Once Every Never

by Lesley Livingston

  “Yeah, I got that part.” Clare remembered what Connal had said about Comorra’s being chosen by the Raven.

  “It is thought … Holy crap, Clare!”—Al’s pedantic tone evaporated in a sudden flash—“listen to this! It is thought that the British warrior queen Boudicca may have prayed to the Raven Goddess on the eve of her battle against occupying Roman forces. Rituals involving this goddess may have included human sacrifices …”

  “Ew.” Clare shivered, thinking gruesome thoughts.

  Al read on: “It is also possible, however, that Andrasta can be linked to the more peaceful Gallic goddess, Andarta—”

  Clare shook her head, remembering. “I don’t think so.” “What?”

  “That last part.” She was remembering the look on Connal’s face as he beheld the raven brooch. “I don’t think this Andrasta chick had very much to do with peace.”

  “Well, you might have a point there.” Clare could hear the sound of rapid mouse clicks. “There’s more on her here. Stuff about blood curses and magic and sacrifices … Also—I did a little background check earlier on Ms. B., and I gotta tell ya, she had quite the rep …”

  Clare jumped just then, hearing Maggie’s footsteps on the creaky wooden staircase. The last thing she wanted was for her aunt to start asking questions—more questions—and getting suspicious. More suspicious. “Tell me tomorrow,” she interrupted Al. “I gotta go.”

  “Promise you won’t do anything else stupid?”

  “I promise,” Clare crossed her heart, even though Al couldn’t see her do it, and said, “I won’t do anything else stupid. Tonight.”

  “Okay then. And remember we’re meeting up tomorrow.”

  “I know. I’ll be there.” Suddenly Clare was overcome with the urge to sleep. “G’night, Al.”

  “Hey Clare?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Milo wanted me to tell you he says hi.”

  “Wh—”

  “Pleasant dreams, Freak Girl.” Al chuckled and hung up the phone.

  7

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. She’s something, huh?”

  Clare nodded slowly as she stood, mesmerized, staring up at the monument. “It even kind of looks like her. A little.”

  “It does?” Al asked.

  “Well … no. But there’s something. Something of her, uh, her spirit, maybe …?” Clare expected Al to mock her for the New Agey sentiment, but she just looked back up at the massive bronze figure in the chariot looming high above them against the bright blue London sky. It also loomed high above a seriously tacky souvenir stand—stuffed to the awning with plastic Bobby hats and plushy Union Jack bears and foil balloons—but somehow the statue’s dignity remained wholly intact.

  Across the Thames, the observation pods of the giant Millennium Wheel rotated serenely. All around them people and vehicles bustled to and fro in a noisy stream of humanity. But it faded away to background noise for the two girls standing beneath the shadow of grandeur cast by that queenly figure, frozen in the moment of a thundering charge.

  This was what Al had insisted that Clare meet her to see. She had come across a reference to it in her internet searches: the great bronze statue of Boudicca that stood on the banks of the Thames next to Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament. Commissioned by Prince Albert in the nineteenth century, Thomas Thornycroft’s sculpture depicted its subject as a commanding, unbowed figure. Arms raised high, a slender spear gripped in one strong fist, Queen Boudicca stood straight and proud on the deck of a scythe-wheeled chariot drawn by a pair of rearing stallions, two young girls crouched behind her. One of the girls was hunched in a protective posture, arms pulled in to herself, as she peeked solemnly out from behind her mother’s flowing cloak.

  But it was the other girl that Clare couldn’t take her eyes off. Her clothes, like those of her sister’s, were dishevelled and loose, torn to the waist, her young body exposed. Frozen forever in time, she gripped the side of the careening chariot with one fist and craned her neck trying to peer forward, past the charging horses, as if to see what was coming. As if she could somehow see into the future and wanted to meet her fate with eyes wide open, no matter how awful it might be.

  And Clare had the immediate sense that it had, indeed, been awful.

  “Comorra …” she murmured.

