A Thief in Time (Thief in Time Series Book 1)

by Cidney Swanson

  “Lady?”

  Somehow, without Halley having heard his movement, Edmund had exited his side of the truck and walked around so that he was now squatting beside her just outside the driver’s side door. He placed gentle hands on her knees.

  She opened her eyes. How could there be mariachi music? And sunshine? And a gentle breeze? How could there be color and light in the world when she had to let Edmund go?

  She wrapped her arms around him. She had twenty-four hours. Maybe thirty. That was all, and it would have to be enough.

  After breathing in the lavender scent of him, deeply, deeply, she told him about the phone call.

  “Professor Khan needs a house-sitter starting tomorrow night, and my mother’s busy. You can . . . you can go home sooner.”

  Edmund pulled free of her arms. Stood. Took her hands. Looked into her eyes, dazed at first, but then . . . something else. Pained. There was no mistaking the pain in Edmund’s eyes. It took him a full minute to respond verbally.

  “I understand,” he said at last. His voice, grave, was a knife to her heart.

  Halley exhaled heavily. “Come back inside. Sit with me.”

  Edmund circled the front of the truck, returning to the passenger side. Halley shut her door. The sound of it, metallic and solid, was the sound of things ending.

  “There’s an important reason for us to take this opportunity,” she said. Her voice was steady. She could do this. “We have to, really.”

  “Mistress, I must ask, think you it is safe, this offer?”

  Halley sighed. “Khan wouldn’t invite me to house-sit if he had any suspicions about my trustworthiness.”

  Briefly, she outlined what she had just figured out about how the time machine worked, how she could return him to his right year, but only on the current calendar day.

  When she had finished, Edmund didn’t speak right away. A silent minute passed. Edmund shifted on the bench seat so that he was facing Halley. He took her face in his hands and their heads fell softly forward until their foreheads met.

  “Ah, lady,” said Edmund, his voice ragged with emotion.

  Halley wanted a machine that would halt time, give them a way to remain here, inside this moment, with nothing changing or progressing or withering—only this: their two faces inches apart, foreheads tipped together, breaths mingled.

  “Then I must go,” he said at last.

  “I know,” she replied. Because she did know. He had to go. “I wish . . .”

  Halley didn’t finish the sentence. She wished and she wished and she wished, but she was one person, and Edmund was responsible for a hundred.

  “I wish things were other than they are, lady.”

  Softly, she kissed him. Once. Gently. And then she pulled out her phone.

  When her call went straight to the professor’s voice mail, she said dully, “I’ll do it. Sunday night. I’ll be there.”

  46

  • HALLEY •

  As she drove Edmund to buy the jade rings with the income from his earring’s sale, the initial jolt of his departure, earthquakelike, slowly receded. In place of shock, she felt . . . emptiness. A kind of aftershock of the heart. A yawning stretch of lonely years.

  They found the store with the jade rings, purchased fifteen of them, and then took the clogged roads back toward Halley’s apartment.

  Edmund’s departure was all Halley could think about. He was returning to something, to an entire household awaiting him, a hundred people praying for his return. She was staying. She would remain here, stuck with her mother, when Jillian and DaVinci moved away to college in a month. At the moment, even the thought of yesterday’s $15,000 sale offered no comfort. Club 33 might not accept her. She would be alone, friendless, gradually accepting house-sitting jobs, gradually turning into her mother.

  “Mistress Halley?”

  Edmund’s voice rumbled over her thoughts, mercifully drowning them.

  She looked aside from the winding road, briefly meeting his eyes before another curve demanded her attention.

  “Your distress is great, lady, and I am sorry for it.”

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes.

  “Me, too,” she murmured after a moment.

  She took a familiar curve a few miles per hour over the speed limit, and the small stack of mail collected earlier in the morning slid across the floor.

  Edmund bent forward, retrieving the various pieces of mail. One of them seemed to capture his interest.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The name of the . . . club into which you desire admittance,” he began. “What was it?”

  “Club 33.”

  “Lady, unless I mistake—upon this enclosure is writ ‘Club 33.’”

  For the second time in the past hour, Halley pulled the truck to the side of the road.

  47

  • EDMUND •

  Edmund passed the missive into Halley’s eager grasp, observing as she tore the sleeve-paper that she held her breath. She uttered no words, but having read the message, she gasped and then held her breath again. Eyes wide, she turned her gaze to his.

  “They want me.” Her voice was soft like that of a child, her gaze full of wonder.

  Edmund could not be surprised that the company desired her admission to their number, but he saw plainly that she was surprised.

  “Breathe, mistress.”

  She placed the flat of her palm over her chest and then secured it with her other hand, both hands pressed over her heart.

  “Read it to me,” Halley murmured. “So I know it’s real.”

  He took the letter from where it lay upon her lap and read it aloud. The language was uncouth and the spelling strange, but the meaning was unmistakable: admittance was hers, should she deign to accept and immediately forward a named sum of money. The sum was interrupted by periods and commas in a fashion Edmund found unreadable. Not trusting himself to specify the amount, he left off reading aloud and instead, handing the letter back, pointed to the sum.

