Counting Down Read online

  LILAH BOONE

  Counting Down

  A NOVEL

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  COUNTING DOWN

  Copyright © 2012 Lilah Boone.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  Prophesies referenced from the Kolbrin Bible. © 2012, Your Own World, Inc. NV USA. All Rights Reserved. Used with permission.

  Cover design and artwork by Lisa Barbero.

  www.lisabarbero.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To B, who gave me the courage to believe.

  PROLOGUE

  Whitestone Village, Bronze Age Europe, 1587 BCE

  Something was coming and Callum knew it wouldn’t be much longer before whatever it was arrived. It was his job to know what lay ahead, to prophesize and foretell the future of his people.

  From an early age the natural world showed him patterns that other eyes overlooked. He saw the future in the stars, in the movement of the moon, and the rhythm of the sun. For this reason the priests of the tribe had taken him into their service as a young boy. For many years they trained him to harness his gifts and by the time manhood was upon him, Callum of Whitestone was the Keeper of Time.

  Still, nature remained at times aloof, keeping her secrets just out of sight. Callum spent his time studying the patterns, interpreting the starlight, and deciphering the old paintings in the caves and barrows. Yet still he wasn’t sure exactly what change was coming or how to prepare for it.

  He stood, staring into the night and opening up his mind to the visions that often came. But nothing spoke to him. Even the trees, with their subtle wisdom, were not whispering to him tonight. With a frustrated sigh he tightened the cloak around his shoulders and began the short walk home. His family would be waiting for him, refusing to sleep until he returned. The children would want stories and his wife would want his arms around her in the night.

  Callum’s thoughts were on his wife as his feet stepped across the sod covered ground, picturing her face alight with a smile as he entered their home. She would have a hot cup of tea in her hand, made from the herbs that grew around their home. She would welcome him with a kiss, and his worries would wash away like sand from the shore.

  He had known Aislynn since they were infants. They were born on the same day in the same village. Together they had run in the fields of wildflowers, up over the hills until they reached the stone laden coast where the ocean broke and misted upon the land.

  Before Callum was fifteen years old the priests had discovered him. On one early autumn day they had taken him onto the small island sanctuary to pursue the years of study required to join their ranks. There were rituals to memorize, mysteries to contemplate, and gods to honor. Callum had not wanted to leave. Not because he would miss his mother and his brothers, but because he would miss the little girl who was his best friend.

  Three years passed before Callum was brought back to the village to attend his first midsummer rights as an adult. He remembered the anticipation of seeing her again, of knowing she would be among the women who stood around the fires searching to take a mate under the summer moon.

  He had feared she would not recognize him, that she would choose someone else in the village who had caught her eye while he was away. It had been near torture for him to consider such an idea. Even as a child he had known she was the one he wanted to be with forever.

  On that warm summer night he took his place with the priests, lighting the sacred fires and reciting the words he had worked to commit to memory for years. As he stood in the center of the circle, he could feel her presence, knew she was watching him.

  The celebrations began as the full moon rose over the fields. Song permeated the night and the sound of drumming echoed the ancient rhythm of the Earth and her people. Callum’s heart matched that rhythm, his eyes scanning the ring of people around the blazing fire. Faces lit up with the warm glow of embers and the passion of the season.

  He examined each woman, watched her move in time to the drummers. Would he know her face? he thought. Would she have the same light in her eyes he remembered from their days as children; the light that had followed him to the Priests Cove and haunted his every breath.

  Several couples headed off into the night to lie in the tall grasses along the edge of the ritual field. Where was she? Had she forgotten about him? Had she fallen in love with someone else? Suddenly a presence was behind him, a hand reaching forward to take his. With a polite rejection waiting on his tongue, he began to turn. And then the fingers laced through his, locking together like they were made from the same flesh.

  Aislynn stood before him, taking the breath from his lungs, the words from his lips. She said nothing and when he finally opened his mouth to speak she surprised him with a kiss.

  Back in the present, Callum stepped into the warmth of his home. Ten years had passed since that kiss and still he anticipated each one that followed with eagerness.

  She met him at the door, his infant son on her hip, waiting as he removed his cloak before handing him his cup. Her kiss was sweet, comfortable, yet held a tone of the night ahead.

  His twin daughters came running, latching onto his legs like two very large burdock seeds. He laughed, bent down to them. “Shouldn’t you two be sleeping?”

  They giggled in unison, Esree answering him with his own smile shining on her face. “Papa you know we cannot sleep without one of your stories.”

  He scooped them up, one in each arm. They were getting far too big to carry, but Callum wasn’t ready for them to grow up. He would carry them as long as he was able. “What story would you like tonight then?”

  Together they answered him. “The one about the swans, Papa. Tell us the long necked swan story.”

  He smiled, set them down on the bed they shared. “The Tale of the Swan again?” His face held feigned shock which quickly turned to a chuckle. “Alright then. Settle in my little blossoms.”

