The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  “It only seems that way because Hadley is so talkative.”

  Charles laughed. “You are not wrong.” He brushed hair back from my cheek, the light sweep of his fingers across my skin giving me shivers. “But there is something else bothering you. And not just your brother’s arrest, I am assuming.”

  Staring into his earnest gaze, I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him the Night Gentleman’s real identity, and that it was my fault Hadley had been drugged. It was a miracle the combination of Dragon Dust and so much alcohol hadn’t killed her. I wanted to tell him about the massive sting operation Cyrus and the alchemists were setting up. How Baylarian would likely be gone for good if we failed to trap him at the show. With Lachlan’s name tattoo, Baylarian could jump on his own. Sure, he’d experience time sickness that might drive him as crazy as Lachlan, but how many more people would die before that happened?

  “It’s my cousin,” I blurted out. “He is very sick. That’s actually why my uncle came to Paris to begin with. My cousin, Lachlan, was supposed to meet Gaige and me here, but he never showed up. So, Uncle Cyrus came to look for him. Unfortunately, we found him yesterday. At Salpêtrière.”

  Charles’s arms were around me, pulling me tight against his chest.

  “I am so sorry, Stassi. You poor thing.”

  The sentiment was real and heartfelt, and tears pricked the backs of my eyes.

  “Is everything okay?” Hemingway’s voice interrupted the moment.

  Charles and I broke apart. Turning away, I discreetly wiped the wetness from my eyes before facing the writer with a forced smile.

  “Of course, Ernest. You have the coats? Shall we go?”

  Cirque d’Hiver was already quite crowded when we arrived. Patrons milled around the lobby, conversing and sipping cocktails as they waited for the theater doors to open. Charles and I took the Hemingways’ coats with us over to the coat check, while they went in search of drinks. Charles helped me out of the fur stole I was wearing, adding it to the pile on the counter. I glanced around anxiously, hoping to spot a face I recognized.

  “Here is your claim ticket, Mr. DuPree,” the attendant said to Charles. “Enjoy the show.” Though the man’s French was flawless, his slight accent gave him away.

  I whirled back to face the counter just in time to see Wick give me a conspiratorial smile. A high-necked white dress shirt with long sleeves hid his tattoos. Paired with a standard black vest, the Australian enforcer was dressed identically to the theater’s other staff members. A customs’ makeup artist had done wonders on Wick’s facial scars, even drawing in small hairs to complete his eyebrow.

  While Charles was focused on pulling out bills to tip him, Wick gave me a wink, exposing his dimples. I let out a long bated breath that I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. Seeing a familiar face—even one as unfamiliar as Wick’s—made me feel immensely better. Cyrus and his team were here, even if I couldn’t spot every one of them.

  The enforcer thanked Charles for his generosity, then turned to the next couple in line. When my date began scanning the throng of theatergoers, I gestured to where I’d spotted the Hemingways waiting for us near the bar with glasses of champagne in hand. Charles placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the crowd, staying only a half-step behind me.

  Even with my mind overwhelmingly occupied by thoughts of the Night Gentleman, Cyrus’s strike team, and fears for the safety of us all, Charles’s touch sent pleasant sparks up my spine. At one point, I paused to let a rowdy group pass in front of us, and took the opportunity to lean my head back against Charles. While we waited for them to file past, his other hand caressed my arm before his fingers intertwined with my own. His mere presence was both reassuring and fortifying, and I found myself feeling grateful that Baylarian had forced me to invite him.

  I let out a long sigh as I realized this would probably be the last time I ever saw Charles DuPree.

  When we’d finally made it across the lobby to the bar area, I saw that the Hemingways were chatting with another couple. As we approached, the woman talking with Hadley turned toward us. To my immense surprise, I saw that it was none other than Ines. Her sweeping black gown paired perfectly with her inky hair and snowy skin to create an overall look of monochromatic contrasts.

  “Anastasia! Charles!” she trilled with faux surprise. My Parisian guide leaned in to brush a kiss on each of my cheeks, before repeating the gesture with my date. “How are you my dears? It is so wonderful to see you both.”

