by Rysa Walker
Pru waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t bother. The dark-haired one is just my bodyguard. He can stand.”
Kiernan seems entirely unfazed by the comment, but her tone pisses me off.
I’m about to press the point when I find an unexpected ally in the waiter. His mouth tightens. “I’m afraid the gentleman will have to be seated if he’s to remain with you, miss. I’d be happy to pull up an extra chair if you ladies would be so kind as to move a bit toward the window.”
Mom complies immediately. Pru, on the other hand, gives the waiter a stare that makes me hope for his sake that this is one of those places where the tip is added to the check automatically.
“Fine,” she snarls, squeezing her chair a few inches to the right. I sit next to Mom, facing the entrance. Trey quickly drops into the chair the waiter placed beside me, leaving Kiernan to round out the circle.
The waiter sets another place for Trey and pours tea into the empty cups. Then he gives us a rundown of the items on the tiered tray near the center of the table—assorted pastries that look much too elaborate to eat, along with a variety of scones and delicate finger sandwiches.
When he finishes, Prudence clears her throat and purposefully taps the rim of her empty champagne flute. The waiter assures her he’ll be back with champagne momentarily and hurries off.
Mom takes a sandwich from the tray and asks me, “What took you so long?”
“Well, the elevator was slow. And then we had to find the Library, since you didn’t wait for us in the lobby.”
Pru shrugs. “I wasn’t sure how long they’d hold our reservation.” A sly grin spreads over her face. “I thought maybe you and Kiernan were just catching up on old times. Although I guess that might have been awkward with your new guy around.”
Mom chokes on her tea and gives me a questioning look. I start to respond, but Trey beats me to it.
“Perhaps,” he says in a level voice, staring directly at Pru. “But no more awkward than sitting across the table from the aunt who sneaked into her boyfriend’s bedroom.”
Pru’s eyebrows rise gradually, and she does a slow clap, her grin widening.
“Ooh, touché! After your rather . . . stoic . . . behavior that night, I’d pegged you as cute-but-boring. But it looks like Kate’s little pet has claws.” She catches Mom’s expression out of the corner of her eye as she reaches the end of the sentence. I think maybe she’d forgotten her sister was there, because some of the color drains from her face. She pastes on her too-wide smile again. “Oh, excellent. The bubbles have finally arrived.”
The fact that Pru calls champagne “bubbles” makes me want to vomit.
The waiter fills each glass in turn. Prudence’s is nearly empty before he makes his way around the table. Over his shoulder, I see the two security guards near the entrance. Tall Guy is talking to the hostess, while Short Guy watches our table, his eyes on Pru. When they shift to me, he realizes I’m staring back and quickly looks away.
I’m pretty sure I’m over the legal drinking age in Great Britain, but either Mom doesn’t know that or it doesn’t impress her.
“Could you bring her a bottle of water instead?” she asks the waiter. I shoot her a peeved look, although it’s more for show than anything else. Skipping the “bubbles” is fine with me. I need to keep a clear head.
“Hmph,” Pru says. “She’d be better off drinking the tap than bottled. You never know what’s in that stuff. No need for this to go to waste, however.” She scoops up my glass, then looks over at Mom. “Don’t get me wrong, Deb. I’m the last person who’d ever complain about extra champagne, but your puritan streak is showing again. Since when did you become so much like Mother?”
Given Mom’s opinion of Katherine, I expect her to take offense. And there is a tiny hint of offense in her expression, but she just says, “Possibly when I actually became someone’s mother.” She shoots me a quick glance from the corner of her eye and then looks back at Prudence. “Kate’s mother. Whom you already seem to know pretty well. Maybe you’d like to explain how and why you wound up in her boyfriend’s room?”
“I was teaching your daughter a lesson, Deborah. A little reminder to stop playing around in things she doesn’t understand. Cyrist International isn’t a game. We have a serious mission, and we mean to carry it out.”
