by P. R. Mason
Behind me, I heard Rom gasp as Zen applied the antiseptic. Somehow I couldn’t watch.
The two of them were silent. Finally, Zen answered. “I think we should give up.”
Petra, Chase and Senji arrived with the average ruckus that always seemed to accompany them. Without knocking the three tromped in.
“What did we miss?” Senji pushed the glasses up his nose and shifted his gaze from Rom, to Zen, to me, and back again with eager expectation.
* * * * *
“Where’s Juliette?” I asked Prince Leopold when the fog cleared in the psychomanteum’s mirror.
“Ah, dear Kizzy.” The prince moved closer so that we were face-to-face. If the glass of the mirror—and a universe—hadn’t separated us, I could have reached out and touched his devilishly handsome face. “Do you wish to continue our chess game?”
“No,” I replied. “I wish to see my stepsister.”
“Do you wish to see the visitor newly arrived at the royal court?”
Billy. “Not really. Just Juliette.”
“Ah. Shame.” The prince strolled to one of the sofas. He lowered himself to a sitting position to stretch his legs out in front of him. The prince was dressed for riding and his leather boots, with gold spurs, thudded against the Aubusson rug. “Juliette is not available at present.”
“Is she still at court?”
“Yes, of course.” He gave a wave of the hand dismissing my question and then a gleam appeared in his eye. “Have you met Namia yet?”
“Who?”
“My subject who visits your world in the place of Mr. Broadrick,” the prince said with a chuckle. “Although I believe you have received the better of that exchange. This Billy person is the most atrocious horse’s arse.”
“Tool is the current slang describing Billy,” I said. “Or douchebag"
“Douchebag. I like that,” the prince said with a satisfied nod. “Oh Kizzy. I do so enjoy our conversations.”
“So Namia is a ghoul like Stephan?”
“Yes,” the prince admitted. “However, I am hoping she will have more success than the hapless Stephan.”
“Back to Juliette,” I interrupted. “When can I see her?”
“You know the answer to that my lovely Kizzy.” The prince rose and strode toward the mirror once more. “You must come here in person.” He smiled. “I promise you the most cordial of welcomes.” The prince licked his lips. “And do bring your friend Rom. He needs to come here.”
“What do you mean?” I feared I knew the answer.
“Do not be coy.” The prince turned to a nearby table and an enormous arrangement of flowers. After extracting one long stem from the vase, the prince examined it from the silvery leaves at its base to the mauve flowers clustered along its stalk. He twirled the stem between his fingers. “Rom was bitten and probably about now is beginning to feel the effects. Soon it may be too late for the Downy Woundwort to work its magic.”
Staring with fascination, I recognized the flower he held. I thought about his words and my mind raced with possibilities.
“Come to me Kizzy and I will cure him.”
The fog entered the mirror, obscuring the prince from my view as his last word echoed into silence. Unconsciously, I had stepped back out of the range of the mirror.
I opened the door and stumbled into the corridor and down the stairs before scrambling around the corner into the dining room. Chase and Senji were hunched in chairs in front of the computer. Petra stood over their shoulders reading a text. Rom sat at the table with his head resting on its top.
“Rom,” I yelled. “Zen, Petra, everybody! I have a great idea.”
Zen came from the kitchen holding a wooden spoon and an apron. “What?”
“I’m going to Dorcha.”
“I thought you said you had a great idea.” Petra frowned. “That isn’t even a good one.”
“Accord,” Rom said, raising his head and showing me weary eyes. “As a Clavis you must stay far from Dorcha.”
“Think about it.” I slid into a chair opposite him. “Juliette is there. Why not go there and get her back. And now there's more reason to go there.”
“What reason?” Zen asked.
“I’ve seen Downy Woundwort in the psychomanteum. Rom’s cure is there.”
Every eye glanced at the large white bandage covering a third of Rom’s forearm.