  Al regarded her silently for a moment. “And the other one must be Tasca, right? The … uh …”

  “The dead girl I saw?” Clare shivered a bit. “I suppose.”

  “C’mon,” Al said, tugging on Clare’s purse strap. “It’s a gorgeous day and I didn’t bring you here so you could spend it feeling all mopey about something that happened over two thousand years ago. I just wanted you to see the statue. You know … for a little perspective. Now let’s go get something to eat.”

  Clare followed reluctantly, glancing back over her shoulder as if the long-dead queen and her daughters had cast a spell that would take some effort to shake off. The girls bought a couple of kebabs from a hole-in-the-wall kebab shop and set out along the pathway beside the river, strolling along until they came to a bench overlooking the smooth expanse of dark water. Maybe Comorra had strolled along this very river—maybe the very same stretch of riverbank—all those centuries ago …

  “Al?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  Al was silent for a long moment. She tore open a bag of crisps and threw a few of them to a squabble of pigeons, her brow creased in thought beneath the dark fringe of her hair. “I honestly don’t know, pal,” she said eventually. “This takes a bigger brain than mine.”

  “Great,” Clare sighed. “I suppose, in that case, I’m doomed.”

  “No you’re not.” Al grinned suddenly. “What time is it?” Clare checked her watch, but—of course—the display was still fried. She’d put it on that morning out of habit. Instead she pulled out her cell phone, which had probably escaped similar electronic death by virtue of Clare having forgotten it at home when they’d gone to the museum. She checked the screen. “It’s just after five. Why?”

  “C’mon.” Al stood and headed back in the direction they’d come from. “He usually likes to work for an hour or two after everyone else has gone home.”

  “He who?”

  “Milo. His office is only a few blocks from here.”

  Clare stopped short in the middle of the path. “No. Way.”

  “Look—he’s the biggest brain I know.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “If he can’t figure out what’s happening to you, no one can.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “D’you wanna solve this or not?”

  She did. She really, really did. But the thought of telling Milo that she, well, that she was some kind of freak, made Clare queasy. Of course, the mere thought of seeing him again cancelled the queasy out. Nearly.

  THE LATE-AFTERNOON SUN was pouring through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows in the high-tech, open-concept space that served as the London office of the Ordnance Survey. The quiet hum of a bank of processors behind a glass partition was the only sound they heard as the receptionist let them in through a set of tall double doors on her way out. The place was deserted except for a corner workstation where Milo, a pair of oversized headphones clamped over his ears, stared fixedly at a slowly rotating graphic on the high-def monitor. His long fingers danced over the ergonomic keyboard and sections of the spidery, spinning graphic filled in with variegated shades of green and brown and blue …

  “Milo,” Al called. “Milo!”

  Clare picked up a paperclip and an elastic band from a supply tray on a nearby desk, bent the little piece of wire and shot it across the room. It pinged off the back of Milo’s head and he jumped a bit and turned, his look of annoyance melting into a surprised smile.

  “Clare!” he said. “Hi!” And then, “Hey, Allie …”

  He took off the headphones and shook his hair out. The dark blond waves fell jus
t over the top rim of his stylish-cool glasses, catching the sunlight and haloing his face, highlighting his fairly spectacular bone structure … Oh boy, Clare thought, still trying to reconcile this Milo with the one she’d once known as a puppyish, slobbery little boy in Superman jammies and cape.

  Nope. Does not compute …

  Maybe, she thought, this Milo was a by-product of the same paranormal forces that had sent her spiralling back in time the day before.

  Heh. Maybe I changed history.

  Clare was amused by the possibility for a brief instant. Then her amusement turned to a stomach-clenching anxiety. What if she had?

  Milo stood and stretched, his lean-muscled physique showing through the thin material of his T-shirt, which had a picture of a despondent stormtrooper hunched over a beer in a bar with the caption “Those were the droids I was looking for …”

  Okay … maybe she hadn’t altered the timeline. Milo was obviously still a nerd. He’d just morphed into a hot nerd.

  “So, Clare de Lune.” He grinned at her as he reached over and flicked the screen to sleep mode. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of this visit?”

