by Jen Greyson
WHY DOES IT bring me here, of all places? And why not the one time I arced home to get Papi during the flood. My lungs fill with sweet air and I stand. There’s nothing here, so I flare another ball and finish the arc.
Dripping wet, I land in the spare bedroom, remembering only at the last possible second to diffuse the trap. My sweater clings to me, and my hair is a dripping mess. I push it out of my face. Figures, the one time I don’t braid it.
Tiana’s chicken scratch from the calculations lay scattered on the floor, and I sidestep them on the way to the door. I pause and listen, but it sounds like Mr. Steinaman managed to dissuade whoever he saw from coming in. I drip to my bathroom and peel off my soaking clothes, and pad back to the spare room.
I gather Tiana’s papers and pull the stack from Nikola’s room out of the trunks and reset the trap then shut the door. Back in my bathroom, I tuck Nikola’s papers in a bottom drawer beneath my makeup bag and keep Tiana’s to give back. Even though I’m right here, I don’t feel good about leaving it out. I probably should have left it locked up in the bedroom, but if I have to give it to someone, I don’t want them knowing what else I have.
Quick mop-up of my running makeup, faster change of clothes, and this time I braid my hair, my short mourning period over.
I gather Tiana’s papers and head downstairs to make another protein shake and figure out a plan. When I’m in the middle of slicing my banana, Ilif arrives.
To keep my hands busy—and from shaking—I keep making my shake. Adding ice to the blender, I hastily decide to put him on the defense. “Where have you been?”
“Busy. What have you found?”
“Well, I did what you asked. Nikola gave me his patents.”
He inhales swiftly.
“But,” I say, before he can control the conversation, “the day I went back to get them—a whole day before he was supposed to die—guys in suits showed up and took everything.”
His head hangs, and it’s the most human I’ve seen him look. “So you failed to complete the alteration?”
I add a scoop of protein powder to the blender. “No. You failed to tell me there were guys on the other end who distorted history. I can’t work with a corrupted timeline.”
He shakes his head. “Their involvement shouldn’t have made a difference.”
“Well, it did,” I say, punching the blender button on.
“No,” he says. “That’s not possible. There’s no way to distort a timeline or change an arc. That’s the entire point of them.”
“Whatever. I’m done believing anything you say. Guys are casing my house.”
He stills. “What kind of guys?”
“How do I know? My neighbor says they’re FBI, but apparently—” I stop. No good can come from revealing more than I have to. Not to him. “Nikola’s dead, Ilif.”
“Well of course he’s dead. You knew that.”
“No! Murdered. He was murdered because you shot off your mouth to J.P. Morgan about what I was doing there. You killed him!”
“What are you talking about? Under what circumstances would I jeopardize anything of Tesla’s, let alone involve his most difficult critic and curator.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“When have I lied to you?”
“Every time you’ve tried to kill me!” My temper flares and I’m shouting.
“That was once, and you were working with Penya. I had a right.”
“I thought you were partners.”
“Back to the topic, please. I have never lied to you about riding. I did not agree with your involvement from the beginning, but I have never distorted the truth about the power.”
I think back over our interactions, and he’s been more than honest about his feelings toward women, but— “What about the talismans? You lied about those.”
“What did I tell you? Only that you needed them to ride, which was true. Without my ability to track you through the talismans, your riding ability is hampered.”
“Semantics.”
“Not a lie.” He waves his hand sideways, like he’s shooing a waiter away from his table.
“I thought you were supposed to be teaching me this time. You’re pretty terrible at it.”
“You never ask the right questions. How am I to know what information you need for a particular arc?”
“Well, what is the point otherwise? I don’t know what I don’t know!”
We glare at each other over the spinning chocolate tornado. When it stops, he drops his gaze and I turn away for a glass.
“Who are the gentlemen casing you house?” he asks quietly.
I pull a tall glass down. “Maybe Morgan’s, maybe FBI.” I turn. “Maybe if you’d have been around—”
He looks up as I set the glass down. “If you didn’t tell Morgan, who did? I mean, I know it can’t be Penya, because a, why would she and b, you’ve got her locked up somewhere.”
He sags, pulls out a stool, and slumps into it. “I don’t have Penya.”
“See? You lie.” I’m shaking, and the earth is falling away beneath my feet. Penya had to be with him. He had to be keeping her prisoner. Otherwise, what the hell was she doing? “You threatened me. You told me you had things I wanted.”
“Information! You wanted information, you stupid girl. I never had Penya when I asked for your help. She escaped years ago.”
“What are you talking about? She’s been to see—” I can’t believe I almost gave her away.
He lurches off the stool and slaps his hands on the counter. “Did she come see you?”
I take a step back. Other than his early hatred for me, that’s the biggest emotional outburst ever.
“Did she?” His voice is high and strained. He’s intense, but there’s an underlying fear to his words. “Does she know about Tesla?”
Very carefully, and very quietly, I say, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on between the two of you.”
He drops back to the stool, elbows on the table, head in his hands. “Not again,” he pleads.
An icy knife plucks at the strands of my spinal cord. “Tell me.”
