by Toni Kerr
“It’s Jessie,” Tristan shouted. “She’s still up there!”
“She’s a guard dog—she is not allowed inside.”
“She’s already inside. I let her in!”
Donovan rolled his eyes, but opened the trapdoor to let Jessie scurry through. “She’s not a house pet.”
“Good girl!” Tristan scratched the dog behind both ears. “You stay with us where it’s nice and safe.”
Donovan re-latched the door and the walls began humming with a high frequency vibration. “I never said it was safe, but we’re sealed off for now.” Donovan passed Tristan and the dog on his way down the staircase. “It’s two flights. Take your time.”
It didn’t take as long as expected, but by the time he reached the main level, Victor was staging a small feast and Landon was halfway through the line of full body armor and weapon displays from probably every country and every century. The collection had to be worth a fortune.
One of the oil paintings stood out as familiar; he walked toward it to be sure. “I’ve seen this ship before.”
“T’was rather famous in her time.” Donovan motioned Tristan out of the museum area and towards Victor, where four oversized reading chairs faced a square coffee table.
Saliva pooled in his mouth as the scent of something delicious wafted under his nose. “I’m so hungry,” Tristan said. “I could eat a—” Everything he could think of to finish the sentence made his stomach churn.
“I need 10 minutes,” Victor said. “But here. Have some orange juice.”
Tristan made his way to the table. “Paper and pencil, please.”
“They aren’t in here, are they?” Landon asked, covering Pink protectively as she raced into his outstretched hand.
Tristan shook his head and dropped into the closest chair. Jessie lay at his feet and rested her jaw on his foot. Victor provided a piece of paper and pencil on the short table and Tristan started sketching the ship from the inside out. He filled in every cargo and storage space, every stairway, cabins for crew and captain, along with the galley. Even the secret room hidden in the very pit of the ship wasn’t so secret. By the time he got to the three masts, rigging, and the layout of sails, the paper had grown in size and the texture had shifted into something smoother.
Around him, voices buzzed with excitement, but he ignored them, intent on finishing the rigging before the schematics in his mind faded. Something gripped his wrist, jarring his concentration, then his arm was yanked into the air and the pencil fell from his grip. Jessie growled and Tristan blinked away the rush of annoyance and confusion. “What!”
Donovan let go of his wrist and he nearly fell backwards. He was standing now, and the room looked unfamiliar for a few long moments while everyone stared. How long had he been drawing? He rubbed at his tender wrist while Donovan paced.
“I don’t understand. What’d I miss?” He did tend to tune everything out when drawing...but clearly there wasn’t any emergency going on.
“Where did you see this?”
Donovan held up the drawing, which was essentially blueprints of the ship Tristan had built as a child with stolen toothpicks from whatever bar his mother was working at the time. “It’s mine. I—”
“You’re lying!”
“Donovan!” Landon said. “He’s not.”
“Prove it.”
“It was….” The toothpick ship had been his most valued possession. It had taken over a year to construct and survived three moves…and now he couldn’t even recall what had happened to it.
“It was what?” Donovan’s voice echoed in the small chamber and the veins in his temples pulsed with anger.
Tristan tightened his grip on the staff and turned away as his eyes shifted. “I don’t remember.”
“I don’t believe you.”
The dog growled again. Donovan grabbed the nearest sword from a renaissance knight and slashed repeatedly at the sudden appearance of a canvas dummy. Tristan took deep breaths, doing his best to ignore the intimating show of aggression. Victor shrugged and went back to food prep. Landon sat in one of the armchairs and waited.
Tristan didn’t dare move until the dog nudged his staff. He gave his newest companion half a smile, grateful his shifting eyes didn’t seem to be a threat of some kind, and sat on an armrest where he could keep an eye on Donovan without drawing attention to himself. The last thing he wanted was any of that anger directed at him.
The dog rested her head on Tristan’s thigh and closed her eyes as Tristan rubbed the soft patch of fur on her forehead. When his vision shifted back to normal, the dog settled at his feet.
Donovan returned the sword to its rightful place and rolled his shoulders. Tristan glanced at him quickly, then dropped his gaze back to the floor and scowled. He had no better answer now than what he’d had before.
“Forgive me. My home is under attack and I don’t usually hide from such things.”
Tristan nodded. At least the dog was still relaxed.
“You were travelling on a highway through farmlands with your mother. She told you to leave the ship behind, but you snuck it into the back of the pickup and covered it with a tarp. It tore and broke free, then the wind caught the ship....”
“How do you know that?” The scenario sounded…true.
“You jumped.”
“She wouldn’t stop.”
“That was the day you called for my assistance, only you denied it. I wasn’t about to fall for someone’s trap and didn’t stay long.”
Tristan couldn’t think of anything to say as the triggered memory came through in parts. “Why would you think it was a trap? How old was I?”
“I’m a predator, Tristan. I don’t go around saving little kids with twisted knees and I don’t think you were the one to call me, even though the call clearly came from you.”
Tristan stared at the man, unable to see past the storm of anger building in his thoughts, clouding his judgment. He was sealed underground with the enemy. With a man who could change the past, present, and future by altering the memories of others. How would he ever know what was true? Every decision would be based on how thorough the manipulation was.
