Page 129 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
“Not really, but I skimmed through a compilation of his works. My dad gave it to me.”
“You should’ve read it from cover to cover.” Pete peered up at the stars, diamonds swimming the aurora majesta’s surf. “He was a brilliant thinker. Witty as well.”
“Wasn’t he also a major hater of Catholicism? I’m surprised you’re okay with that.”
“What makes you assume I’m Catholic?”
“The rosary I found by your bed. Don’t know why else you’d have it.”
“Very shrewd of you.” Pete veered to the right, and I followed, close on his heels.
“You don’t mind Voltaire’s criticism of your entire belief system?”
Pete shrugged. “I’ve also never been the fool who hates those who disagree with me, especially on the matter of religion. For on Earth, we were all just guessing. Aye?”
“Still, how did a nice papist boy like yourself, who was probably raised to believe every word of the bible as fact, cope when he got here and learned that the almighty God he’d been worshiping his entire life was actually—” I gasped for dramatic effect. “Dum dumdum—an almightyGoddess?”
He smirked. “I thought it made more sense—females being the bearers of life. Logically, the creator of all should be of the same fair and glorious sex.”
Now,thatwas a downright stunning answer.
“What?” he asked at my dreamy expression.
I shook my head. “Are you sure you’re from the 1770s?”
“Aye. As much as you’re from the 2010s.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled, then stopped. “Wait—what?”
Twenty-Two
“Isthissomekindof joke?” I glared at the front page of a newspaper Pete had found me at the market. “It’s got to be. You’re playing a vicious prank on me.”
Pete grimaced at the Washington Post issue. The paper looked and felt genuine—so soft its print transferred to my fingertips—but ithadto be fake.
“I’m afraid not, Shorty. As you can well see, it’s now the year 2018 on Earth. Obama completed two terms as president. Then the pendulum swung too far the other way, and—”
“Buy now or drop now,” a voice groused at us. I peered up to find the Goblin owner of the stall we perused glaring at us beneath a fringed Victorian oil lamp.
Goblins looked just as I’d expected. They were slender, olivey little creatures with pointed ears so big they flopped over at the arch. Hooked noses marked their elongated faces—even the unfortunate beyns’. The feyr before me had beady black eyes beneath bushy yellow brows. He was bald but for a smattering of blonde puffs behind his ears, and he smelled like peat moss.
Offering the grumpy Goblin what I hoped was a disarming smile, I set the newspaper back down on its pile amongst a hodgepodge of human contraband and outlawed fae goods.
“You’re saying I somehow skipped over the past 10 years?” I asked Pete.
He led me away from the crotchety trader, and we continued weaving through the largest, most elaborate outdoor bazaar I’d ever seen. Stalls suited for horses and lit with fae asters overflowed with minutiae, and a variety of fae in search of a good deal.
“In a manner of speaking,” Pete answered. “I’d wager you crossed the portal with a chronopath.”
My incomplete understanding must’ve shown on my face.
“A chronopath is someone who can travel through space and time on Earth. I think that you were born here in the year 1998, but when you crossed to Earth, someone ensured you wound up in the past, years before you were born.”
“Why?” This question was purely rhetorical. How could Pete explain something he couldn’t know? Still, he gave it a go.
“Likely to frustrate Gentian from following you.” He regarded me like an uncracked riddle. “Harbingers can easily track you through the human world, but they can’t follow your scent into the past.”
When I’d touched Angel Oak, had I not only opened the portal to those bogeybats but also guided them through to the correct time?Ugh.
