by Rysa Walker
“Mom,” I begin as I pull the spare medallion from my bag. “I really do need you to wear this. Because what happened just now, me going back and talking to you? That was a tiny little ripple, a small time change. You remember it—and kind of don’t remember it—only because you saw it happen. You were here when I changed it. But if a major time shift happened, if someone changes the entire timeline again and you aren’t under a key, you won’t know there’ve been changes. It’s happened before. This all started back when we were in Iowa—remember my so-called panic attacks?”
That catches her attention, for some reason. She gets up suddenly from the bed, startling slightly when she notices Trey in the chair near the window, like she’d forgotten he was there. Then she gives me another odd look and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
After a few seconds, I hear water running in the sink. I wait about a minute, then get up and tap on the door. No answer.
“Mom?” The water goes off, so I knock again, louder.
Trey comes up and wraps his arms around me. “Maybe you should give her a minute. This is a pretty major sensory overload the first time.”
I lean my head back against his chest. “I know, I know. But Prudence could show up any second and—”
“Want me to go into the hallway and keep watch?”
“I doubt it would give us much of a heads-up. Pru probably set a stable point in the hallway or in her room. Maybe even in here.”
“True,” he says, moving around so that he’s facing me. “Still, it might be better than nothing. Your mom seems on edge with me here. Maybe she’ll listen better if I’m not in the room. I don’t think Katherine really thought that part through. Although to be fair, I guess I didn’t, either.”
I don’t entirely like the idea of Trey hanging out in the hallway on his own. Unfortunately, there’s no good way of saying that without it sounding like I think he can’t take care of himself, and he’s probably right about Mom. So I nod. He gives me a quick kiss and steps outside.
I go back and sit on the bed, trying to wait patiently.
I’m not good at that. Maybe twenty seconds later, I say, “Mom? Trey stepped out so we can talk alone. And we really do need to talk before Prudence comes back. That could be any minute now, so could you please? I need your help.”
Mom comes out and leans back against the wall near the bed. She looks tired. I don’t usually think of her as middle-aged, but the lines around her eyes seem deeper than a few weeks ago.
“So, all this stuff Prudence has been telling me is true? I mean, I was able to check some of what she said. I’d never really paid much attention to the whole Cyrist mythology. To be honest, I kind of avoided it. The fact that these Cyrists used her name—well, it was painful every time I heard it.”
I’m so close to saying it didn’t stop her from giving me the awful name, but I bite my tongue and let her finish.
“When Pru told me about Cyrist International, all I had to do was type in Sister Prudence to confirm that part of it. Her picture popped up all over the place, some with actual photos. But . . . you’re saying she’s really using that thing to travel through time? Nobody is crazy?”
“Well, you’re not crazy.” I pat the spot beside me on the bed because she still doesn’t look very steady. When she doesn’t join me, I go on. “Yes, Prudence is using the key to time travel.”
“What about the rest of it? She said our father—not Dad, but some other, biological father I didn’t even know we had—is alive. He’s stuck a few years in the future, and she’s trying to help him avoid some sort of global catastrophe. That’s true as well?”
“No. I mean, yes, Saul is alive, but he and Prudence are causing the catastrophe, not preventing it.” Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know how much Pru understands about that, though.”
I hate making excuses for Prudence. I can still hear her at the World’s Fair, telling me that I could either join the Cyrists or line up with the rest of the sheep to be fleeced and slaughtered. The notion that she’s an innocent victim doesn’t sit well with me. But I also know Mom won’t find it easy to accept my suspicion that the sister she loves is an evil, murdering bitch.
I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “I think Saul lied to her about what he was planning, at least at first. And I know that she’s been using the key a lot. Too much, even going back to alter things in her own timeline. Changing her own memories. That’s not good. Katherine says—”
I immediately wish I could yank those last words back, because Mom’s eyes flash at Katherine’s name. “And how do you know Mother isn’t the one who’s lying? She’s been lying to me my entire life! Maybe this Saul really is trying to—”
“No!” I say, packing every bit of certainty I can muster into the word. “No, Mom. Saul did a test run on a village in Georgia, back in 1912. I saw rows of bodies—kids, babies even—who died because Saul dropped something into their well.”
