Hazel glanced around the table, but everyone seemed to be content with this answer. They must understand things she did not.
“We have safe houses, open to any member, in Los Angeles, New Orleans, New York and elsewhere in this world and others. There are also gold reserves, emergency mailboxes and other resources for the teams who travel to dangerous times and places.”
Hazel looked at Felicia, and wondered what she was thinking. Was she a member of this Time Corps? She thought Felicia wanted to return home, and would do so at the first opportunity. Felicia met her eyes, and Hazel saw the uncertainty. Yes, she still wanted to get home. Any help from the Time Corps would be a means to that end.
September Wilde took a turn speaking, assuring them of the assistance of some of her siblings, who had an interest in keeping the world stable and progressing along standard timelines, whatever they were. June Yee talked about bank accounts and land acquisitions, stock investments going back generations and other things that didn’t interest Hazel. She only jolted to attention when the word “Skidbladnir” was spoken. The raven tilted his head slightly, as if in recognition of the name, and the cat glanced up and blinked at him.
“Can we list it as an asset?” asked June Yee.
Hazel didn’t know what to say, so she looked to the Professor.
“It would remain yours, of course,” he said. “But if the Time Corps needs it, can we ask you?”
“Yes, I’ll help when I can.”
June smiled at her. The discussion droned on, and Hazel wanted to leave. Eventually, the guests got up and started saying their good-byes. Elliot squeezed Neil’s shoulder in a brotherly farewell and he and the girl who looked like him left. The young Asian woman walked out alone, but Santiago got up and followed her. Only the five members of the Twelve, Felicia, the Professor, Neil and Hazel remained.
Neil jerked his head to the side an inch, asking with a glance if Hazel wanted to go. She nodded once. They rose and headed for the kitchen. Neil got down two bowls and dug in the drawers until he found an ice cream scoop. Then, he put two large scoops into each bowl and set them on the kitchen table. Hazel dug in.
“Quit watching me eat,” said Hazel. “It makes me uneasy.”
He shrugged one shoulder but continued to steal glances at her.
“Are we members of this Time Corps now?” she asked. “I’m not even sure what we’re signing up for.”
“Me either. But we can leave when we please. I think our first trip should be sailing up the coast to San Francisco. We can visit the San Francisco house.”
They finished their ice cream and Neil put the bowls into the dishwasher, laughing when Hazel got on her knees to see the inside where the water shot up to clean the dishes.
“Now look at this,” said Neil, taking a key ring from a set of hooks beside the kitchen door. “This looks like a car key.”
“Do you think it belongs to the vehicle outside?”
“I do.” And then he smiled, just a little. “Would you like your first driving lesson?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Won’t Julius be cross with us?”
“We’ll only drive it up and down the street.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid. You’re Captain Dubois, of the ship Skidbladnir. Time traveler, sailor of fierce seas, player of sweet songs and liberator of the oppressed and the enslaved.”
“Don’t say that. I’m just a girl.”
“Yes, you are.”
And with that, he leaned in and kissed her. His mouth was warm, and he tasted like vanilla ice cream and smelled like warm male. She slipped her arms around him, not caring what he was. Or rather, she knew. He was Neil Grey, time traveler, liberator of slaves, bosun of the ship Skidbladnir and a free man.
He pulled her against his body and her thoughts all vanished. A minute later, he let her go, and before she could speak, he pulled open the kitchen door and headed for the car.
“You still coming?” he called.
“I’ll be there in a minute. Let me tell Mr. Escobar where I’m going.”
She ran to the backyard, spirits high and heart free. The world, or rather, many worlds, were wide open. Hers for the asking.
Anything could happen.
LUNA PARK
Chapter 1
“Like the grocery store and the grave, everyone comes to the boardwalk eventually,” said Elliot.
Astrid looked past her cousin, watching the group of girls from her high school wander past the boardwalk arcade. There were five of them, all dressed in outfits that came from expensive boutiques or high-end shops in the mall. Their shoes alone probably cost more than her whole outfit. The Luna Park Boardwalk uniform she wore consisted of a white polo shirt, khakis and a blue visor with the park logo on it. As uniforms went, it could be a lot worse. Even so, she wanted to avoid the girls.
“I just didn’t expect to see them here is all,” Astrid said. “Dorothy, the one in red, always makes nasty comments about my clothes. Her family has money.”
“As of today, you’re out of school forever,” Elliot said. “You don’t have to deal with them ever again.”
“It’s not official until graduation tomorrow,” Astrid said.
“You could skip the ceremony and they’d still give you the diploma,” said Elliot. “You’re done. No more pencils, no more books,” he sang.
He leaned against the side of Astrid’s pretzel cart. The glass case enclosed rows of pretzels on metal hooks rotating slowly under a glowing heat lamp. The pretzel stand stood just outside the entrance to the arcade, so the two of them had a view of both the boardwalk and inside the building where a few people played video games. It was Wednesday afternoon and the park was not crowded. The group of high school girls passed without noticing either of them.