When he looks up, horror and desperation mingle around the creases of his eyes. “Though we have not time for this, I will indulge you this once. If she truly has been to see you, then”—he covers his mouth with a fisted hand and swallows painfully—“you have need to know.”
I take a step back, lift my hips, and slide up onto my counter.
“As you know, Penya and I worked together a long time ago. We also worked with my wife, Rennae, a trifecta of perfection.”
I try not to roll my eyes.
“I say that not as a braggadocio statement, but as truth. Between us, we held more patents, findings, revelations, and cures than any other ten scientists combined.”
I cock my head. “Because of traveling?”
“Somewhat. We partnered with scientists in the past to move their research forward to best utilize it, and to compound the results. But we made our own mark, as well.”
I brace my hands on the front of the counter. “So what happened?”
“We’d worked years to finalize testing for a profound advancement, one that would have changed the world. On the eve before we published, our lab burned down, and I thought—” His voice cracks. “I thought Penya and Rennae perished in the fire. I mourned them. I buried them. The most important women in my life.”
He sounds so sincere, so human. Nothing matches what I know to be true.
“When our findings were published a month later, I realized what they’d done to me, how they’d betrayed me.”
He looks up then, and the pain in his eyes is real. Whatever else Ilif may have done, this hurt him bad. And became the catalyst for serious misogyny.
“What did you do?”
“What any man would. I gave up my international contacts, I became a recluse, I went back to work on other things, and I refused all offers of help. I have never looked at another woman. A year lat
er I stumbled upon my first lightning rider.”
“And the rest is history,” I whisper. Wow.
He collects himself and situates his features so not a single shred of emotion remains. “Literally.”
“And the reason you wanted Spain destroyed?”
“No. I told you that in the heat of the moment. I was upset. They’d just published my findings when our argument occurred. Spain needed to fall for other reasons. Destroying Rennae’s ancestors was a bonus.”
“And a tad overzealous.”
“Perhaps. Nonetheless, what’s done is done. Your alteration will stand cemented in time. I will find another way to deal with Penya’s betrayal.”
“She knows,” I say, cringing.
He stands and pinches the creases of his sleeves, tugging them down. “Yes.”
Once again, I’ve let them use me against each other. Once again, I’ve been the pawn. How much of what Penya told me was true? I stare at Ilif. If I’m thinking she double-crossed me, then I’m believing his story. Pretty sure I decided that was a bad idea. Now I don’t know who to believe. And I have a warehouse full of patents to protect. Nikola was the only truth in this entire alteration. Which means Camaria is my next stop.
“I imagine you will require a contradictory story from Penya.”
I nod. “You haven’t earned my trust yet.”
“And she has?”
“Certainly not, but I owe her the chance to explain what you’ve told me.”
“Leaving you to wait at her mercy until she shows herself?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
Shaking fingers straighten his tie. “Though you won’t believe me, I’ll still caution you against letting your guard down. If you believe someone leaked your whereabouts to J. P., I’d look closely at the one who’s been keeping tabs on you.”
Mother fuck. I don’t want to put a single ounce of trust in him, but he has a point.
Either that, or he’s the most genius puppet master who’s ever lived.
“So now what?”
His shoulders sink. “I don’t know.”
CHAPTER 34
HE VANISHES AND I pour the protein shake down the drain. My stomach is churning after his story. Was it a story? Or is Penya telling me the truth and he’s just playing on my emotions? I’m not sure how to figure out who’s lying.
An air pressure difference lifts the hair at my nape.
Someone just opened my front door. Not Mr. Steinaman, either. He knocks.
Ever since the run-in at Nikola’s, I’ve been locking every door behind me as habit. No one has a key since Papi had the locks changed, so it’s not even Nick bringing back my stuff. My intruder is either one of Morgan’s or the FBI. I still don’t know who leaked info to Morgan, but if his guys are here now, that leaves one of two people, and Ilif’s alibi is looking pretty strong at the moment.
Malice floats up the stairs like an air freshener.
The loose board on the second stair creaks. Fuck.
I slide down against the counter. I could take the intruder out now, but with Ilif’s new info, real or not, I need to get these papers to Camaria first. Then I can come back and deal with whoever this is.
But I can’t arc to both my bathroom and the spare room without getting noticed. I have to leave the trunks. I have to risk that there are duplicates of their contents in the warehouse. And that they won’t get past the green—shit, I never used the green to lock the bedroom door, it’s only booby-trapped with the red.
The inside board on the landing creaks—I have seconds. As silently as possible, I pull one tendril of lightning taut between the tip of my index finger and my other hand. A shadow crosses the floor beside me, and I arc to my bathroom.
Not caring if I make any noise, I yank the documents from the bottom drawer and flare a huge ball.
I groan. If this douchebag trips the trap, it will wipe out my whole place. I’ve kept it small enough to stay contained in my part of the building, but I’ve got to warn Mr. Steinaman about my visitors before I go to Camaria.
I arc.
Mrs. Steinaman falls over in a dead faint.
Mr. Steinaman’s eyes widen, but he stays conscious. Guess he got used to weird stuff on the force.