Pru’s voice rises a bit with each sentence. Kiernan reaches over and squeezes her arm gently, looking pointedly around the room and then back at her. His meaning is clear to me—people are watching, lower your voice—but either Prudence doesn’t catch it or she doesn’t care, because she yanks her hand away and says, even louder, “I was trying to protect her. I thought you’d want that!”
“Of course I’d want that,” my mother says. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t contact me first, Pru. She’s my daughter. It’s my job to protect her, not yours, and I can’t do that when everyone is keeping me in the dark.”
A quick glance in my direction makes it clear that I’m included in that criticism. I give her an apologetic smile and pretend I’m absorbed in deciding which of the pastries to grab from the top tier.
I hate that Mom feels excluded, but to be honest, I’d make the same decision about informing her if I had to do it again. Except . . . I’d probably try to talk her out of accepting the research grant, now that I know whose money was funding it. It’s not that I like lying to Mom. I just don’t think she’s capable of staying out of this. She won’t be able to stand on the sidelines and watch me take risks. She’ll go into crazed mother tiger mode and lash out at anyone—Katherine, Dad, even me—if she believes they’re responsible for putting her cub in danger.
But I also see a touch of that same emotion in her eyes when she looks at her sister.
Prudence takes a deep breath. “I was trying to protect you as well, Deborah. Saul can’t be trusted. He’s—” She suddenly gets a deer-in-the-headlights look. Then she scoops up her medallion and blinks out.
There’s a moment of silence before Mom says, “I must be getting used to her abrupt exits. That’s not nearly as tough the fourth time around.”
“The key’s in your pocket, Mom. You’re under a CHRONOS field.”
“Hmph,” Kiernan says, his face surprised and a bit amused. “Don’t think Pru was counting on that.”
I give him a confused look.
“She made a mistake, right?” he continues. “Pru didn’t plan to let that bit about not trusting Saul slip out. So she’s going to go back and fix it.”
“Fix it how?” Mom asks.
“Tell herself not to say what she just said. That’s a guess on my part, but I’ve seen her do it often enough in the past that it’s a fairly educated guess.”
“Why would she think that would work?” Trey asks. “She knows Kate has a CHRONOS key.”
“Yeah, but it’s Kate’s mum she’s trying to convince. She’s not worried about Kate, or about us.” He turns and looks at Mom. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your sister is a few cards short of a full deck. No. Strike that. She’s an entire suit short of a full deck. To be frank, it’s like minding a toddler. Sometimes Pru’s all there, razor sharp. But she can’t hold focus. If something else catches her attention, she’s off like a hound after a rabbit. And she’s not one bit hesitant about changing things she finds inconvenient.”
“Then why haven’t you taken the damned key away from her?” Mom snaps. “If you’re her bodyguard, you should protect her. Even if it’s from herself.”
It’s a valid point, but Kiernan shakes his head. “She’d just use the spare.”
“Then we’ll take that one, too!” I counter. “There are four of us.”
“Yeah, well, unless one of you is a surgeon, it won’t make a damned bit of difference. The bloody thing is embedded in her arm.”
“In her arm?” Trey asks. “How?”
“An upgrade she got a while back. And those two guys you keep sneaking looks at, Kate? You’re right. They’re temple security—L
ondon branch. I think they’re a little confu . . . sed—”
Kiernan goes silent because Pru has returned to her seat. Except . . . one side of my brain insists she never left, that she’s been right there in her chair for the past minute. She never said Saul can’t be trusted. Instead, she gave us this line about how he can’t be troubled with handling all of the details, so she’s going to take Mom back to her place in Paris. Or maybe they’ll go to Greece. Or to Rome for a few weeks. Right now, she’s saying something about the Colosseum and how they’ll go back to when it wasn’t in ruins, maybe catch one of those gladiator shows.
Even though part of me swears she’s been sitting there, spouting this nonsense the entire time, I also remember sitting here at the table with Pru’s chair empty. Just me, Mom, Trey, and Kiernan. The dueling memories are unpleasant, kind of like there’s a mouse inside my head, near the front, chewing away at the synapses or something. It hurts—not a loud, roaring pain, but just that small, nibbling sensation.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes for a moment, rubbing my temples with my thumbs. As I look around the table, everyone else—everyone except Prudence, that is—seems to be dealing with the same dual memory. Mom looks like the tiny roast beef sandwich she ate a minute ago is going to make a hasty exit. Trey just stares down at the napkin in his lap, his face pale.
