As the morning wore on, hunger drove him to a busy food hall. He followed a man talking into what he now knew was called a phone into the building. The phone allowed a person to speak with another person far away, a most marvelous wonder.
The scent of warm butter and spices led him to a small stall. Callan reached into his sporran, pulling out a few of the coins he had tucked away.
He offered them to the vendor in exchange for the food, as the roll the woman had given him earlier had only made him hungrier.
The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked at the coins. “What kind of funny money is that?” he asked gruffly.
Confused, Callan noticed a woman at the next counter handing over green paper. He put the coins away and pulled out the paper the man had given him, wishing he had one of the small cards people used for money. The man took a piece of the paper, rolled his eyes and gave Callan back more green paper than he had given him.
Ah, the green paper ’twas money like the small cards. What kind of money was made of paper?
The hot buttered bread was delicious, laden with some kind of meat he’d never tasted before. As he stuffed the other half of the roll into his mouth, Callan went back to the stall and bought two more.
“What is this strange meat?”
The man frowned at him.
“You think you’re funny? It’s a lobstah roll, you idiot.”
Aye, Callan liked this lobster. He ate the delicious rolls, then decided to see what other food awaited him.
Weaving through the crowded hall, he accidentally bumped into a man hurrying past. The man yelled and shoved Callan, who instinctively reached for where his dagger would normally be sheathed. Finding nothing, Callan quickly dropped his hands and backed away.
His actions caught the eye of a nearby man dressed in a uniform. The man approached Callan, eyeing his strange clothing.
“What’s your deal buddy? You lost?” he asked, a hand on his hip.
Not wanting a fight when he had no weapons to defend himself, and distrustful of the uniform, Callan turned and ran as the man shouted for him to stop. He gave chase but was slow and quickly fell behind as Callan ran like the devil himself was after him.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, Callan was crossing the road when a woman’s scream echoed down the empty street, followed by harsh, threatening voices.
Peering around the corner, Callan saw two men brandishing knives, attempting to take the metal beast from a young woman. Instinctively, his hand went to his side.
“Damned fates.” Finding nothing but air, he swore and stepped forward. The two men sneered at him.
“Mind your business before we cut you. This is our car.” One of the men brandished the small knife at him.
When the man’s companion tried to move behind him, Callan reacted without thinking.
He disarmed one bandit with a swift, precise motion, sending the knife clattering to the ground. The other, taken aback by someone fighting back, hesitated just long enough for Callan to land a powerful blow to the man’s nose as a crunch filled the air, followed by a womanly shriek. The man ran, one hand holding the knife, the other pressed to his nose to stop the blood flowing down his pockmarked face.
The woman yelled her thanks for saving her from a carjacking and much worse. She jumped into the metal beast and sped off as the wheels left black marks on the road. A car. ’Twas an odd name for the metal carriage, but they went fast and Callan thought it would be exciting to ride in one.
Invigorated from the wee skirmish, Callan looked around. The streets in this part of the city were empty. As he tried to find his way back to the park, wandering along the streets, afternoon gave way to evening.
With his belly full of lobster and a delicious drink someone called a fresh-pressed orange juice, Callan decided in the morn he would seek out a powerful witch who could send him home. He had seen enough of this time where people were busy rushing to and fro. All he wanted was to go back to his own time. There was nothing here for him.
Daisy fiddledwith the button on the front of her floral print maxi dress as she waited in the sleek, modern lobby of the high-rise building. If she’d known the company was going to call so quickly for an interview, she might not have called at all. But she’d promised Zara and knew her friend had pulled strings to get her the interview, so here she was, watching people coming and going, the women’s heels tapping against the tile floor.
It was time. When the elevator doors slid open, Daisy took a deep breath and stepped inside with other people going about their day, her heart pounding with anticipation. As she rode to the top floor, she mentally reviewed her talking points, reminding herself to highlight her creativity, attention to detail, and love of storytelling. While she might not have a college degree, she’d held a variety of jobs in the four years since she’d graduated from high school.
“You must be Daisy.” A guy dressed in navy slacks with a blue button-down shirt and the reddest hair she’d ever seen smiled at her.
“This way.” He led her to a conference room, pushing the glass door open for her.
The room was bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering stunning views of the city. Daisy greeted the interviewers with a warm smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.
“Please, have a seat.” The guy with red hair sat in a chair across the table from her.