Just thinking about the scene in God’s Hollow brings tears to my eyes, and I have to blink them away.
Mom’s expression softens a bit as she watches me, but she’s still uncertain. “What about Prudence?”
I don’t follow her question at first, and then I shake my head when I realize she’s asking if her sister was involved in the massacre. “No. I don’t think she knows that part. But I can’t be sure.”
“How can you be sure of anything that happened in 1912, Kate? How can you know that Saul was responsible?”
Because I was there. I heard him laughing, I watched him spin around with his face raised to the sky like the corpses before him in that chapel were a gift from the heavens.
Emphasizing the fact that I’ve been up close and personal with a homicidal maniac recently—several of them, actually—would only amp up Mom’s current level of freak-out. I opt instead for a watered-down version of the truth.
“I was able to view it through the key, Mom. Saul was happy about it. Blissfully happy. I think we have a shot at stopping him now—some things have changed in the past few days. I have allies now, people who may be able to help me.”
At least I hope I do. I still can’t shake the feeling that I might be just as alone, maybe even more so if what Julia believes about Kiernan is true.
“I have to get back to DC as soon as possible,” I say. “I just needed to see that you were safe first. I know she’s your sister, but you can’t trust her. I’m not sure she’s even sane.”
I can tell from Mom’s expression that she’s wondering about that last part, too. As she opens her mouth to say something, there’s a knock, followed by Prudence’s voice just outside the door.
“Deborah? Are you in here?”
So much for Trey being able to give us a warning.
Mom moves toward the door. I grab her arm and slip the spare CHRONOS key into her hand. “Please, Mom,” I whisper. “You have to keep this on you. And we have to go back to DC. Please.”
She takes the key and sighs, putting it in her pocket. “For now.” She wipes the hand that held the medallion on her jeans like she’s touched something nasty. “We’ll finish this discussion later. And I won’t leave Prudence here alone. I can’t.”
Pru steps in as soon as Mom opens the door. Trey stands behind her against the corridor wall with his eyes fixed on something to his left.
“Why didn’t you wait in the lobby?” Prudence flashes an angry glare in my direction before looking back at Mom. “You knew I’d be right back!”
“Did I?” Mom sniffs. “Your track record isn’t exactly spotless there. The first time you blinked out you were gone more than thirty years.”
Pru’s expression is so wounded that I almost—almost—feel sorry for her.
“Deb, I explained about that. It wasn’t my fault. You said you believed me! And this time . . . I went back to make reservations. For tea.”
Prudence’s sad puppy act seems to work, although I’m pretty sure that Mom would never have bought it from me,
even when I was a little kid.
She gives Pru an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just . . . this is all so strange. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Prudence gives me a smug glance and takes Mom by the arm, pulling her into the corridor. “I know,” she says sympathetically. “It’s a lot to take in. Why don’t we go downstairs and discuss everything over tea and cakes?”
Pru steers Mom to the left. She’s still prattling on about tea, but her voice fades as they turn at the intersection just down the corridor and head toward the elevators.
My gaze has been locked on the two of them, so it takes a moment to realize Trey is still staring at that same spot, just to the right of the doorway. He must feel me watching, because he flicks his eyes toward me and then back. That’s when I notice the shadow on the carpet. It’s a man. He seems unnaturally tall, although I’m guessing that’s an illusion from the lighting in the hallway.
Whoever he is, the bright blue light coming from that direction tells me he’s carrying a CHRONOS key. And while the lines of the shadow on the floor are too blurry for me to be certain, I think he’s holding a gun.
∞4∞
COUNTY HALL, LONDON
September 10, 3:47 p.m.