  He began the story, glancing beside him at Aislynn swaying the baby to sleep in her arms. She touched his shoulder, smoothed his hair and ran a tickling thumb over the back of his neck.

  With the children asleep and in their beds, Callum stoked the fire and sipped from the cup in his hands.

  “Your brothers are going hunting tomorrow,” Aislynn said. “Were you planning on going with them?”

  He kept his eyes on the dancing fire. “I had considered it, but there is more work to do. I was planning on going to the caves again.”

  “The prophecies are not going anywhere, Love. They are already ancient and will only be a little more so if you wait one day.” She touched his shoulder. “You should go, enjoy yourself. I know how you miss them.”

  His hand met hers, caressed her knuckles. “Perhaps you’re right. We could use meat this winter.”

  He pressed her palms to his lips, caught the scent of the bread she had been baking all day. He smiled to himself and turned back to the fire. “You’ve been baking.”

  “Hmm. We needed bread.”

  He chuckled to himself at the annoyed tone in her voice. She hated to bake. In fact, she hated cooking all together. His wife would rather be smelting metal by the fire, working and shaping cast strips into jewelry.

  Callum had made her wooden molds and bartered with the metal smiths in the village to make sure she had the right tools. Once a month they made a trip to the next village to trade her work for woven cloth, skins, pottery, and other necessities.

  He looked
down to admire the works in progress she kept on the stones in front of the hearth. “I like this one,” he said raising a bracelet set with sea worn stones into the light.

  He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling. “I thought you would,” she said. “It was made for you.”

  She took his wrist, fashioned the cool metal cuff around his forearm and laced the leather straps that would hold it in place. Her eyes appraised the piece, scanning over it with scrutiny. “It should be thicker.”

  Callum squeezed her hand. “It’s perfect. You craft lovely things.”

  She smiled then, cupped his face, and laid a kiss to his cheek. “We should sleep.”

  “Sleep comes later,” he whispered and tenderly brushed his lips against hers.

  He felt her mouth curve into a smile against his. “Much later.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Wednesday, December 12th 2012, 11:22pm

  "Come on Abby. You mean the world to me, Baby. I know we can work this out.”

  Abigail Connelly looked down at the lacy, obnoxiously purple and extremely well padded bra between her fingers. Unceremoniously, she tossed it on to the second hand coffee table that stood between her and her live-in boyfriend, Alex Peterson.

  She felt surprisingly calm and maybe even a little numb. A kind of bland indifference settled over her chest. She wasn’t going to scream or yell and she certainly was not going to cry.

  “No I don’t think so.” Her face was blank. “We’re done. It’s never going to work out between us.”

  Alex opened his mouth in what could only have been described as an act of incredulous amazement. “You can’t really be serious? Baby, please. This thing between me and…”

  “Miss Lilac Miracle Bra?”

  “Yeah. Shit. I mean no. Whatever. It didn’t mean anything to me, Baby. I swear. It was just a mistake. Honestly, it didn’t mean a thing.”

  “It never does.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You cheated on me Alex. After only one year you couldn’t keep it in your damn pants. Did you really think I would just say it was no big deal, give you a second chance, and leap into your waiting arms like nothing happened?”

  Alex moved around the table to Abby. His eyes were pleading and, to Abby’s surprise, completely sincere.

  It was Abby’s curse to notice such things like unspoken sincerity. She was ever observant, always watching. Even when she didn’t want to see, she took in everything.

  “I love you Abby.” With somber eyes he reached out one hand to touch her arm. “I want to be with you and only you. Nothing else matters.”

  Abby took a moment to breathe, pretending to look at the clock on the wall behind her. Suddenly she realized she just didn’t care. She didn’t feel anything at all. There wasn’t a hint of tears, no real anger brewing inside her. Had she known this would happen all along? Been expecting it and preparing for the past year?

  She looked at Alex and saw the real pain, heavily tinted by guilt, shining back through his expression.

  “I realize you believe that’s true,” she said in a calm, quiet voice. “But our relationship is over. I’m sorry. It’s really just that simple.”

  Alex’s arms fell to his sides, his shoulders heaving a little as he plopped back onto the couch. He leaned his frame forward, grabbed the half empty beer on the table to drain the last of it in one long sip.

  His hands ran through his hair, loosening up the stiff gel that coated each strand. “I’m sorry.”

  Abby almost shrugged but caught herself. She was actually relieved that the Alex Peterson chapter of her life was over. Of course she was hurt. At least she convinced herself she should be. He had cheated, betrayed her in the worst way. And that should be painful. Right?

  It wasn’t that Abby didn’t care for Alex but she knew it wasn’t in the way she was supposed to. They had been saying I love you like some people say hello and goodbye. There was no feeling behind the words. She said them because he said them, because she was expected to say them. And it just wasn’t enough anymore.