Kiernan looks a bit rattled, too, but he catches my eye and gives me a see-what-I-mean look.
I turn toward Pru, even though every word I say is aimed at Mom. “I’m sorry, Aunt Prudence, but I need Mom to come home. Back to DC. My grandfather is ill, and I don’t know how long Dad will need to be in Delaware. Katherine’s dying. I need one of my parents—”
“Oh, boohoo. Cut the I-need-my-mommy crap, Kate.” Prudence pauses to drain the rest of her champagne and pours herself some more. “You’ve been perfectly happy keeping Deborah in the dark until now. If you’re old enough to butt into everyone else’s business, you’re old enough to be on your own, sweetie.”
Prudence’s eyes are clear and sharp now, blue-gray daggers aiming straight at me. The venom in her voice reminds me of the chat we shared at the Expo. She gives me a saccharine little smile before continuing. “You didn’t want your mom in the way, interrupting your little trysts at the townhouse, or wondering what trouble you’re getting into with Grandma. Otherwise you’d have warned Deborah about the research trip from the beginning.”
My hands grip the edge of my chair, and I lean toward Pru, my voice angry. “If I’d known you were behind the trip—”
Prudence cuts me off with a loud laugh. “You didn’t guess? And here I was worrying I was being much too ob . . . vi . . . ous . . .” She’s staring at the top tier of the tea tray now, eyes fixed on a small layered cake with red jam on top.
Her face transforms to childlike joy as she picks up the dessert and sniffs it. “I think it’s raspberry. I love raspberry!”
Pru sinks her teeth into the little cake and gives a sigh of pleasure. “Definitely raspberry! Here, Deb, take the other one. You’ll love it.”
Mom’s hand slides down to cover my own, which is still clutching the edge of my chair. She leaves it there for a few seconds as she tells her sister that the cake does indeed look delicious. One last squeeze, then she reaches over to take the pastry from Prudence.
It was a tiny gesture. I don’t think either Kiernan or Trey noticed, even though they’re both looking at me oddly now. They probably think the tears in my eyes are from something Prudence said, or because I’m worried Mom is angry. No, they’re tears of relief. I don’t believe for a second we’re done talking about all of this, and I’m pretty sure some of that talking will be of the yelling-at-me variety, but that one little squeeze telegraphed a message that couldn’t have been clearer if she’d said the words out loud.
We’re in this together.
Prudence keeps her friendly face on for the next twenty minutes or so, happily sampling the various items on the tray and downing several more glasses of champagne. Kiernan pushes a little blue pill toward her when she starts on the fourth glass, but she just laughs and sweeps the pill to the floor.
Is she on an antipsychotic of some sort? She needs to be.
Pru keeps adding things to Mom’s plate. She doesn’t seem to notice whether the rest of us are eating. We aren’t, for the most part. Even though it’s all delicious, I think everyone is too on edge to be hungry.
The waiters, who are almost overattentive to the surrounding tables, give our group a wide berth. Did one of them see Prudence pop out earlier? Or maybe they’ve just noticed that everyone else at the table is acting like Pru is a bomb about to go off?
I feel like I’m the one who’s going to explode, however. It’s hard to sit here sipping tea when there are other things I need to be doing. I don’t have time for Prudence’s version of the Mad Tea Party.
My anxiety must show on my face, because when I look up again, Prudence is watching me. Her mind has apparently returned, at least for the moment.
“What’s up, little niece of mine? You’re mighty twitchy. Somewhere you need to be?” She glances around the table, a sour look on her face. “None of you seem to be in a very festive mood. I sprang for the unlimited bubbles, and that’s still your first glass, Deb. This is supposed to be a party.”
