Kissing Shakespeare (2 page)

“Oh, maybe a dozen,” my mother said, pretending to have lost count when I knew darn well she always kept track. “Hold on a second. I’m putting your father on.”

“Hi, sweetheart. How did it go?”

Hearing my dad’s voice perked me up a little. I repeated my “fine” mantra.

“Did your grandparents make it?”

“Grandpa did. Grandmother had some social event she had to attend.” I heard my father snort from his end. My maternal grandmother, a true Boston snob, was still busy, at age seventy-two, impressing the city’s elite.

“I just wanted to make sure someone was there for your opening. I wish you could have seen your mother tonight. She dazzled, she hypnotized … well, she was magical. The audience couldn’t get enough of her.”

Because they’re not related to her
. I turned toward the hall and caught Stephen watching me. “Listen, Dad, there’s a boy hanging around—” Even as I said it, I realized how incongruous the word
boy
sounded when applied to Stephen.

I heard my mother shrieking. “Oh, Geoffrey, look! Roses from the prime minister!”

“Wonderful, darling. You were saying, Miranda?”

I turned my back to the doorway, hoping Stephen couldn’t hear me, and lowered my voice. “One of the guys in the play is hanging around me. He’s acting strange, talking about …” How could I possibly explain it?

Dad said, “Talking about what, Miranda? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“Nothing. Never mind.” What could he do, anyway, from Rome? I’d have to deal with Shakespeare Boy by myself.

“Hey, Dad, I’ve got to go. The party, you know?”

“Of course. We’ll be here for two more performances, and then we’re off to Florence. After that we fly to Milan.” But I wasn’t listening anymore, because I heard footsteps. When I turned, Stephen was striding toward me, his eyes glittering crazily.

“ ’Bye, Dad. Tell Mom I said goodbye.” Feeling a surprising pang of loneliness for them, I disconnected just as Stephen grabbed my arm. I flinched. “Don’t touch me!”

He jerked his hand away. “I’m sorry, Miranda, but we don’t have time for this.”

I walked over to the cupboards, now desperate to get away from him. I reached in, snatched my backpack, and threw it over my shoulder. Where was the custodian? He was usually the last one to leave after performances, busy with cleaning and closing up. I couldn’t possibly be here alone, could I? When I turned around, Stephen was standing directly in front of me, blocking my path.

“You’re in my way.”

“Enough of this!” he said. “I have need of you, wench.”

Before I knew what was happening, he bent down, grabbed me around the legs, and hoisted me over his shoulder. “Put me down! Right now!” I pummeled his back with my fists, but I might as well have been punching a brick wall.

Next thing I knew, we were climbing up some stairs, and when Stephen finally set me down, we were on the roof of the school. My legs immediately collapsed under me, and I held still for a few minutes, catching my breath and getting my bearings.

A strong gust of wind nearly blew me over when I finally stood up. It didn’t take long to spot Stephen, perilously close to the roof’s edge, fiddling with something. My legs were wobbly, but I grabbed on to one of the vents sticking up from the roof and, going from one to the next, I gradually made my way closer to him. Even though I was scared, I was also more than a little curious.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

“Get back!”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on! Why are we up here, and what’s that thing you’re holding?”

He eyed me, apparently weighing whether to reveal anything. “It’s an astrolabe,” he finally said.

It was small and round, and made of a shiny metal—brass, maybe. Even in the dark, it reflected light from the stars and the street below, and whenever Stephen’s hand moved, it gleamed like the flash of a firefly.

“I’m finding the position of Mars. I measured the altitude of this building weeks ago.”

“Well, that explains a lot!” My sarcasm was lost in the wind.

“I must find the portal.”

When I didn’t respond, he said, “For us to travel back.”

He spun around and continued peering through an opening in the astrolabe while adjusting a narrow arm that stuck out from one side. After a minute, he seemed satisfied.