  At the sound of Ines’s greeting, the man talking to Ernest turned to face us. It took several moments for my brain to swap out the immaculate tuxedo for a lab coat and realize who it was—Dr. Merriweather. For the second time in as many minutes, I was taken aback by the presence of an alchemist.

  “I’m well,” Charles was saying. “And you, Ines? You look wonderful, as usual.”

  “Right as rain,” she cooed in response, then gestured to her escort. “Have you met Jonas Merriweather? Jonas, may I present Anastasia Prince and Charles DuPree.”

  The doctor shook hands with Charles, before leaning in to brush a kiss across the back of mine. For a man unaccustomed to fieldwork, he was doing an impressive job of pretending we’d never met.

  Our group formed a small circle, with Dr. Merriweather positioning himself firmly on my right side.

  “I had the pleasure of meeting your uncle earlier this evening,” he told me conversationally.

  “How lovely,” I replied, unsure of what else to say.

  Dr. Merriweather waited while Hadley handed me a crystal flute of bubbly and I thanked her.

  “I am afraid he was not having the best night,” he continued, giving me a meaningful look that I couldn’t decipher. “Seems a business deal of his fell through. He had another meeting lined up for this evening. Here is hoping that venture goes more smoothly.” The doctor raised his glass in toast.

  “What line of business is your uncle in?” Hemingway asked.

  “Acquisitions,” I said smoothly, scanning the lobby for said “uncle”. Cyrus was nowhere in sight.

  “He’s here, dear. No need to worry,” Merriweather said under his breath, holding his glass up to his mouth to hide the movement of his lips.

  Before I could ask him where, the doors to the theater opened. The crowd immediately began migrating in that direction. Instead of joining the stream, our little group stepped out of the way and continued chatting. I kept one ear on the conversation, as my eyes made regular rounds of the lobby. The Rosetta was firmly in place, and I reached up to discreetly adjust the receiver to its maximum range capabilities. Bits and pieces of conversations floated through my right ear, the device catching everything within fifty feet. The effect was overwhelming at first, though I gradually grew accustomed to it. Fortunately, I’d had a lot of practice using the Rosetta.

  “—yes, he is—”

  “—that is your third whiskey, please don’t—”

  “—where he—naturally found that—”

  “—Stassi—glad you—so beautiful—”

  The blood drained from my face as I froze, glass halfway to my parted lips. I didn’t move a muscle, not wanting to lose the disembodied voice among the others in the crowd.

  “—she never did find—”

  “—sometimes I swear he just cannot help—”

  “Yes, Stassi,” the voice came through again. “I see you can hear me.”

  I whipped around, studying the faces around me in the desperate hope I would spot the man from the pictures.

  “Oh, don’t bother looking, you won’t recognize me.”

  It was a distinct advantage. Not knowing that we’d identified him would hopefully make Baylarian careless.

  A hand touched my forearm, and I jumped.

  “Are you okay, Stassi?” Charles asked worriedly, sliding his fingers down to squeeze mine.

  Ten very concerned eyeballs were locked on me. I forced a smile and laughed breezily.

  “
Of course,” I replied, scrambling to find an explanation for my spastic behavior. “I’m just feeling a bit jumpy. I do believe I might’ve had a bit too much champagne with dinner.” Forcing an embarrassed expression, I rolled my eyes.

  As the others chuckled politely, Ines loudly asked Ernest and Hadley about their upcoming trip. Though she’d expertly deflected the attention of the rest of the group, Charles’s focus remained on me. He peered at me with an unspoken question in his eyes, but the return of Baylarian’s voice left it unanswered.

  “Such the actress, Stassi,” it taunted. “Playing so many roles must get confusing. How do you know who you truly are?”

  My eyes darted desperately around the room. The crowd was dwindling, making it easier to see individual faces. I searched for a lone man who would appear to be talking to himself, but found none.

  “Another drink, miss?” a server interrupted.