“Not acceptable,” Rom shook his head. “The dangers are overwhelming.”
“Even if you entered Dorcha, how could you be sure you’d find Juliette? You said yourself you’ve not seen her in the palace lately,” Zen pointed out. “The prince obviously did something to stop her from coming through the portal when his ghoul was returned.”
“I don’t know. But at this point this is the only possible way left for setting things right. I’m going.”
“Well, there may be one way left that we haven’t explored." Zen gazed at the ceiling while scratching his head with the end of the spoon. “Time travel.”
* * * * *
“Hey, is time travel really possible?” Chase asked as he took a piece of bread from the bag in the middle of the table.
“It is if you have the right wormhole.” Zen sloshed a scoop of chili into the bowl and handed it to me.
“Dude." Chase chuckled. "Show me to the wormhole. I could so use a better grade on my last math exam.”
“Dude you could take that exam a million times and not get a better grade,” Senji scoffed.
“Wormhole?” I took a bite of the chili and swallowed it without chewing. The heat felt good sliding against the back of my throat and the spiciness cleared my sinuses. “Like in space? Those kinda wormholes?”
“What good is a wormhole in space going to do?” Petra asked, accepting a bowl from Zen. “I mean you don’t have a spaceship.” She laughed and glanced around her. “Do you?”
“Not all the wormholes are in space.” Zen dug into his own bowl. He gulped down a spoonful of chili. “A wormhole is a bridge or shortcut through space and time within this dimension.”
“You have discovered such a bridge?” Rom pushed the chili around in his bowl.
Zen nodded and swallowed. “I have only used it a few times so I’m not certain it has not collapsed. But if it is still there it might be used.”
“Used how?” Senji asked.
“Used to stop the Dorcha from entering this dimension in the first place,” Zen answered.
“Yet is it not truth such bridges cannot be relied upon?” Rom piped in.
“What do you mean?” I asked Rom.
“The time of arrival could not be predicted," Rom replied. "Moreover, the time of our return would be even more mercurial.”
“He’s right,” Zen said. “The last time I used the passage I arrived six months in the past. When I returned twelve hours had passed, but I had only been gone for three.”
“So we couldn’t time our arrival to coincide with the opening of the vortex.”
“No,” Zen admitted.
“And what of the other dangers.” Rom's voice boomed. “If the travelers were to encounter themselves in the past is it not true that the possible effect would be catastrophic.”
“Yeah,” Senji said. “I saw that on Star Trek I think.”
“This is ridiculous.” Petra wiped at her mouth with a napkin. “We’re taking our research from an ancient television show, now.
Chase nodded. “I agree with Petra. Besides, If you can’t time it and you can’t run into yourselves without ending the world or something, then what good would it do?”
“Maybe there is something.” I said. “What if we could somehow plant a tracking device on Juliette. If we couldn’t actually stop the portal from opening, we could at least have a way of finding Juliette when I go to Dorcha.”
“If we go to Dorcha.” Rom's eyes met mine as he emphasized "we".
“When we go.” I said.
Chapter Seventeen
Within the hour Rom and I were on
our way to the wormhole entrance, with Zen driving and Senji tagging along for what he described as research. After pulling the van to a stop at the curb, Zen threw the gear into park and switched off the engine.
Calhoun Square was laid out with a double row of sidewalks running north/south through the grass and a double row running east/west dotted by a few benches.
Once we reached the other side of the square and the street beyond, Zen halted.
“There it is.” Zen pointed to a derelict Italianate stucco mansion.
The place had been empty for years, certainly as long as I’d been alive.
“That house has a wormhole in it?” Senji huffed.
“You were expecting a neon sign reading: time travel enter here?” Zen asked.
“No. But isn’t this place supposed to be haunted?"
“Yes. And it is. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” Zen walked up the front steps leading one story up to the entrance. “I’ll introduce you to the ghost another day. We don’t have time right now.”