He ignored whatever was being said and retreated to the staircase with Jessie matching his pace. Why couldn’t he throw a big temper tantrum and be done with it? The monster within would kill without thought. Without concern. Without debating right and wrong and who deserved death and who didn’t. But not him. He had to be in constant control of himself.
Worse was the contract with the faerie races. If he released them, would they have every right to wipe out the entire human race for the way they treated the planet? If he had to pick a side....
Jessie stopped waiting for an order and lowered her head to her paws. “I’ve seen her before, haven’t I?”
Donovan nodded, though he didn’t look eager to speak. “She was keeping Charley prisoner when you came along and saved him.”
“I don’t remember that.” Hitting his head against the wall would accomplish nothing.
“You were in my class.”
“No I wasn’t—” Even as he said it, he remembered the night he ran from the fire. From Donovan. There was nowhere to run in this basement. No place to be alone.
“I’m sorry. It was all I could do to keep myself from slicing you in half.”
The feeling was mutual.
“I was using past memories to instruct the class, and you wound yourself into private memories that were off limits. Even to myself.”
“So it was my fault?”
“You saw me at my worst, and I…I retaliated.”
Landon and Victor must have been in on it—since they wouldn’t look at him now.
“What other memories did you take from me?”
“They were suppressed, not taken.”
“Like that matters?” Tristan turned his back to Donovan as much as he could, leaning against the wall of the stairwell.
“He was my father,” Donovan said. “He
didn’t know I’d changed, and he wouldn’t have done more than slap my hand. But I had little control over my rage and sudden strength. I’d already killed my maker, along with the woman I loved, just to stop her from marrying another. I was angry to be faced with those times again, without notice.”
Tristan glanced over at Donovan, who was looking at a plaque on the wall with a man’s picture drawn in pencil. “Is that him?” Tristan stepped closer.
Donovan nodded grimly. “I cannot undo the things I have done.”
“I’ve seen him.”
“I’ve just explained—”
“Is he the man upstairs in the oil painting?”
“He is.” Donovan’s face reddened as Tristan’s grin grew into a full smile. He wasn’t about to forgive the man for everything, but the weight from much of the stress and turmoil lifted. “Do not provoke me, Tristan.”
“Did he design that ship in the bottle?” Tristan asked, nearly laughing at the idea. “Do my drawings match his?”
Donovan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, and they do.” Donovan stepped toward a bare wall and placed the palm of his hand against it. A door several feet away pivoted open and he entered a dark room. Landon, Victor, and Tristan stood at the entrance, stunned when a light from within came on.
The room was filled with nautical things: framed land charts, models, ship decor…one of the drawings focused on a giant serpent with wings extended along each side. “He was a dragon,” Tristan said.
“He was not. He was only obsessed with finding them.”
“You didn’t know?”
“I was twenty-two when…he died. He would have told me.”
Tristan had to think about that one. Why wouldn’t Jacques want to tell his son? “Did you have brothers and sisters?”
“None of your business.”
“His name is Jacques.”
“Was—” Donovan froze as the pieces fell into place.
Tristan smiled again, even more certain his theory was true. “He’s still alive. Well, sort of. I mean…he’s the falcon. My friend. He’s the one I’ve been trying to free from the council.”
Donovan smashed his fist through a display case and stormed out of the room.
14
KEEPING HISTORY
“WHERE DO YOU SUPPOSE he went?” Tristan asked, exchanging the staff for a paper plate of food from Victor. “I would’ve thought he’d be kind of glad or relieved.... Did you guys know that stuff?”
Landon shook his head. “He’s not very open about his past.”
Tristan scoffed, refueling his anger. “You probably did know, and he made you forget.”
They both grimaced and stuffed food in their mouths.
“Don’t tell me you approve of having your brain swiped clean.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Yes, it is! Remember the slayers? Not only did Donovan take away their memories associated with dragons, but he gave them new histories. Now they hunt endangered species with cameras and—” Tristan paced back and forth, biting his lower lip. “I mean, obviously in this case it works in my favor, and maybe it’s good for some researchers and activists, but where do you draw the line? What else has he erased? How would we even know?”
“I believe suppressed was the word he used,” said Victor. “So if it makes you feel better, at any moment, the slayers might recall the happy days when they gathered to hunt the dragons.”
Tristan slouched into the chair, dropping his plate on the table. His stomach growled at the prospect of lost food, but how could he eat? “Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Maybe,” Landon said.
“What else is there? You must have known about the class.”
Landon nodded, keeping his attention on his food. “Donovan left so you could stay. He didn’t tell us why, except that you would be safer staying with us.”
“Safer.” Tristan ground his teeth. He couldn’t think of a single place on Earth that would be safe for him. Not even this basement.
“Let’s drop it, okay?” said Victor. “Every time we make a decision, we make it based on what we think is best at the time. The slayers would have found you anywhere, so at least now we can’t say they found you because you lacked security. Nothing is perfect.”
“I know.” Tristan hung his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why you guys feel obligated to do anything for me.”