Snatching my backpack from the bed, I unzip the front pocket and grab the Colt. Trey is still rooted to the same spot.
Unfortunately, if Shadow-Man is holding a gun, there’s no good way for me to approach. In the movies, the wall near the door is always free of obstructions so the heroine can press against it and pivot around the doorway, gun extended. Clearly this hotel wasn’t planned with gun battles in mind, because a luggage stand is right smack in the way. I also suspect I’m at least partially visible from the man’s vantage point, thanks to mirrored closet doors.
I advance cautiously, but before I reach the door, the shadow moves toward the entrance. My gun is raised. Trey is too close, however—and now Trey is also moving. I catch a fleeting glimpse of a very familiar face as Trey tackles him from behind, shoving him through the door and onto the floor.
“Bloody hell, are you both crazy?”
Kiernan’s voice is muffled by the carpet. He starts to get up, but Trey pushes him back down with his knee.
“Are you coming, Kate?” Mom yells. “We can’t keep holding the elevator.”
“Go ahead! We’ll meet you downstairs.”
I motion for Trey to step away. He gives the gun in my hand an uneasy look, then takes his knee off Kiernan’s back and moves toward the door, closing it behind him.
Kiernan props himself up, rubbing his head where it hit the carpet. He casts a wary eye at my gun, now pointed at the floor. “You can put that thing away, Kate.”
“You first,” I say, nodding at the Colt in his hand, identical to mine aside from the pearl grips on my handle.
He shrugs, sticking the gun into his pocket as he stands. It’s only then that I get a clear look at his face, and all of the breath is sucked out of me.
He’s . . . different. Older. He hasn’t gone gray and there are no wrinkles, but I can tell he’s aged. Five years, at least. His jawline is more defined, and his eyes . . . I can’t quite place exactly how they’re different, but they’re the most telling sign of all.
Kiernan holds my gaze for a few seconds, then sticks out his hand toward Trey. “Kiernan Dunne. Who are you?”
A wide scar zigzags about four inches along the inside of Kiernan’s arm, midway between wrist and elbow. It wasn’t there when I left him in Georgia last night, but it’s not fresh. It’s faded—a silvery, knotted line against his skin.
Trey takes the hand Kiernan offers and gives it a brief shake, still eying him cautiously. “Trey Coleman.”
As soon as he releases Kiernan’s hand, Trey looks back at me and says, a bit defensively, “He came in with Prudence. They both just . . . apparated . . . or whatever, right there in the hallway. I didn’t have time to knock, and he had the gun out, so . . .”
“It’s okay.” I give him a smile, then turn back to Kiernan. “Why are you here? Why are you standing outside my mother’s hotel room with a gun? How long has it been for you, since last night . . . since Georgia? And what happened to your arm?”
Kiernan shakes his head. His expression is odd—I can’t tell if he’s amused at the barrage of questions or annoyed. “As usual, I’ll take them in order. Pru said come for tea. I’m her bodyguard, so I did as I was told.” He nods toward Trey. “There was a strange man lurking in the hallway when she pulled up the location on her key, which should explain the gun. Georgia was a little over six years ago for me. The scar . . .” He shakes his head dismissively. “An accident. Looks worse than it was.”
I doubt that. The scar is jagged and wicked looking, wider than my thumb in some spots. It’s really two scars, because there’s a smaller, curved line, about an inch long, running nearly parallel. Both cuts clearly needed stitches.
I’m about to push him for more information when Trey asks, “So Prudence didn’t tell you we were here?”
“No,” Kiernan responds with a wry quirk of his lips. “I’m sure she thought it more amusing to have us all meet in the hallway. One side effect of working for a madwoman is dealing with her sense of humor. And she doesn’t know about Kate’s little toy there.” His eyes rest on the gun, which I’m still holding.
“Neither did I,” Trey says, giving me a worried look.
“I told you about the gun.” I shove it into the backpack.
