Shadow Boxer: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 2)

by Jen Greyson

  The horse prances in time to the second hand, our own personal metronome of impending doom.

  Aurelia turns to Rom. “Be safe. Please come back to me… ”

  He lifts a dark hand to her porcelain cheek, but halts before making contact, leaving a stretch of air between them. Aurelia presses forward, closing the inches. His caress is butterfly soft. “I must come back. Who else will keep you from trouble?”

  She doesn’t laugh at his weak attempt at levity, but curls her slim fingers around his, answering his unsaid feelings. A cold river of rain leaks under my collar. I force myself not to fidget. Come on, come on.

  He clears his throat and straightens, dropping his arm. She spins and grabs my hands. “Come back and teach me these fantastic things you know.”

  I bite back my antsiness. She’s a whole lot of Constantine with a sprinkle of his sister, Anna. I could like her.

  But first, I have to save her.

  CHAPTER 3

  AURELIA STEPS INTO Rom’s cupped hands and climbs over the chariot railing and onto the rocky outcropping. She collects people to her like a blooming lily attracting bees, the word quickly spreading among travelers as if she is a portal to send them safely home. Arguments cease mid-sentence, and sturdy limbs support weak ones. The clump of wary travelers grows and they separate into groups; one still trying to get across, and one resigned to waiting it out.

  Aurelia exudes a peculiar calm and I pull from it, too, steal the serenity I need. Where her father is strength, she is calm. Like touching a lime, there’s no way to keep from getting the scent on me, but a brush with Aurelia covers me in a perfume of peace and sturdy confidence instead of citrus. My mind quiets. I can see why her absence left such a hole in Constantine’s life. And I seriously doubt his was the only one affected. For now, I’m at peace that the alteration will succeed.

  How Penya missed Aurelia’s importance is a mystery. She’s usually so on top of this kind of stuff. Last time she knew everything before I even knew what to question.

  Because she’d worked so long on the mission to kill Viriato? Or was there a grand time-traveler bible with people who must die and it’s the ones who need saving that are the outliers? I file the question for later.

  Beyond Aurelia’s ability to soothe, there’s a confidence, too, and a life called to something great. Not one that’s going to end today, that’s for damn sure.

  Rom flicks the reins, and the chariot moves swiftly through the people filtering back up the hill as Aurelia’s soothing calm spreads toward the river.

  Rom shouts over his shoulder, “We will go all the way to the river and work our way back.”

  I point. “What about the people already on the bridge?”

  He stares at me for a pregnant moment. “We cannot save them all. Some will die—if you’re telling the truth.”

  So much for thinking I’d earned his trust. “Why lie about this?”

  “You’ve accomplished something no one has managed since the day of Aurelia’s birth. You separated her from her guard. It would be the perfect time for danger to befall her.”

  I narrow my eyes. Of all the ungrateful… “I came to save her.” I bite out the words and grip the ironwork as we hit a bump.

  Apparently, every alteration starts with me having to defend myself. People have such issues with being saved. Mirroring my emotions, a bundle of lightning flares in my palm. With the mix of emotions swirling through me, I quench it before something erratic happens.

  “We’ll see.” He glares for one more moment then turns his attention back to the horse. “But should harm befall her, I’ll kill you.”

  Yeah, yeah.

  His big muscles flex with tension. I don’t doubt he would fly into a rage at Aurelia’s death. His attachment is nearly visible on the humid air. Men are raw here—like Constantine. They protect what is theirs. To Rom, I am uncategorizable, which makes me a threat by default… whether she likes me or not… or maybe because she likes me.

  We near the river, and I shout until the words shred my vocal cords. Barely anyone can hear me over the boiling water. Undaunted, I try again. “Get up the hill!”

  I point at the storm clouds and the river and where Aurelia’s gathering her flock. “The river is going to flood!”

  Rom repeats my words in Greek. Between the two of us, hopefully we’ll reach everyone. Defeat drags my arms as our words only make everyone rush faster to the bridge.