The front door had to be at least ten feet in height, wood, and adorned with an ornate lion’s head knocker.
“How are we getting in?” I asked.
Zen took a tool from his pocket and went to work picking the antiquated lock.
“Oh that’s how.”
I surveyed the street and square. No one seemed to be observing our B&E. Zen had the lock clicking within seconds. I stepped on his heel in my hurry to get through the door and out of view.
Once we were shut in, I wished I were back in the square. The place had a creepy feel. I felt as if a million volts of electricity crackled in the air around me, playing up and down my nerve endings and forcing the hair on my arms to stand at attention.
“What now?” I was somewhat breathless as if I stood at high altitude.
“Upstairs,” Zen replied switching on his flashlight and placing his foot on the first tread. The bouncing beam of his flashlight along the walls and into the corners revealed a number of cracks and areas where plaster had completely fallen away. We were almost to the top of the stairs when Zen stopped.
“The wormhole begins in the hall at the top of the stairs.” Zen continued. “Walk down the hallway to the bedroom on the far end and then climb out the window of the bedroom. When you want to come back, climb into the bedroom and pass down the hall the opposite way.”
“A hallway is the wormhole.” Senji pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and arched an eyebrow.
“Again I say. What were you expecting?” Zen drawled.
“Go down the hallway and back the opposite direction. Got it.” I glanced at Rom and he nodded.
“Look at that,” Senji said. He took hold of Zen’s flashlight and directed it about midway down the hall. The beam illuminated a section of ceiling that had fallen away leaving exposed beams and jagged plaster. The remnants lay in a pile on the wood floor beneath. Cracks radiated around the hole. As we stood there examining the damage, the crack around a piece of ceiling widened. Another section of ceiling crashed to the ground. We all jumped.
“The place is falling apart,” I cried.
“I told you the wormhole was unstable,” Zen said. “But it's deteriorated a lot since I was here last.”
“How often do you come here?” Senji asked.
“About once every couple months,” Zen answered. “Living well when you want to live off grid costs a lot of money. I’ve been working my stock portfolio.”
Another chunk of ceiling broke away and smashed down below.
“If the ceiling keeps falling at this rate, given the square footage of the hall, the whole thing will be completely collapsed in about twenty-four hours,” Senji commented.
“Yeah,” Zen agreed. “ But you two have to be back well before that. There’s only twenty-nine hours until the portal seals up for the next twenty-nine plus years.” He glanced at his watch. “You should stay there for four hours max. Time is wonky with these things. No telling how long will have passed when you get back.”
“Great,” I groaned. “So it’s going to be a leisurely trip.”
Zen reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of notepaper. “Here.” He handed it to me. ”I wrote myself a note.” His smile was wry. “You might need me and I’m such a suspicious bastard I might not help you without a letter of introduction.”
“Thanks.”
He turned to Rom. “You have the tracker?”
“Accord.” Rom patted the knapsack hanging over one shoulder. “Much gratitude for your many services.”
Zen flushed a deep red and coughed. “See you in a few hours.”
I almost said something to Zen about calling my mom. She'd be frantic when I missed curfew, but even more frantic if some strange man called her. I had to push down my worry. The only choice at this point was to go forward now and explain later.
With Rom in the lead, we trudged up the remaining steps until we stood on the threshold of the hallway. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Senji give a little wave as he and Zen stood on staggered steps next to each other. Rom reached back and took my hand before stepping forward.
The further we went in, the more the hall resembled a funhouse. The wall on the right side of us seemed to grow in height whereas the wall on the left side shrunk. Gradually, the effect reversed and the left side grew tall while the right, shortened. The floor under our feet began to pitch, roll and undulate. The hall groaned and moaned with each violent movement.
Rom and I listed to the side as if we were on the deck of a boat. I hoped I wouldn’t barf. I’d never been seasick before. Rom’s hand tightened on mine as he staggered drunkenly faster toward the door ajar ahead of us. I glanced back but could no longer see Senji or Zen. Facing forward again, a hunk of plaster from the ceiling dropped and struck me on the crown of my head.