  “Did he just call me crazy?” Clare murmured to Al out of the side of her mouth.

  “It’s a song,” Al murmured back. “It’s a compliment. Go with it. I’ll explain later.”

  “Uh …” Clare was lost.

  At the moment, all she really wanted to do was stare at Milo. Maybe flirt charmingly. She wasn’t sure. And she really wasn’t sure how to broach the subject they’d actually come to discuss with Al’s cousin. It was the stuff of sci-fi novels and movies. But then again … that stuff was sort of Milo’s forte, wasn’t it?

  “Milo … you’re a geek, right?” Clare blurted out. She felt her cheeks flush in mortification. You moron! she cursed herself silently.

  But Milo just cocked his head and grinned a lopsided grin. “Top of my class at Nerd Academy, yeah. Midi-chlorian count’s off the chart.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Clare saw Al roll her eyes—whether at her or at Milo, she wasn’t entirely sure. She blinked at Milo in confusion.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Jedi in-joke.”

  “Mi … we got a situation.” Al got straight to the point. “Could use some help.”

  Milo frowned faintly, curiosity colouring the expression, and pushed two rolling chairs toward them. “I’m all ears, cuz.”

  “You used to be …” Al snorted.

  “Yeah, and you used to be all buck teeth and Batman band-aids. Times change.” He laughed and it was a clear, warm sound. “What’s up, ladies?” Milo perched expectantly on the edge of a worktable as the girls sat and exchanged hesitant glances.

  What if he didn’t believe them?

  Wait, Clare thought, what if he does? What would that say about him?

  Regardless, it was too late to turn back, she realized. Al had already started to speak. Hesitantly, at first. But then, as she got into the story, she became more and more assured and animated. She spilled the whole strange, sorry tale out to her cousin, who sat very, very still, listening. Clare kind of wanted to crawl under a rock.

  “Are you okay?” Milo asked eventually. Clare heard the question as if it came from a great distance.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?” he repeated. He was crouched in front of her chair, although Clare didn’t remember him moving—she’d been lost in the memory of what had happened. Milo’s long hands were clasped loosely in front of him and he stared up at her.

  Great. He thinks I’m certifiable.

  “I’m not crazy,” Clare said, her voice a dry whisper.

  The ghost of a smile touched Milo’s lips but his eyes remained locked on her. “That’s not what I asked. Are you okay?”

  “Mentally or physically?”

  “Both. You sound like you’ve had a pretty big shock, Clare.” His voice was soft and soothing. The kind of voice you’d use to talk someone off a ledge or calm a skittish horse.

  Clare turned a flat stare on him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t believe it happened.”

  “I didn’t say that …”

  “But you don’t. Why would you? Why would anyone? I don’t—and I’m the one it happened to. This is stupid. Al—can we go now, please?” Clare could barely look at Milo with his cool, compassionate, appraising gaze, his head tilted slightly to one side …

  Big brain at work, Clare thought. Analytical. Probably trying to decide whether to call in the paramedics or a mental health professional.

  “Al?” Clare pushed her chair back and stood.

  “Wait—Clare. Don’t go.” Milo got up and put a hand on her arm.

  “Why? You’re busy and I’m crazy. Obviously. This is just a waste of time.”

  “Hey now.” Milo smiled down at her. “I don’t think you’re a waste of anything. And I don’t think you’re crazy. But I also don’t know what to tell you. What you’re telling me is … well. It’s impossible. You know?”

  Clare glared stubbornly up at him. “Yeah. I know.”

  “But something happened to you. And”—Milo’s smile faded and a frown ticked away between his brows—“there’s only one way I’m going to be able to help you figure out what that something was.”

  Clare swallowed noisily in apprehension.

  Milo’s fingers tightened as he gently squeezed her arm. “Can you … show me?” he asked quietly.

  “Show you what? The brooch?”

  “Show me what you can do with the brooch.”

  “Empiricist,” Al snorted. “Oh ye of little faith.”