  Rom circles the chariot in front of the bridge, scattering several dozen people. As the words register over the roar of the commotion, several make a break for the bridge.

  I scream as they slip past us.

  With one hand on the reins, Rom places his other on my shoulder in a peculiar show of comfort. “Save the ones you can.”

  I shrug off his touch. That doesn’t work for me. If this is how my alterations are going to look, I’ve got to stop coming to these ancient worlds where life is disposable. If I thought it would work, I’d arc to each clutch of people and move them up the hill. Bodies scramble in every direction. A few—too few—heed our warning, and the wide lava flow of people shifts toward Aurelia in a bizarre rewind.

  I strain over the lip of the bucket, urging them to hurry. Rom circles the chariot near the river, coaxing the fringe to hustle. We bounce and collide against each other and the cold metal.

  A cold wind tugs at my braid, raising the skin on my neck. My gaze drifts back to the horizon.

  I hate that we’re at this bend. I can’t see a damn thing beyond the measly hundred feet of water. What’s upstream is a complete mystery. Which means none of us will see the flood coming until it’s here.

  A gust of wind blasts us, but tempers the rain. I’m sure it’s temporary.

  On the bridge, someone screams.

  My head whips toward the noise. Between two huge groups, a wide space stretches across the crest of the stone bridge. In the middle, a toddler dangles over the bridge railing. His mother clutches the collar of his tunic with one hand and his little brother with the other. She screams again and no one helps. A few bump her in their hurried attempt to get to safety.

  The toddler adds his wail to his mother’s, and the baby whimpers. The sound shreds what’s left of my aching heart. Thunder rumbles in the distance and the barometer drops again.

  The woman’s grip slips and the boy falls another few inches.

  “Rom, get back to Aurelia. Now!”

  A glowing ball of lightning forms in my left hand and he jerks away. I don’t wait around for another reaction.

  I land on the bridge. I don’t stop, I don’t ponder the repercussions. Rom says I can’t save them all—Penya told me that once, too.

  My answer’s still the same. It’s never about saving one.

  Never.

  Thankfully, the mother is too startled to move, and I lunge, enfolding them all in a huge hug, long ropes of lightning looping around us twice. As I lift my head to arc us, the wall of water bearing down on the bridge comes into view.

  We land in a heap at the edge of the outcropping. A few feet away, Aurelia ushers people up and away from the water. I shove the mother and children at her and hold a small ball of lightning close to my stomach, hidden from the mass of people surrounding her.

  My feet sway as I land in the chariot with Rom, and I clutch the iron side rails. His path to Aurelia is clogged with panicked people.

  “It’s huge,” I yell over the din of excited voices. “From the top of the bridge I saw the wall of water coming. I’m worried this hill isn’t high enough. You have to get to her. We have to get her farther away.”

  “I’m trying,” he says with a strained voice. His hands clench tighter around the reins, and he shifts his feet until they brace against the bucket walls. I anchor my legs against his and grip the handles.

  Fuck. They’d have been up and out of here without all my delays. This should have been simple.

  Behind us, the water rises another few feet.

  “Go.” Rom urg
es the families on either side of us. They move, but the vacancy earns us only a few more feet. There are too many people. I crane my neck the other direction, desperate for a glance at the wall of water I know is bearing down on us.

  “Go!” he yells. “Go to her like you saved that woman.”

  “What about you?”

  “Go!”

  I don’t hesitate. I can get her to safety and come back for him. I’d take him now, but he didn’t exactly handle that last one well. I don’t have time for his delays.

  The ride lands me a few yards from Aurelia, but several dozen people surround her in their press to get away from the water. “Aurelia!” I yell.

  People jostle and push against her, threatening to carry her along on their wave of fear. I swim through them. Bits of bodies catch me in the process. An elbow to my rib cage. A shoulder to my left breast. I wince, but press forward. “Aurelia!”

  She turns, but can’t make me out in the crowd. A woman holding a large basket on her head continues to bob in and out of my line of sight. Somehow, Aurelia is holding her ground and the people are flowing around. Even here, she is a rock of calm in a river of pandemonium.