“I didn’t know you were actually carrying it.”
My own views on carrying it have changed pretty drastically in the past few days. A week ago, I’d have been terrified of the thing, but the fact that I was armed saved Kiernan’s life and quite possibly my own at God’s Hollow.
“I’m here to rescue my mom. From a madwoman, as Kiernan just noted. I thought it might come in handy. Why are you working for Pru in the first place, Kiernan?”
He shrugs. “We have common enemies. And a few common goals. But we’re late for tea, so the details will have to wait.” He motions with his head toward the door. “Shall we?”
As much as I’d like to tell him we shall not, at least not until I have more answers, I don’t like leaving Mom alone with Prudence. I still don’t think she’d actually hurt Mom, although I have to admit that Pru’s current level of instability has made me less certain on that point. Either way, she’s clearly on a mission to convince Mom to accept her version of reality. And in a battle for heart and mind, every second I leave them alone is risky.
There are two other passengers in the elevator, so we don’t talk on the ride down. The three of us just stand against the back wall, awkwardly silent, with Trey casting occasional angry glances at Kiernan over the top of my head. I grab Trey’s hand and lace his fingers between mine, hoping to signal that he has no reason to feel threatened.
If I’d had to guess which of the two would be acting jealous and territorial, I’d have picked Kiernan. But the vibe I’m getting from him is very different from when we were in Georgia. The change in his eyes I noticed earlier is one thing—he looks tired. Resigned, maybe. That spark that’s always present when he looks at me is gone. Well, maybe not gone, but definitely muted. Distant.
His transformation is disconcerting. I almost feel like I’m standing next to a stranger. People can change a lot in six years.
Maybe he’s moved on?
Maybe he’s moved on with Prudence?
Ick. I inch closer to Trey because even if it’s not rational, and totally unfair, that idea bothers me on so many different levels.
Trey and I step into the lobby and Kiernan follows, grabbing my arm to hold me back. “Give me your key,” he says, yanking his own from his pocket.
“Why?”
He rolls his eyes and reaches over, pulling at the black cord around my neck that he knows holds my CHRONOS medallion. His fingers brush against my collarbone for only a moment, but it’s still enough
to trigger the shiver I feel when he’s too close for comfort. And as awkward as that is at any time, it’s a million times more uncomfortable with Trey watching.
Kiernan activates his key and slides mine out of the leather pouch that shields the light if you come into contact with someone carrying the CHRONOS gene. He holds the two together, transferring a set of personal coordinates from his medallion to mine. Some stable points, apparently the most popular destinations, are standard to all keys. Less frequently used locations are in the Log of Stable Points that Katherine has back home. With a local point, however, this is the quickest way to share it, otherwise you have to manually enter a string of coordinates pinpointing the exact geographical location and then another set pinpointing the exact time.
Trey is still a few feet away, eying us warily. I motion for him to join us. He glares at Kiernan for a second, then comes over.
“How did he get to London?” Kiernan asks.
“British Airways.”
Kiernan’s brow creases. “Why’s he carrying a key? I can see it through his pocket. Before, you said Katherine wouldn’t allow it. That it could hurt him.”
Trey answers for me. “It was unavoidable. I was under the CHRONOS field when a time shift happened. And . . . I told Katherine I wasn’t leaving. That I volunteer. I can’t be much help to Kate if my memory keeps getting wiped.”
Kiernan still looks troubled, but he hands me back my key and walks over to the registration desk. The woman points to the left, and he heads off in that direction, waving for us to follow.
A few minutes later, we’re in the County Hall Library, which stretches along the front of the building. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves separate the room into semiprivate dining nooks—small round tables covered with white linen, encircled by comfy-looking chairs.
Trey spots Mom and Prudence three tables back, in an alcove with a nice view of the Thames and Big Ben. A flustered-looking waiter stands behind them. I’m not sure why he’s flustered until I realize there are now five of us and the table is set for four.