  I looked down at the glass in my hand that was still filled halfway with sparkling amber liquid. Turning to the waiter to decline the offer, I stopped short when I met his dark eyes. Felipe was staring back at me. The stylist held a tray of cocktails in one hand, and a single champagne flute in the other. He subtly tilted the latter towards me.

  “Yes, champagne, please,” I replied, taking the hint. “Thank you so much.”

  I placed my drink on Felipe’s tray and took the new glass. He handed me a cocktail napkin from the bottom of his stack, and then drifted away without another word. Ines witnessed my exchange with her fellow alchemist, and she immediately drew Charles into the conversation. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I quickly flipped the napkin open.

  No sign of target yet. Has he made contact with you? Nod once for yes, twice for no, then head inside the theater. C.

  P.S. Ines has something I forgot to give you—be sure to get it.

  Nodding once, I crumpled the napkin in my hand. Felipe swept by again, and I placed it on his tray. Turning my full attention back to the group, I waited for an opening in the conversation. Ines was just finishing a story about the ridiculous woman she’d helped at the hat shop earlier in the day. When she paused to accommodate the obligatory laughter, I pounced.

  “We should find our seats,” I interjected, before someone else could speak.

  Charles offered me his arm, and we joined the flow of patrons filing towards the entrance doors. Without warning, the Night Gentleman’s voice found me once more. My pulse pounded, picking up tempo with each word.

  “That dress really is exquisite. ‘Tis a shame it might be ruined before the night is over.” He clucked his tongue. “Now, you must be thinking to yourself, ‘Why? Why will my dress be ruined? How will my dress be ruined?’ Is it because you have a front row seat to my final performance? Or perhaps it is because you are my final performance? Careful what you drink, Stassi.”

  The champagne flute slipped from my fingers, his cackling in my ear drowned out the shattering of the crystal on the marble floor. I whipped my head frantically around, searching for the offending laugher. Locating the only man braying like a hyena should have been easy. But, everywhere I looked, all I saw were couples talking, waiters carrying trays, and concerned patrons eyeing the mess I’d made.

  Thankfully, the rest of our group was lost in the crowd ahead and didn’t witness my erratic behavior. Unfortunately, Charles had a front row seat. He stepped out of the tide sweeping us to the theater doors and pulled me along with him. Gently tugging my arm, Charles leaned in.

  “What is going on?” he asked insistently.

  It had been too much to hope that he hadn’t noticed my behavior. I was acting like a schizophrenic, but that’s because I had voices in my head.

  “I-I…,” I stuttered, desperately wanting to tell him everything. I met his warm honey gaze. “I’m sorry, Charles. I can’t tell you.”

  He studied my face for several long moments, searching my eyes for the answers I couldn’t give.

  “Are you okay?” he finally said.

  “I will be,” I replied. “It’s a long story, and….” I weighed the gravity of letting him in on what was happening.

  “Stassi,” Baylarian’s voice trilled in my head. “Say goodbye to your Prince Charming.”

  “You promised not to hurt them,” I whispered, as if the killer could hear me. Unfortunately, the Rosetta wasn’t designed for two-way transmission.

  “You can tell me anything,” Charles murmured, moving impossibly closer before continuing in a whisper. “I want to help you, whatever is it. I am here for you, let me help you.”

  The emotions that I felt at his words—gratitude, guilt, anxiety—tipped the scale. I tapped the Rosetta until it was muted.

  “We don’t have time for me to explain everything,” I started. “But, the Night Gentleman has threatened to attack tonight. Here.”

  Charles’s expression instantly hardened.

  “We need to leave,” he declared. “Go outside. Now. Wait for me out there. No, find a cab immediately and go home. I will get the others and meet you back at your place.”

  He turned, looking for an opening to reenter the crowd entering the theater. Before I had a chance to stop him, Charles whirled back around to face me.

  “We need to have this entire place evacuated straightaway,” Charles announced. His eyes were darting around, apparently searching for ways to do so. He suddenly stopped and locked my gaze again. “Wait, how do you know this? When did you find out? Why are we here?”

