The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  “You’ll see,” he called back, without turning around.

  At least toying with me has cheered him up, I thought.

  Curiosity battled my body’s need for sleep. Eventually, the need grew into a painful exhaustion, and I drifted off.

  The next time I woke, big blue eyes were peering at me over the top of a glossy magazine.

  “Hey there, sleepyhead!” Molly exclaimed, her cheery tone a sharp contrast to the worry lines creasing her forehead.

  I blinked and rubbed sleep from my eyes.

  “Am I home? Did Cyrus knock me out and drag me back to the island?” I asked groggily.

  “That does sound like something he’d do. But no. He asked me to come to you.” She let the magazine fall to her lap and held her arms open wide. “So here I am.”

  I sat up, tears welling in my eyes, as realization dawned.

  “You’re my surprise!” I cried, the tears starting to fall. Having Molly with me was the absolute best-case scenario that I could imagine. I’d missed her so much over the past few weeks, and finally she was here with me. After everything that’d happened, the sight of her brought a rush of relief. Everything would be okay.

  “Hey, hey, hey, none of that,” Molly declared. She hurried from her chair to perch on the edge of my bed. I scooted over to make room for her. My roommate wrapped me in her arms, holding me while I cried into her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I choked out between sobs. Molly rubbed my back and made strange comforting noises.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” she murmured. “You should cry, Stassi. Get it all out. You’ll feel better.”

  And I did. Then I did some more.

  I cried big, fat ugly tears. I rambled long, nonsensical sentences, while my best friend simply listened. Most of what I said verged on incoherent, and yet Molly seemed to understand perfectly. She never asked for specifics or interrupted me with questions. Instead, Molly just made soothing comments when warranted.

  Of course, that was only for the topics of Baylarian and Blue’s Canyon. Once the conversation veered towards Charles, my best friend had nothing but questions. I hadn’t meant to bring him up. I mean, what did he matter any longer? I would never see him again. Still, once I started talking about him, I couldn’t stop. I found myself telling Molly about our first dance, our first kiss, our trip to see Worchansky, and every other moment with him. When I recounted rolling down the street mid-make-out, she doubled over in laughter.

  “I am so glad you’re here,” I told her.

  The river of tears had long since run dry, but my overwhelming gratitude for her made the dam burst all over again.

  “Are you kidding? Paris? 1925? Cyrus barely got the words out before I was in the vortex.” She winked playfully, but her tone was no longer light and carefree when she continued. “Anytime you need me, I will always be there. That’s how friendship works.”

  THREE DAYS AFTER Molly’s arrival—three therapeutic days of French pastries, milkshakes, and laughing with my bestie—James sent word from Salpêtrière that Dr. Marie was willing to release Lachlan. Bane and Cyrus returned immediately to collect him.

  Lachlan was jumped straight back to our time, where he would finally get proper treatment. Given the severity of his time sickness, it was unlikely that his mental faculties would ever be restored completely. But, in time, there was a chance he might be able to function again. At the very least, he wouldn’t be subjected to the heinous conditions that twentieth century asylums were known for. Without his tattoo, Dr. Merriweather was concerned the jump might do Lachlan more harm than good, but Cyrus thought it was a risk worth taking.

  Charles sent more flowers, called, and knocked on the front door with increasing frequency. On Cyrus’s orders, Molly turned him away each time. Had I asked, she would have defied our boss and let him in. As tempted as I was, and as badly as I ached to see him, I didn’t protest the moratorium on face-to-face contact. While I knew that I couldn’t explain away my visible injuries, it wasn’t the only reason I went along with Cyrus’s plan. When it came down to it, seeing Charles would only prolong the inevitable.

  It was better for both of us if I cut the cord now.

  Nonetheless, I looked forward to Molly’s play-by-play each time Charles stopped by. Because, truthfully, I missed Charles. And I think my roommate knew it. She was heedlessly persistent that I grab life by the rhino and let him in for a little sexy time before I left.