“Eat up,” Landon said. “We don’t know how long we’ll be here and the food shouldn’t be wasted.” He handed a slice of raw mushroom to Pink, who was sitting cross-legged on the armrest.
“Sorry.” Tristan picked up his plate. “It looks really good. Thank you.”
Victor nodded and smiled at Landon. “So where do you think Donovan went?”
“Hard to say. It’s one thing to hide from a fight and quite another to leave the scene entirely. He’s around somewhere.”
“Still, I would have thought he’d be back by now. Think he’s in trouble?”
“I don’t think he left.” Tristan mashed each last crumb of egg with his fork and slipped it into his mouth. “At least, I didn’t feel any shifts in the force-field running through the walls. I suppose he could’ve transported through it.” Suddenly he couldn’t get enough food in his mouth and he glanced at Landon’s empty plate to see if he could scrounge. “You know, it’s okay if you guys want to go back home, or if you have other things to do. I’m the only one they’re after—me and Pink. So please—”
“Ha!” Landon held out his hand for Pink. “Who’d want to pass on exploring Donovan’s house?”
Victor agreed. “Besides. Didn’t he say the slayer museum was down here? There must be other rooms.”
They searched the walls for seams and buttons, but Pink was the first to detect a draft along the base of a wall, coming from beneath an antique cabinet.
Landon’s theory about food and power was proving to be true; Tristan clasped his hands together while Landon and Victor searched the cabinet for a hidden door. The floor held the same vibration as the walls; Tristan knelt carefully and rested the staff in front of him, closing his eyes to find a pattern.
“You okay?” Victor asked. “I can help you to the chair.”
“No, I’m fine. Really. Just searching.”
“Suit yourself. Let us know if you find something.”
Cords of energy weaved together like a shielding cloth embedded in the wood and stone. Tristan wove his own energy to fill in the gaps, expanding his awareness outward.
The basement they were in extended in all directions. It had to be the size of the island itself for how far it stretched. Although some of the dimensions would have to reach beyond the shoreline, unless he was turned around and confused about which direction the dock was.
Behind the cabinet, where Landon and Victor were looking, there was a hall leading to four individual rooms and a large warehouse. The room itself was dark, but the walls of the warehouse were lined with tunnels of vertical pipe. Beyond the pipe was solid stone.
Tristan breathed deeper and felt his energy flow into the existing web. Once he established a solid pattern of his own, it was a simple matter of letting the energy flow through his hands.
“Come on.” Victor shook Tristan’s shoulder. “We found the museum.”
Tristan opened his eyes and stayed still until everything came into focus. He faced a dark hall that wasn’t there before, forcing him to reconsider the room he was in and his surroundings in general, but everything else in the room was as he remembered it.
The museum wasn’t going anywhere; sleep was becoming the highest priority. He couldn’t get his tongue to move and his lips felt cracked. His eyelids closed—Landon and Victor lifted him to his feet.
“How can you go from fine to barely conscious in ten minutes? What were you doing?”
“Donovan’s security,” Tristan mumbled.
“What about it?” Landon asked. “Is it helping or hurting? Should we go find him?”
“No. I was just adding. Let me sleep. Half an hour.”
“Fine.” Victor sighed. “But I’m exploring with or without you.”
“This isn’t good, Tristan. You need to be aware of how much energy you’re putting out so you don’t fall asleep in the middle of a battlefield.”
Tristan groaned, then opened his eyes when something cold pressed to his lips. He swallowed water from a glass mug. “Sorry to be so much trouble. You should know, I would never want to hurt you, or eat you, or kill you in general….”
“We know, Tristan. We’ll wake you if anything exciting happens.”
“Here, you may as well get comfy.” A thick blanket draped over his shoulder and he leaned into a cool pillow.
Silence filled the room.
Tristan faced the open doorway and listened to Landon and Victor talking about some sort of concert Alvi was organizing as a fundraiser. His stomach growled, waking the dog stretched out beside him. He used the staff to get to his feet, kept the blanket around his shoulders, and tossed the pillow to the empty chair.
The first doorway in the newly exposed hall opened into a dim, dry, cave-like room with Egyptian hieroglyphs carved into all the walls. Rows of clay jars filled one side of the room, while various artifacts lay in seemingly random places on a sandy floor. A dull gray desk sat in one of the corners, with piles of scrolls and old leather-bound books on top. Plastic crates of notebooks and paperwork stacked beside it. Above the desk, insects were pinned and framed with labels, along with amulets and partial slabs of writing.
A stone coffin lay in the center, thankfully closed, surrounded by baskets of beads and small sculptures.
“Do you think there’s a mummified body in there?” asked Victor, giving Jessie’s head a scratch.
“I don’t want to know. What’s he doing with this stuff?”
“Categorizing, logging information...hard to say really. But it looks like a work room, so we better not touch. We’ve been waiting for you next door.”
Tristan followed Victor to the next room where Landon sat in a circle of three extra-wide chairs, reading from a book with a fraying cloth binding. Landon placed a ribbon marker in the book and glanced up as Tristan and Victor entered the room. “You don’t look much better. Here. Have a seat.”
