Avenging Angels (Bad Times Book 3)

feature. She spent much of her time reading some of her books and the huge selection she’d downloaded onto her Kindle in anticipation of the downtime. The rest of her days were spent sleeping and admiring the miracle that only days before was an uncomfortable bulge in her midsection.
The baby was a marvel. The emotions she felt for it surprised her. She understood it had everything to do with hormones, but she felt it had to be more than that. Giving birth to a child of her own opened a new world to her every bit as surprising and enveloping as her trips into the past. Dwayne was part of both, and she wondered about that.
Was the Army Ranger a true partner or just part of the adventure? When she was with him, she didn’t question what they had. When they were apart the analytical side of her kicked in hard. They had nothing in common but their experiences. Dwayne was smart, but not an intellectual. He was a doer. And that appealed to her as she was impulsive herself. But she couldn’t help but ask if they were right for one another in the long term. He would always be a chance-taker, and now that she was a mother, she was looking to conserve risk and live whatever a “normal” life was supposed to be. At least that’s how she felt right now. Tomorrow might be different.
Caroline put down her book, a favorite volume of Richard Feynman essays she was reading for the umpteenth time when she heard the baby crying in the next room. She rose and entered the master bedroom, where she found the nanny had arrived before her. Greta was lifting the squalling and kicking bundle from the bassinet. Caroline held out her arms.
“He needs to be changed,” the nanny said.
“I have to start sometime,” Caroline said, taking Stephen in her arms. “You can supervise.”
Together they cleaned, rubbed ointment, and slipped the infant into a brand new diaper.
“It’s time for him to nurse,” Caroline said and took a seat in an upholstered glider Dwayne ordered and had delivered before he left.
“Is there anything you’d like me to get for you?” Greta said once she’d handed the baby off.
“A cup of tea would be nice.” Caroline smiled. “Decaffeinated, of course.”
“Of course. One moment.” And Greta was gone. Caroline entered a waking dream state as Stephen nursed. This was pure contentment. She thought briefly of her feminist acquaintances when she was at school in London and Chicago. They’d be horrified to see her in such a state of reactionary oppression.
The door opened, and Caroline was surprised that Greta could be back so quickly with her tea.
Only it wasn’t Greta. It was the man she knew only as Samuel in a strangely cut dark suit with a blood-stained tear in the right sleeve. She noted that he looked younger than the last time they met. It had to be her imagination.
“You have to come with me. Both of you. Now.”
Greta returned with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of vanilla biscuits on a tray, only to find the master bedroom empty. No Mrs. Nesbitt, and no baby anywhere to be seen. She searched the rest of the suite and found she was entirely alone.
Though not for long. She was startled when a man stormed into the suite from the hallway with a gun in his hand. The man was lean and handsome, with white hair set off by a nut-brown complexion.
“Where are they?” he said coolly, making the pistol vanish under his jacket as though it had never existed.
“I don’t know,” Greta said. “They were here just a moment ago.”
She trailed away as the man fixed her in his gaze, calmly assessing her as though using what he saw and heard to come to a decision. Without another word or gesture, the man turned and left the suite.
Her grandmother used to explain away a sudden chill by saying that someone had just walked across her grave. Now Greta knew exactly what that felt like.
She also knew that she craved something stronger than tea.

21


Pax Romana
They wound up letting Bat Jaffe do the horse trading. They picked out ten sturdy mounts. Most of the traders spoke Aramaic only. But Bat found a toothless old bastard with a good string and haggled with him in rapid-fire Hebrew for what seemed like days. Other men stood by to witness the exchange and the tall strangers with their odd dress and aspects. A woman speaking for men in a matter of trade? And what army did these men march in?
“Just pay him what he wants,” Lee growled.
“This isn’t Walmart, honey,” she snapped back. “You back down, and they’ll tell everyone they know. We’re making enough of an impression as it is.”
They eventually settled on three of the gold coins from their hoard. The horse trader seemed pleased and shouted God’s blessings on them as they led the horses away.
“We still got ripped off,” Bat said bitterly.
The horses were Nisaeans, a Persian animal bred for stamina but fast enough to get them out of trouble if it came to that. Jimbo knew horses best and picked out each one. He chose all mares and judged them to be two– and three-year-olds.
The scene was repeated at a saddlemaker. Bat and the stall keeper going round and round. Five saddles and five pack frames for their gear.
“Where’s the stirrups?” Chaz bitched.
“Come back in a few hundred years,” Jimbo said. “No stirrups here until Attila arrives in the neighborhood.”
“Well, that’s just fucking stupid,” Chaz said. “How am I supposed to get up on this animal? And stay on? Should’ve brought our own saddles.”
“Chronal integrity, bro.” Jimbo smiled.
“Shit,” Chaz said and looked around for something to use as a step.
The pack animals were saddled and the gear secured on their backs. The travelers decided to walk the horses until they were beyond the city walls. Caesarea was a trade center, and so was