Saving Yesterday (TimeShifters Book 1)

by Jess Evander

  He scans the road, tilting his head to the side. Like a hunter, his ears seem to be listening for something. A silvery wash of moonlight bathes his pale skin, and a shadow forms off his nose. A strong jaw, understanding eyes, mocha hair in disarray, full cheeks, curious quirk of his eyebrow—his features are boyish. As he bends forward, I sense power despite his lean build. He’s handsome, in a unique way. Not overtly, like Porter.

  He turns his head a little more and whispers. “Listen. They’re coming. Follow me.”

  My mind races through all I learned in the self-defense classes Dad forced me to attend. Make a peace sign and plunge fingers into both eyes? That would be sick. Not to mention a shame, since he does have nice eyes. Palm to the nose? No. That maneuver might kill him. I don’t want to harm him. Just get him to stop touching me and then point me toward the closest one-way bus out of this nightmare.

  Besides, I’m not a fighter. Avoidance always seems the best and easier route.

  Before all the money spent on self-defense can come in handy, he drags me to my feet, then shoves at my back, propelling me forward. I stumble over ruts in the pebble-strewn dirt road. But the stranger wraps his arm around me, catching me each time I falter.

  Add strong-arming me to his list of offenses.

  To my left, a bird of prey releases a foreboding cry as something scuttles through the long grass. A mess of bats circle near the tree-lined area. Country-sweet air surges through my lips as I let out an agitated huff.

  I turn and land a firm kick to my captor’s shin. “I’m not kidding. Let me go!”

  In less than a heartbeat, he covers my mouth. His hand smells like sweat and gardening. He growls in a don’t-mess-with-me tone as his lips brush against my ear. “Unless you want to get us killed more than a hundred years before either of us are even born, I’d be quiet.”

  What sort of messed-up nightmare is this? I shiver. For a second he pulls me closer against his chest, which, to my horror, is surprisingly solid. I arch my body, trying to wiggle away. Unsuccessful. He’s stronger than I thought. My heart plummets. Scratch any escape plan. His gaze trains back on the road. Then, as if he’s forgotten about me, he releases his hold.

  I swipe at my mouth to banish the taste of him, glowering in his general direction. “A hundred years? Before I’m born? Are you on drugs or something?”

  A snap of a boot crushing a twig not far off brings my unwanted companion to a crouch. He grabs my arm and hauls me down beside him. “Listen. The men coming are dangerous. I know you’re more confused than a blind dog in a new home, but you need to trust me. If you draw attention to us, it’s not just our lives you jeopardize. Everything that’s happening right now is so much bigger than your fear.”

  As he talks, I don’t even look his way. Probably all lies anyway.

  We hunker in the long, itchy grass at the edge of the road.

  Scooting closer, he drops his voice to a whisper. “I know it sounds crazy. Believe me. I had a hard time at first, too. And I was prepared. If you promise to be silent when these men pass in a second, I’ll answer your questions. Deal?”

  I gauge the distance to the trees. Can I make it there quick enough? And once I get there, then what do I do? Shimmy up a tree? For all I know, he’s a skilled climber. That, or he has an arsenal of axes stashed somewhere and will have no qualms about chopping a tree down to get me.

  When I don’t answer, he drapes his arm over my back. I’m sure he means the gesture to feel casual, but the pressure he’s adding holds a threat: Do not get up or else.

  “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? I’m stuck here with you.” I speak out of the side of my mouth. He doesn’t deserve eye contact.

  We lie there, waiting. My abdomen pinches against a large rock on the ground. As if I need additional discomfort in the midst of this whole mess.

  How many minutes have passed since I left? Poor Porter, he probably called the cops and has them sweeping the park for clues. Soon, Dad will be at Molly’s Diner, crunching his baseball hat in his hands as he waits for me. Like a string of ants, terror skitters down my spine. Not for myself, but for Dad. He won’t be able to handle life if I go missing. What will he do when I don’t arrive? Who will buy dish soap for him tomorrow? I have to get back home, wherever it is from here—for him. To make it out of this situation intact, I must weigh my options. Do nothing rash.

