Time Anomaly: A Time Travel Romance (Echo Trilogy, #2)

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “Yes, Alexandra, I was away . . . searching for a Nejeret and Nejerette who could restore balance to the universe.” He paused, and I dreaded what I knew was coming next. “I was searching for you.”

  12

  Nothing & Something

  Nuin stared at me, his blank expression combined with the passing seconds making me a little uncomfortable. But he’d knocked me temporarily speechless with the bomb he’d just dropped.

  “May we proceed, dear Alexandra?” Nuin said, once again speaking in the original tongue. “I still have much to do before we depart.”

  A little numb, I nodded.

  “I am going to release your power now,” he said, and he slowly raised his hand and touched his first two fingertips to my forehead.

  Closing my eyes, I felt . . . nothing. I raised one eyelid, peeking at Nuin. “Was something supposed to happen?”

  “Something did,” Aset said and reached behind her. Seconds later, she handed me a small, several-inch-wide polished gold disk. “Look at your eyes.”

  I raised the mirror. “Whoa . . .”

  They weren’t exactly like Nuin’s, which swirled with luminous colors spanning the entire visible spectrum, but they were close. My irises shone with a fiery maelstrom of reds, yellows, and oranges.

  “When you triggered the anchor woven into the statuette and traveled back thousands of years, you enabled the power to fully integrate with your physical form,” Nuin explained. “The evidence of it will be displayed in your eyes when the power is not shielded.” He gave me a meaningful look. “This must be avoided at all costs.”

  “Apep,” I said numbly. “He would know what it meant, that your sheut is within me . . . and that you are pretty much just a regular Netjer-At now. He would come after us, right?”

  “He would,” Nuin said.

  “So is that my first lesson? Learning how to stop my eyes from glowing like a bonfire?” I frowned. But that wouldn’t save Marcus, and Nuin had claimed that was our main purpose for coming here, for meeting with Aset and Nekure.

  “No.” Nuin patted my knee. “I will reestablish the inner shield when we are finished, and teach you how to do so yourself once you have more control.” He looked at Aset. “I do not believe you are aware of the full extent of the relationship between Alexandra and the future Heru.”

  She tilted her head to the side.

  “They are bonded, fully and completely.”

  Aset sucked in a breath and stared at me, her eyes wide. “But that would mean . . .”

  “Neither will last long in the other’s absence,” Nuin said.

  “Marcus—Heru, he was away from me for a few months after we first bonded, and he was in pain, but he didn’t die . . . obviously.”

  “You were still there, even if your ba was not. Your body gave off enough residual bonding pheromones to keep him alive . . . for a time,” Nuin said. “Had you not returned when you did, and fed the bond . . .” He shrugged. “It is impossible to say how much longer he could have lasted, what with the Nothingness clouding the futures.”

  “How do you know we fed the bond when I—” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling heat flush my neck and cheeks. “You did not watch . . . did you?”

  When I reopened my eyes and met Nuin’s, he looked completely unrepentant. “As I have told you before, I had to determine the path that would lead to Heru’s perfect match, to the bonded pair who, together, could restore ma’at. How could I accomplish such a task without knowing whether or not the two of you would be reunited in time to alleviate his withdrawals before they killed him?”

  Nekure chuckled, and mortification saturated every fiber of my being. “I would very much appreciate it if none of you ever spoke of this again.”

  Nuin’s lips quirked, but he nodded without comment, as did Nekure and Aset.

  Aset cleared her throat, and we both looked at her. “This is all very fascinating, and I understand that Nekure is here to help Lex learn to use part of her power, but why am I here, grandfather?”

  “You are here, my dear Aset, to deliver that which Lex is about to create out of the fabric of the At—the means by which Heru can survive in a world where his bond-mate no longer exists, however temporarily.”

  Again, Aset’s eyes widened. “You want me to hold onto something for thousands of years, then give it to him once she”—Aset flicked her eyes to me—“leaves her own time to travel here?”