  “I see why you’re so enamored,” Molly told me, after a heated conversation with Charles that ended with her slamming the door in his face. “That guy is,” she fanned herself dramatically, “so hot.”

  I refused to dignify her theatrics with a response, though it didn’t slow her down one bit.

  “You know,” she continued. “If you want, I can step out the next time he comes by. Do a little shopping. Hit a nightclub or two. Maybe gamble at one of those clubs posh people love so much. I have a feeling that a little alone time with Charles is just what you need.”

  I glared at her. “Cyrus said no. And you know it’s a bad idea, regardless.”

  Molly waved off my protests, rolling her big blue eyes skyward.

  “Flings are okay, Stass. Everybody does it. Be bad for once. It will feel oh so good.”

  Yes, flings were okay. But I wasn’t sure I would classify spending time with Charles as a fling. As unfortunate as it was for all parties involved, I had feelings for him. I wanted to know him better. I wanted to talk to him, laugh with him. And yes, eventually do other things with him.

  Had my interests only been on those other things, I would have taken her up on her offer to skedaddle for an evening. But they weren’t. So, I let his calls, flowers, and concerns go unanswered.

  Though not nearly as persistent, Hadley’s inquires after my health had increased, as well. Since my friendship with her wasn’t as complicated, I accepted her calls. I promised Hadley I was on the mend, and even hinted that there was a chance I’d be feeling well enough to receive visitors before she left for Germany. Her enthusiasm over the prospect was surprisingly genuine. I felt awful and deceptive, since my interest in seeing her was more business than pleasure.

  If I could get Hadley out of her house when Ernest was off writing or on a walk, Molly could search the apartment again. Cyrus had said to forget about the run, but I wanted something productive to come out of this disastrous trip. I wanted Blue’s Canyon. Both because I am a finisher, and because Gaige wanted to read the rest of it.

  One week after the theater night, Molly returned to the townhouse in a terrible mood after visiting Gaige. After a session with Felipe to rid her hair of the blue streaks, Molly had been to the jail every day to see him. Every other time, she’d returned in good spirits. But this day was different. She flopped angrily in the armchair by my bed, her expression a mixture of anger, fear, and immense sadness. The sight of her like that sent me into a panicked tailspin.

  “The judge ruled today,” Molly spat. “They’re not letting Gaige out.”

  I stared at her for a long moment.

  “Ever,” she finished.

  When she calmed down enough to explain, it was even worse than I’d thought. Between the pressure to solve the murders and the fact that the Night Gentleman had not struck since Gaige was taken into custody, the police were convinced my partner was their guy. According to the alchemist lawyer, the evidence against him was thinner than a heroin-chic runway model. Unfortunately, justice was both blind and senile in this case.

  Regardless of what the Parisian police had decided, a trial was out of the question. There was absolutely, positively no way that Gaige could stand trial.

  That left only one possible course of action.

  “How do we break him out?” I asked.

  In true roll-with-the-crazy form, Molly didn’t bat an eyelash at my suggestion. Instead, she perked right up.

  “Well, let’s see,” she began, looking almost excited. “We cou
ld bribe the guards?”

  “Too chancy,” I replied. “We could get him a hacksaw for the bars on his window?”

  “It’s halfway underground,” Molly answered automatically. “Do you think we could get guard uniforms?”

  “I don’t think there are female guards in this time. Suffrage is just now rolling,” I reasoned. “Do you think your mom could get us enough sleeping gas to knock out everyone in the station?”

  “Too much airflow on the windows without glass. What about escaping through a ventilation system?”

  “Do they even have ventilation systems yet?”

  “A rat with a key tied to him?”

  “How would we get the key?”

  “Bribe a guard?”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, I cracked up. We stared at each other for several long moments.

  “You’d think that we’d have some sort of advantage, being from the future and all,” I intoned. “We’re obviously not very good prison-breakers.”

