A Druid's Torment (closed for Callmetim)

[DarkWarrioress]

Tara Andrews sat behind her desk, fingers drumming on the surface. Assistant Curator. That was her title. She had all the education to back up the title, but all she really was, was a glorified librarian. Her specialty lie with the ancient books. She guarded every single one in her care ferociously. That was partly why she was scowling now. Tara couldn’t believe her boss had consented to letting some Scottish gentleman, touch and read the Book of Kells that was on loan to their museum. It was unheard of. She didn’t care that the man had several Scottish artifacts he was willing to donate to them. Okay, well, maybe she did care, just a little. She had a love for Scottish history and everything that went with it. To say she was fascinated with Scottish artifacts was putting it mildly. But still. What did they know about this man? Did he even know how to handle such a historical treasure? One they were responsible for? Probably not. He was probably some rich, egotistical man that thought his money could buy him whatever he wanted. Well, he was going to learn differently when she turned up with the book in her possession. She wasn’t letting it out of her sight. He wasn’t even going to be allowed to touch it. She would don the gloves and turn the fragile pages. To make matters worse, the man had requested she bring the book to his penthouse. Of all the arrogant…

Tara sighed, glancing at the clock on her office wall. She’s deal with it tomorrow. Her work day was over now. It was time to go home and relax. It had been another harrowing day at the museum. Oddly, the books that had gone missing last week, were right where they should have been and Tara knew they hadn’t been there yesterday. Who could have returned them to their rightful spot? She had interrogated everyone who worked the museum floor and no one knew a thing. Even odder was the fact that more books were missing now from a different section. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to borrow them and yes, she used the term borrow because this wasn’t the first time book had gone missing or been returned either. It was the strangest thing. She had memorized the book titles of the missing and for the love of books, she couldn’t figure out why anyone would need such books.

Taking her purse from her desk drawer, she stood up and shut off her office light. The soft tap of her heels on the office floor bounced off the walls as she made her way to the door and opened it. A quick turn, a quicker scan of the office and the door closed softly behind her.

~~ ~~​

Somewhere in Scotland


“BRYCE! DAMN IT MAN, WHERE ARE YOU?”

From the grand staircase above that split off into three directions, stood a tall, sinfully handsome, well built Scot. He wore a kilt but no shirt and was leaning over the rail to shout back at his brother below.


“CADEN! WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING AT ME?”

The man on the staircase cleared his throat and started again, but in a tone that was quieter.

“What is it you want?”

“We got a letter today from our brother. You know, the one that has hundred dark souls inhibiting his body.”

Bryce took his sweet time coming down the stairs. His brother Caden was built almost the same as his older brother but his chest was a bit wider. Both of them wore nothing but their kilts.

“No one told the fool to mess with history. We all knew something bad would happen.”

Bryce gave his brother a look.

“If he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be alive to talk of it. He did what he did for family.”

It was a sore point with Caden. He felt guilty that his oldest brother had sacrificed himself to save him from certain death. In fact, Caden had actually died but his brother had used the ring of stones to go back in time and save his brother from dying. Their abilities as Druids were not to be used for personal gain. The consequences would be dire and so they had been. Their brother knew what was to become of him if he saved Caden and so far he had held out against the dark souls in his body, but at what price and how much longer ? Bryce tried to snatch the letter from Caden but Caden was faster.

“What does he have to say?”

Caden read the letter quickly and silently then shook his head.

“No luck so far. He hasn’t gotten any answers but he is holding out hopes that there will be something in this Book of Kells he’s trying to get his hands on. He hasn’t been able to appropriate it in his usual manner and he’s finding that puzzling. He’s had to resort to bartering some of his stuff to just get the chance to look at it. He said that other resources have pointed in that direction. He’ll be in touch once he knows something.”

Caden refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope it came in. Tapping it lightly in his hand he glanced at his brother.

“So, do you have plans tonight, big brother?”

Bryce grinned wickedly. It was a grin that made the women in town swoon.

“Of course. Tonight I’m seeing that dark haired Molly from the inn.”

Caden laughed and clasped his older brother on the shoulder.

“I won’t expect you home until tomorrow then.”

Bryce was already bounding back up the stairs and only paused to call down to his brother.

“If I’m lucky, you won’t even see me then.”

