The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  “Here, give them to me.” I held open my purse for Naomi to drop the bundle inside, then looked at Ines. “Cyrus said you had something for me?”

  “Oh, of course,” Ines said, reaching into her own clutch. She pulled out something the size of a thumbtack and dropped it into my hand. It was one of the syndicate’s smallest and most advanced communications devices. “He was quite distressed that he forgot to give it to you before you left.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. After tapping the earpiece once to turn it on, I inserted it into my left ear. As if having the Rosetta and Baylarian in the right side wasn’t enough, now I’d have Cyrus and the strike team speaking into the other ear. Perfect.

  Nonetheless, I felt better knowing that I’d be in the loop as the evening progressed. If I turned the function on, the device would also allow them to hear me. Help would never be further away than a steady tap on my ear.

  “If you guys want to go ahead, I just need a minute,” I told them.

  The alchemists exchanged loaded glances again.

  “You really should not be alone, dear,” Ines protested.

  She had a point. But hearing Baylarian’s voice had rattled me. I needed a moment alone to compose my thoughts.

  “I’ll be fine, Ines,” I told her firmly. “And I’ll be right behind you.”

  Reluctantly, the pair left the bathroom. I waited several beats past the door closing to ensure they were gone, then turned back to my reflection. Felipe had gone to great lengths to ensure my hair and makeup were perfect, so shoving my head under the faucet seemed like a slight. Instead, I wet a hand towel and dabbed at my neck to calm my nerves. When my breathing became less frantic, I cupped my hands under the faucet and greedily drank the cold water.

  Feeling steadier on my feet, I squared off with the mirror for a rousing pep talk.

  “You can do this. You are not alone. Cyrus is here. Bane is here. Wick is here. All of those other alchemists are here. And they’re all here to protect you.”

  I scoured my reflection, looking for the girl who’d survived thirteen years in a work camp.

  “You are not helpless. You took care of yourself for years, this is just one more night.”

  Sure, this one night happened to feature a serial killer who was borderline obsessed with me. But it wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with taunts and bullies. I just needed to remember the golden rule: Don’t ever let them see you sweat.

  ENTERING THE THEATER, I felt marginally better. At the very least, I was outwardly more together, and projecting exponentially more confidence than before. Still, reaching up to unmute the Rosetta filled me with dread.

  Showtime.

  The house lights went down just as I walked in. A disgruntled usher, miffed by my late arrival, was instantly more helpful when he saw the front-row seat on my ticket. I followed behind him, my eyes sweeping the theater for signs of Cyrus and his team. Wick and Bane were leaned against the back wall of the theater, posing as disobliging ushers, but no one else was immediately evident. As though he’d been searching, Charles spotted me before I’d made it halfway up the aisle. Visibly relieved, he waved and stood as I approached.

  “How is the dress? Were they able to salvage it?” he whispered as we took our seats.

  “Good as new,” I told Charles.

  On the stage, a man and a woman had just finished ascending rope ladders to platforms high above. As the orchestra’s music swelled, they launched themselves off in perfect synchronization. Another pair on adjacent platforms took off, followed quickly by two women who executed perfect flips before being caught by those already in the air.

  The first act was a whimsical piece about a young peasant girl who made a wish upon a falling a star to meet a handsome prince. The peasant girl and her two sisters danced under the moonlight as flyers tumbled overhead in bright white costumes, playing the part of the shooting stars.

  As engaging as the piece was, and as arresting as the performers were, I dragged my eyes away to scan the theater. With only the dim lighting from the stage, the audience was shrouded in shadows. Faces were indistinguishable from one to the next. I couldn’t even make out the gender of those seated farther away—they all appeared as inky blobs.

  “Do you see anything?” Charles murmured in my ear.

  “Only the large, formidable men who are here to protect us,” I replied in the same hushed tone, giving him a smile in the darkness.

  Don’t let them see you sweat.