  Suddenly, Molly bolted up. Had she been a cartoon, “Eureka!” would’ve appeared above her head.

  “We might be able to jump him out!” she exclaimed. “You know, use our advantages. They’ve been taking me down to his cell when I visit Gaige. They lock it behind me, and a guard is stationed outside of it, but the cells are underground. The walls are stone. So we’ve got earth. We just need water. Or we could start a fire in his cell? That might be tricky, I don’t know if they’d be cool with us taking matches in for a friendly visit with a supposed murderer.”

  “And water isn’t problematic?” I said dryly.

  She shrugged. “Maybe not. There are a lot of exposed pipes down there. We might be able to flood the cell.”

  Even though the jailbreak scenario had been my idea, I stared at her doubtfully.

  “Flood the cell? Seriously? We’d have to flood the whole level.”

  “No. We just need enough running water to stand in. Then we could jump.”

  “Okay. What about the guard?” I asked.

  “Hit him with a little memory modifier,” she said, as if it were really that simple.

  Memory modifier was a last-resort drug. It was typically only used by the cleanup crews, and only in rare, extreme cases when an individual saw something they shouldn’t. Things that couldn’t be explained away.

  “All the guy will remember is Gaige being in his cell one minute, and gone the next,” Molly continued. “It will look like a run-of-the-mill prison break. Except, no one will see Gaige leave.” She grinned at me. “His disappearance will be one of the great mysteries of all time.”

  “What about time sickness? An unorthodox jump will make Gaige sick. And you, too. Although, you don’t have to be there. I can go on my own, and you can go back through customs.”

  Molly gave me a look of exasperation.

  “I’m not sitting out a prison break,” she declared. “You commit a felony, I commit a felony. That’s how we roll.”

  “Molly, do you really want to go through that again? Especially so soon?” I asked gently. “It was miserable. I don’t want to see you like that ever again. Not to mention, the risks inherent with suffering time sickness repeatedly. Do you want to end up in a nuthouse?”

  “Look around, Stass. We already live in one. Plus, I’m retired from running now anyway, so it isn’t like I need to worry about time sickness in my future.” Steely reserve shone in my best friend’s eyes. “Besides, it’s for a good cause.”

  “You really do care about him, don’t you?” I asked gently.

  Color infused her porcelain complexion.

  “Of course I care about him,” Molly replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

  We stared at each for a long moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

  “This plan is nuts,” I said finally.

  “Oh, totally,” Molly agreed.

  Another long pause.

  “Should we get permission first?” I asked.

  Molly scoffed at my rule-abiding ways.

  “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

  WE SPENT THE rest of the night working out the details of the most ridiculous, outlandish plan ever. Every time I mentioned how nuts it was, Molly just reminded me that it had been my idea.

  Customs stations kept a stash of memory modification drugs, so they were actually easy to obtain. Almost scary easy.

  “How many do you need?” Ines asked when we inquired about it. Nothing more, no questions about what we needed it for. Just how many.

  In her defense, we’d just requested blueprints for the jail, so it was probably glaringly obvious what we had in mind. If the Frenchwoman found our plan crazy, she didn’t let on. In fact, Ines was more than willing to help out with every one of our odd requests. She even went as far as to help us find the Department of Sanitation records, to ensure that the pipes down in the cells had water running through them, and not sewage. All that was left was figuring out how to break one of the pipes.

  “Axe?” Molly suggested.

  “Don’t be absurd,” Ines tisked. “How would you go about smuggling an axe into the prison? Where would you conceal such a large weapon? Let’s be sensible about this.”

  “Fine.” Molly threw her hands up in the air. “We need a blowtorch, then. We can burn a hole in the metal.”

  Ines’s dark eyes flashed with interest.