He lifted a hand in a casual wave before disappearing through a doorway that led to the west wing of their ancestral home. Caden stared at the empty place his brother just been then with a shake of his head, he, too, disappeared. The door of the study closed behind him, a thoughtful look on his face.

~~ ~~​

Sitting at one end of her sofa, legs curled up beside her, Tara was barely paying attention to the news that was flashing across her television. Her mind couldn’t let go of her frustration of being told she would be taking one of the most treasured books on display to a man they knew nothing about and let him read it. Indulging a rich man’s whim? And for what? Her boss had no idea what the man was looking for and he really didn’t care. The promise of having some artifacts for his museum had been all too alluring. She couldn’t blame him. She had seen the photos of the artifacts and they had left her salivating like a dog after a bone. They were gorgeous and priceless. She didn’t understand how this stranger could even consider parting with them to begin with, simply for having the opportunity to read a book. The rich were eccentric.

Before long, Tara gave up thinking. Gave up on trying to absorb whatever program was on TV and simply decided to call it night. Walking over to the window of her apartment, she looked out over the city she had come to love. New York was a far cry from the small town she had hailed from and though there were times she longed for the slower pace of her childhood, she didn’t want to be anywhere else. The city breathed life. Its pulse only slowed deep into the night and never lasted long. Tara took a lingering look before closing the curtains and checked her door before heading for bed, plotting what to wear tomorrow and what was on her schedule for the day.

If she had only known what was in store for her.

 

[Callmetim]

“Ummmm … hello? Yo … ummmm … dude … you’re freaking me out here.”

Her glossy, crimson lips moved, yet the voices in his mind overpowered any of the audible tones in his penthouse suite including Ginger’s voice, the music or the roar of the fireplace. Their demands becoming more and more illogical yet he wanted to obey. Their incessant chatter of background noise joining together in one spine chilling message.

“PUSHHHHHH HER OFFFFFFFF THE BALCONY!!!”

As his eyes winced shut, he took a deep breath in through his flared nostrils and let it out even more slowly through a small, thin gap between his lips. Shaking his head from side to side like he was just coming back to consciousness from a hit to the back of the head, his green-brown eyes opened at the sight of Ginger’s shimmering lips, curled up in confusion and alarm.

“NO! … I mean … yes … I … WOW! That last drink really must have done a number on me!” He was Scottish. He could drink this fanny or any one of the other brain empty women he had lured back to his penthouse under the table. It was, however, good cover for the voices turned voice in his head.

“I TOLD you I held my booze better than you, sweetie!” Her drunken snort ended with a laugh. She pushed off his shoulder which, in turn, made her fall into his black, microfiber couch more. Taking up her own drink, a 20 year single malt from his homeland with enough ice to call it flavoured water, she sipped the last of it down between cubes as her glass collided, near terminal velocity with the thick, wild cherry coffee table which hailed from the same country as the liquor inside.

Her display sickened him a bit, yet he continued to pursue. “So when do I get a little taste of … Ginger?” She returned a smile and seemed genuinely flattered. He wanted to roll his eyes at how cheesy he sounded.

Was this what he had become? At his core he was articulate, powerful, refined, tried to look out for others when he could … and yet here he was. Some rich New York playboy doggin women with IQs lower than their dress size, which by looking at Ginger’s waist might have already been a zero. This sexually ravenous persona was one he had become simply because he HAD to. It was written that evil could be bribed with sex in numerous tomes, yet it never made full sense until now. Sex of any fashion, oral, vaginal or anal, so long as it was with someone who was not his wife, appeased evil to a degree and would quiet the assault on his mind from the dark souls that plagued it.

Those souls were placed there as the result of altering the course of his brother’s destiny. Having his youngest brother Caden die in his own hands, or what was left of Caden at that point, as the result of a fire on their clan’s property was too much of a burden to bear. He approached the stone lined circle used for time travel by their clan for centuries, nestled hidden within their family castle grounds. His middle brother Bryce could not stop him. Bryce tried with words, threats and finally fists, but all would not stop the future that was set in motion as time travel was used to change the past. Caden was saved by a note he left in the castle study which warned everyone of a pending fire. Using the arcane to change the natural order of the clan was explicitly forbidden and the cost extreme for it allowed the portal to open between the abuser’s mind and Hell. One hundred souls, fallen yet sworn enemies of his family, would torment the druid’s thoughts, or so legend had it. That legend, unfortunately, was a binding contract once the fire was avoided and Caden’s life spared.