  Halley, too, seemed baffled by the numeric representation.

  “Canst thou puzzle out the meaning?” he asked, indicating the written sum.

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah. But . . . this can’t be right.” She turned the letter over, revealing further sums arranged in a schedule, such as Edmund had seen the bailiff present unto his grandfather.

  Halley’s brow furrowed in strong emotion. Edmund could not tell if it was anger or confusion or some other thing altogether, but he felt sure she was distressed as she gripped the letter in one hand. His eyes fell to her other hand, lying forlorn on the seat, palm up. He placed his hand upon hers.

  She looked over, set the letter down, and exhaled heavily.

  “Lady? If there be aught I can do for thee . . .”

  Her voice flat as a calmed sea, she spoke. “They want more money than I was expecting.”

  “Canst thou not contest the amount?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She fluttered the paper. “I have to pay annual dues on top of the initiation fee. Up front. When I accept my nomination. And I don’t have money set aside for dues.”

  “I see,” Edmund said gravely. “And thou must find—forgive me, lady—you must find this sum or all is forfeit?”

  “Yes.”

  “How great is the sum?”

  She pointed to one of the figures, speaking it aloud. “Eleven thousand five hundred dollars in dues, plus the ‘Platinum Petite for Under-Thirties’ initiation fee of fifteen thousand. I need twenty-six thousand five hundred dollars by the twentieth of August.”

  Edmund frowned, recalling the various auction values suggested for the gold ring he wore in memory of his father. Even half the greatest possible sum would help Mistress Halley out of her difficulties.

  It was clear what he must do.

  He removed the gold ring from his hand.

  “You must take and sell my ring.”

  48

  • HALLEY •

 
Halley was silent for a slow count of ten after Edmund made the offer. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. This was the solution. This would solve everything.

  Her breath caught on the word “everything.” No. This would not solve everything. But it might make it possible for her to bear losing Edmund. Taking a deep breath, she reached for her golden memory, reached for her father laughing at her side. She needed this membership. She needed to belong. She needed something to keep her moving forward, to keep her moving away from the lonely future she saw so clearly.

  She looked at the ring in Edmund’s hand, but as she considered taking it, something inside her refused. Something deep. Something visceral and nonverbal. Something she didn’t understand but had to obey.

  Slowly, she shook her head no. Murmured an answer, “I can’t.”

  Her eyes blurred with tears. She blinked them back.

  “I need it not, lady. I have secured rich gifts for those who mourn my grandfather.” He laughed softly. “Of the fifteen rings, I shall sell eight when I am returned home. Their worth in my world will be far above that of the ring I offer you.”

  He extended the hand that held the gold ring.

  “It’s not that,” said Halley. She hadn’t even considered the fact he was offering her something of considerable value not just in her world, but also in his. “I just . . . I can’t take it.”

  Halley avoided Edmund’s eye. She could feel him staring at her.

  “Wherefore will you not?” he asked softly.

  Why not? Halley wasn’t sure. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling. She didn’t know if she could explain her response. It felt . . . personal. Deeply personal. Her response wasn’t a thing she could speak with words; it was a thing she felt, a thing with no words. It was an ugly taste in her mouth, bitter, metallic. It was familiar; it was tied to her mother. Tied to the way her mother took and took and took and took.

  It was the same thing that stopped Halley from keeping the clothes Jillian loaned her, even when Jillian said she should take them. It was the same thing that kept her from emptying the professor’s pantry when her mother had as good as ordered her to. Halley had grown up alongside someone who took and took, and she didn’t want to be a taker.

  But she wasn’t sure she could explain this to Edmund. She’d tried to explain her feelings about taking to Jillian, and Jillian hadn’t understood. Jillian just kept insisting it wasn’t the same thing. Halley hadn’t been able to explain, even to her best friend, the reticence that made her say no and not yes. And if she couldn’t explain it to Jillian, there was no way she could explain it to Edmund. How could he possibly understand? He didn’t have a crazy person for a mother. He didn’t have to wake up every morning afraid he was becoming more and more like her. Edmund wouldn’t understand. She glanced over to meet his solemn eyes.

  He sat waiting, still holding out his ring. Probably still waiting for an explanation she couldn’t give. Her throat tightened.

  “I just can’t,” she murmured.

  “I understand thee not. Why wouldst thou give up thy dream?”

  Her hands clenched into tight fists. “I’m not giving it up. I’ll get the money. Just . . . not from taking a ring that doesn’t belong to me. I can’t. That’s just the way it is.”

  “How then will you obtain the money?”

  Her heart sank. How indeed? She was close. Unbearably close. But even if she sold her truck, she wouldn’t have enough. Sure, by next year, she would have time to earn enough to pay her annual dues. But this year? This week?

  A heaviness descended on her, pushing her down, down, down. She was going to fail. She’d gotten this close only to fail. If only she’d sold two paintings instead of one. If only she’d stayed in the booth yesterday. If only . . .