“Let’s commence. ’Tis the right time, and the planet is positioned as it should be. Now I need only say the words.” He stepped back from the edge, and I sneaked slowly toward my backpack. I planned to run like crazy for the door and then dash down the stairs. Midstep, I sensed Stephen’s presence behind me. Before I could escape, he clenched me tightly. And then I heard his voice:

“From this age we take our leave; to Shakespeare’s time we do proceed!”

In a blast of cool air, I felt myself being lifted off the ground, like that amusement park ride, except Stephen’s arms were holding me. We were flying above the earth, around it, a blue-and-white sphere with swatches of green. And there were huge splashes of light. I was cold. Freezing. It was like someone had wrapped me in an ice blanket. Time sped past, and I was tumbling through its layers. I realized the light was from the Milky Way, spilled out before me like fairy dust, and it was dazzling. I started to laugh, and then I felt myself slip into oblivion.

Lancashire, England, 1581

S
OMETHING WAS POKING INTO MY BACK
.
I must have fallen asleep on my cell phone or keys
. I rolled onto my side, toward the early light filtering through the open windows. It sounded like every bird in the neighborhood had roosted in my room. Shivering, I reached down to pull my blanket up, but … there was no blanket. No wonder I was freezing.

When I opened my eyes, Stephen Langford was leaning over me, staring into my face. I screamed, and he covered my mouth with his hand. “Hush! We must not be discovered.”

I nodded and he removed his hand. Gradually I woke up enough to realize we were outside, in a forest so thick that light barely penetrated. He must have driven me here, probably in my own car. Memories of last night began surfacing, and I recalled a creepy discussion involving Shakespeare, as though he was alive and we had to rescue him from something. And another thing. “Did you call me a wench?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “I did. Pray forgive me. Allow me to help you sit up.”

I had to get away from this guy. Jumping to my feet, I decided to make a run for it. And immediately fell. Luckily, the ground was covered with leaves, so I didn’t really hurt myself. When I tried to get up, my head spun and my arms and legs wouldn’t move properly. Like they weren’t receiving signals from my brain.

“I warned you.” I could have sworn he snickered, right before he stooped down and, in one fluid movement, lifted me up as if I weighed nothing. Last night he’d picked me up too, but I couldn’t remember what happened afterward. Stephen glanced around and finally set me down with my back against a towering oak. “Drink some water,” he said, nodding toward my backpack.

“How considerate of you to have brought it,” I said, smirking. I snatched my water bottle and drank. He’d abducted me and dragged me off to this godforsaken forest. But why?

We rested in silence for a few minutes, Stephen watching me the whole time. “You changed your clothes,” I said. He’d replaced the fancy doublet with a leather one, and his boots appeared worn, more like work or riding boots.

“Aye.”

When he didn’t say anything else, I rose cautiously and crept forward, testing my neurons. They seemed to be firing normally. I moved more confidently now, right to the edge of the trees. What I glimpsed through the drooping branches blew my mind. I was looking at a massive stone building, with gates and archways and flags fluttering in the breeze. To complete the picture, an intimidating-looking stone tower kept watch near the front of the house. Or castle. Or whatever it was.

I raced back to Stephen. “Tell me where we are. Right now, or I’ll start screaming.”

“We’re in Lancashire, England.”

“Sure we are,” I said. “I wish you’d quit saying such outrageous things.”

“The year is 1581. The time of the danger to Shakespeare.”

“Stephen, you’re delusional. Did you bring me here, wherever we are, for one of those reenactment events? Why didn’t you just ask me? And, by the way, where’s my car?”

He laughed. “I do not have your car, Miranda. Let me explain.”

“You kidnapped me! I’m calling 911.” I fished in my pocket and pulled out my phone.

Stephen reached out and stopped me. “It will not work in this century.”

I batted his hand away. “Whatever.” Phone in one hand, backpack in the other, I hurried away from Stephen and his castle. Even though I could see there was no signal, I pressed 911 over and over. It must be this forest. No reception here.

“Come back, Miranda!” Stephen called. “Do not be a fool!”