  Charles refocused his attention on the stage and reached for my hand. His fingers threaded with mine. I looked down and had one of the sappiest thoughts of my life: Our hands fit together so perfectly, it was as though the two were meant to join as one. Even through my embarrassment at the thought, I relaxed just slightly. Charles was here. It was going to be okay.

  Naturally, the thought was about six seconds premature.

  “Eenie…meenie…miney…mo….”

  The Night Gentleman’s voice was full of delight, which terrified me.

  “Which star will no longer glow?” he finished.

  My next breath caught. The tempo of the music increased along with my heart rate as a crescendo built. Just as it reached an impossibly intense apex, the song ended with a deafening crash of cymbals. Every light in the theater went dark, like candles being snuffed out all at once.

  I closed my eyes, anticipating screams.

  None came.

  Instead, raucous applause and ear-splitting whistles invaded the silence. Shouts of enthusiasm rang out from the audience instead of terrified shrieks.

  “Bravo!” “Magnifique!” “Incroyable!”

  I exhaled.

  He’s screwing with you, I thought.

  Settling back in my seat, I leaned against Charles. I allowed myself the brief, fleeting hope that perhaps the entire evening was simply an opportunity for Baylarian to make us dance like puppets. That perhaps no one would get hurt.

  “Stassi?” Cyrus’s voice asked tentatively in my left ear. “Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”

  I complied, imagining Cyrus watching me through the binocular contacts the team was wearing.

  “Good,” he continued, evidently seeing me nod. “You don’t need to respond, just listen. I tuned your earpiece to a different frequency, so you wouldn’t hear all of the team’s chatter and be distracted. Did you really hear from Baylarian?”

  Subtly nodding again, I pointed to my right ear.

  “He’s using the Rosetta?” Cyrus asked, sounding almost impressed. “He must know our tech pretty well. Has he spoken to you through it since the show started?”

  I nodded yet again, wondering if Ernest Hemingway was going to think I had a spastic twitch.

  “Hang on,” Cyrus said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Just as my boss left my head—a weird thought, if there ever was one: my boss and a serial killer sharing my head space—a pinprick of light appeared center stage. It grew bigger and brighter, until a young man’s face was fully illuminated. The prince, a single candle clutched in his hands, crept across stage, constantly checking over his shoulder as if worried he was being followed. One after another, spotlights popped on to illuminate enormous gold picture frames on the prince’s right side. Inside the frames, as many as three and four acrobats posed in gravity-defying positions, moving fluidly from one stance to the next. When the prince’s eyes fell on one of the frames, the actors froze, comic expressions of shock and horror on their painted faces.

  In my ear, Baylarian cackled. The audience laughed, too, unknowingly parroting the maniac.

  “Or maybe it will our prince who meets an early demise,” Baylarian whispered. “What do you say, Stassi? The most famous people in history are always the ones who die tragically. Should we make Alfred Codona a legend?”

  “No,” I moaned.

  I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud until I felt pressure on my hand, followed by Charles brushing a soft kiss on my cheek.

  “Say the word and
we will leave,” he whispered.

  I shook my head without turning to look at Charles, afraid his gaze would be enough to make me give in and flee.

  “Stassi?” Cyrus asked. His voice wavered slightly, sounding as if he were trembling with adrenaline. “Bane said that it’s impossible to hack the Rosetta signal. If you’re hearing Baylarian, that means he’s here. And he’s close. Is he still talking to you?”

  I nodded miserably.

  “I’m going to join the others, we’re going to fan out and find him. Will you be okay if I take eyes off of you? We have him outnumbered. But I think we need the manpower for scouring this place right now.”

  Again, I nodded. The passive act made me feel impossibly more helpless.

  “Just sit tight,” my boss continued. “I’ll let you know as soon as we find him.”

  It felt wrong to sit and enjoy the show while my coworkers did the heavy lifting, but I kept telling myself that I was doing my part. If Baylarian wasn’t already aware that he was being hunted by a strike team—which seemed unlikely—my joining the effort would instantly tip him off. Feeling completely useless, and longing for Gaige’s presence, I curled up in my seat and watched the players on the stage.

