by Syrie James
While Lynn spoke, the time-lapse memories slowed even more, halting abruptly on the image of her younger self slumped on the couch, baby asleep in her arms, staring at the phone with a worried expression.
“You found it.” Lynn’s voice trembled. “The night Tom didn’t come home. The next morning, he called me at work. He said he couldn’t come back, that I should change my name again and leave town, that all our lives were in danger. I packed up the next day, and Claire and I left for Chicago.” Her voice broke as she added tearfully, “He promised he’d find us. But he never did.”
Claire felt a stab of pain in her chest at the devastated look on her mom’s face, both in the present and the past. It had been hard enough to hear about this awful moment, but to actually see it was heartbreaking.
“Well then, let’s go back.” Helena’s eyes looked distant with concentration as her hand gripped Claire’s more tightly. The action around them began to rewind as night reversed into day, no sign of Tom until they saw the inverse of the family rushing out of the apartment that morning.
Time reeled slightly farther back, then froze on Tom, wearing a gray suit and a red tie. He was sitting next to Claire’s high chair, feeding her oatmeal, while Lynn tossed dishes into the sink.
“Shite,” Alec observed. “He never came back home that day at all.”
“No.” Suddenly, Helena’s eyes widened, startled. She released their hands, instantly transporting them back to the present. “But the current tenants of this lovely abode will—they are on their way home as we speak. We have five minutes.”
Lynn leapt to her feet in alarm. “Why didn’t you warn us sooner?”
“I was a bit busy,” sniped Helena as she rose. “Young man, I hope you can lock those doors as easily as you opened them.”
two
The foursome hurried out of the building and started down the sidewalk.
“Saints alive!” came a surprised voice, making them all pause.
An elderly woman, who’d just deposited a trash bag into a can in front of the house next door, turned to stare at them. She wore a dark coat and paisley scarf over dyed red hair. “Lynn? Lynn Garrett? Is that you?” Her labored breaths were visible in the cold air as she studied Lynn.
Garrett? Claire’s chest tightened. She knew her mom had changed her last name to Brennan when they fled New York, but Claire had never asked what her mom’s real name was. She prayed the woman hadn’t noticed them leaving the other building.
“Mrs. Beniov. How nice to see you.” Lynn forced a smile. “How are you?”
“Getting old—but it’s better than the alternative.” Her cheerful tone implied she hadn’t noticed anything fishy. “How are you? How many years has it been? I used to get such pleasure babysitting your little angel every day.” Mrs. Beniov’s glance took in Claire, and she added, “My goodness, is this Claire? Oh, it has to be—I’d recognize those beautiful hazel eyes anywhere!”
“She’s all grown-up.” Lynn gestured toward the group awkwardly. “This is Claire’s boyfriend, Alec, and my mother-in-law, Helena.”
As the two voiced a greeting, Mrs. Beniov said to Helena:
“Oh, you’re Tom’s mother? Such a delight, that young man.” To Lynn, she went on: “Did that new job he took in St. Louis work out? You left in such a hurry, I never got a forwarding address. I always wondered what happened to you.”
“We’re fine,” Lynn replied, lying so efficiently that Claire was impressed. “We didn’t stay in St. Louis long. We’re in Houston now. Tom travels a lot with his job.”
“Well, that explains it. I swore I saw him five or six years ago, standing right there at the bottom of those steps, staring up at your old place in the pouring rain. But when I came out to say hello and bring him an umbrella, he was gone.”
Claire’s heart leapt. “Really? You saw him?” It took every ounce of self-control to temper her excitement, and one glance at her companions told her they were feeling the same way.
“He must have been taking a trip down memory lane. I remember how happy you three were in this neighborhood.”
“That’s right,” Lynn lied. “I remember, Tom had a meeting in New York around that time … it was spring, I think?”
“Might have been,” added Mrs. Beniov. “So what brings you to Brooklyn again? Would you all like to come in for a cup of coffee? I just made a nice strudel.”
Helena smiled. “Thank you, but we are on our way to the Met. It is Claire’s first time back in New York, and we have a lot of sightseeing to do.”
“Of course, of course. Go get yourselves somewhere warm. It was so nice to see you again, Lynn.”
After they all murmured their good-byes, and the old woman retreated back inside her building, Claire embraced her mother tightly. “He’s alive, Mom.”
Lynn breathed a deep sigh, her eyes watering. “At least he was, five or six years ago. I wonder if he was looking for us?”
Helena stared at the front steps, deeply focused.
“Can you see him?” Alec asked.
Helena snapped herself back to the present, visibly displeased. “No. Whatever that woman saw that day, I cannot get a read on him. Something changed after he disappeared, and I wish I knew what.”
“Mom,” Claire said, thinking, “when Dad called you the day after he left, he said he’d been attacked on his way home from work, didn’t he?”
Lynn nodded. “Yes. He said it was in the Wall Street station. He’d just gone down the stairs to the subway platform when a Watcher appeared. They had a conversation, it went badly, and Tom ran.”
