Nick of Time: Primetime of Life, #5

By L.A. Boruff

When TIME takes everything Rowena Hembree loves, she calls on friends old and new to take it back.

Raising a teenage daughter by herself and trying to rescue her handler is a lot for one witch, especially one grieving the loss of the love of her life, but Rowena Hembree is determined to undo the wrong from her past that has led to a domino effect of changes to her future.

Nothing is easy and thanks to the TIME agency trying to smooth ripples in the fabric of time, Rowena can't go back and undo the past.

Boy, has she tried. But maybe she can fix it through the present. She calls in old favors and brings together a wayward band of witches to help her hunt down her half-sister and infamous jewel thief, Fiona, who is trying to steal Ro's life to repave her own legacy.

Twists and turns accompany Ro on her journey, and she wouldn't make it without her best familiar, Fred.

Rowena Hembree has been to Hell and back in time. At this point, she can do anything. Including… no, can't tell you that. Spoilers!

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Phantom Pen
• Release date: Jan 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201132101

L.A. Boruff

L.A. Boruff lives in East Tennessee with her husband, three children, and an ever growing number of cats. She loves reading, watching TV, and procrastinating by browsing Facebook. L.A.’s passions include vampires, food, and listening to heavy metal music. She once won a Harry Potter trivia contest based on the books, and lost one based on the movies. She has two bands on her bucket list that she still hasn’t seen: AC/DC and Alice Cooper. Feel free to send tickets.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Fred

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Let me tell you a story. Snacks ready? Here we go… Once upon a time, I was Frederick the Great, of the Court of the Queen of Shadows. It was a million years ago. Not literally. Well, in the fae realm, time passes differently, so it could’ve been. Either way, back then, I was tall, golden-haired, and I had arms and legs. I lived a clean life, where I didn’t tip back anything other than fresh spring water. Okay, maybe, just maybe, there was the occasional glass of fairy wine.

Then, thanks to an unfortunate relationship, the details of which I’ve never shared with anyone, things took a hard left turn. Hence, why I spent most of my recent years enjoying a whole lot of beverages created by the Anheuser Busch companies. Before I was assigned to Rowena Hembree, that is. After I met Ro, I cut back on my drinking.

Most days.

That unfortunate relationship I mentioned before? I committed romance homicide, and the victim turned me into a familiar—a six-inch tall flying dragon with a pocket that existed in an alternate dimension. It was good for carrying things. Big things, little things, things that came in a six-pack. It was functional in a way that kept me sane, especially when I considered I could never use the eight inches of pure pleasure I was packing in my dragon suit. FYI, flying was no substitute for my real talent.

Archery. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Now I had wings and couldn’t shoot a dart gun.

Cynthia Dixon. I could barely look at her, but that’s a whole different part of a whole other story. Anywho, she was sitting with Ro at the kitchen table. No leisurely tea for these ladies today. We—I was an integral part of Ro’s team—had issues to deal with. I remained silent and invisible at Ro’s shoulder. Because of my aversion to Cynthia, I wanted to listen, maybe speak a little in Ro’s ear, her mind, actually, but not announce myself.

Over the years, I had had to watch Ro go through some trying times. Heartbreak and conflict.

It all started when she met a guy. Her other soulmate. I still maintain that I was first, but he was the guy she loved and lusted after. Of course, lusted. He was the older version of Justin Bieber without the tattoos. Craig Ferguson, AKA Cheesecake, AKA a VIF (Very Important Ferguson) at the TIME agency he and Ro worked for with Cynthia as their boss. He called Ro sweetheart. Of course, she didn’t mind the little nickname he gave her. Just the ones I did. Hmph.

Craig was the topic, indirectly, that had brought Cynthia here at this particular moment. His death and the events that occurred since.

A short recap: Ro found out she and Cheesecake were about to bring a bouncing baby super-witch into the world right about the same time Ro was assigned to kill the Gray Rabbit, a red tag mark who turned out to be her sister. Same daddy, different moms. Ro got all sappy and let her go with a promise that the sister, that bi-otch Fiona, wouldn’t kill anyone, but since the dawn of time, rogue witches have not been known for their honesty or trustworthiness.