  “Like I said, there’s no time to explain,” I replied, pulling him back to me so he could hear my whispered answer. It was my turn to take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “We know the Night Gentleman will be here, and my uncle hired a team to find and stop him. Cyrus’s guys are here. They’re all around us. They’re going to keep us safe, I promise. But if we leave, if everyone leaves, so will the killer. And we don’t know if we’ll ever have another opportunity like this one. When we know where he will be. It might be the only chance we have to clear Gaige, to have my brother released.”

  As the words streamed out, I worried about the ramifications. Cyrus might not be thrilled with letting civilians in on the plan. Nonetheless, my bizarre behavior wasn’t going unnoticed. I had to explain. Hopefully, my boss would understand.

  “What about the police?” Charles asked, after several long moments of processing what I’d said. “Did you call them?”

  “Of course,” I said, immediately feeling guilty about the lie. “They said that they have the killer in custody. They thought…they thought this was an elaborate ruse to let him off the hook. But my brother didn’t kill those people. I swear he didn’t.”

  I implored Charles with my gaze, praying he would grasp the gravity of the situation.

  “I know he didn’t,” he replied quietly. “I believe you. What can I do to help?”

  “Just watch for anyone behaving oddly. Watch for anyone watching us. Keep in mind that my uncle’s team of guards will have their eyes on us, but I know what they look like. Just point out anyone you notice.”

  Charles leaned in so his forehead was touching mine. We stayed like that for a full minute, our hands clasped. I wished I could pause time. That I could pause the frenzy around us and stay like that—in a secluded bubble with only Charles. He inexplicably made me feel safe, and that was something I craved.

  Our brief interlude was interrupted when a janitor hurried over with a broom and mop to clean up the glass I’d dropped. I mumbled apologies to him, then Charles led me away from the mess. Ines appeared out of nowhere, whisking me from Charles’s arms and ushering me off down a side hallway with a sign for the restrooms.

  “If we hurry, we can get to the stain before it sets,” Ines called to Charles. “We’ll meet you in the theater in just a minute.”

  He looked uncertainly from the sticky liquid on my dress to my face.

  “I promise,” I reassured him. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  Ines practically dragged me down the hallway and into
the ladies’ room. Only seconds after the door closed behind us, it swung open again and a waitress scurried in with towels.

  “I am sure I can get it out. It is just champagne, after all,” the newcomer announced. She patted my arm as I stared down at the mess I’d made. “This happens all of the time. Not to worry, Stassi.”

  My anxiety level was so high that my head snapped up suspiciously at the sound of my name.

  “Naomi,” I breathed, looking at the waitress for the first time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

  “Yes, well, when Ines said we were coming to the show, I did not realize I’d be posing as a service worker.” The wardrober shrugged one slim shoulder. “Oh well.”

  With that, the two women set to work blotting at the champagne stains with hand towels. Naomi removed several fragments of glass that had latched onto the skirt of the dress. I stared in the mirror. My reflection, ghostly pale and wide-eyed, stared back at me.

  Get it together, I thought. Lock it up.

  But even that wasn’t enough to combat the neon signs flashing “Danger, Will Robinson!” in my head.

  Cyrus had warned me of this possibility. That I was somehow Baylarian’s final act. The flowers, the taunting letters, the poems—all of it suggested a fixation on me. Still, this was the first time he’d threatened me directly. It made the reality all the more real.

  “There, good as new,” Naomi declared. She wrapped the glass fragments in a paper towel and went to throw the bundle in the wastebasket.

  “Keep those,” I said. “I want them tested.”

  Ines and Naomi exchanged uncertain glances. Okay, yes, maybe I was paranoid. Felipe brought me the drink himself, so it should have been safe. But Baylarian was crafty. For a week, he’d been toying with us, following us, and stalking us. Until spotting him in the picture on Lachlan’s camera, we’d been blind cats chasing an invisible mouse. Even knowing what he looked like, we were playing the horror movie version of Where’s Waldo.

  Unfortunately, the cost of losing might be my life.