Looking across at how drunk Ginger was, he knew the voices would once again be quelled. A cheap, teasing laugh was offered at her claims. “You were right, you CAN hold your liquor.” Sliding, slithering across the smooth, supple couch, his eyes becoming brown in the dim light hid nothing from the lewd motions they made up and down her waifish body. It pained him to be so sleazy, but his scotch and good looks proved to be excellent lubricant for any young woman’s dress. “You won … name your prize, my sweet Ginger.”

She pouted her lips out as the hem of her fire engine red dress was rising along with the sexual energy she felt in his presence. “Hmmm …” A blood red nail pointed at her cheek. Whether she was playfully thinking what sensual request to make or if she was that stupid to be lost in thought at the question, he could not tell. “I think I want to … play with this!” She bolted from the couch and ran to the corner of the room where the elegant dining table was. On it, a few assorted heirlooms were present from his clan, one a jewel encrusted, perfectly balanced rapier. She grabbed it with both hands, her right on the grip and her left on the ornate guard. It was a lighter weapon, but it nearly sliced into the hardwood floor as she swung it free from the stand, which fell off the table in her haste.

He stood up and remained calm the entire time. His eyes raged with fire at the one-night slut, yet took each calculated step slowly. “Put it down, please. That rapier is priceless and essential to a meeting I am having tomorrow.” Arms and hands at his sides, he knew they might provide targets in her drunken state.

“It’s just a sword, dude, not a … rapper or whatever.” Thank heavens her stiletto heels were off from the amazing foot massage he gave her on the couch. Her feet staggered a bit on the floor. “So, Mr. Sexy Scottish accent guy … you get the sword … you get to fuck me.”

It was at this game he smirked genuinely for the first time in the evening. He held an in-depth knowledge of the arcane which had been passed down in his clan for centuries. Would he perhaps use an incantation to manipulate the chair beside her to knock it free? She was drunk and would not remember … but too easy. With each step he stalked his prey, closer and closer, the tip of the rapier dangling at nearly the height of his own dangling manhood, concealed of course in his charcoal suit. Eyeing the table of artifacts he knew all too well, the relatively new tawse might actually be best suited for this. Picking up the almost three foot long whip like item, he flung it out in the blink of an eye, enveloping the blade in a corkscrew, effortlessly flicking the tip of it upward. With nearly supernatural speed, he whisked in around her, his left hand holding the grip of the rapier pressing it on her likely unnatural breasts with the tawse held along her inner right thigh. She panted quickly, her heart rate and arousal increasing in lock step. He looked down in dominance at what he was about to

“SSSSSSSSLICE HER THROOOOOOOOAT!!!!!!!”

His left hand grew white knuckled around the rapier, inching the blade ever so slightly against her neck, yet too old and dull to do any damage. He managed to regain control of his facilities as Ginger pressed her body against his tall, muscular frame, digging nails into his hips.

Fortunately, she rather enjoyed a little light knife play. “Holy SHIT that was hot!” She gently took his left wrist and cautiously lowered the blade that was blocking her way to his bedroom. Reaching behind her back, two small clips were undone letting the straps around her shoulders slide free as the only article of clothing adorning her thin curves floated slowly onto his large, black shoes. Her naked pale flesh mirrored the dancing light of the fire which was outdone by the flickering flames of lust in her sky blue eyes. She tugged at the tawse in his right hand as she took a step forward and spoke. “I shouldn’t have touched your toy. What are you going to do about it?” Not looking back, she entered his bedroom like she had walked through a stranger’s bedroom a hundred times before. (Between you and me, dear reader, the count was actually only twenty-three.)

Placing the rapier back on the stand which it was so rudely knocked from, both now back on the table, he debated leaving the tawse there as well. The debate lasted less than a second and his surging manhood won as he kept the whip in hand, took a deep breath and tapped each foot slowly and deliberately onto the floor, echoing in the penthouse as he made his way to the portal through which Ginger had already passed.

