Prelude to Poison

by Morgan W. Silver

  “How long did it take you to get there?” she asks. Her nail polish is a dark grey and matches her outfit.

  “Seventeen minutes.”

  “And the perp had not left the portal then,” she states.

  I nod.

  “Taking a bomb takes some time, but hardly seventeen minutes.” She blinks at me, waiting for my input.

  “I agree. Perhaps she had doubts.”

  “What time did she go to?”

  “Not too long in the past. The moment I pulled her through, we had to hurry out of there.” The large clock behind her desk makes no sound as it ticks on.

  “It sounds like a trap. I don’t like that.”

  “Neither do I, but we’ll know more once we interview her.”

  Fiona drums her fingers on the glass desk. “Yes, but you won’t be the one to do that. I need you elsewhere. Or specifically, someone else needs you.”

  “They do? Me? Are you sure?”

  Fiona smiles. “No need to be diffident. You’re a good officer. There’s a case in Sheffield and the Head Officer asked for you specifically. It probably helped that you were in the news a few months ago.”

  “Hmm.” I don’t know what to say. I like working with Saoirse. I know I can rely on her and we have a good chemistry.

  “It’s just one case and we’ll put you up in a nice hotel.” Fiona activates the holo-screen, reverses it and types on the long keys to show images of a gorgeous Georgian estate where the rooms are spacious and old-fashioned. They also have a spa. She knows I love that.

  “You know my weaknesses, don’t you?”

  She laughs. “Happy birthday.”

  MY DESK IS RIGHT ACROSS from Saoirse. As Level 1 Chrono Unit officers, there are six of us, each assigned to a partner. Most of the time we file paperwork on the people we Collar, arrest, or give a Warning to. Every registered Traveller only gets one Warning before being Collared.

  Saoirse shoves a plate of biscuits in my face. “I brought extra since it’s your birthday and was going to give them to take home with you, but I figured you can use them now.” She smiles, the lines around her blue eyes visible.

  “Thanks. I do need them. Badly. Did you know that hagfish eat their dead prey from the inside out? I wouldn’t mind doing that with your biscuits. They are that good.” I smile at her as I pick one up. It’s a chocolate chip one with salt.

  “You say the...sweetest things,” she says as she makes a face. “You’re lucky I’m used to your style of weird.”

  “It seems that someone else will have to get used to it. I’m going down to Sheffield. My help was requested for a case. Can’t imagine why.” I take a bite out of the biscuit and close my eyes. “Yeah, definitely want to burrow inside this biscuit and eat it,” I say with my mouth full, yet skilfully comprehensible.

  “Can’t imagine it either.” The corner of her mouth turns up. “Do you know what the case is about?”

  “No, I’ll find out when I get there.”

  “Don’t your parents live in Sheffield?”

  “Yeah, it will be nice to see them again.” I call my mother every week, but with things being so busy in the past few weeks, I haven’t stopped by.

  “Then come over for dinner tonight. It’s your birthday and I know you’re not going to celebrate it otherwise.”

  “You got that right.” I think about the four rug rats at her house and her husband who is always keen to discuss with me the dangers of air conditioning. Why he would think I find that interesting is beyond me and the rest of the universes. “No, thanks. I do actually have something planned that I would like to do instead.” I take another bite of the biscuit and blink at her.

  “It’s sleep, isn’t it?”

  “How do you know me so well?”

  “Time.”

  I RUB MY SHOULDERS and look up at the white ceiling. Saoirse left earlier to take care of her kids. Filing the report of the rip at the pub took up more time than I’d hoped. I press the button on the lift and contemplate if I should take a nap before dinner or after dinner when Gary appears next to me.

  Tinkerers from the Parallel Division are interested in all sorts of things and are eager to spread that interest. Gary is no different and has a knack for running into me just when I am least excited to see him. His moustache trembles with excitement. I don’t have to see it, I can feel it.

  “Hi, Gary,” I say without looking up.

  “Monday. Have you seen this?” He holds up a small square with a screen and buttons below it. It also has a long wire attached to the front that leads up to two small buds.