Mom tips back the rest of her champagne, but doesn’t reach for the bottle to refill it. “It’s all delicious, Pru. I’m just a bit tired. Travel always wears me out. Maybe we should go back to the room—”
“So that you can pack up your things and head back home with your darling daughter.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Pru gives Mom a bitter smile as she reaches for her CHRONOS key.
“So that I can get some rest, Pru. I still want to see a few things in London before we head off to Greece, or Rome, or wherever it is you’ve decided to go next. I’m coming with you, as long as you agree to stick to the present time so that I can actually follow.”
“Mom! No!” I turn toward her, stunned. “Please. We need to talk about this.”
Mom’s eyes stay on Prudence, but her hand reaches under the table to squeeze my knee.
My first instinct is to brush her hand away and start arguing, until she digs her fingers in a bit harder and I freeze. Old habits die hard. I remember the knee squeeze from the time I was a little kid squirming next to Mom at a fancy restaurant. At a colleague’s funeral when she couldn’t get a sitter. In the car, in Iowa, when she was trying to talk the cop out of a speeding ticket.
I know this signal. It means sit still and stay quiet.
And I remember Mom’s hand on mine earlier. She has a plan. I’m not sure I’m going to like it or agree with it, but she’s up to something.
“I think you’re right, Prudence. Kate’s old enough to handle things on her own. I’d just be in the way at home. And,” she continues in a drier tone, “since I apparently don’t have an actual job to return to . . . well, a vacation would be nice. A sister trip.”
Mom turns back to me, smiling regretfully. “I’m sorry the two of you traveled all this way if your goal was to bring me back. You need to get back to school, young lady. I didn’t authorize this rescue mission, and I’m very happy here with Prudence—we have several decades of catching up to do. And as I told you on the phone, we’ll be back in the States in a few weeks. Pru says she has business in DC and down in Florida.”
“Is that a good idea?” Kiernan asks, his voice surprised.
Prudence turns on him, eyes flashing. “You’re not here to question my decisions, Kiernan. I’m a far better judge of what’s a good idea than you are. Maybe you should run along home.”
Kiernan shrugs, but the look he gives her answers my earlier question. If he’s moved on, it’s not with Pru.
“Fine with me.” He pushes his chair back, nodding first at Mom and then at Trey. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.” He taps one finger very distinctly against the pocket of his jeans, where the light of his CHRONOS key shi
nes through the denim. “Kate, you take care, okay?”
Prudence watches him walk off, then says, “I’m going to run check on a few things back home. Let’s do the Eye at nine, okay? With more bubbles.”
“That sounds like fun,” Mom says. “I’ll wait for you upstairs.”
Pru has the medallion in her hand and is clearly about to jump away when her expression shifts again and she looks confused. “Where . . . was I going somewhere, Deb? I can’t remember.”
“You said you needed to go home and check on some things, but . . .” Mom glances around at the other people in the restaurant. “Let’s go back to the room first, okay?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I remember now. Tickets for the Eye. Should I reserve seats for Trey and Kate? Oh, and maybe one for Kiernan. You haven’t met him yet, have you?” Pru looks at the seat next to her, like she’s trying to remember something. “Or . . . have you?”
“Yes, but only briefly. And don’t bother with tickets for Kate and Trey. They’re not staying.”
∞5∞
COUNTY HALL, LONDON
September 10, 5:24 p.m.
Once we’re back in Mom’s room, she spends the first several minutes chewing me out for not telling her everything from the beginning. At first she seems reluctant to really let me have it in front of Trey, but that fades quickly. When she has completely and rather embarrassingly vented, she demands the full story. Then she cross-examines me, and I have to tell it again. I feel like I’m back in Georgia, being grilled by Deputy Beebe.
The clouds above the river are streaks of pink and purple by the time the interrogation is over. I don’t know if Mom ran out of things to ask or is just exhausted, like me. Even Trey looks tired, and he’s been on the periphery of the storm.
Mom leans back against the headboard of the bed nearest to the wall and closes her eyes. I’m lying across the other bed, facing her. Trey sits next to me, holding the soda we’ve been sharing.