“I was hoping we would not have to go there,” Helena grumbled. “It will be difficult for me to find traces of him in a place so impersonal. But now it looks like that is our only option.”
At the Wall Street station, the foursome exited the train and crossed over to the track that headed back to Brooklyn.
Helena rested her hand on the tiled sidewall, as if trying to orient herself. “Give me a moment. I hope I can locate the energy I felt on his last day in the apartment.”
Please let this work, Claire prayed silently.
Helena stood still for a long moment, deep in concentration. Suddenly, her expression changed, to the same eerie kind of awareness she’d displayed in the apartment. She slowly turned and stared intently toward the stairs from the street, where a man in a green coat was descending. Her lips twitched in a half smile.
“Well?” The words burst from Claire’s mouth, louder than she’d intended. The man in the green coat glanced at her curiously as he passed by. Embarrassed, Claire waited until the man was out of earshot, then lowered her voice to a fierce whisper as she repeated, “Well?”
“I see him,” Helena declared. “He is walking down the stairs.”
“Oh!” Claire and Lynn cried in unison, excited.
“Can you show us, Helena, if we all hold hands?” Alec asked.
“That would look odd, and will not be necessary. I will project what I see into your minds. But please refrain from speaking. This will take extraordinary concentration.”
Claire knew exactly how much concentration the act of projection required, having managed to perform it once after Homecoming. It had given her a splitting headache, left her physically drained, and even made her levitate slightly—but then, she was still new at it. Helena had had almost nine centuries to perfect her abilities.
Claire looked in the direction Helena was staring, opening herself up to whatever images Helena was sending.
A gentle flickering began at the edges of Claire’s vision, like an old television screen going wonky. Claire blinked. All at once, the station was filled with a crush of people hurrying down the stairs to the platform. Instinctively, Claire leapt out of the way as the sea of subway riders pushed straight toward her. But when they passed through her, she remembered that she wasn’t physically in
anyone’s way.
“There’s Tom!” her mother cried with delight.
Claire followed her mom’s eyes, her heart lurching as she, too, recognized his face among the crowd. He wore a tan suit and was carrying a briefcase. Claire reached out as he approached, wishing she could touch him, a pang of disappointment reverberating to her core when he walked right through her arm.
He stopped a few yards away and waited for the train. Claire moved to stand beside him, her heart pounding.
“Hi, Dad,” she whispered wistfully, knowing he couldn’t see or hear her. “It’s me—Claire.”
There was something about him—his posture, the curve of his mouth, the light in his dark eyes—that suggested a deep inner happiness. She could have stood there watching him forever, but Helena’s abrupt voice reminded her why they were here.
“This is not the day. His clothing is different, and everyone is dressed for summer. I am moving on.”
To Claire’s disappointment, Tom instantly vanished, and the scene around her fast-forwarded at lightning speed. Days, weeks, and months passed, bursts of activity in the subway station alternating with periods of stark emptiness, the action slowing every now and then when Tom came into view.
“Why doesn’t Dad show up more often, if this was his regular train to commute home?” Claire asked.
“He changed his route all the time,” Lynn explained. “He used different stations, sometimes took the bus or a cab. He was always worried that someone was following him.”
As the rush of humanity continued around and through Claire, her head began to spin. It was too much to take in. She leaned against the wall and closed one eye, grounding herself for a moment in the present, relieved to see Alec, her mom, and Helena standing quietly a few yards away, staring into the past with intense fascination. Just then, a train arrived in the present, depositing a dozen or so people who moved for the exit.
Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Claire opened both eyes, and was thrust again into the past Helena was projecting. When it came upon Tom again, Alec said, “Hey, check out his scarf. Freeze that, Helena.”
“I am afraid I cannot freeze it, young man. There is far too much activity going on. I can only slow it down.”
As the action around them continued at a normal pace, Claire caught sight of her father entering the station, wearing the same red tie, winter coat, and knitted scarf he’d been wearing that last morning when they saw him leave the apartment.
“I’d just crocheted him that scarf.” Lynn’s voice was heavy with heartache. “It was the only time I ever saw him wear it.”
“Well, then, we have the right day,” Helena said tersely. “Let us stay close to him.”
Tom emerged onto the platform. Claire’s heart began to pound with worry as she and her companions moved after him. Something was about to happen to her dad.
Suddenly, Claire felt the sharp impact of colliding with someone, even though there was nobody in front of her. She stumbled back, briefly closing one eye to observe the present. A tall man in a blue ski cap, eyes glued to his cell phone, was shoving past her, muttering, “Watch it.”
“Sorry.” Claire glanced around to make sure nobody else was in their path. Only three other people were waiting for a train now, on the opposite side of the tracks. Still, she couldn’t help wondering, Does this look weird, the four of us walking around staring into space?
Toggling back to the past, Claire caught up to Alec, her mom, and Helena as they followed her dad along the crowded platform to his usual spot. Alec had an odd look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Claire asked.