  My captor removes his hand from my back, and then he presses a finger to his lips. Footfalls on the road announce proximity. He leans closer to me. “I’m Michael, by the way. Michael Pace.”

  A group of four men approaches. I don’t have the best vision to begin with, so I squint. At least I’ve been here long enough for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The first three men wear matching gray uniforms. They look familiar, like I’ve seen the outfit in a book or museum before. Through the dim of night, I can make out that their coats almost reach their knees and they are wearing funny matching hats. Not quite fashionable, but hey, to each his own. Their tall boots are well polished, catching glints of moonbeams. Even the double rows of buttons down their chests glint despite the darkness.

  The fourth man is dressed differently, in a drab, single-colored suit and funny tight hat. It resembles a hat I saw once in an old Charlie Chaplin movie one of my teachers forced the class to watch.

  Now might be my chance. If I scream, the men will hear me. Even if Michael tries to drag me away, at least there will be witnesses. I swallow, getting ready. But Michael must sense my thoughts, because in a swift move he covers my mouth and his other arm yanks me snug against his side.

  His head is right next to mine. “Sorry. I don’t trust the look on your face.”

  I attempt to shove him. I pinch his hand, and his other arm snakes up and secures both my wrists. It’s no use.

  His sighs. “Seriously. Stop moving.”

  The group meanders toward the candlelit windows of the small town up ahead. A drunken laugh punctuates the silence.

  Great. Just great. They won’t be able to help me in that condition anyway. I might as well face the fact that I’m on my own. As usual.

  One man sways, and his toe catches along the ground. He lurches forward, grabbing hold of the one man not in uniform.

  “Whoa, there, Captain.” The shortest man stumbles a few steps.

  Yes, they will be no help at all.

  “Whad you say your name was again, man?” The Captain’s words come out long and in a garble.

  The man in the plain suit chuckles as he straightens his hat. He’s supporting the weight of the most inebriated soldier on his shoulder. “E. J. Allen, and gentlemen, I am at your service. How fortunate I came upon you tonight.”

  Michael’s arm twitches beside me. The movement draws my vision from the passing men for a moment. I turn in the grass just a fraction to catch Michael’s look—like a boy watching the first snowfall of the year.

  “I knew it,” he whispers.

  A less drunk officer with long hair trails the group on the road. “Where do you hail from, Mr. Allen?”

  Every fiber of my being wants to lean over and whisper, “Knew what?” Instead, I follow Michael’s example as he grows still as a sleeping cat. I can’t help it. I’m suddenly drawn in by the excitement in his expression. His hold loosens.

  The men are only ten feet away from us now. E. J. Allen shifts, his impressive beard breaking to show a smile. “From Baltimore originally, but now anyplace in the South is home because, my dear men, I believe in the right to live as I please without some government member nosing into my business.”

  “If the Yanks could simply see reason like that for one minute, this protracted war could be done with and I’d be back home with my sweetheart.” One man stops walking for a moment.

  A second slings his arm around the first. “Imagine never having to be on another battlefield.”

  The long-haired man catches up with the others. “Why do you think I volunteered our group to transport the medical supplies?”

/>   Tapping his hat, Allen says, “War’s a grisly affair at best. How wonderful that you men were allowed a small respite. It does sound like you’ve earned one. Now, lead on, men. Hunt House with a warm fire awaits us yet.” E. J. steers his inebriated companions onward toward the small town.

  When the group of men mosey out of ear shot, Michael explodes to his feet. He performs a noiseless fit pump in the air. “I can’t believe this. Allen Pinkerton. It’s too good to be true. Do you know how long I’ve hoped to be pulled here?”

  Then it hits me. I’m clearly stupid. Even if those men were beyond drunk, the one called Allen seemed with it enough. They disappear into the town along with my only chance for salvation. My mind whirls. First order of the evening is to distract Michael until I find a chance to break away from him.