  “Yes, I see it, Gary.”

  “It’s what they call an MP3-player in PU-39613. This is a mini device they use to listen to music. Instead of something like the chunky holo-radio, they have these. Aren’t they adorable? I really like that parallel universe.”

  “They’re a bit clumsy and big, don’t you think?”

  “Isn’t that half the charm, Monday? Think about it. Twisting a few knobs and choosing any music from the HoloNet is so boring. This makes you put in an effort if you want to listen to music. They even have to download the songs.” He chuckles. “Isn’t that cute?”

  “Yes. You’re so lucky you can actually take things from the parallel universes.” I mean those words. Despite his poor timing, I do actually find the objects he shows interesting. It reminds me of the stories my mother used to tell me about the places she’s visited. And of the places I’ve visited, though most of that was for training, not leisure.

  “Do you want it?”

  The lift announces its presence with a ding and the door slides down into the floor. I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this some test? I know I’m not allowed to take things like that.”

  “It’s frowned upon, but not forbidden. I requested this especially for you. Happy birthday.” He winks at me conspiratorially and hands me the device.

  I stare at it and then at him. “Thank you,” I say and lean forward to kiss him on the cheek.

  He turns a shade of red, mumbles something, and dashes off.

  I chuckle and step into the lift. It brings me down to the garage and I tuck the new device into the pocket of my yellow raincoat. It takes me a few tries to start the familiar rattle of my car and I drive home, to my semi-detached house with three bedrooms. Being in the Chrono Unit earns a lot of money, mainly due to the fact that one of the occupational hazards is death. And we have notoriously bad coffee.

  It is still light out and the sky is dotted with clouds, but it’s not cold. I lock my car and run up the steps to my front door. The front garden is surrounded by hedges; I like my privacy and my neighbours are fox breeders. Despite the fact that many people don’t know what noises they make, they do in fact make a lot of noise. As do their breeders. They keep wanting to chat about them, or about their collection of antique tea cups. I may love foxes, but I don’t need to know about their mating habits.

  I reach my door when I realise I’m not alone. I turn around, preferring a serial killer over my neighbours. My eyes widen. It’s neither. “Hi, Lovelace,” I say after a moment of hesitation. How did she find me? Also, why? Does she not have a home?

  The little girl from earlier today says nothing. She is dressed in the same outfit as before and looks just as upset as before. She says nothing and stares at me.

  I walk up to her and ask her if she needs my help. She still doesn’t reply. “Okay,” I say. “Why don’t you come inside.” I let her past me and look down the street. Why do I have the feeling we’re being watched? I wrinkle my nose and let the girl in. She looks around my hallway as if she’s never seen one before. Mr Woodacre’s farm is close to a lot of residential park homes, so that might be possible.

  I help her take off her coat and hang it up. She follows me into the kitchen where I put the kettle on. “So, Lovelace, why are you here?”

  The girl says nothing and looks at her shoes.

  “Yeah, I get it,” I say. “I like silence too. That’s why I have a
very relaxed pet. Do you want to see him?” I don’t wait for her reply and head into the dining room and from there into the conservatory.

  On a wooden sideboard is a case that houses my turtle. “This is Mr Turtleneck.” I glance behind me. The girl has followed me. “You can pet him, if you want.” The noise from the kettle grows louder. “I’ll get us tea.”

  I pour us both a cup of herbal tea that is calming and relaxing. It will help her sleep. I sigh. What am I going to do with her? I can’t keep her here. But I also can’t have her running around. At least she’s safe with me. I have to figure out what her story is.

  I put some biscuits from Saoirse on a plate and turn around to put them on the breakfast table. The girl has quietly taken place at the table with her back to me. I startle and drop the plate. It shatters and the biscuits are lost to the floor. I curse under my breath and look up at the girl, ready to reassure her that it’s okay. But she hasn’t moved. She hasn’t so much as twitched a muscle. That seems familiar. I step over the broken plate and my delicious victims and clap my hands behind her head. Nothing.