  Nuin nodded.

  “But what if I lose it? And how will I know when to give it to him?” she asked, sounding a little frantic.

  “You will not lose it,” Nuin said, his gaze steady on hers.

  With a gulp, Aset nodded.

  “And you will know when to deliver the object of Heru’s salvation because you will be the one to see Lex off on her temporal journey.”

  “But—”

  “Lex is here, now, dear granddaughter, which means you succeeded in the future. You and Nekure—you will make sure that everything works out.”

  I stared at them, first at Nuin, then at Aset, then at Nekure. “So . . . possible problem.” I hunched my shoulders. “I have no idea how to make something out of At.”

  Nuin bowed his head toward me. “Nekure will guide you through the process.”

  I flashed Nekure a quick, grateful smile. “Yeah, but how does something like that save Heru from bonding withdrawals?”

  Nuin smiled the knowing smile of a man who contains all of the most precious secrets in the world, past, present, and future. Not all, I reminded myself. “Because,” he said, “within that object will be a supply of your bonding essence.”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it again when I couldn’t formulate a response.

  He turned his attention to Aset and Nekure. “We shall return shortly.” Capturing my hand, he looked at me. “Let us enter the At together, my Alexandra. We will harvest the raw material, then return. I think you will find this portion of the task quite simple.”

  “And the other portion?”

  “Extracting your own bonding essence will be taxing . . . and it will take time and immense mental focus. To be safe, you will have to do it every morning and every evening in order to store up a large enough supply.” As he finished speaking, Nuin pulled my ba into the At.

  The dizzying array of colors danced around us, though they seemed somehow more substantial than usual. “Alright, ye mighty god of time,” I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “what do we do now?”

  Nuin leveled an unamused stare my way.

  “What?”

  “I must admit, I do find your lack of deference toward me refreshing at times.”

  Grinning, I gave him a thumbs-up.

  His expression didn’t change. “This is not one of those times.”

  My smile slipped, and I lowered my hand to my side.

  Without warning, Nuin’s stern mask cracked, and he started to laugh.

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “Wow, I can see that living for thousands and thousands of years has really made you mature. How old are you, anyway?”

  Eyes that matched the churning rainbow surrounding us twinkled, and Nuin grinned.

  “Fine, don’t tell me.” I exhaled in a huff. “But really, what do I do now?”

  Nuin clasped his hands in front of him and rocked back on his heels. “Simply take a handful of the At, and we’ll return to our physical bodies. Nekure will help you with the rest.”

  I pursed my lips, eying a reddish-purple tendril that was currently wrapping ethereal wisps between the fingers of my right hand. “It can’t be as simple as just grabbing it,” I said, closing my hand as I spoke.

  “Oh, but it is.” Nuin pointed to my right hand. “Look.”

  I glanced down and was more than a little surprised to find that the burgundy tendril of At was still there, and appeared to have solidified into long, taffy-like strands. “This is . . .” I searched for the right word while I stared at the fabric of the At . . . which I was currently holding in my hand. “This i
s weirdly awesome.”

  “Yes, yes . . . now grab a good handful so we can return.”

  I tugged on the purplish strands and started reeling in more of the stringy, stretchy substance. “How much do I need?”

  Nuin flicked a hand my way. “That should be sufficient. Roll it up into a ball. It will be easier to work with in the physical plane that way—more like clay and less like that odd, fluffy confection you have in your time.”

  “Cotton candy?” I clarified as I worked on wadding my handful of what was essentially the fabric of space and time into a softball-sized clump.

  “Yes, and I don’t know how you can stand it. It’s far too sweet.”

  I snorted. “As I remember it, when we went to that carnival that one time, you ate a pink and a blue bag of cotton candy . . . then spent the rest of the night complaining about being jittery.” And that was what made my relationship with Nuin unique—I’d grown up with him popping in for regular cross-temporal visits, watched him experience modern life, and laughed, cried, and snuggled with a man everyone else perceived as a god. Really, compared to everyone else, he was a god.