Seasick and now concussed. Fantastic.
Finally we reached the door of the bedroom. Rom pushed through as if crossing a finish line and dragged me after him. Happily, the bedroom, bare but for a moldy old mattress on the floor, didn't move. The most interesting thing about the bedroom however wasn’t anything inside the room, but the sunshine streaming through the window. We’d started down the hallway a little before midnight but if the position of the sun was anything to go by, we emerged from the hallway around 7 a.m. But on what date?
* * * * *
A veranda ran along one side of the second floor and at the back of the house a spiral metal staircase afforded us easy access to street level. We made our way into the square and I glanced at the clear blue sky above us. I judged the temperature to be about 80 degrees. Savannah being so temperate made it difficult to nail down a month just from the weather. But a block away we ran across a newspaper box.
“May 17th,” I said rising after reading the face through the glass door of the box. “At least it’s the same year. But we’re way too early to stop the vortex from opening.”
“Is the location of your stepsister on this date known to you?” Rom asked.
Recalling where I’d been five days ago was impossible let alone where Juliette was four months ago.
“Let me think.” I tried to ignore the delicious smells coming from the nearby restaurant. My stomach wasn’t as cooperative as it gurgled loudly. “It’s Tuesday so she’s probably at school. But so am I.”
“We must take the chance. The sooner we return to the present the easier I rest.”
“Accord,” I said with a smile, deliberately adopting his word. My stomach gurgled again this time more loudly. “But maybe we should go to my house first depending on the time." I glanced in through the plate glass window of the restaurant and observed a clock, which told me 8 a.m.
A flash of white blond hair caught my eye reflected in the window as a figure moved in a flash along the sidewalk opposite the restaurant.
“Did you see that?” I whirled, my eyes darting to where the figure had streaked, but I saw nothing. Running, I headed in the direction I’d
seen the figure go.
“Kizzy. What do you do?”
“The ghoul,” I yelled over my shoulder as I ran. “The one the prince called Namia. I just saw her.”
“How is this possible?” Rom came along side me, his face colored with a dull red flush.
“I don’t know. It just is.” I stopped at the corner to scan both directions. Still nothing. It was like the ghoul had just vanished at this very spot. Did she dart into a hiding place I wasn’t seeing?
Rom leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, breathing heavily out and sucking strongly in.
“I am weary of this,” Rom snarled. “Tearing here, hurtling there.” Rom straightened slowly, his face ablaze with rage.
I stood there stunned, unable to react to the sudden change in Rom.
“Always we move at your dictate," Rom shouted. "Always the result is a fool’s errand.”
Finally, I came out of my stupor. “I suppose I’m the fool then.”
His brows converged angrily and Rom seized me by the wrist in a grip I was sure would leave bruises.
“Am I not a man?” he shouted. “Am I not a warrior? I take no orders from a woman. No, not yet a woman. A girl.”
Jerking me against his hard length, Rom’s strong arms wrapped around me like iron bands. With one hand he took hold of the back of my head, his fingers knotting in my hair.
“A girl is not meant to be served, she is meant to serve,” he said in a furious whisper, tugging my hair until tears sprang to my eyes.
He forced my head closer and then his mouth devoured mine in a hungry punishment I wouldn’t call a kiss. Trying to push him away proved futile. So my hands went to his face to try to do damage there. When I touched his skin I found him blazing with fever under my fingertips. The ghoul bite, I thought. The hand that had been tangled in my hair went to my neck and gripped with amazing power. Ceasing to fight, I went limp in his arms. Slowly and tentatively I tried returning the kiss to his marauding mouth.
As my hands gently stroked his face, his hair, his back, I felt the rage seep from Rom until the kiss softened. His lips pulled away and he rested his forehead against mine, panting as if he’d run a race.