Anywho, Ro jumped back to 1960, had her baby, lived eleven years nibbling her cheesecake unhindered, but as it so often does where matters of the heart were involved, it all came crashing down. That bi-otch Fiona didn’t keep her word, and she killed Craig… or so Ro thought.

Turned out, Sis was a hired gun. Either way, Craig died. Artie pulled Ro back to a time before she’d had her baby and they hid her there with her daughter until they could merge time.

But Fiona, that bi-otch, blamed Ro for her banishment, and then she somehow managed to marry her own piece of the perfect pretty-boy pie, and about a minute or so ago, he threatened Ro’s life. Then Cynthia shoved him through a portal and here we are.

Civilized. Sitting at the table like we were all girlfriends—spoiler: we were not.

Cynthia had her raising hell expression—deep frown, narrowed eyes, flared nostrils—plastered on her face. Honestly, I couldn’t remember a time she didn’t look like she’d just sucked on a lemon-soaked dill pickle.

My cheeks flushed. I could remember, but I was trying to forget.

Anywho…

Rowena. She never called anyone by their nickname. I was always Frederick. Ro was always Rowena. Her pretentiousness rankled. We found a virus in the agency computer system. It records all the data, keystrokes, and the information of every computer in the building. She shook her head. Of course, we had no idea where the information was being sent.

Ro sighed. I’m being blamed?

Cynthia, of the perfectly platinum hair—this week—nodded. You were because at the time, our tech guru hadn’t installed the web protocols for when anyone outside accesses the system. Yours was the only outside access. That was a hefty mistake she was admitting to, and they both knew it.

Cynthia’s frown went a few millimeters deep, and Ro shook her head. I didn’t do it.

"We know that now. We sent one of our techies back in time with a friend of mine, and he managed to get into your computer to plant a camera so we could see who it was."

No way was she going to blame this on me, too. I hadn’t watched porn in months. Not on Ro’s computer anyway. I was about one second from mussing the Ice Queen’s perfectly poofy coif, and not in a fun way.

Ro glanced at Cynthia as she spoke to me in her mind.

If Fiona somehow managed to pin this crap on me, I’m going to knock Cynthia out, and we run. We’ll figure out how to get to Sam before anyone responds.

You got it, cupcake. In sixteen years, I hadn’t given up on finding a pet name Ro would let me call her.

So inconspicuously, I was certain Cynthia didn’t notice, Ro shook her head. No to cupcake.

If you’re here to haul me in… she said warningly, an edge of steel in her voice.

Cynthia held up her hand. I’m not. She nodded to the space where she’d opened the portal as if it was still there. It was him. There was a certain distaste to her tone. I’d heard it before.

Keaton?

Oh, I never liked that little jerk. I’d called him Judas and Benedict Arnold. One was a betrayer; one was a traitor. Keaton gave off that stench.

Can you tell what he looked up? Ro asked.

Cynthia nodded. She wouldn’t have come all the way to Ro’s house without being armed with every single piece of information she could get her hands on. There was a time she wasn’t so uptight. Don’t get me wrong. She was uptight, but in a spank me for being naughty… ahem, just not like this.

He looked up the Gray Rabbit. Looks like he’s been trying to find her, too. Bad husband juju to not know where his wife was. He was certainly no Craig Ferguson. He planted her information in place of yours.

Of course.

He made it so that she could assume your place at the agency. The travel doesn’t seem to be working out. There’s a new ripple. A ripple in time was the equivalent of a plague of locusts. Forty days and forty nights of rain. Real biblical kind of stuff.

What does he hope to gain?

Cynthia shrugged one perfectly angular shoulder. A better story for his wife? Cynthia looked at the spot where I was hovering near Ro. I could’ve sworn she saw me, and I experienced a full-body shiver that ended on a belch that wasn’t in Ro’s head. What? Her gaze flipped to Ro.