  Finally, I see what really has her anchored. She’s staring past the mass of people, her gaze fixed, not on the river, but on Rom. Fingers clutched to her chest are the singular outward indication that her calm is fraying. I reach for her, leaning over three toddlers and a crooked-backed woman. My fingertips touch the fabric at the tip her arm, and I walk them higher until my entire palm covers her shoulder. “Aurelia. Come.”

  “Rom. I must wait for Rom.”

  At that moment, the wall of water turns the corner and sweeps through the small space below the hill. A dozen people lose their footing and are carried away. Horses, chickens, babies, and handcarts tumble and sink amid the thrashing dark waves.

  Screams shake the sky and the mob rushes toward us in a final clear understanding of what I was trying to tell them.

  The tail end swarms around Rom, making the horse jump and rear in fright. An old woman catches a hoof in the shoulder and disappears beneath the thrash of beast and man. Even from two hundred yards away, I can read his frustration. He knows he must get the horse away from the crowd.

  But without the horse and chariot, we’re just another pack of pedestrians. Without Rom, Aurelia and I are two short girls in a sea of bodies. Using my lightning to scare everyone away will only send them fleeing back toward the river. I’m still loath to use it as a weapon.

  Shit.

  If I arc Aurelia, the alteration is over, leaving Rom and these innocents to their unmerciful gods.

  They will die.

  I need help.

  Trust the alteration.

  If there’s one thing Penya’s managed to drill into my brain, it’s that the alteration will stand no matter what.

  “Come on!” I grab Aurelia’s hand and race up the hill. Glancing over my shoulder, I calculate the safest spot and launch a huge bolt of lightning. People scatter but keep moving away from the water. The distraction earns us just enough running room. At the top of the hill, I force Aurelia to a stop. “Stay here. I’m going for Rom.”

  She nods and I arc to the bank, losing only a handful of seconds.

  When I spot Rom, the frothing waves are feet from the wheels of the chariot. He races the horse parallel to the mob, trapped on both sides, deadly rushing water on one side, unmovable wall of people on the other.

  Above the picture of madness, the black rain clouds thicken and let loose again. Impenetrable sheets of gray water drop from the sky. With the deluge of water, the clay bank is both icy-slick and gooey-sticky. The horse rears and fights him, fearing for its life. Rom yanks them to a stop, slips from the chariot, and grabs at the horse’s bridle, but the horse struggles against him. With one hand on the reins and one gentling his neck, Rom slides backward and runs a hand over the harness, unbuckling one strap.

  What is he doing? Wasting time… I peer through the curtains of water. Is he turning the horse loose? No way he’ll get to the other side without the horse bolting, making a disastrous mess of a half-tangled, half-hitched horse.

  How can I arc him, not get trampled, and not hinder his progress by spooking the bay?

  The water rises to the base of the wheels.

  I take another elbow to the back. Standing here being a scared girl isn’t helping anyone.

  Lightning sparks and I land inside the chariot. Another ten seconds gone.

  The water splashes up over the woven leather floor. Rom’s hand grips the ironwork at the front edge of the bucket. I cover his fingers. His attention barely wavers, and he keeps working on the harness.

  The water rises a few more inches and I wedge my boots in the ornamental loops above his fingers. I tap his forearm and gesture for the reins. He hands them over and unbuckles another strap. One side is almost free.

  A huge wave grabs the wheels of the chariot and spins it into the river.

  In the rush of water, my left boot knocks free from the perch and I fall forward into the river, snapping my shin with the most horrible noise ever. Pain engulfs me.

  Upside down and with one foot still trapped at an impossible angle in the chariot, I fight to stay conscious. Rom’s hands grasp my body, wrenching to turn me upright.

  Water fills my nostrils, and I grab for anything to lift myself upright. My lungs scream for air. Water rushes in my ears and eyes and pounds against my mouth. The chariot smashes into my head and shoulders. Each impact begs my lungs to draw breath. I grind my teeth against the urge and claw at my boot. Pain begs me to pass out.