  The prince was just completing his walk down the hallway of living artwork. After only a moment, the houselights extinguished completely once more. My pulse kicked into overdrive, waiting for the inevitable screams. Instead, the lights came back up to illuminate the peasant girl and her sisters, now playing in a forest of human trees. Sitting on a tree limb three people high, the prince watched as the girl and her sisters joyously swung high above the stage like female Tarzans. Even with fear coursing through my veins, the sight transfixed me. The aerialists dressed as trees caught the small girls with ease, and then sent them somersaulting through the air to the next set of waiting arms. On and on they went, traversing the stage and back with unthinkable agility and precision.

  “Do you like Shakespeare, Stassi?” Baylarian’s voice startled me out of my admiration. “Perhaps our star-crossed lovers will die together, going out in a blaze of glory befitting any great tragedy.”

  I gritted my teeth and shook my head defiantly.

  Why are you doing this? I wanted to shout.

  “Stassi?” Cyrus’s voice broke through in my other ear. “Wick spotted him. We’re converging on his location. Do not leave your seat. I repeat, do not leave your seat. I’ll let you know as soon as we have him in custody.”

  The receiver in my left ear went dead, as he switched back over to the other channel.

  “Oh, I see you don’t like that ending,” Baylarian was saying. “Do you truly want to stop me, Stassi?”

  The question made me bolt upright in my seat. Praying he could see me, I squared my shoulders, then nodded resolutely. My deliberate gesture drew Charles’s attention, but I’d given up trying to pretend that there weren’t voices in my head.

  Surprisingly, Charles simply reached over and rubbed my back reassuringly. I couldn’t imagine what Charles DuPree must think of me, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

  “If you truly want this to stop, Stassi,” Baylarian taunted, “come and find me. I know that’s what your boss thinks he’s doing, but I’ve arranged a special distraction for him and the alchemists. This is about you and me, Stassi. Now come and find me.”

  I was halfway out of my seat the moment I heard his words. My instantaneous action must have amused the killer, because he chuckled.

  Which just pissed me off more.

  Anger and adrenaline were mixing with the fear to create a potent cocktail in my veins. I was ready to find him. I was ready to end this. I was ready to make him pay and get the hell out of this cursed time. Though his comment about Cyrus worried me, I knew that my boss and his team would take care of each other. If Baylarian wanted me to find him, I would. And I would make him regret it.

  “Not so fast, my dear,” the killer intoned. “Perhaps you should first whet your whistle. A little liquid courage, if you will. My gift to you.”

  On cue, a waiter appeared with a single champagne flute on his tray. He handed me the glass and disappeared in one fluid motion. Between the darkness and his stealth, I was unable to get a look at the waiter’s face. I considered letting Cyrus know, to have someone chase the man, but I knew it wasn’t Baylarian himself. I would’ve heard him speaking beside me. Instead, I focused on the dreaded “gift” I held.

  “Drink up, Stassi,” the killer prompted.

  Hands trembling, I raised my glass. Though I pretended to take a sip, I was careful to not allow a single drop to cross the threshold of my lips.

  “Don’t insult me, Stassi,” Baylarian snapped, his tone no longer playful. “This is my game. Which means my rules. Drink the champagne, or someone dies. No help. Don’t involve anyone else. This is between you and me. Drink. Now.”

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. Drinking the laced alcohol was a definitively bad idea. But would he follow through on his threat if I didn’t comply? He’d proven to be vicious in the past, and unapologetically so. What choice did I really have? Uncertainty tore my heart in two.

  “Cyrus?” I whispered, using the flute to mask the movement of my lips. “Bane? Wick? Anyone?”

  The only response was the dead line humming in my ear. I considered trying to scan through the other channels, but it would be obvious to the killer what I was doing. If he saw, he might murder someone, just to show me he was in control.

  Indecision warred within me as the seconds ticked perilously past. If I was the ultimate target tonight, the champagne might very well kill me instantly. Images of the fire twins’ horrific deaths invaded my mind.

  No, no, no. I don’t want to die like that.

