The Magic Maker

By Kate Harre

Emilia has got the hang of the whole time travel thing and she’s managing to juggle it alongside a busy University schedule. She and Seb have formed a solid partnership and an even better friendship, although there are still some things both keep close to their chests.
As Eddie makes his intentions clear and Justin tries to keep his hat in the ring, Seb has to battle his own jealousy and increasingly uncontrollable feelings for Emilia. Guarding his heart is proving to be his biggest challenge yet!
Their adventures take them to India, China and the Ottoman Empire, where the dangers they face increase with every mission.
But when tragedy strikes and turns Emilia’s world upside down, Seb may have left his run too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Nov 8, 2021

Book preview

PROLOGUE

‘You may delay, but time will not."

Benjamin Franklin

Six Months Ago, Montana

For too long, he had waited, unwilling to sacrifice that part of his soul that intuitively shied away from killing another human being.

But now that he’d finally done it, exhilaration rushed through him and he let out a whoop of laughter. What a rush it had been to feel the blade sink so easily into human flesh, past bone and into the vital organs.

Fear, he’d discovered, was a fascinating emotion – it was majestic and dominant, blocking out all lesser feelings in those final moments of life. It had been glorious to watch.

The dagger in his hand was slippery with blood as he lifted it to examine the blade curiously. He’d thought perhaps two subtle hues – one from each of his victims – would be visible, but it turned out blood was blood, no matter the person it came from.

He’d killed the woman first. His anger towards her had been deeper, because it was her pathetically consuming desire for a child that had brought him into this world; this world he had always felt so very detached from. He’d thought, too, it might be motivation for the man to give him what he rightfully demanded, what was his birth right.

But that had been a miscalculation on his part.

With the death of his wife, whom he would do anything for, the man’s will to live had faded and he’d become stubborn and defiant. Losing some of his appendages hadn’t even moved him. It was the first time he’d seen the man act with any form of courage and he’d found himself admiring him. Not enough to make his death any easier. No, the punishment for what the older man had done to him would not permit that.

Turning in a slow circle, he clinically assessed the front room of the small cabin. He’d made quite a mess. The log walls were smattered with drops of blood; so too, were the coffee table and the couch with the hideous floral pattern. None of that was as bad as the wooden floor, though, which was soaked a dark crimson around the two corpses. All of that could stay – it was a crime scene after all. But the DNA and fibres, those would have to be removed.

A casual flick of his fingers and all identifying evidence was gone. He strolled through the remaining rooms of the cabin, obliterating any trace of his existence here. Then he wandered back into the main room and stared clinically at the bodies. He could, of course, eradicate them too and leave nothing at all to even indicate a crime had taken place.

But then where would the validation of what he’d done be? He wanted his handiwork acknowledged, perhaps even admired. And, of course, leaving the bodies to rot for a while was fitting punishment for what they’d done to him.

Wandering outside, he closed the cabin door quietly behind him and pocketed the dagger – it was a favourite. The birds were quiet. In fact, now that he thought about it, it seemed like he was the only living being for miles. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep. It was a good day to be alive. He stood there for a while, pondering his next step. He hadn’t achieved his purpose today, but all was not lost.

He still had time. Now, he simply had to switch to the backup plan.

CHAPTER 1

May 1767, Bombay, India

A sharp, well-aimed whack behind the ear with an ornate candlestick holder cut short the screams of the corpulent Chamberlain. His hand instinctively opened as he collapsed to the floor and the parchment scroll he’d been clutching in his sweaty palm fell harmlessly from his limp fingers, safe from the fire he’d been about to throw it in.

Emilia crouched beside his prone form, holding her breath to prevent inhaling the pungent oils the man was drenched in, and felt for a pulse in the folds of his slick neck – still breathing. Scooping up the scroll, she rose to her feet and swiftly crossed the stifling room. She stuck her head carefully around the doorway and searched the corridor. No one was in sight, but multiple footsteps were approaching at speed from the direction she’d planned to exit. Damn!

Mentally berating herself for not silencing the Chamberlain earlier, she crossed quickly to the tiny window on the exterior wall. She thrust it open and took a hasty look around. The drop down wasn’t far, even for her vertically-challenged self, and while the gap between the window and the building next door was so narrow it was likely only rats used it as a byway, it was nonetheless just big enough for her to squeeze down sideways… hopefully… assuming breathing wasn’t much of a priority.