His eyes scanned the room, the thing catching his attention most was not the woman kneeling on his bed. His antique desk was covered in notes and a few books regarding his dark soul ailment. Much of the data had been taken from his “lightly borrowing” of these books in the collection he discovered at the museum. Everything he had read, however, alluded to another master book. Only once did he find the title in one of those tomes recently, that of Kells. This Book of Kells, however, was not left out like all the others, clumsily in an office that was accessible by the nightly cleaning staff which were making skint for wages and easily swayed by a roll of American triple digit bills. After a session of dealing with the museum director, the Book of Kells would be walked right into his penthouse by some likely boot of a librarian. All of his precious notes and pilfered books would have to be stowed away prior to her arrival.

With that bit of guile decided upon, his eyes turned back to the woman who would help silence the voices for a few days. Long ago, one night of sex would likely satiate the voices for nearly a week. As time grew, so had the strength of the souls and a night of doggin only gave him a 2-3 day reprieve. He needed a clear mind to read what would be escorted to his penthouse tomorrow. And Ginger was the lucky girl who would receive every last inch of his frustration worked out through her.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

A quick check in the full length mirror. Everything looked professional. Neat. Tidy. It hid the unwilling spirit well. She did not want to take the priceless book to some rich guy’s home and have to spend hours turning pages just so he could satisfy some sort of odd curiosity he had. There were shelves of books waiting to be cataloged. Tara twisted this way, turned that way, critically examining her clothing for the smallest flaw. There wasn’t one to be found. Her black pencil skirt hung across her mid thighs. It wasn’t too tight. It didn’t show a hint of the garter clips underneath. Legs were encased in flawless stockings. A white lacy chemise was tucked into the waistband of the skirt, all but hidden by her jacket. A mere hint of lace peeked from jacket where it was buttoned. A small teardrop emerald nestled from a delicate gold chain, not visible to the naked eye but she could feel it resting against the swell of her bosom. Matching emerald studs endorsed her earlobes. Her look was completed by a pair of navy heels and a navy form fitting double-breasted jacket. Tara’s only other concession to vanity, beside the emeralds, was the dainty diamond anklet she wore on her right leg. Her dark red hair was twisted, rolled and pinned to the back of her head with tiny wisps of hairs defying captivity at the back of her neck. They curled gently around her neck. Turning sideways, she stared into the mirror with a frown. Maybe the anklet was too much. Not professional enough. Maybe she should remove it. Tara bent over, her fingers brushing against the diamonds as they searched for the clasp. Then, she halted and stood back up, leaving it ornament in place. No. No, it stays. It was her own personal touch that she melded in with the business attire. Tara snatched up her briefcase and her purse and got out the door before she changed her mind.

“You have everything you need, Miss Andrews.”

It had been a statement not a question issued by her boss, Mr. Montgomery, who was standing at his open office door. Now, there was a hint if ever there was one.

“I do, Mr. Montgomery, thank you. I’ll take very good care of the book.”

She patted the shoulder bag the Book of Kells was in. Tara still couldn’t believe that the man was going to let it out of the library to begin with. If anything happened to this book…. Well, she’d just have to make sure nothing did.

“I know you will, Miss Andrews or I wouldn’t have entrusted it into your care. The limo is waiting downstairs for you, courtesy of our gentleman friend. I’ll expect a report from you later today if there is anything to report.”

Tara slid by him with a slight nod of her head. The whole floor was buzzing with activity. She didn’t pause although she did call out greetings to those who called out to her, but she didn’t stop walking. Outside, the morning was beautiful but freezing cold. With one hand wrapped around the shoulder strap of her bag, she stepped into the limo as the driver held open the door for her. Long slender legs encased in stockings swung into the interior and the door was closed behind them. She sat in silence as the driver came around, got in and started up the car, pulling away from the curb and headed off into traffic. Tara had no idea about this man, other than she was of the opinion that he was arrogant, tossing around his money like it could get him anything he wanted. With the book on her lap, her hands resting lightly on the bag, she looked out of the tinted windows, staring at the scenery of the city she had grown to love.

The limo pulled up to the curb and the driver was out in a flash, coming around the car to open the door for her, offering her a helping hand out. She thanked him with a smile and a soft Thank you. She paused outside of the building for just a moment, glancing upward then headed inside. The doorman tipped the crown of his hat to her as he opened the door for her. She smiled in response and moved inside, her eyes glancing swiftly for the elevator. It was easily spotted. The man at the front desk asked her who she was here to see. The only thing she knew was that he lived in the penthouse and she was from the museum. Obviously, that had been good enough for him. The doors to the elevator opened when she pressed the button and closed as after she stepped inside and pressed the button for the penthouse.