Ro huffed out a breath. She knew exactly what had happened. I didn’t say anything.

Oh, okay. Cynthia shook her head. Anywho. Coincidence. Did she say anything to you?

Ro nodded. Yeah. She said she didn’t want her daughter to grow up thinking she was a criminal. She gave the Rowena Hembree sigh. It ended with a kind of moan, but not a good kind. It was more high-pitched. I suppose mine will.

No, no. I’ve restored your reputation. Well, well. Cynthia Dixon had a redeeming quality. Who knew? I certainly did not. Do you have any idea where Fiona might’ve taken Artie?

The Artie in question was Ro’s handler. The guy who helped her and protected her and opened portals for her. He trained her. Listened to her fears. He was her go-to in every era. I couldn’t be sure, but I always thought Artie was about a hundred or so years old.

It’s the same place I was taken, I’m sure. Reasonable deduction. How much access could a rogue witch have to multiple kidnapping and holding locations? I just don’t know where it was. You can’t track her?

A tech guru would never be as good as a familiar. Not that I could track that bi-otch Fiona or Artie, either, but I could do so many things he couldn’t even without opposable thumbs.

We’ve tried.

Ro shoved her chair back and stood, paced a couple of steps, then turned. It was her thinking process. Okay, hear me out. She laid her hand, palm flat over her forehead. I want to try a spell that Artie said could work if I ever needed to find someone.

Okay. Tell me about the spell. What do we need to do?

Ro sighed, and this one had more of a whimper inside of it. Well, I have to find the book he wrote it in. It’s probably at his place. She leaped over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a plastic bin where she kept odds and ends—dried up ink pens, receipts she might need someday, a wheat penny and a buffalo nickel, some business cards, and pulled out a bunch of old keys she had collected over the years. She sorted through and pulled out eight or nine keys. I think one of these is his. Anyway. He said to only use it in an emergency because it might be… kind of… I mean there are no guarantees, but it could end up… exploding anyone within a ten-mile radius if I miss any steps or pronounce something wrong. She paused. Magic this powerful could alert Fiona—that bi-otch—to my whereabouts and she could take me. Another short pause, but then she added, Again.

Or Ro could get the upper hand and finally put this bi-otch on the pyre where she belonged.

She was worried. Ro didn’t hem and haw very often. Apparently, Cynthia took cues from Ro’s stuttered and mumbled speech. One brow quirked, and she shook her head so that the floral scent of her shampoo wafted into the air. I didn’t notice. Couldn’t have cared less. No, sir.

I can’t risk you being recaptured. We just got caught up from the years you were away. Rowena rolled her eyes so hard that her eyes were not likely to come back. Then they did, and Cynthia went on. I can’t risk you imploding. I have a better idea.

Cynthia’s slow smile and eye sparkle were unfamiliar. No, not really unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Also, a little familiar.

CHAPTER TWO

Rowena

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at Cynthia. The woman she’d brought in, her big idea, was a seer witch, currently busy waving a smoking bit of sage around my house. She didn’t arrive, though, and wouldn’t even walk into the house until someone verified that I’d covered my computer screen, my television, any mirror, and hidden my cell phone in a drawer. I’d even had to throw a towel over my toaster because anything technological—not that my toaster was—could disrupt the flow of seer magic. Or some such nonsense.

Seer witches were a quirky bunch. They came with bunches of sage, and this one had a gold-leafed crown on her head with her braids wagging over the sides. I didn’t judge.

Ro, I don’t want to cast aspersions on her Royal Highness, Cynthia’s divine intervention.

Uh-oh. Fred was in a mood.

Then don’t.

I might as well have been talking to myself or the wall for all the good it did. Just hold back, Fred, and let’s see what she can do.

He scoffed. If only I could. What is Cynthia trying to prove by bringing Juliana Caesar Salad here?

I knew he would have something to say about her semi-toga—it was a