  Milo’s gaze flicked over to his cousin above the rim of his glasses. “If you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, would you believe Clare’s story?”

  Clare looked back and forth between them while Al hesitated.

  “Um.” Al blinked rapidly.

  “Thanks, pal,” Clare sighed.

  “Well …?” Al shrugged helplessly.

  “Fine.” Clare unslung her shoulder bag and set it down on the desk with a thump. She reached into the side zipper pocket, fished around for the pompom sock, and tossed it onto the desktop. It landed with a dull clank. Al and Milo both flinched a little at her cavalier treatment of what was probably a priceless—and mysteriously powerful—artifact, but Clare just crossed her arms over her chest again and stared back and forth between them. She wasn’t feeling particularly reverential. “Put a nickel in the cup and the monkey dances. I’ll do my little magic trick for you if that’s what it takes.”

  “I … hang on a second.” Milo put his hand on her arm again, and his grip was a little less gentle this time. “I don’t want you to do anything dangerous—”

  Clare shrugged off his touch and resolutely reached for the sock. She tugged at the scarf and the brooch spilled out, spinning in a little circle before coming to rest. The red stone winked at Clare in the light and she felt her mouth go dry. Beside her, Milo had gone very still.

  The anticipation building in Clare’s chest was like a bubble expanding, pushing against her lungs. Making it hard to breathe. She could almost feel the firefly tingles along her arms even before she touched the brooch.

  She reached out her hand …

  “Wait!” Al yelped. “On second thought, I don’t think you should do this.” Her dark brows knit together. “Why not just leave it alone? It’s done. Past. Literally. I mean … what are we trying to accomplish by having you go back there? Uh, then.”

  “I’m trying to prove a point. Empirical evidence, remember?”

  “This is stupid. I don’t need to see you do it again and I don’t care anymore if Milo believes us or not. Sorry, Mi …” Al took a step toward Clare. “I just don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

  “Aargh!” Clare huffed in frustration. “You’re the one who suggested we come here. And aren’t you the least bit curious about it all? About how I can do this? Why I can do this?” She knew it wasn’t just proving a point to Milo that h
ad made her want to touch the brooch again. Clare’s heart was thumping with excitement at the mere thought.

  “Sure.” Al nodded. “I’m curious as hell. Also? Vaguely terrified.”

  “Allie’s right,” Milo said quietly.

  “I am. Wait—I am?”

  “Sure. You’re absolutely right to be afraid. I mean … every time Clare takes one of her supernatural sightseeing jaunts, she risks altering the space–time continuum, yeah?”

  “Well, yeah,” Al nodded. “That’s what I tried to explain to Clare earlier.”

  Clare rolled her eyes. “Here we go again …” she muttered. “I did not throw a wrench at the monkey.”

  Milo raised a questioning eyebrow in her direction.

  “Clare doesn’t watch any of the sci-fi channels back home,” Al explained. “The inner workings of the universe are a mystery to her. She watches MTV.”

  “That’s not all I watch!” Clare protested. “I like game shows, too.” She glanced at Milo as his other eyebrow crept up. “And … um … Star Wars?”

  Milo’s expression grew pained.

  “Wait! Trek! Star Trek. I think. Whichever is the one on TV …”

  Al shushed Clare into silence before Milo started to actually sputter. Cute he may have been, but his geek flag still flew high and proud over his tousled blond head, it seemed. Clare made a mental note to bone up on Dr. Who. Not that she even really knew what that was. She’d just heard Al mention it enough to know it was nerd high art.

  “Stop trying to sidetrack me. I’m doing this.”

  “Okay, okay,” Al said. “Just promise you’re only gonna go there and have a look around this time. A quick look. You’re not gonna try and, y’know, change the course of history or anything.”

  “I promise.”

  “You’re not gonna touch anything … you’re not gonna talk to anyone.”

  “No touching. No talking.”

  Clare understood Al’s eminently sensible concerns. But she also couldn’t resist the urge to try again. It was an adventure. It was secret, thrilling, maybe even a little dangerous … but it was also more than that. Much more.