  I stretch my arms. Think, think, think. “Remember when you said you’d tell me everything if I stayed silent? Well, making good on that promise should happen right about now.” I rub my wrists. He didn’t hurt them, but he doesn’t need to know that. His guilt could be my most effective ally.

  “Sorry. Just excited.” Michael flashes a charming smile and shrugs an apology. “You’re right though. I always keep my promises. Even if you only stayed silent with my—let’s just call it reinforcement.” He stills and tilts his head to the side. Michael seems to be measuring me. “You really have no clue what’s going on, do you?”

  I smack my forehead. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Should I?”

  “It’s just unusual. I’ve never heard of it before.” He massages the back of his neck. “Most Shifters go straight to Keleusma on their first shift. But you? You didn’t. On top of that, you seem clueless.”

  “Shifters? You are speaking English, right?”

  “I’m floored. Your parents never told you?”

  “Parent. Singular. And, clearly, no.” I scan the distance to the trees versus the distance to the town. I can run fast. I started in track all through high school. If only I knew his abilities.

  “Singular, right. That’s all of us.” Michael combs his fingers through his mocha hair. He hisses out a long breath before continuing. “Okay. Where do I start? Well, you, Miss … Miss?”

  “I don’t consider us on a first-name basis yet.”

  “Fine then.” Michael glances back toward the town. “You and I are something called Shifters. Simply put, we shift through time to wherever we’re most needed and take care of whatever needs doing. We have no control over where we end up, but what we do in that moment affects the world’s future.”

  Time travel? That’s it. This guy is certifiably insane and probably contemplating how to make me into a fine stew a la Sweeny Todd. Pressing my palms into the ground, I push to my feet. I have to figure out how to get home and Mr. Michael Timeshifter isn’t helping.

  But that doesn’t stop him from rocketing after me.

  He moves too quickly, snatching my elbow. “I know it sounds crazy. Like I’m high even, but I can prove it to you.”

  I spin on my heels to face him and end up smacking against his chest. Michael grabs my shoulders, righting me. I shove away. “So prove it.”

  “Today is your birthday, right? A bracelet—this bracelet,” he taps the metal, “just appeared on your wrist and started to glow. One minute you were in your time and after some truly uncomfortable time travel, you’re now in 1861. Yup, I said it. Feel free to have your mind blown for a second.”

  “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “Why not? I did nothing but save your life back there and all I’m getting from you are snarls and snide comments.”

  A creeping sensation races up my spine. “We’re all dead, aren’t we?”

  That makes him laugh. “No. Very much alive.”

  “There has to be another explanation … I’m dreaming.”

  “Of course, and your mind has conjured me up as some sort of hero.” A humorless laugh escapes from his mouth. “Believe me. That should be the first indication that what I’m saying is true. I’m no one’s hero.” After a short pause, his lips tug into a soft smile. “Those guys were Confederate soldiers and Allen is a Union spy. His methods are the precursor for the Secret Service. With our help, he’ll turn the tide of the Civil War. Without it, the world you grew up in might not exist to return to.”

  I want to run until my breath leaves me. Doing that always chases my stress away. But if I start running, where will I end up? What Michael says, well, is complete lunacy—but his words somehow click in my mind. A rush of rightness courses through my body. It makes me feel warm despite the chill in the air.

  But I’ve watched enough shows on cable to know that criminals and killers are excellent at warping the brains of their victims. Self-defense class floods back into the forefront of my mind.

  No time like the present.

  Before Michael can react, I land a punch to his jaw. He yelps and gets ahold of me, but I drive the butt of my heel onto his foot. When he stumbles, I send a high kick to his stomach. He falls backwards. I have minutes on him, maybe.

  I’ve never actually hurt another person before, and the moan that leaves his lips as I take off bites at my conscience. Branches nick my bare legs as I hurtle into the woods. I run another few minutes and then stop. I spin in two clumsy circles, trying to gain a bearing for time and place. An owl hoots, branches sway above me, and the song of frogs finds me from a distance. My eyes dart in a frenzy, examining the trees. I search for a nook or a crop of rocks to hide in.

