?” the man shouted.

  “Coffee,” Luke said.

  “Just coffee?” the man asked.

  “Aye.”

  Shrugging, the man quickly filled one of those paper cups and handed it to Luke.

  “Four dollars.”

  Luke pulled back. “Four dollars? For a cup of coffee?” That was nearly what he paid for his thick new stockings!

  When the man just shrugged again, Luke stepped up to the chirping box like the one in the clothing store and paid the girl with pink hair standing behind it. Pink hair?

  Jewelry dangled from one eyebrow and twinkled on one side of her nose. Was she a Faery? When she bellowed out the next person’s order, Luke made up his mind. The amber was cool and silent against his throat, so he guessed he was right. She was no Faery, just a brash American with peculiar taste in jewelry.

  He left the place and sipped his coffee as he looked for a market. He didn’t have to walk long before he found one crammed with all the items he would need for his short stay here. More of Seamus’s money bought bread, fruit, vegetables and milk. He saw strange drinks in bottles of what looked like glass but were very light. The stuff bubbled like ale but looked like candy and there was no way he’d taste it. The Lord knew what it would do to his teeth.

  He saw a box of cereal with the little man dressed in green, a Leprechaun even uglier than Daniel O’Shey. Well, Luke didn’t need those particular charms of luck when he had his own charm and cunning. He chose instead a box with a smiling sea captain that made him think of the ports on the coast of Ireland.