“In ten years, where will those beautiful yet tragic examples of American girlhood be?” asked Elliot with mock concern. He also worked at Luna Park, and sometimes visited Astrid when he was on his lunch break, as he was now. He pulled off his visor, shoved his blond hair back from his forehead and shielded his eyes with his hand. He looked out over the Pacific Ocean, and Astrid knew he was evaluating the surf. Seagulls wheeled above them and the white triangles of a sailboat slid over the brownish green water.
The jacaranda trees along the boardwalk were dropping their lavender-colored petals, and since they were genetically modified to have more petals than their progenitors, thousands of soft purple petals blew over the planks of the boardwalk and floated over the sidewalks nearby. And when the wind blew the right way, they’d blow over the beach and into the water. People didn’t seem to mind them blowing over their windshields or catching in their hair.
The people of Los Angeles couldn’t enjoy the springtime cherry blossoms like those in Washington, DC or Japan, but they loved their summers and this gave them something else to enjoy. Luna Park and the surrounding businesses all up and down the street had planted jacarandas years before or had trucked in giant potted trees for the occasion. Year by year, the festival had grown into a local tradition. Of course, Luna Park capitalized upon it as much as possible.
“Those girls will probably be living in a beach house in Malibu with servants and money, and driving some car I can’t even pronounce,” said Astrid.
“And screwing their personal trainers and popping pills like candy. They’ll be miserable.”
“I wouldn’t mind the misery of having too much money,” she said.
She glanced at her watch. It was time to rotate her stock. She pulled out a paper bag and tongs, opened the glass door to the display case, and started pulling out the oldest pretzels.
“Ah, but you and I were born into humble circumstances,” said Elliot. “And thus our ascension to the middle class will be all the more admirable. We are made
of sterner stuff than those hothouse orchids, and we shall rise.”
Astrid couldn’t help but smile, and Elliot gave her a quick glance. “You’re saving those for me, right?”
“It’s either that, or throw them in the trash,” she said. It bothered her to waste food, and she was glad that Elliot took the old pretzels off her hands. He didn’t eat them himself, or if he did, he didn’t eat many. He mainly gave them out to the homeless people who hung around the outside of the park. The rest went to the seagulls and pigeons.
Elliot lived in a trailer that was permanently parked at a nearby beach campground. He was two years older than Astrid, and was taking a few classes at the community college. But aside from working at the boardwalk, he mainly surfed and created small metal sculptures that he sold online.
A boy nearby fed dollar bills into the machine that converted cash into tokens for the arcade. The tokens poured in a jingling pile into the metal cup.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a little money either,” said Elliot. “But you, you’re going to be big. I know it.”
“Art doesn’t pay.”
“Not now it doesn’t. But after you graduate from Columbia, you could have your own exhibit at the Met.”
“I seriously doubt it.”
“How many applicants were there?” He had asked Astrid this question before.
She sighed. “You know already. Fifteen hundred.”
“And how many got in?”
“Twenty-five.”
“And you got a scholarship to boot. That’s not nothing.”
“It’s only a partial scholarship. I’ll still have loans.”
Astrid knew that Columbia’s acceptance of her had been a fluke. Someone in the admissions department had liked her portfolio and her teachers had written her nice letters of recommendation. She had high, but not exceptional, SAT scores and a decent GPA. But her artwork was nothing special. And though she had been offered a scholarship, her mother had refused to sign the acceptance forms. The deadline was still a week away, which left her enough time to sign it on her eighteenth birthday, mail it and hope for the best.
She folded over the top of the paper bag and handed it to Elliot. She then took out the fresh pretzels, sprayed them and dipped half of them into a shallow box of salt. The other half she left unsalted.
Elliot turned away from watching the water. “You still don’t believe it, do you?’ he said. “It’s sweet in a way, and a pain in the ass at the same time. You’re good, Astrid. Real good. You have a gift.”
“Shut up. I just waste too much time drawing.”
“That’s your mother talking. Speaking of whom, she called me. She said you weren’t answering your phone.”
It was true. She had not answered when she saw her mother’s name appear on the screen of her mobile phone. Today had been a good day. It was the last day of her senior year, so she and her classmates had gotten to talk and mess around in class. She knew that she wouldn’t see most of her friends often, but she would see them tomorrow at graduation, so she didn’t feel real sadness yet. The June day was hot without being sticky, and the breeze from the ocean had just enough coolness to feel refreshing. She had to work a boring job, but then, who didn’t? At least her pretzel stand was in the shade with a view of the ocean. The Los Angeles sun was out, there weren’t many people and she was going to get to move to New York in late August. She didn’t want to ruin her day by listening to her mother tell her off about leaving dishes in the sink or forgetting clothes in the dryer.
