Traveler by L.E. DeLano (book suggestions .txt) 📕

His words do something funny to my insides. “Come on. I’ve got a party to escape from.”

We step through the French doors, and I can’t help but squirm a little. Finn steps closer, lowering his voice so we can converse.

“What are you doing?”

“My back,” I say. “It’s itching … ugh.” I look up at him. “You didn’t tuck in the ends of my corset laces. They’re bunched up between my shoulders and tickling me.”

He lifts his eyebrows apologetically. “Well, I can’t very well adjust them again here, love. You’ll have to retire to the ladies’ salon. I’m sure one of the attendant maids there can assist you.”

“You’d better get out of here before my father recognizes you,” I say. “And I need to get home.”

He reaches for my hand, pressing a kiss to the backs of my fingers. I can’t help but feel—and remember—how soft and warm his lips are.

“As before, Jessa … it’s been a pleasure.”

“Good-bye, Finn.” I know I’m staring, but I’m somehow helpless to stop. The corner of his mouth quirks up.

“Right through there, love,” he says, pointing the way.

“Yeah … I’m, uh … I’ll just be going,” I stammer. I turn to go, but I have to take one more look back. He’s still standing there with that lopsided grin, and the butterflies are swarming in my stomach.

I look off toward the crush of women coming and going from the salon and heave a sigh before I head off into the fray. I make my way inside and push through the throng to put my hand to a mirror. Just as I start to transfer, a shout goes up. I could swear I smell the faintest hint of smoke, and then I’m through.

And I’m staring at myself in a small, circular mirror next to Ben’s worried face as his arms tighten around me.

“It’s definitely bruising,” the lady from the historical society says as she shoves the compact mirror closer toward me. “Right there, on your cheek.” She’s kneeling next to me as well, and gently prodding at my face with her free hand.

My hand is resting on the mirror still, and I push it out of my way.

“I—I’m all right,” I say. I think I am, anyway.

Ben is shaking his head. “Holy…!” He trails off, aware that there are a couple of kids on the tour. His arms are still tight around me, and I’m shaking.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I look up at the small crowd of people gathered around me and my mind begins to slowly piece it all together.

I had been snapping pictures with Ben’s phone, fascinated by the device and half listening to the woman from the historical society as she told us all about the Clock Tower Ghost from here atop the roof of Founder’s Hall when one of the other women peeled away from the group and approached me. She wanted a picture of herself with the clock tower in the background.

I decided I needed to back up, since the spire of the clock tower was too high to fit in the picture along with them. Other me didn’t think to zoom in or out. I started walking backward, and I heard the woman’s shout just as I realized it was too late. I backed into a handbag someone left near the low wall lining the roof. My feet tangled in the strap and I went over, dropping the phone on the roof as I twisted, screaming. My right hand grabbed and clung to the edge of the wall.

Ben shouted, I scrambled to grab with my other hand, and Ben’s hands closed over my wrists as he pulled hard. I came back over the wall, landing in a heap on the rooftop.

I can’t speak just yet, and I can hear Ben panting from the adrenaline and exertion. I manage to sit up.

“I’m okay,” I gasp. “I’m okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” the photo lady stammers.

“Did—did I break your phone?” I ask her.

“No, it’s fine. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I get up to my feet, but keep my hands on my knees, breathing deeply. I nod. “I’m a little scraped up, but I’m okay.”

Ben is on his feet again as well, and he pulls me full into his arms again, hugging me tight.

“You scared me to death!” he exclaims. “I think you just took ten years off my life!”

He pushes me back at arm’s length, looking me up and down.

“Are you okay? I thought we were gonna have to scrape you off the sidewalk with a spatula or something.”

“Me too.” I nod. “I think I wrecked my shoulder again.” I give it a rub as I rotate it gingerly.

“It’s not out of its socket,” Ben says, pushing my hand away so he can push and probe. I smack his hand in retaliation.

“That hurts.”

He reaches into his pocket, digging out his truck keys. “Let’s go get you checked out, just to be sure.”

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s just sore. I still have medicine I can take for it, if it gets worse. Let’s just go home.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?” Photo Lady asks.

“No, really—I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

I look back toward the wall, and the handbag is gone. Whoever wants me dead, it definitely isn’t Ben. And they were right here, somewhere in the crowd. I scan the group, but I’m not seeing anyone suspicious. Several people have left, since this was the last stop on the tour anyway, and I’d brought the presentation to a stop.

As Ben leads me toward the stairs, the lady from the historical society reaches out, grasping my hand.

“Oh, honey,” she says, shaking her head. “You have the worst luck.”

I stare at the edge of the roof, three stories off the ground. I can’t go on like this. I’m not going to let someone kill me in front of Ben, or Finn, or my parents … or Danny. I’m not going to let someone kill me, period. Something has