  “Now that is an idea. Not the blowtorch, of course. But blowing a hole in the pipe could work.” She looked around the deserted customs station, as if suddenly worried about being overheard. As if we hadn’t been there for hours, scouring random blueprints and discussing a prison escape. Fortunately, the likelihood of anyone bearing witness to our shenanigans was slim to none; it was the middle of the night, and Ines was the lone agent on duty.

  “We do have small incendiary devices, no larger than a bandage,” Ines continued. “The force is powerful enough to create quite a large hole. As an added bonus, the actual device is consumed in the explosion.”

  Molly and I exchanged glances. I couldn’t decide if our plan suddenly seemed doable, or if involving explosives crossed the line from a little crazy to utterly batshite insane.

  Choosing optimism, I grinned at my roommate. She mirrored my expression. Man, I loved the alchemists’ toys.

  “You can give us a couple?” I asked.

  “Of course, dear. These desperate types of situations are precisely what incendiary devices are for. Now, fair warning, once the package is opened, you will only have so much time before it detonates.”

  “Exactly how much time are we talking?” Molly asked.

  “That depends. How much time do you need? I have ones that will explode anywhere from thirty seconds to twenty minutes after being exposed to air,” Ines responded, her tone all business.

  Molly and I exchanged another glance. “What do you think?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Thirty seconds seems kind of short. Maybe a minute? Five, tops. I mean, we don’t want to stand around twiddling our thumbs, waiting for it to go off.”

  “We’ll split the difference and go with the two minute explosives,” my roommate said decisively.

  Ines nodded, as though approving of the choice. “Wait here and I will get them for you.”

  The alchemist disappeared inside of a storage closet, surfacing a moment later with five rectangular packages. She handed them to me.

  “Do not open them until you are ready to use them,” Ines reminded us. “Once they have been activated, you cannot deactivate them.”

  “Got it,” I said, tucking the tiny explosives into my pocket.

  “And try not to go overboard. We cannot have you blowing up the whole jail.”

  I laughed at her pragmatism. Somehow, she’d managed to make this situation seem utterly reasonable.

  Ines glanced at a slim gold wristwatch on her arm.

  “Thank you, Ines,” I said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you so much for all of your help.
”

  She gave me a tight smile in return. “This is my job, Stassi. I am happy to help you.” Ines gestured toward the stairway leading to the hat shop. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

  Footsteps sounded from the other direction, down the hallway that led to the vortexes.

  “Are you expecting a runner?” Molly asked. She wrinkled her nose and her eyes went wide. “Oh, shant. Is Cyrus coming through tonight? He cannot see us.”

  A brief moment of alarm made my chest tighten. It passed quickly. Now that we had a more solid plan, instead of the Hail Mary, half-court shot for the win that we’d started with, I wasn’t overly concerned with Cyrus’s reaction. If anything, my boss might be upset I was out of bed and running headlong into danger.

  He’ll get over it, I decided.

  “We should talk to him,” I said to Molly, who was already sweeping the prison blueprints off the countertop. She glanced around wildly, looking for other evidence of our scheme.

  “Are you crazy?” she asked, not pausing in her frenzy. “I think that’s everything, let’s get out of here.”

  “Molls, listen to me,” I pleaded, knowing I’d feel better if Cyrus backed our plan. “We should talk to him.”

  “It’s not Cyrus,” Ines snapped, taking a deep breath before continuing in her typically apathetic tone. “I believe another member of Atlic is due to come through.”

  She glanced around the room, narrowing her eyes at the jumbled mess Molly had made of the building plans.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with? No? Best of luck then.”

  Ines shooed us towards the exit.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let the door hit me on the ass,” Molly muttered sarcastically, as we climbed the stairs to street level.

  “I wonder who it is,” I replied quietly. “Maybe we could enlist their help.”

  “Definitely not,” Molly quickly decided. “Two of us are plenty. It’s simple. Less opportunity for disaster along the way. Plus, we don’t need to clog the infirmary with more sick runners than necessary. Cyrus definitely won’t approve of that.”

  “Good point,” I agreed.