  The sound of someone lumbering through the forest throws me into despair. My knees shake. Is this how it feels right before you die?

  Suddenly, people draped in shadows converge into the small clearing where I am. They move slowly, like zombies. Their faces are human, but not sharp. It’s like looking at old photographs instead of living beings.

  “It’s her!” one hisses.

  A few others burst out in a strange, gleeful cheer that hurts my ears.

  As I back away from them, I trip and land against a tree trunk. The air races from my lungs. I’m trapped.

  One grabs onto my arm, his touch like ice. “Yes, we’ve been waiting for you to make your appearance.” From up close, it looks like his face is melting.

  Two more creatures take hold of my arms.

  “Finally. After all these years. Welcome home, Gabriella.”

  One of the shadowy figures steps closer. “You’re just what I pictured. Exactly.” His voice is strange, ancient. Words roll off his lips in an unfamiliar cadence. He leans closer and taps a long nail against my cheek, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

  “Everything we’ve hoped for … waited for,” another chimes in.

  There are too many of them. My kung fu moves might have worked on Michael, but I’m no Chuck Norris. I certainly can’t wiggle from their clutches and deliver a round-house kick. Taking out four at once like they show in the movies is highly unlikely. I want to rail against them, but my mouth clams up. My throat freezes in their horrifyingly magnificent presence.

  A commotion erupts on my right. Hissing, spitting—the creatures turn and advance. One still grips me tightly, his nails mining into the tender flesh of my upper arm. I crane my neck and catch sight of Michael. Gratitude surges through my veins. He smashes his shoulder into a pack of them. Surprised, they tumble like unsteady bowling pins. Without hesitation, he lunges at the one holding me. He lands a punch to the creature’s temple and it howls and spits, releasing me.

  Ten minutes ago, I might have been afraid of Michael’s intentions, but I’ll take the company of a possible murderer to whatever these other creatures are.

  Wide-eyed, Michael crashes forward and shoves me. “Run!”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

  Like I’m on the starting blocks at the State Championship, I take off. Michael’s right at my heels, but the others—the shadow people—thunder after us. Branches snap and animals charge away as the otherworldly beings thud over bushes in our wake. Wet dirt and
decaying leaves churn under our feet, shrouding us in a dense, earthy smell. I turn to the left, away from where the creatures first came from, but Michael snags my arm.

  With a jerk, he shouts, “Not that way! Run toward the portal.”

  Portal?

  There’s no time to ask, or waver, so I follow. A minute later, we arrive at the mouth of another clearing. The ground is unnervingly bare. In the center is a tree that once probably stood proud and tall, but now it’s half fallen. Its trunk forms a near-perfect arch, which illuminates as we draw near. The glow in the center ripples like water. Static zips through the air.

  Michael’s almost there, almost running into the space under the arch. But a searing pain around my wrist stops me. The bracelet begins to heat up.

  “Michael…?” He doesn’t stop. “Michael!”

  He hears me now and twists around. “Hurry.”

  The ground behind me shakes. The shadow people have found us. Their chests heave from either exertion or anger.

  I stumble toward Michael, and he catches me by my elbows. My hands splay across his chest. I feel the rapid pound of his heart. That’s when he catches sight of my bracelet, which is now shining.

  His brow rises. “It can’t … I don’t believe….”

  He throws his arms around me. When I freeze in time, he’s there with me. The shadow people reach for us, but they miss as we fade. Their wails echo as the air around us closes in. Tight. Muggy. I hate this.

  Once again I feel a strong tug and the sensation of falling. For a moment, there is no sound at all, yet in a flurry something—maybe other people traveling in time—brushes against us in the blackness. There’s a murmuring that I didn’t notice last time. What are they saying? The words whoosh by too quickly.

  Just as quickly as it starts, it stops. We collapse against something hard and cold, stone—a building.

  “I didn’t think that would work. It shouldn’t have.” Michael’s beside me. “It never has before.”

  I blink rapidly. It’s so bright outside. Voices mixed with the sound of traffic draws me out of my daze.