  Rom’s big hand presses against my belly, and he lifts me to his shoulder and raises my head above the waters. The instant I open my mouth to draw a breath, the bay surges forward toward the shore, the left side of the harness breaks free, and Rom loses his step.

  CHAPTER 4

  WE PLUNGE BENEATH the water. My boot comes free and the current bends my leg wickedly. I inhale water, and a wave rips the scream away. There’s no ebb to the pain and I can barely think. Coughing and choking, I manage to curl my fingers around the iron rail. Rom’s hand closes over mine and we pull our heads above water. My other hand fists Rom’s tunic and I hold on through the deep burn in my biceps. The water’s pull is fierce, desperate to tug us downstream.

  He finds his footing and we face each other on the tongue of the chariot, pressed against the horse’s tail. Pain clogs my thoughts. Defeat creases Rom’s face. “Your leg… ”

  I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

  He knows I’m lying but doesn’t rebut. “We cannot save this horse.” He measures the distance to shore. “We must swim.”

  “No way.” Panic surges up the back of my throat, and fingers turn to ice.

  “Yes,” he says, misunderstanding. “Stay with me and I’ll help you.”

  “No, I mean I can’t swim. Even with two good legs.” I cast a sideways glance at the swift water. I’m good enough to keep my head above water, but my doggie paddling with a broken leg will never get to the shore. I’ll end up miles downstream. Or drowned.

  Rom works on the harness again. “Then we ride.”

  I touch his forearm. “Can you swim and make it? I can use magic.”

  “On both of us?”

  His arm trembles beneath my fingers. It’s a deep tremor, and he’s trying to keep it from me. Trying to be brave for me. For Aurelia. Even if he is a strong swimmer, this is going to be a huge undertaking. I’d rather arc him.

  The horse struggles in his harness, lunging and pulling against the wet leather and the current. His giant ass presses my ribs against the bucket, and I struggle to draw a deep enough breath. There is nothing remotely calm about this moment. Between the pain and whatever’s making my lightning not behave, who knows where I’ll send him. If I mess up, he’ll die. If he swims and doesn’t make it, he’ll die.

  “I am a strong swimmer,” Rom says. “I’ve been swimming this river since I was a boy. I will
be fine. Will you be fine?”

  Not if you don’t make it.

  Fuck!

  A tremor wracks my body and the horse crashes against my floating lower leg. If I don’t get out of here now, I might never, and I still have to get Aurelia safe.

  “I’ll be at the shore.” I point to the muddy spot directly east of us. “Right there.”

  “Go,” he urges.

  “You first. That way I can help if you don’t get clear of all this.”

  Without argument, he climbs on the bay’s back, wrestles the bridle free, and yanks the harness straps he can reach. His rain-soaked hands are slippery, and a big wave slaps it from his hand. He gets one more loose, but the wet leather won’t cooperate. With a big hand on the horse’s cheek, he whispers, “Find your strength.”

  He works his way back to the chariot and balances on the top rail, the water tugging at his feet. He stares at me for a long moment. “Are you sure?”

  I nod and try not to puke.

  He bends his knees and catapults himself away from the chariot. For a few strokes he’s immobile in the water, not gaining a single inch. Muscles bulge in his shoulders, and arms dig through the waves. Then he creeps forward and moves a few feet.

  The breath I’ve been holding pours out and the chariot rocks in the rushing water, knocking me to the left. A fresh wave of pain rocks me. I wrap my fingers around the top rail but don’t take my eyes off Rom, now five feet closer to shore.

  He’s going to make it.

  I smack the horse’s trembling hip. He screams and lunges forward. “Go.”

  Unsure what my lightning’s going to do underwater, I hold my hands high and pull a curved strand of lightning from my left palm. Three erratic strands pop and ricochet off the falling raindrops. I decrease it to a tiny strand and arc to the edge of the river, losing barely a second. Now the water is fifty feet wider than this morning and up to my knees. As my good foot settles into the clay, the water sweeps my other one from under me. I gasp as the pain intensifies.