Since the only other option was to wait for the approaching soldiers and have her breathing cut short for good, she hauled herself up onto the windowsill and twisted awkwardly until she was facing outwards. Just as she shimmied into the narrow gap, a soldier burst into the Chamberlain’s office, spouting a rapid stream of Indian she didn’t understand but which, roughly interpreted, probably went along the lines of: Bugger! Someone’s attacked the stinking Chamberlain; raise the alarm.

Sucking in her breath, Emilia wiggled sideways, trying not to gag on the fetid reek of desiccating rodents and who knew what else. Her foot squelched on something spongy and a fresh wave of decaying flesh assaulted her nostrils. She shuddered, but refused to look down as she slowly inched her way down the gap. Sometimes it was best not to know.

Instead, Emilia glanced back at the window she’d wriggled out of and as she did so a head popped out, followed closely by another. She froze and slowed her breathing down. It was already dark, with only a small sliver of moon, and the narrow space between the buildings was darker still. But if they heard her move she was an easy target, unable even to attempt ducking in the cramped space.

Both soldiers looked right, left, right again, shouted something back into the room and then their heads were gone as quickly as they had emerged. Emilia released her pent up breath and started shuffling again, wincing now and again as her knees scraped against the rough stone wall in front of her. At last, she reached the end of the gap and, after checking the way was clear, she stepped out into a bigger alley, further away from her destination than she would have liked, but at least she was alone.

Unfortunately, she didn’t remain alone for long.

At the end of the alley, a soldier ambled around the corner, cursorily sweeping the area with little expectation… until he caught sight of her. They both froze, staring at each other – her in dismay, him in surprised anticipation. Emilia was the first to react, snapping to attention as though her life depended on it – because it probably did. Spinning on her heel, she sprinted in the opposite direction, darting around the first corner she came to. Behind her, she could hear excited shouting as the soldier alerted the others to her whereabouts.

There was no time to think about the carefully planned route she’d intended to take; she simply ran, knowing eventually she’d encounter the huge fort wall.

Emilia raced through the rabbit warren of dank, muck-ridden alleyways of Mahim Fort, arms and legs pumping ferociously. She ducked and wove around discarded, rotting wagons, stinking piles of waste and the odd, equally bad smelling, drunken soldier as she sought to elude the dozen or so men now on her tail.

Where was Seb? Her eyes searched frantically for him in the darkness, even as she continued on the haphazard route Seb would have no way of anticipating or following.

As she ran, Emilia tore awkwardly at the sari she was wearing, unwinding it until she was finally able to toss the cumbersome fabric behind her. She tucked the scroll in the waistband of the loose pants she’d been wearing underneath the sari. It bore the only proof of the child’s parentage and the only evidence of his existence. Now was definitely not the time to claim that heritage, but one day… one day when he was old enough he might want to know where he’d come from. One day, he might want to know who had wanted him dead so badly.

The exterior walls of the Fort loomed ahead of her, dotted sporadically with the flickering flames of the torches the sentries used to guide their way along the narrow stone top. She squinted in the darkness, looking for the crude steps marking the way to the top of the stone ramparts.

Behind her a blunderbuss fired and she flinched as a lead pellet shattered against the wall just to her right. A slight smile flickered across her face in appreciation of the inaccuracy of weaponry in the eighteenth century. If it had been a modern shotgun firing, she would have been dead.

Finally finding what she was looking for, Emilia hopped nimbly up the first few stone steps, her fingers trailing lightly against the rough stone wall to keep her balance. She glanced down. There were soldiers everywhere, bursting out of alleyways and converging on the wall – word had obviously spread.

Two more of these early forms of shotgun fired in quick succession, puffs of smoke emerging from their barrels and marking the trajectory of the pellets. While they might be inaccurate, if enough guns fired in her general direction Emilia was bound to get hit eventually. But before they had a chance to make impact, the pellets abruptly stalled in mid-air and dropped harmlessly to the ground.

Emilia grinned and raced up the remaining steps, adrenalin giving her a renewed burst of energy – Seb had clearly made it to their meeting place before her and was warding off the threat from below.

‘Are you okay? Did you get it?’ he demanded, as she arrived at the top of the wall.