~~ ~~​

From the lobby, a phone was lifted. A button pushed. A male voice answered. Another spoke.

“She’s on her way up, Sir….. yes, Sir. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed….. You’re welcome, Sir.”

The doors to the elevator opened. Tara stepped out and raised her hand to lightly knock on the door before her. The place reeked of money. She waited, impatiently, for someone to admit her. The opulence was sinful.

What awaited her inside the penthouse was more sinful than even she could imagine.

 

[Callmetim]

*DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA-DUN*

“Uuuuuuunnnnnngggggghhhhhhh” How much scotch DID he have last night?

*DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA-DUN*

His strong right hand flung over to the night stand and landed on the annoying sound like a sledgehammer. The house phone was ringing, causing his slumber to end abruptly.

*DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA- DA-DUN*

Lumbering the phone to his ear, his eyes open and shut a few times before finally resorting to squinting as the morning sun penetrates the windows of the penthouse bedroom.

“Yeah? … She? Oh right, ‘she.’” His eyes opened wide in alarm and panic. “Uhhh … no other visitors, okay? … great, thanks.”

The phone is slammed down onto the base. He turns to his left and sees a slender red head snoring, her arms and legs splayed in every direction, only a thin, silk black sheet adorning her waifish figure from the waist down. His attention turns to his antique desk with a few ancient, ill-gotten books strewn about with his notes.

“SHIT!!”

Jumping out of his cliché bachelor’s bed, his dress clothes from the previous evening’s festivities are spread out all across the lush black carpet. Scrambling over to the desk, the books are all taken and slung under the bed, letting them fall where they may. He looks down to realize he is completely naked with a nasty case of morning wood. Running into the walk-in closet, he finds a pair of charcoal jeans, which he slips on immediately, hopping around on one foot to do so. To the best of his ability, he tucks the unwelcomed erection into the jeans, leaving them unbuttoned so that the pressed, perfect, white dress shirt accompanying them can be tucked in. The top few buttons are left unbuttoned as he dashes into the bathroom. Running his fingers through his dark brown, disheveled hair, he organizes it as best he can with a comb, giving himself a smug smile in the massive wall mirror above the double sinks. He chuckles to himself. “All this for some old hen of a librarian.”

*knock knock knock*

Rolling his eyes at the knocking, he laments to himself, “there’s an intercom, moron.” Exiting the bathroom, last night’s soul silencer, much kinder than notch in the headboard, is in the same position as he left her. “Here’s hoping you’re as good at sleeping as you are at fucking.” Gathering up his notes from the desk, he turns to leave.

*DING-dong*

“Hey, hey! The old bag’s eyes can find a button!” Pressing a button on the office desk phone marked FRONT INTERCOM, he quietly speaks. “Be right out, dear.” The door to the master bedroom closed, he dashes over to the fireplace, turning it off, looking into the see-through glass to the master bedroom, Ginger’s lewd body on display if one were at the right angle. Debating if he should cover her up or not, he decides it would be the gentlemanly thing to do and places his notes on the table in front of the fireplace which are encircled by glasses and a nearly empty bottle of scotch. “Don’t want to give the poor librarian a heart attack.” Sneaking back in, making his way around the circular bed, he covers last night’s conquest up with the shadowy silk sheet to her neck.

The door closed to his bedroom yet again, he jogs through the kitchen and over to the front door, the open floor plan quite useful for getting around quickly. The suite is quite large, as one would expect. The entire penthouse emanated extravagance with every expensive detail. After exiting the elevator, one will see the hulking service elevator door, emergency stair access, a white door with no handle and a rich, mahogany door which is clearly the main entrance. The 40 foot square room opens out forward and to the left. The far wall has nothing but windows from floor to ceiling offering a spectacular view of New York, a large sliding glass door in the middle leading out to a lavish balcony. Along the left wall as you enter are kitchen cabinets, a spotless black marble countertop with sink and cutting area followed by pantry cupboards and a large stainless steel refrigerator. In front of that is a large island covered by the same extravagant marble, a stove and drawers facing the sink on one side, five tall stools with an eating or serving area on the other. In the far opposite corner to the main entrance, the see-through fireplace is surrounded by an L-shaped couch and two matching chairs surrounding it, the coffee table between them. Between the fireplace and master bedroom door, however, a slinky bright red dress is clearly out of place, left crumpled on the dark floor. The final corner offers a formal dining area with attention drawn to the massive, sturdy, wild cherry antique dining table that comfortably seats the 10 matching chairs around it. It is currently adorned with a variety of ancient relics, all to be seen by the visitor on the other side of the entrance.