  So what did that make me, now?

  Nuin crossed his arms and shrugged. “I no longer care for the confection. Are you done?”

  I held up my harvested At for him to see. It was mostly purple and red, but had some veins of bright green and an orange-yellow that resembled baby poop. “I guess so.”

  He nodded and reached for me, wrapping long, strong fingers around my wrist. “Hold onto it.”

  And then we were back in the physical world, Nuin’s hand on my knee and a warm, quicksilver mass undulating in my hands.

  “Uh . . . this is not what I gathered back in the At,” I said, holding the odd substance further away from my body. “Why does it look like this? And why is it moving?”

  “It is the substance of the At . . . taken out of the At,” Nekure said, procuring his own wad of silvery goo in the blink of an eye. “It is time given form. If you were to return it to the At, it would regain its former appearance, and if you were to stop touching it”—he turned his hand over, dropping the shimmering mass, which evaporated in a flurry of colorful mist as he finished speaking—“it would return on its own.”

  “But I have seen things made of At, and they do not look like this.” I raised my hands a few inches. “They looked like your butterfly.”

  “Those were already set,” Nekure said. “You must first mold it into the desired shape with your hands—though with time and practice, you should be able to do it with merely a thought—and then you must set it.”

  “Well, how am I supposed to do that? I just think, ‘I am done,’ and—”

  Nekure nodded. “Essentially, yes. When you are certain that your creation is complete, it will be as though you have fired a clay pot in a kiln.”

  “Alright . . .” My gaze fixed on Nuin. “What exactly do I need to shape this writhing mass of At into?”

  “It will need to be worn against Heru’s skin,” Nuin said, “so a hollow medallion, much like the ankh-At, should suffice, but with a stopper at the top so you can add more of your bonding essence to it with ease. It need not be very large.”

  I studied the substance in my hands while I started making an attempt to shape it into something resembling a medallion, but every time I started working on a new part, the bit I’d just formed reverted to its original unruly, quicksilver nature. “It . . . is not . . . working,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Try closing your eyes,” Nekure suggested. “Doing so helped me when I was first learning.”

  I glanced at him.

  He nodded in encouragement. “Continue shaping the At substance, imagining how you would like the end result to look.”

  I did as Nekure instructed, imagining instead of a medallion, a smaller version of one of the perfume bottles that littered Grandma Suse’s bathroom counter. It was one I’d always admired—a slightly opaque bottle shaped like an elongated teardrop with an old-fashioned glass stopper that, as required by its lack of a flat bottom, was set on its own, unique silver filigree stand. It was so elegant and luxurious that I now realized it must have been a gift from my over-two-thousand-year-old grandfather.

  “Very good, my Alexandra,” Nuin said. “Do not forget to make the stopper.”

  Biting the tip of my tongue, I focused on fashioning a delicate piece that fit snugly in the opening at the top of the little vessel. I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath. “Okay, I think I am done.”

  “Oh!” Aset exclaimed at the same time that Nekure said, “Nicely done.”

  I snapped my eyes open and was stunned by the object in my hands. It was almost an exact replica of my grandma’s perfume bottle, except my version appeared to be made of some form of quartz rather than glass and was much smaller, about the size of my thumb. It looked fragile enough that the barest of taps might shatter it, looked being the operative word. As far as I knew, objects made of At were virtually unbreakable.

  “It is lovely,” Aset said.

  “I have no idea how that just happened.” I shook my head and winced, unable to ignore the increasing ache. I looked at Nuin. “What do I do with it now?”

  “Nothing for the moment,” Nuin said. “We must return to the villa and take care of a more pressing matter.”

  “But . . . what about my bonding essence? Do I need to extract it now?”

  Nuin reached out and touched his fingertips to my forehead, and I assumed he was resealing the sheut within me. “Not in your current state, no. The withdrawals have weakened you too much. Perhaps this evening, perhaps in the morning, depending . . .”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Depending . . . on what?”