  “Cyrus?” I repeated piteously. My boss had chosen one hell of a time to disappear. What could Baylarian have done to distract them? What could make Cyrus disappear when a serial killer’s crosshairs were set firmly on me?

  “Do I need to raise the stakes?” Baylarian demanded. “Maybe the lives of strangers don’t matter to you. What about his life, Stassi?”

  He paused to let the idea sink in. Was he talking about Cyrus? Gaige? Hemingway?

  “Who?” I breathed, even knowing that he couldn’t hear me.

  “Your own lover’s life must be worth the gamble.”

  My lover? Oh, no….

  Charles.

  I turned in my seat, just in time to see a red dot appear on the back of Charles’s head. Feeling my eyes on him, Charles looked over at me questioningly. Our eyes locked. His brimmed with concern and alarm.

  I made my decision.

  “Stay here,” I demanded, imploring Charles to oblige. “Whatever happens, stay here.”

  Without another thought, I downed the entire glass of champagne in one long swallow.

  THE ALCOHOL SEARED my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  I’m dying.

  Around me, the world went silent. In my peripheral vision, blurry shapes danced like shadow puppets. A dusky blob reached for me. Though a part of me knew that it was Charles, I instinctively pulled away, rocking unsteadily in my seat. My insides were on fire, as if acid was disintegrating my body from the inside out. My skin was set ablaze as the feeling intensified.

  “Come and find me, Stassi,” the killer taunted. His voice sounded a million miles away. “Now. Or he dies.”

  My arms and legs were leaden. Through some inhuman display of strength, I managed to get to my feet. Charles tried to pull me back down, but I yanked my hand free of his. Stumbling, I ran up the aisle towards the exit. A startled usher threw the doors open when he saw me coming, and I charged into the lobby.

  Bright light assaulted my retinas. I blinked to gain my bearings. The world was spinning so fast. Why was it spinning so fast?

  “I’m here!” Though I tried to shout, the words came out as a whisper. “Now what?”

  “Hallway to the left. Go. Now,” Baylarian instructed.

  Barely able t
o see more than a foot in front of my face, I stumbled left and used the wall to support myself. Framed posters advertising the theater’s productions crashed to the ground as I tried to grab ahold of anything to keep me upright.

  Cyrus, where the hell are you?

  Tears poured down my cheeks, brought on by the burning sensation in my throat and lungs.

  Water. I need water.

  Suddenly, there was no more wall. I fell to my knees, dropping something I’d been clutching in one of my hands.

  “Halfway down the hall is a door to the balcony level. Join me, Stassi. But hurry, or your dear Charles won’t live to see the second act.”

  Using every ounce of willpower in my being, I scrambled to my feet. My hand landed on something squishy. My purse. High, hysterical laughter escaped my lips. That was what I’d dropped. Somehow, through my forty-yard dash out of the theater and one-woman tornado through the lobby, I had managed to hang on to my purse. Snatching it up, I hugged the bag to my chest.

  The hallway was dark, with only one thin line of illumination at the base of each wall. My vision was starting to clear, but the fire inside me was blazing hotter with each passing breath.

  If I make it out of this alive, I’m going to kill Cyrus, I thought with a senseless giggle.

  The first door I found was locked. Yanking on the handle with all of my strength yielded no results.

  “Keep going!” Baylarian urged. “Hurry!”

  I tried the next two doors, but neither opened. Groaning in frustration, I tugged on the fourth, nearly falling backwards when it swung open. I slipped through and began climbing a steep stairway in utter darkness. A silhouette stood at the very top, lit from behind. His hand extended towards me.

  I hesitated.

  “Don’t be absurd, Stassi. You have come this far. Don’t lose your nerve now.” Baylarian’s voice echoed in my ear as it reverberated off of the walls around me. He was surrounding me, inside and out. He was everywhere.

  Panting heavily and in desperate need of something to douse the flames licking my throat, I began to climb the stairs. Whether it was the end of my adrenaline or a second round of effects from the drink, I stumbled. My feet felt preposterously heavy as I crawled up, one step at a time.