“I’ve been busy,” she said.
“I know, I know. I wouldn’t want to talk to her either. She said not to bring home any of your leftover pretzels because they’re making her fat.”
“No worries there. I won’t. Anything else?”
“Nope. But I have to go. I have to talk to Mr. Augustus.”
Mr. Augustus was the manager of Luna Park. He had graying orange hair, slanted green eyes and a penchant for making the workers feel uncomfortable.
“Did you do something?” Astrid asked.
“No, he said he was going to have me work the mirror house soon.”
“That guy is creepy. Something is off about him.”
“An old dude who has been running an ancient amusement park for thirty years? Nah, nothing weird about that.”
“That’s not what I mean. When I hired on, I swear he turned away for just a second and spat in his palm before shaking my hand.” Astrid didn’t mention that when she had looked into Mr. Augustus’s face, she had felt something more than disgust at his damp handshake. It was like she was signing onto something more than a part-time job.
“You saw him do it? You actually saw him spit?” Elliot asked. He looked thrilled with the idea. He probably wanted a piece of gossip to share with the other employees.
“No, not exactly.”
“Oh.” He was disappointed. “When are you off?”
“At nine.”
“You’re lucky you’re not eighteen yet, or you’d be working until midnight.”
“Only five more days,” she said. “Are you coming to my graduation tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“And Aunt Ruth?”
“My mom will be there too,” he said.
Elliot left for Mr. Augustus’s office and Astrid adjusted her visor. Her short blonde hair was getting shaggy and she needed to decide if she wanted to grow it out or cut it. She had been putting off the decision until she was in New York, figuring that living as a student and an artist would inspire her to make a choice one way or the other. She might even dye her hair, but she wasn’t sure yet. She knew it was silly, but it felt like her real life, her true life, was waiting for her, just out of reach. And with every day that passed, it inched a little closer.
Chapter 2
Yukiko opened the mouth of her green fish coin purse and placed a ten-dollar bill on the ticket counter at the entrance of Luna Park.
“How many tickets will that get me?” she asked.
The woman in the booth pointed to the sign next to her. “A dollar a ticket.”
“And the Jacaranda Festival is this week, right?”
The woman slid a tri-folded map and schedule across the counter and set a strip of ten tickets on top. Yukiko put the tickets into her coin purse, snapped the mouth shut and turned to leave.
“Hey, wait a minute. Where is the ten?” said the woman.
A large yellow leaf sat on the counter. That had happened quickly. Far too quickly. Yukiko hurried away from the ticket counter, pushed through a group of people and entered the park before the woman could call her back. As she walked, she unfolded the map and studied it. Her old friend, if you could call Santiago a friend of anyone, was correct. Something was definitely off in this place.
One of Yukiko’s clip-on plush fox ears came loose from her hair and she pulled it out and fastened it back on. The bright orange ears were for show. The plush fox tail she clipped to the belt of her skirt was out of necessity. She liked to make her appearance look intentional, so she wore a short gray schoolgirl skirt, a button-down white blouse and knee socks. She adjusted her appearance, just a little, making sure her eyes were as ordinary a shade of brown as she could manage. She didn’t make herself look more or less attractive than her ordinary form. If any men bothered her, well, she could handle the worst of them, and had. On more than one occasion.
It was eight o’clock at night, and according to the schedule, the last of the Jacaranda Festival events had happened at sundown. Ah well, she would be back tomorrow. That was the day Santiago had asked her to arrive, but being who and what he was, she wasn’t about to meet him for the first time on his turf without having a good look around beforehand.
A pair of young men were drinking sodas and sitting on a b
ench. Yukiko felt their eyes on her and she gave her hips a little extra swish. Let them look. She didn’t glance back at them over her shoulder. She had a more important task.
She smelled the air. The jacarandas were dropping their pale purple petals, and their scent permeated everything. There was also the scent of ocean, of sand, of sunscreen and human sweat. Someone had spilled a drink and there was the woody smell of the boardwalk floor beams beneath the sticky sweetness of the soda. She paused at a booth with balloons tacked to a large flat board. Customers were supposed to throw a dart to pop them, but they looked too deflated to pop easily. There was the smell of the latex of the balloons, the musty fabric of the plush toys that served as prizes, the sickly tang of cheese from a concession stand nearby. Then there was the metal of the rides, the scent of steel and the bits of rust here and there. The fresh paint on the walls surrounding the indoor carousel, the diaper of a baby in a stroller. She walked on.
Ah, now there was a new scent. Up ahead was an arcade. It gave off the scent of wiring, electricity and plastic. Yukiko wondered for a moment if Santiago had taken the electrical things into account, but of course he had. He was old, very old, and he was not unintelligent. He knew the ways of humans and their technologies, even the newer ones.
The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series) Page 58