I ignored him and kept walking. I’d have to get to the nearest town, where I could call Macy to come and pick me up. I heard footsteps shuffling over the leaf-covered ground and knew Stephen was following me, so I stayed on the lookout for a sturdy branch. If I surprised him … I didn’t want to hurt him, only stun him long enough to get away. It wasn’t like he was a serial killer or anything. Only weird. Then I spotted just the thing—a fallen limb with a rounded end. Dropping to the ground, I pretended to give up. Meanwhile, I grasped my weapon with both hands and waited.

Behind me, Stephen said, “It is much too dangerous for you to strike out on your own. Look at the way you’re dressed. You could be arrested for a witch. Mayhap you would end up in the stocks, or worse.”

I leaped to my feet, spun around, and swung, catching Stephen on the side of his head. Eyes filled with shock and alarm, he staggered for a second and then dropped to the ground.

Tossing the branch aside, I ran, cutting diagonally through the trees.
Dear God, what if I killed him?
Once, when I turned to check behind me, my foot snagged on a root and I went down. Stephen was nowhere in sight. I flew up and kept going. Before long a road came into view, but it was only a driveway leading to the manor house.

I raced on, at last reaching the real road. After taking a moment to catch my breath and get my bearings, I looked back toward the house and woods and saw no movement, no one running after me or shouting my name. This place, wherever it was, seemed completely isolated, about as far from civilization as you could get. And the road was nothing but a dirt track, barely wide enough for a small SUV. I grabbed my cell phone and once again tried dialing 911. Still no signal.

And then I heard voices. A couple of men, both short and stocky, were walking toward me. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Dressed in brown wool doublets and dirty hose, they were leading a two-wheeled oxcart.
Oh, great. Reenactors. Where on earth did they find an ox?

Since I didn’t see anybody else around, they’d have to do. “Help!” I called, waving my arms. I could smell the pungent stink of the ox. It was massive, broad and as tall as the men. They stopped beside me, and up close, I saw that one was much older than the other. So maybe father and son instead of twins.

They studied me with puzzled looks. The older one said, “Good morrow, mistress.”

“Uh, good morning to you too. Can you give me a ride to town?”

After glancing at each other, the same man asked, “From whence have you come, mistress? Your manner of speaking is odd.”

“I’m from Boston.” I couldn’t quite place their accents either. Maybe Irish? “I have no idea where I am, and I can’t get a signal on my cell phone. Can you guys help me?”

They stepped aside, like they had to consult with each other before making such a momentous decision. While they talked, I glanced up the road toward the house. No Stephen in sight. After a minute, the older man again turned to me, looking a little wary.

“Mistress, ’tis strange garments you wear. Is this the style of dress in your village?”

“Okay, you can drop the reenactor stuff,” I said, not even trying to conceal my irritation. “Some guy who mistakenly thought I wanted to participate dragged me out here. I’m trying to get home. I have to be in a play tonight.”

“You are a player?” the younger one asked, looking horrified. “But females are not permitted to act on the stage.” Again, the two of them locked eyes before looking back at me.

The one who seemed to be the spokesman said, “I cannot account for your behavior, mistress. Mayhap the cunning woman in town can see to what ails you.” While he was speaking, I marched up to the cart. Maybe I could ride in it instead of walking. Just as I approached, he shot me what I clearly should have recognized as a warning glance.

“We will escort you, though you will have to walk. The cart carries the body of a friend dead of plague.”

Too late
. I’d already leaned my elbows on the rim and was peering in. Although the sickening smell nearly knocked me backward, something held me there. Probably morbid curiosity. A shrouded body lay wedged into the bottom of the cart. The cloth had come loose around the head and neck, and I could see it was the body of a man. His wide-open eyes stared out from a bloated face, and his tongue protruded hideously from his mouth. A purplish lump bulged from one side of his neck, and I flinched involuntarily. My own personal
Night of the Living Dead
. I half expected him to rise up and attack me.
This can’t be.… We don’t move dead bodies around in carts pulled by oxen in the twenty-first century. We just don’t
. My stomach heaved.