  Then I tap her on her shoulder. She shrugs her shoulders, as if she’s worried I might hurt her and then slowly turns around. She has question marks in her eyes.

  “Are you deaf?” I sign.

  Her eyes widen. “Yes,” she signs back.

  I smile. “Don’t worry. I know how to talk to you.”

  “Only my aunt knew sign language.” Her hands are hurried, as if she’s been waiting to communicate to someone, anyone.

  “Did she? What happened to her?”

  The girl’s face scrunches up like an accordion.

  “Something bad?” I sign.

  “Yes. I lived with her.”

  “There was a portal when we met. Did your aunt go through it?”

  She nods.

  “And you created that portal?”

  The girl says nothing.

  There is more going on here. “What’s your name?” She doesn’t know that I already know her name and I feel like an introduction is in order. I want to make her feel comfortable and strike up a conversation. The more I know about her, the better.

  She spells her name slowly. “Lovelace Thomson.”

  “What a nice name. Very memorable.”

  The girl manages a feeble smile.

  “My name is Monday Moody.”

  At this her smile grows wider. “No, that’s a memorable name.” She clasps her hand in front of her mouth as if she wants to stop herself from giggling.

  I laugh. “You’re quite right. What was I thinking?”

  Lovelace turns serious. “Will you help me? I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Why did you come to me? And how did you find me?”

  “You are like me. Your energy tastes like strawberries.” She smiles.

  Travellers, Illusionists, and even vampires have more core energy than normal people. Some are talented enough to sense that energy in others, and it always evokes one of the senses. A taste, a smell, an image. For everyone that taste or image is different. Apparently to Lovelace, my life energy is sweet. With her I can see snowflakes.

  “You just sit here for a bit,” I sign. “I’ll be right back.” In the corner of the living room I have a desk with a typewriter. I sit down, activate the holo-screen, and type in her name. I need to decide what to do with her. She won’t tell me much, but she’s clearly in trouble.

  I check her address and next of kin—her aunt—as well as the list of times that the police had to stop by because of noise disturbances or because her aunt hadn’t come home. Her aunt was also arrested a few times for public indecency and the destruction of property while being drunk. What a stellar role-model.

  Did she treat Lovelace poorly because she was a Traveller? Or is she simply a very bad caretaker? Either way, it is impressive that Lovelace managed to create that rip. She could have found someone to train with or perhaps she just happens to be that talented. It is possible.

  It is likely that Level 3 officers will bring back her aunt and she’ll be pissed and eager to point the finger at Lovelace. She will be in serious trouble, if the aunt even reports it. She sounds like someone who might just enjoy making Lovelace’s life even worse. Regardless of what will happen, nobody is going to protect Lovelace. She doesn’t have anybody on her side. Except maybe me.

  Things could have been far worse for me without my mother. Things can easily become worse for Lovelace. She doesn’t deserve that, she’s just a girl.

  The air cracks and a static tingles my skin. A portal? Here? I turn around. There is a bomb on the coffee table, much like the one I came across this morning. However, there is no rip to be seen. That would mean it’s a very skilled Traveller. I get up and walk over to the coffee table. My breathing quickens as I glance at the timer. Less than a minute. Shit. I turn to run to Lovelace, but when I glance back at the bomb, it’s gone. And still no rip. Did someone teleport here to remove it? Why? How? What? And why use a portal first?

  I know time is the most elusive thief in the world, but this is a bit of a stretch. At least I know one thing for sure. Someone really is trying to kill me.

  Chapter 3

  “People told me that giving

  birth would be most painful. They

  were wrong. It was giving up coffee.”

  ~ Mrs Eleanor Moody

  THE FOLLOWING DAY I ring my parents’ doorbell bright and early in the morning. I couldn’t sleep last night anyway, and since they live in Sheffield, the choice was easily made. I glance at Lovelace, who is holding my hand, and think about the second, but poor attempt on my life. I’d rather stay with people I trust than in a hotel room. Though it is a good thing that anybody else might think that that’s exactly where I’m staying.