  The height of their relationship had come and gone; faded like beauty and youth and all that other clichéd stuff old poets write about. Now they were nothing more than one of Shakespeare’s sonnets; nice, somewhat memorable, yet ultimately not a life altering experience.

  Alex was always busy at his gallery and Abby was constantly painting or working on commissioned illustrations. They lived in New York and they were both immersed in the rich and complicated art scene of the city. They had little time for each other. Worse, neither of them went out of their way to make time.

  Abby would probably never be able to deny that she was attracted to Alex in a completely physical way. For a split second she thought about going to bed with him once more for old time’s sake. But Alex was too emotional and guilt ridden and Abby didn’t have much emotion for him at all. It wouldn’t be fair to lead him on or toy with him that way. Plus, having sex with him would be like saying what he’d done was okay. And it wasn’t. If nothing else, she had to hold on to some shred of dignity.

  “I know you feel bad about the whole thing. I get that. I really do. But the more I think about it, our problems go beyond you sleeping with whoever has the matching purple panties to go with that bra.”

  Alex looked up in mild surprise. “They do? Wait I thought we were pretty happy together.”

  She sucked in her breath and exhaled heavily. “We had lots of um… fun which was admittedly pretty great. But that’s about all we had. And I want more than that. No, I need more than that. Sex is great, but it’s like only having chocolate fudge on your sundae when you like whipped cream and cherries too. Oh, and strawberry sauce. Lots of strawberry sauce.”

  Alex seemed to be taking her words in before he spoke, most likely trying to dissect her obscure analogy. “Okay, but we can work on that other stuff. We can spend more time together, go on dates again, and all that romantic crap.” He smiled in his usual seductive manner. “We’ve already got the hots for each other Baby. If all that’s missing is flowers and champagne I can do that.”

  “Oh Alex.” She turned sympathetic eyes in his direction. “I don’t think contrived ideas of romance are going to fix this.” She didn’t want this anymore; no longer wanted to pretend their relationship was enough to be fulfilling for either of them. “I think we should just accept that we’re not going to work and get on with our individual lives.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that right now Abbs. I can’t just walk away from this, from you and our life together.”

  “What life together?” Abby’s words were calm. “We barely spend time in the same room and when we do it’s just for a quick tumble. If you wanted to work on this you should’ve done something a long time ago. We both should have. Besides, you don’t even see me Alex. You’re too busy staring at yourself.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Well it was more than just sex for me and I’m not ready to give up on us.”

  “After the seriously bad choice you made, it’s not really up to you anymore.”

  Minutes went by with neither of them speaking. Alex was visibly upset. Abby could tell by his set jaw and determined expression that he wasn’t going to let their relationship end that easily. He was a stubborn man who hated being told he couldn’t have something. Or maybe he really cared. One way or the other she wasn’t going to give in to him. She had principles and so help her, she wasn’t going to succumb to his charm or his tempting advances. They were done. Over. Period. She would remain diligent…steadfast… or whatever.

  “Where will I go?” Alex walked to the fridge, pulled out another beer. “This is where I live. All my stuff is here.”

  Abby thought for a moment and tucked her short blonde hair behind her ears. Alex had no family in the area or even many real friends. Least of all any that would let him crash on their loveseats and take up time in front of their bathroom mirrors. Alex was notoriously vain and needed more time getting ready in the morning than a bride on her wedding
day.

  “I really hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “What about staying at your new girlfriend’s place?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. I barely even know her.”

  “Oh, that’s just great.” Abby clenched her eyes shut and sighed.

  He ignored her. “Besides, I think she lives outside the city with her parents.”

  “I hope she was at least legal. Did you check her ID?”

  Again he ignored her, resumed his place on the couch. Looking up, he flashed his best little boy eyes at her. “I can’t be homeless Abbs. I mean, I could sleep at the gallery, but where would I shower and stuff? I couldn’t make it as a cardboard box guy who smells like cheese and wears stained clothes. I’m not going to sell much art from the walls working the hobo look. And with Christmas just around the corner…”

  Damn him, Abby thought. She couldn’t turn him out on the streets. Though part of her really, really wanted to. In fact she imagined she’d get some sort of pleasure out of knowing he was camped out on the concrete-like couch of his gallery office with no TV and no beer stocked fridge. She sighed and closed her eyes for a second.

  Abby let out a heavy, frustrated breath. “Fine, you can stay here until you find a place. But you sleep on the couch Alexander Peterson. Got it?”

  “Yes Ma’am.” He looked up with a wide grin. “It’s a nice couch. I always liked it. Very cozy, you know.” He patted the sofa like it was his favorite pet, kicked his feet up and clicked the remote to turn on the TV.

  “Yeah, this won’t be awkward at all,” Abby mumbled. “Are you still going to sell my work at the gallery?”

  “Of course, Baby. You know you’re my favorite artist.” Abby held back the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Great. I appreciate it. Oh, and one more thing.”