“Every time Tom has shown up here, I’ve noticed a few people that look … off to me,” Alec muttered under his breath.
“Off in what way?”
Before Alec could answer, a police officer appeared at Tom’s side.
“Excuse me, sir.” The officer was over six feet tall, a broad-shouldered African-American man who looked to be in his mid-forties. His expression was polite, his smile friendly. “May I speak with you a moment?”
“Um, where did this cop come from?” Lynn asked.
“He wasn’t in the station a minute ago.” Alec sounded tense.
Tom warily allowed the policeman to escort him to a quiet spot at the end of the station, with Claire and her companions on their heels. They halted a few steps from the edge of the platform.
“How can I help you, Officer?” Tom asked.
“Let’s dispense with formalities and get right to the point—shall we, Tom?”
Tom’s eyes widened in surprise.
Claire sucked in a startled breath. The cop’s face was now flickering back and forth between the smiling cop and an entirely different, deadly serious man. A man Claire recognized. “Oh my God. It’s Vincent.”
Vincent: the Watcher with the power of illusions. The man who’d betrayed Alec, called Claire an abomination, and wanted her and her father dead.
“I’m not exactly surprised,” Alec commented, scowling.
The two Grigori stood still in front of them, in a standoff. “We both know the penalty of going AWOL.” Vincent’s dark eyes flashed.
“Vincent—” Tom began.
The other Watcher gestured for silence. “I’m not the type to rat on a fellow Grigori for such an offense. If you wanted to leave the fold to spend the next few centuries in solitary contemplation, I could live with that. I could look the other way. But it’s not that simple, is it? You’re guilty of something far worse.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed, and he glanced around, as if contemplating his next move. Cautiously, he said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
Claire held her breath. She could hardly believe they were actually witnessing this crucial conversation.
“Let’s not play games, Tom. We’ve known each other too long. I’ve been looking for you for eighteen months. I just got wind of where you’ve been working. And I’m fairly certain what you’ve been up to. You’re involved with a human female, aren’t you? I strongly suspect there’s a child as well.”
“That’s not true,” Tom replied.
“There’s no point in lying. If I’d wanted, I could have found out everything for myself by following you home tonight. I could have been a fly or a bird or a homeless man on the street, and you never would have noticed. I could have turned you over to the Elders and cleaned up the rest, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “But that’s not the sportsmanlike thing to do. That’s not what a friend would do.”
“Okay.” Tom was still wary. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m here to help you do the right thing. If you come in now, I’ll try to pave the way with the Elders so that you can return to your calling. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to turn you in and make certain you, not to mention your wife and spawn, face the consequences.”
Claire knew what the consequence was: death. Vincent had held it over her head before, how her entire existence was forbidden. She ground her teeth. “I hate it when he calls me spawn.”
“It is an accurate term, my dear,” Helena commented.
“There is no woman,” Tom insisted, “and no spawn.”
“Last chance, Tom. Vacation’s over. Your choice how it ends. Do you want my help or not?”
Tom paused. Then his expression softened. There was a new, dreamlike quality to his voice as he said gently: “Vincent, you’re confused. You’re letting your imagination run away with you. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Inexplicably, Vincent’s eyes seemed to lose focus. “Haven’t you?”
“No. You need to take a moment to think about what you’re doing,” Tom continued in the same, soft voice. “I’m not the criminal here. You are.” Tom leaned in and said something else, his words drowned out by the sound of an approaching train.
Vincent nodded, th
en turned and—to Claire’s astonishment—walked off the edge of the platform, directly into the path of the speeding train.
three
Alec froze in surprise. At the moment that the oncoming train would have made impact, Vincent’s entire body flickered—and then vanished.
“Bastard,” Alec said, realizing what had just happened. He grabbed Claire’s hand, her own gasp melding with the screams of the people in the subway station in the past.
“What the hell?” Claire cried. “Why did Vincent just fling himself onto the tracks?”
“I don’t know. But obviously he wasn’t even there in the first place.” It was just another trick of the twisted Grigori’s mind. Like the time he’d projected an image of himself in Alec’s apartment. Alec pulled Claire along with him, following Tom, who was pushing his way through the alarmed bystanders toward the exit.
“His illusions really piss me off,” Claire cried fiercely.
“Where was Vincent, really?” Lynn asked, as she and Helena closed in behind them.
“Let’s hope we find out,” Alec replied.
As they all dashed after Tom, passing through the crowds of shouting people, Alec intermittently closed one eye to confirm that the path ahead of them in the present was free of obstacles.
Everyone in the past was heading toward the scene of the supposed “accident,” except for the three people Alec had deemed suspicious earlier: an old lady who looked homeless, a bruiser of a man in an orange parka, and a skinny tweaker with glasses. Tom noticed them, too—they were heading toward him. Busted, Alec thought, realizing who, and what, they were. But none were Vincent, so they didn’t matter right now.
That’s when Alec spotted his former mentor.