His mouth was drawn tight and lines of stress radiated from the corners of his eyes as he gave her a quick once-over. The tension only leeched out of his tall frame when he saw she was unharmed. Despite his anxiety, the arm holding the baby pressed against his chest was gentle, one large hand cupping the child’s head protectively. He looked good with a baby, even though she knew fatherhood wasn’t on his agenda – ever! One day she hoped he’d tell her why.

Emilia nodded. ‘The Chamberlain busted me rifling through his desk and raised holy hell. I think he woke half the Fort!’ She grimaced. ‘Which meant I had to knock him out… he’ll have a nasty headache when he wakes up.’

Seb raised an eyebrow. Emilia merely looked pointedly at the two prone bodies of the sentries lying behind Seb – unconscious but still breathing.

‘Point taken. Doesn’t matter now anyway.’ Seb smiled slightly in acknowledgment, his good humour returning. ‘We’re nearly clear and this little one will be better for it.’

A rock shattered below them and Emilia glanced back down the way she’d come. Six soldiers were clumsily ascending the steps, cursing loudly as they stumbled in the darkness. The steps were beginning to show the strain of the increased traffic, small pebbles skittering this way and that, the odd bigger stone dislodging entirely and falling to the hard-packed dirt at the base of the wall.

‘Time to go,’ she murmured. ‘Do you have a plan for getting down the other side?’

‘We jump.’ Seb shifted the baby to his right shoulder, ignoring the whimper of protest from the tiny mouth nestled against his chest, and held out his left arm to Emilia. ‘Trust me?’

She didn’t answer; she didn’t need to. She stepped close to him and curled one arm around his neck, the other over the baby’s body to Seb’s ribcage as an extra hold. Not that Seb would ever let anything happen to such a defenceless child, but she had to put her arm somewhere.

Seb’s hand closed firmly around her waist, pulling her tightly to his side, and then he stepped backwards off the wall.

The sensation of falling from a great height was something Emilia wasn’t particularly familiar with. She closed her eyes and buried her face against the side of his neck, inhaling the scent that was uniquely Seb, trying to distract herself. She was quite comfortable with heights per se… not so much with falling. Her stomach battled for position with her throat and just when it seemed her stomach might win, the falling stopped and Emilia lifted her head. She looked down. They were floating about a foot off the ground, drifting slowly lower until their feet settled gently on the sand and pebbles of the beach.

Seb immediately pried her fingers away from his neck and rubbed the spot they’d gouged into with a rueful grimace.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, flushing. She hadn’t even realised her grip around his neck had been so tight. The baby, she noted in embarrassment, hadn’t made a sound the whole way down.

‘I’ll live.’ He handed her the baby, carefully supporting the child’s head as he did so. ‘Sanjeet should be waiting with the boat a bit further down the beach.’

Emilia walked briskly in the direction Seb pointed, ignoring the rapid bursts of gunfire from the wall. The soldiers had finally reached the top of the steps but the light from the torches hampered their view of the beach below and they were firing wildly into the darkness. Seb, walking backwards behind her, kept any stray pellets from hitting them by blind luck.

The baby snuggled closer, his downy head tucking trustingly under her chin. Emilia wondered how anyone could want to harm such an innocent child. But she knew well enough the motive. This baby was the product of an affair between the Governor of Bombay, a thoroughly British man, and his very much Indian servant. A child of mixed race was an embarrassment to the Governor, both politically and personally, and a threat to the inheritance of the yet-to-be-born legitimate child of his English wife.

She and Seb hadn’t been able to determine whether it was the Governor himself or his wife who had engineered the plot to kill the baby before he had even reached his second week of life. Or perhaps it was someone else entirely, a loyal servant or soldier aware of the consequences if the child’s existence were to become widely known. Who, had not been important. Getting the baby to safety was. But still, Emilia couldn’t help but wonder who harboured murder in their callous, scheming heart. It didn’t sit well with her that such a person would continue living unpunished and undiscovered.

A voice tentatively called out to them in the darkness. Emilia looked to the right and could barely make out the figure of a man standing in the lapping water of the almost high tide. She veered in that direction, Seb falling into step beside her now that they were out of range of the shots still being fired mindlessly from the Fort.