  Nuin rose and nonchalantly brushed off the back of his linen kilt. “Depending on Heru’s mood.”

  13

  Queen & Blade

  From my shaded perch on one of the built-in benches around the villa courtyard, I spent several hours watching the household staff go about their midday tasks. Most came and went through the heavy wooden doors, carrying baskets and rough-hewn sacks that were empty when they left the villa but overflowing with goods—food, cloth, ceramic jars—when they returned. My only companions were the young woman and middle-aged man who were in the courtyard, tending the garden and cleaning and tidying after the previous evening’s feast. They offered me smiles every now and again, which I returned easily, but no words passed between us.

  The man, a slender, dark-skinned fellow with gray streaking his shoulder-length black hair and deep lines marking his weathered face, was pruning a fig tree a few yards away from my perch. He didn’t seem to mind the relentless beat of the sun on his tanned shoulders and back. I minded, and I wasn’t even in the sun. I couldn’t imagine standing out there for minutes, let alone hours.

  He reached up and plucked one of the few figs left on the lower branches, then held it out to me and said something I didn’t understand. Smiling, I uncurled my leg from under me and stood.

  I’d only taken a few steps when two men pushed open one of the wooden doors barring the gateway out to the street. It was Heru and Set.

  Heru waited by the gate while Set shut the door, continuing the conversation they’d been having as they’d entered the villa. Set shook his head and laughed, turning to pat Heru on the shoulder. In my own time, Marcus once told me that he and Set had been incredibly close before Set changed, but hearing the seemingly impossible and seeing it with my own eyes were two entirely different things.

  As they started up the center of the courtyard, I accepted the fig from the gardener, offered him a nod and another smile, and retreated back to my shaded nook. I held the fig in my palm, careful not to squish it, and watched the two men who would, in the distant future, have an unimaginable impact on my life—my father and my bond-mate. But not yet.

  As I watched them together, I couldn’t help but notice how much they contrasted one another. Where Set was pale and bore the lean, tone
d body of a runner, Heru was golden-skinned and more heavily muscled, resembling a prize fighter in the prime of his career. Which wasn’t too far from the truth; I’d seen him fight off four human attackers in my tiny Seattle apartment. He’d taken them down within seconds with knives as his only weapons. And then there was the encounter we’d had in Florence a little over a week ago, where he’d taken out nearly a dozen humans and Nejerets in a museum, some of whom had been carrying handguns. To say he was formidable would’ve been a gross understatement, and to say he might just be the deadliest man alive might not have been an exaggeration.

  “Hat-hur!” Set called, altering their trajectory to follow the limestone path that led directly to my hideaway. A broad smile spread across his face, though Heru’s expression wasn’t so welcoming. In fact, he appeared somewhat doubtful, with the faint crease between his eyebrows and the slight thinning of his lips.

  Halfheartedly, I raised my fig hand and waved. My heartbeat sped up at the sight of Heru approaching, despite my silent admonitions to myself that this wasn’t the person I really yearned to see. That person wouldn’t exist for another four thousand years.

  I shut my eyes in a protracted blink. Knowing that this wasn’t my Heru also didn’t prevent me from feeling the desperate urge to throw myself into his arms and beg him to hold me, kiss me, make love to me—to do anything that might ease the incessant ache of bonding withdrawals even a little. Because I knew that in his core, this was my Heru. Any Heru was my Heru.

  “My queen,” Set said with a dramatic flourish as he neared my bench. “You are far too lovely to be relegated to the lonely shadows like this.”

  I offered him a tight smile. “I am no queen, and you know it.”

  The two Nejerets stopped in front of me, blocking my view of the courtyard.

  “On the contrary,” Heru said, “you are the first Netjer-At wife Nuin has ever taken, and as the Great Father is the ruler of our people, that makes you our—”

  “Great Mother?” Set finished, laughing.

  Heru shot him a sideways glance. “No. Our queen, especially since Khessie has insisted that she is a princess for so long.”