  And then, suddenly, she saw her way forward. Of course. It was so obvious. So perfect. She had a way to get the money on her own terms, by herself, with no ugly reminders of a past she wanted to leave behind.

  She turned to Edmund.

  “I’m going to set up the art show booth again tomorrow.”

  It didn’t seem impossible. It wasn’t impossible. She wouldn’t let it be impossible. She had the booth back at the apartment. She could put it right back in her truck, along with the credit card processor and the paintings. She had the reserved space just waiting for her. She had a way forward, and it was pure. It was untainted.

  Hope spilled out of her in a tangle of sentences. “I’ll sell another painting. I only need to sell one. There will be a whole new crowd of customers all wanting something to remember Fiesta week by. I already know there are people there who can pay my prices. If I sold a painting yesterday, I can do it again tomorrow.”

  It was the first step toward breaking free of her mother. Toward meeting the father her mother had kept from her. She remembered it as if it had just happened. How the seventh birthday with her father had been granted conditionally: If she met with him this one time, Halley must promise never to bother her mother about him again. By the time she turned twelve, Halley had broken that promise, demanding an e-mail, a phone number, an address, something—things she hadn’t known to ask for as a seven-year-old. Her mother had flown into a rage: “You don’t need a father. You have me. And I have no idea how to reach him. He’s gone! Gone!”

  Halley had never asked again. Never heard from him again. But this was her chance. Sell a painting. Join Club 33. Meet her father. She needed this like she needed a heartbeat.

  Edmund interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

  “Did you not vow to attend your friends tomorrow at the gallery?”

  Halley felt her heart sinking. DaVinci’s show opened tomorrow. How could she have forgotten? How could she miss that? DaVinci would never forgive her. Or Jillian. Tears blurred her vision. It wasn’t fair. She needed this. She would find a way to explain, a way to apologize, a way to make her friends understand what this meant to her. They would have to understand. And if they didn’t . . . She wouldn’t let herself consider that possibility.

  Edmund spoke again. “You promised to attend Mistress Jillian and Mistress DaVinci. I am certain you gave your word.”

  She hesitated before responding. “Circumstances have changed.”

  It was Edmund who had changed them. Knowing she was about to lose him had shown her just how alone she was in this world.

  Halley grabbed the letter from Club 33 and began folding it to place it back inside the envelope. Edmund should understand. Edmund, who had kissed her half an hour ago as if his heart was breaking.

  “You must not do this, Mistress Halley.”

  “DaVinci will understand,” said Halley.

  “It is not a question of understanding,” replied Edmund. “It is a question of honorable conduct, mistress.”

  Halley felt her face heating. “Stop calling me that. It’s Halley. Just Halley.”

  “Halley, I beg you to reconsider. Can you not place your wares for sale upon another date?”

  She took a slow breath. She owed Edmund an explanation.

  “I would love to sell on another date, but I can’t. There aren’t any other dates when I can exhibit at the Arts and Crafts Show. Artists try to get into that show for years, Edmund. We applied through a special process for VADA students—that’s our school—but it was for Fiesta weekend only. I need the money now, not six months from now, or five years from now, or however long it would take me to get juried into the show. I need cash now, Edmund, and tomorrow is the last day I can exhibit.”

  “Would not the sale of my ring provide what you need?”

  Halley breathed out heavily. He was trying to help. Trying to be kind. She wished she could make him understand.

  He spoke. “Mistress Wu declared—”

  “I’m not going back to that place,” murmured Halley, remembering her ring inside the glass case.

  “Then let us unto Master Nieman’s—”

  “No. I’m not taking money from th
e sale of something that doesn’t belong to me. I can’t. I have to do this for myself. I have to do it my way.”

  “I understand you not,” Edmund said after a long pause.

  For a minute they sat in silence. Then Halley inhaled deeply.

  “If I took your ring, it would be exactly like—” The words stuck in her throat. This was hopeless. If she tried to make him understand, she would only fail, just like she had time and again with Jillian.

  “Never mind,” she whispered, blinking back hot tears.

  Halley started the engine, put the truck in gear, and headed for her apartment.

  49

  • EDMUND •

  Oftentimes, Edmund found it difficult to understand Halley’s words, but her silence was even harder to understand. Rather than accepting the gift he offered, she was choosing to attend once more the fair, whereby she hoped—hoped only—to make up the difference between her holdings and what the thirty-third Club required.

  It was folly. Folly and stubbornness. And . . . something else.

  If I take your ring, it would be exactly like—

  Like what?

  Edmund considered this question as they drove back alongside the ocean, passing the swaying pole-trees that lined the beach, passing a small lake and grassy fields, finally returning to the rented rooms wherein Halley dwelt. By the time their travel had concluded, he thought he understood.

  As soon as she stilled the mighty engine, he addressed her.

  “Mistress, forgive me for touching again upon the subject, but I must speak. Your refusal to accept my gift, is it because you believe you would be repeating your mother’s transgression? When she stole away the jewel bestowed upon you by Mistress Jillian?”