He greeted Sanjeet, who he’d made contact with earlier in the day to arrange the next stage of the baby’s rescue. Then he gestured for Emilia to step forward and hand over the child. She moved forward jerkily into the water, finding herself suddenly reluctant to let the child go now she had him in her arms. Brushing a light kiss against his tiny forehead, she forced herself to deposit him carefully into Sanjeet’s waiting arms.

‘Where are you going to take him?’ Emilia asked, hoping the child would have a good life.

‘Well out of Bombay,’ he said in near perfect English. ‘I’ll sail around the headland and up the coast. There’s a Hindu temple deep in the jungle where he’ll be safe.’

‘Will he have to become a monk then? Is that the life we’re sending him to?’

Seb’s hand settled in the small of her back, trying to sooth her agitation. She knew she wasn’t supposed to form connections or care what happened to the people she met during their missions. But she couldn’t automatically switch off like that. It wasn’t the way she was made.

Sanjeet shook his head, his dark eyes serious in the moonlight. ‘He’ll be raised in their ways, but the choice will always be his.’

‘What about…’

‘Em,’ Seb admonished quietly.

‘I’ll check in on him from time to time, make sure he knows his heritage,’ Sanjeet responded, with an understanding smile.

Emilia nodded sombrely, knowing there was nothing she could do about it anyway. When they’d set off on this mission she hadn’t known how much harder it would be with a child. Adults could generally look after themselves with a little help from her and Seb, but this baby was so defenceless and they had just put him in the hands of a virtual stranger.

Seb squeezed her shoulder and she looked up at him and saw her feelings reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t as indifferent as he’d seemed on the surface. She gave him a wobbly smile and turned to watch Sanjeet place the baby securely in a Moses-style basket in the bottom of the boat.

When he turned back, Emilia tugged the scroll out of the waistband of her pants and passed it to him. ‘So he’ll always know where he came from.’

Sanjeet nodded his thanks and climbed into the gently bobbing boat. Seb stashed a bag of supplies he’d discretely conjured up between the other man’s feet and then got behind the boat to give it a push off into deeper water.

‘Goodbye, little one,’ Emilia murmured, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Seb waded back to her side and trailed a gentle finger down her cheek. ‘Sanjeet’s a good man, Em. He’ll keep the child safe.’

‘I’m glad we got him out, Seb. But I didn’t realise it would be so hard to let him go.’

‘Ah, my Angel with the soft heart,’ he teased softly.

Emilia scowled. ‘Don’t think it means I’m not cut out for this job, because I am!’

Seb laughed. ‘And there’s the avenging Angel I’m so much more familiar with!’

‘Oh shut up,’ she muttered and held her hand out to him. ‘Let’s get out of here before those bumbling soldiers emerge from the Fort.’

His hand wrapped around hers, warm and solid. Emilia twisted the dials on her pendant and felt the now-familiar rush as they headed back to their own time.

CHAPTER 2

Present Day, Ithaca

The clock on the kitchen wall read a very early 5:37am. Emilia sighed. ‘There’s not much point going to bed now, is there?’

Seb, already in the process of peeling an orange, shook his head. ‘Nope. Feel like going for a run?’

Emilia sighed again. It had been an especially athletic mission for her and for once exercise wasn’t something she was looking forward to. ‘I guess we should do something with the time… except my energy levels are a bit depleted. Can we do some strength training instead?’

Seb popped several segments of orange into his mouth in one go and shrugged. ‘Sure.’

‘I’ll go and get changed.’

‘No need, Angel.’

Seb’s fingers fluttered so faintly Emilia almost missed it. But one second he was in a long tunic and loose pants, the next he was in gym shorts and t-shirt. Emilia felt an almost negligible movement against her skin and looked down – she was wearing black fitted leggings and a hot pink skin-tight scooped neck crop top that barely covered her goods.

She lifted a brow at Seb and crossed her arms over her chest, feigning indifference but really just trying to hide what he’d put on such blatant display. ‘Really?’

‘What?’ He tried for an innocent look, but couldn’t quite hold back a wicked grin. ‘It’s running gear and the top’s a bright colour, which you love.’

‘I didn’t realise you had lecherous tendencies,’ she said in disgust.

‘I’m a guy!’

Emilia wiggled her fingers suggestively. ‘Can you give me something more like what I usually wear, please? Because there’s no way I’m going to the gym dressed in this!’

‘Spoilsport!’ Seb muttered, but when she looked down again the crop top had