  I glance to my right where Beth, my parents’ nosy neighbour, peers over her hedge. She’s holding a pair of shears to make it appear as if she’s doing garden work, but is in fact cutting air while gawking at Lovelace and me.

  A shuffling sound. The door opens. My mother stands there in a purple dress and a black cardigan. She always looks fashionable. I doubt even a rainstorm could diminish her looks. Her black hair is done up and her eyes twinkle when she sees me, then widen as she spots the girl holding my turtle. “You weren’t joking when you said you’d bring a visitor. I thought you meant Mr Turtleneck.” She hasn’t blinked yet. “Come in, dear. Come in.”

  “Nice trimming, Beth. The air looks better already,” she shouts before slamming the door.

  I remember Beth was washing her windows when I went to prom. And when I had my first date and he picked me up, she was painting her front door. Even if it was dark by then. She also once washed her windows and fell off the slippery ladder as she was so focussed on the chat my mother was having with a handsome new neighbour. In fact, a similar accident occurred with a nail and a birdhouse. Clearly her trips to Homebase are sponsored by her curiosity.

  After my mother sets us up in the kitchen, I share the highlights of my birthday while feeding Mr Turtleneck a piece of lettuce.

  “I don’t like this, Monday. Cheese-fisted attempt or not, it was still an attempt on your life. Nobody is allowed to kill you, only I can do that.”

  “It’s ‘ham-fisted’ and why? Because you’re my mother?”

  “That’s right. I gave birth to you. Even if it only lasted two hours.” She smiles at Lovelace, who is playing with her tea spoon.

  “I’m not letting anybody kill me, Mother. I am too stubborn to die prematurely.”

  She lets out a bark of laughter and places her manicured hand in front of her mouth, in an attempt to appear delicate. “You get that from me. That’s why I’m not worried about you. We’re strong. It runs in the family.”

  “Speaking of parental heritage, where is Dad?” The house is suspiciously plain.

  “He’s in his shed. I’m telling you, retirement actually makes me see less of the man.” She shakes her head, then uses sign language to ask Lovelace if s
he wants more biscuits. She eagerly nods her response. I leave them to it.

  The garden has a pool in the middle and a heap of begonias in the far right corner. On the opposite side is my dad’s shed. He spends most of his time working on his Illusions since that has always been a passion of his. He’s got several Illusions going on right now, mostly to protect our privacy from a certain nosy neighbour. The begonias are very real, though. My mother’s pride.

  The shed door swings open and I’m about to greet my father when a raptor comes out. The dinosaur stops in his tracks and cocks his head to assess me. Threat or snack? Unfortunately this is not the first time. Calling out for my dad won’t help.

  “Don’t you dare,” I say firmly. “I am not afraid of you.” The quiver in my voice gives me away. The creature leaps forward and I shriek. With a few quick steps I jump into the pool. I stay under water for as long as I can hold out and then I resurface.

  I curse under my breath, but at least the dinosaur is gone and I can climb out of the pool. My father stands in the doorway and his eyes widen as he spots me. He rushes over and helps me out. My dress is dripping wet and my shoes ruined. I push him away and sign angrily. “You knew I was coming over and you know how much they scare me.”

  “I’m sorry. I was trying a mixture of Illusions and this one sort of escaped. I am getting a bit forgetful sometimes and they take advantage. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I am.” I know they’re not real, but fear doesn’t work that way. That’s why dangerous Illusions are forbidden. “You do know where I work, don’t you?”

  “I renew my license every year, and I know what I’m doing. Except for now. Really, I’m sorry.” He adjusts his blazer nervously and eyes my drowned-cat look.

  Apart from my red hair I am nothing like my dad. Which is probably why we get along so well. “It’s okay.” He still wears his blazer and neat trousers every day even though he’s been retired for months now. “Hasn’t Mother bought you new clothes?”

  “I’m used to dressing like this.” Then he smiles and hugs me, despite the fact that I’m soaking wet. “Are you cold?”