Looking at his bare feet with a quick shrug of his thick shoulders and a “whatever,” he opens the door to his penthouse suite.

“Hi I’m …” His eyes feast upon the woman in front of him. Taking her in slowly from head to toe and back up again, she looks ravishing, elegant yet quite professional, save the slightly superficial showoff around her ankle, perhaps to add a little of her own style to the ensemble. He was an authority on good looking women, and in a word she was “… WOW! I did not expect you to be so … wow.” Shaking his head free from the complete surprise of her stunning looks, he immediately became the character who was looking for the next woman he might need a few days, Book of Kells or not.

“I’m Edward Drummond, you must be Tara Andrews.” His real name was Edwin, but American women did not like the name Edwin for some reason, so he made a reasonable compromise. Edward is what he preferred in the States, Eddy was right out, Ed he would usually correct someone, especially if he did not like them. “A lovely Gaelic name, Tara, meaning hill star, for the Stone of Destiny that lies on the Hill of Tara.” Women always became a little weaker when you knew the meaning of their names.

Extending his left hand out, he desperately wanted to see her left ring finger, which was now obscured by the shoulder bag which held that most precious of books that he wanted to feast his eyes on just a little bit more than Tara’s fantastic form. She was, however, a very close second. A photo finish, in fact.

His eyes looked down and saw no band, nor hint of one. Single girls were usually more apt to sleep with him after a few rounds of drinks, a display of his money accompanying his natural good looks. Married women typically took a bit more work, but were usually animals in the bedroom.

“Please, come in. I’m sure we have much to discuss. Care for a drink?”

 

[DarkWarrioress]

“I’m Edward Drummond, you must be Tara Andrews.” His real name was Edwin, but American women did not like the name Edwin for some reason, so he made a reasonable compromise. Edward is what he preferred in the States, Eddy was right out, Ed he would usually correct someone, especially if he did not like them. “A lovely Gaelic name, Tara, meaning hill star, for the Stone of Destiny that lies on the Hill of Tara.”

Edward Drummond. Well, well. A name to the face of the arrogant bas---

She slid into his penthouse, her eyes taking in the interior as he continued talking. Was he for real? Was she suppose to show some sort of appropriate amount of appreciation for his knowledge where her name was concerned? Did he use that on the women he picked up? She held out her own left hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Drummond.”

That was a bold face lie.

Her voice was cool. Social. He was, after all, going to be giving them some Scottish artifacts in exchange for the viewing of the book. She didn’t want to give him a reason for retracting that offer.

“A drink? No thank you. I’m fine. Is there someplace you want me to sit while you view the Book of Kells? And that brings me to question, Mr. Drummond. What exactly are you looking for in the book? Perhaps I can help. I’ve read the book or at least the parts I could translate. Maybe I can make your research go faster? “

Tara turned slightly, her eyes spotting and looking through the clear glass into his bedroom, spying a woman spread, face down in his bed. Obviously, he couldn’t be bothered to get rid of his guest before her arrival. She averted her eyes and turned back around, her eyes seeking his face.

Damn. He was a handsome devil. If one was attracted to such. Personally, she thought he was just a wee bit too pretty for her tastes. She wrinkled her nose. He smelled of sex. Sensuality dripped from this man even she felt the slight magnetic pull.

Her eyes spied the L-shaped couch and started walking toward it. She didn’t wait for him to join her. Tara just wanted to get this over with, make arrangements with him for picking up the artifacts he was going to donate and get back to the museum and secure the book. Hopefully, it wasn’t going to be a long day.

“This will do nicely.”

She sat down in the middle of the couch, perching on the edge as she drew off the shoulder strap of the bag and removed the book, setting it on her lap. Tara withdrew a pair of white globes from the bag and donned them. Glancing in his direction with an impatient tap of her gloved finger on the book.