“Sorry,” I say to him as he recovers enough to get the Mrs. off the floor. “My house is wired to explode. One of your men in black is about to trip it.”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Get out first.”
“Be safe.”
I nod. “Sorry about Mrs. Steinaman.”
“She’ll be fine.”
I think about Camaria, and the future, no longer believing what anyone tells me I can’t do. I trust the alteration like I’ve never trusted it before.
I jam the papers in the back of my waistband and spread my arms wide, flaring a huge ball. I think I’m going to need it. At the peak of my inhale, I throw myself forward in time, consumed by a darkness darker than I’ve ever known.
Silence deafens me. The blackness expands exponentially until I can feel it pulling my cells apart. I put my hands together—at least I think I do—and try to create a ball of lightning, but as each tiny sliver of electricity flares, the darkness extinguishes them. I fight the surge of panic and force myself to take a deep breath.
But there’s no air in this nothingness.
At my periphery, a pinprick of light forms, growing steadily larger. I focus on it, and in a rush it expands like an explosion of light.
I suck in air and grab the nearest glass countertop to steady myself.
“Morning greetings,” a trilling voice says over my left shoulder.
I swallow and turn, taking in the rest of the room. Floor-to-ceiling glass makes up the far wall, and gutters of glass split the glossy white ceiling every six feet, flooding the entire room with natural light. The counters—like the one I was leaning on—are also made of glass. Probably synthetic. Racks of metal tubes and wire coils fill the wall opposite the windows, precisely spaced and labeled.
A curvy blonde watches me from one counter over. Her resemblance to Aurelia is striking. I manage a smile.
“Might I assist?” she asks, setting her transparent cutters and wire coil on the counter, seemingly unaffected by my appearance. Maybe time travelers are commonplace in the future. I guess so, if Ilif and Penya do it so frequently.
“Camaria?”
She points to the name tag on her clear lab coat. I get sidetracked by the movement of the fabric. It’s not vinyl because it moves like cotton, but it’s… I squint and watch the shimmer in the air, not unlike when Ilif visits me. The fabric is nearly invisible. Her name tag floats in the middle, electronically blinking her name, Camaria Pomponi. I smile at the derivation and start to introduce myself, but the room tilts and spins. I’m bombarded with memories. Every single arc slams into me. I try to focus through the onslaught. Not now.
She waits, but her fingers dip beneath the lip of the counter, probably to a fail-safe and alarm.
I hold up my hand. “Please don’t.” I wade through the flood and focus on her face through the white water of memories that aren’t mine. “I knew your great-great-great-lots of greats-grandmother, Aurelia.”
“You are named Evy,” she breathlessly gushes as she slides her hand away from the trigger, rounding the end of the counter.
The memories ebb and I’m able to focus.
“My most apologies for not realizing the moment of your strange arrival. I am aware of you and your gifts. You extended Aurelia’s lifelight,” she says. “In our family historical documents, you reside as legend.”
Well that makes this easier. I straighten and ease the documents from behind my back, relieved they made the journey. I lay them on the counter between us. “I hope you know what to do with these.”
She scans the trademark slanted scrawl, and her hands fly to her chest. “Nikola,” she whispers then looks at me. “But they are a cessation.”
I scoot them closer. “N
o. Just hiding until very recently.”
Her hands clench and unclench, and then she lowers a trembling hand to the stack.
“Nikola wanted you to have them. He asked me to bring them to you.”
She gasps and yanks her hand back. “Impossible.”
I fold my hands on the counter. “I spent some time with him. It was important to him that a genius see his work to fruition. He dreamt of you—” I pause. “Is that creepy?”
She shakes her head slowly. “He invaded my dreams each night since my birth. Taught me things, encouraged me during our time together to pursue science. And of you. He even told me of you, as my ancestors told tales of you.”
“Well, he thought you were something pretty special, too.”
Tears tremble on her lower lashes. “My work is a transparency.”
That one takes me a minute and I smile. “Pales in comparison—you’re apparently the only person who thinks so.”
Finally, she turns the first page over, barely pinching it between her fingers like it’s a priceless manuscript. But I guess to her it is.
“I–I–” She traces his handwriting and lifts her teary eyes. “I am his successor.”
Her image flares bright, and I’m drowning in darkness again as I’m yanked away from the completed alteration. That’s going to take some getting used to.
Voices float to me before the darkness abates on the other side of the arc. One with dark words that leave an oily residue against my eardrums, the other Penya’s.
I’m on high alert and force my knees to soften before I land, compressing into a tight ball. From my crouch, I take in the surroundings as quickly as I can, but with the new smell of the bedspread and hint of sawdust from the new screws in the furniture, it’s easy to figure out.
I’m in my bedroom, tucked between my bed and the far wall. Tall windows stretch upward, and I catch movement in the reflection then realize it’s my own.
While I’d like to believe the original intruder is gone, that leaves no reason for Penya to be here, certainly not without me. Is she still her beam of light, or has she figured out how to go mobile? If they’re on the second floor, that means they’re working their way to the spare bedroom, and I might be out of time already.
