Chronomancer (Time Mage Saga Book 1)

by Mackenzie Morris

  "He's taunting Jack. He's daring him to come meet him on his own terms."

  "You think Jack is still alive?" Dean asked, placing the invitation back onto the platter.

  "If Xander is stealing his fiance, then I can almost guarantee it. Won't you join us, Dean? Help us defeat our mutual enemy."

  "You hurt people. You kill them. You made me leave a bomb in my friend's home. The blood of at least eight people is on my hands because of you. Throughout history, you have had members in the Nazi party, in the misguided churches that burned people at the stake, and in regimes that committed genocide against innocent people. In what alternate reality do you think I would willingly help you now?"

  Father nodded his head, a few strands of thin hair sliding into his pale eyes. "I will not deny what has happened. I am not like the Zurvan Syndicate who attempt to erase and rewrite history if something doesn't go as they planned. We acknowledge our flaws, Mr. Amethyst. You should know that the intended targets of that bomb you planted have perished."

  The words slammed into him, knocking his breath out of his lungs. "Oh, God. When? They were in the hospital. They . . . why are you doing this to me?"

  "Detective, Gin Tomlinson and Annette Fleur are alive."

  His heartbeat fluttered.

  "Your friends were not the intended targets. We knew they were holding a party that night after you left with certain members of Congress who had dealings with the Syndicate. We could not allow those spies to undermine our work. We have secretly paid every cent of your friends' medical bills and we are ensuring that they never have to work another day in their lives after they recover. Meanwhile, Vice President Larmer is following our orders to the letter."

  "You think paying them takes away the trauma?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing in anger.

  "I never said that, but some things cannot be undone. The unpleasant fact is, Mr. Amethyst, that we are at war. We are facing a threat much more real and much more violent than we ever have before. The Zurvan Syndicate is a strong foe on their own, but with Xander Sutcliff at the helm, they may be unstoppable."

  "Why? What makes Xander so powerful?"

  "To be completely transparent, we don't actually know." Father snapped his fingers again. "Nathan, take our guest and explain things to him. I will find you in an hour to get an update."

  Nathan? His Nathan? Dean's lips quivered and he clasped his hands together in front of him when the medium build blond man with the caramel eyes and button nose emerged from a side door. He wore a white robe with a red sash tied around his waist and a white feather quill tucked behind his right ear. A narrow pink burn sat on his left jaw, trailing to his collar bone.

  Nathan glided across the warehouse floor with natural grace and took his father's arm. He led him past the throne and to an elevator against the back wall. He pulled the gate closed then pressed the button for the lower floor. Once they started to move, he squeezed Dean's arm. "First, I want to say hi, Dad."

  Dean said the words he never though he would be able to say again. "Hello, Nathan."

  "You know which one I am?"

  "Of course I know my sons."

  When the elevator stopped in a dark hallway, Nathan opened the gate and led him into the dimly lit passageway towards a set of double doors at the far end. "This way, Dad. We managed to trace back Xander's lineage to the tribal mystics of Old Iskaydria."

  "Iskaydria? Like, an actual country?"

  Nathan nodded his head vigorously. "It's very, very old. Predating 'countries.' Contrary to popular scientific beliefs, humans did not originate in one place. They began in two separate places. The first Avelayans were genetic mutations in northern Africa and into the Arabian Peninsula. The first Iskaydrians were members of tribes in Germany, France, and sparsely in other parts of western Europe. Again, they were genetic mutations that originally flourished, but were nearly eradicated by members of their own tribes when they discovered the differences. Anyway, they called themselves the Tribe of Iskaydria. The differences in regional development is part of the reason why most Avelayans are Middle Eastern, African, or Mediterranean and most Iskaydrians are European."

  "But Xander's family is from Africa. He's Iskaydrian, not Avelayan."

  "Yes, he is an abnormality. We believe early on, one of his ancestors was traded or sold for breeding with an African tribe. For centuries, his Iskaydrian ancestors bred with normal African people and each other, keeping the Iskaydrian blood alive."

  "Inbreeding?" Dean asked.

  "For thousands of years, we believe. They only sought out non-Iskaydrian partners when they had to or they had children resulting from rapes or forced marriages. This led to a pocket of nearly pure Iskaydrians of African descent. We traced his DNA back to this pocket in area of modern day Kenya."

  "That's incredible."

  Nathan stopped at the doors and swiped his translucent green plastic keycard through the sensor outside. He pulled them open then continued into a tunnel that appeared to be used for storage. "To be able to defeat an enemy, we have to understand him. Xander Sutcliff in an extremely intelligent man, He's also over two hundred years old, so he has a great deal of life experience, even if some of that was when he was lost inside a tear. He speaks seventeen different languages, most with different dialects as well. He knows his way around computers, but distances himself from technology for an unknown reason. We've found instances where he has managed to hack into the FBI, CIA, and presidential emails, but we don't think he has a personal computer."

  "That's odd."

  "I agree. He has been married three times. Most recently to Opal Arrington, his Time Knight, once to a woman in 1808, and he had another marriage that only lasted for a week to a man in 2016."

  He was caught off guard by the last part. "A man?"

  Nathan paused. His voice grew quiet. "Is . . . that weird to you?"

  "No, son. It's weird coming from Xander. I know about you and your fiance. I want you to know that I'm fully supportive. I've known how you are since you were little."

  "Really? You knew?"

  Dean placed a hand reassuringly on his son's shoulder. "A father can sense things about his children. Now, back to Xander. He was married to a man in 2016 for a week. What happened to the marriage? Divorce? Annulment?"

  Nathan cleared his throat then continued walking. "His husband died, suddenly. Xander reported that he found him locked in their garage with the car going and everything closed up."

  "Suicide?"

  "That's what the police called it. "

  "What do you call it?" Dean asked.

  "I say it's not suicide when the victim was tied to the seat."

  "He tied his husband in a car then left him there to die? Did the police not see the ropes?"

  "Xander removed them. There was rope burn around the man's wrists. Child protective services looked into it, but found nothing wrong."

  Something wasn't adding up. "Child Protective Services? Why would CPS be involved in their marriage?"

  "The man wasn't actually a man, not yet, at least. He was fourteen. He had parental consent."

  A kid? Was Xander attracted to children? "Fourteen? What kind of person marries a child? This doesn't fit with everything I know about Xander. It's weird."

  "I agree. None of our analysts can figure it out. Why a boy? Why a teenager? Why did he kill him? It doesn't make sense. It was shortly after that when he married Opal."

  "How shortly after?" Dean asked.

  "Around a month."

  "What was the boy's name?"

  Nathan squinted as he thought. "Uh, Javier. Javier Dawson."

  "Dawson? Don't tell me he was related to Elizabeth Dawson."

  "Half-brother, by her mother. Javier was an Iskaydrian."

  In his head, Dean began connecting the dots, looking for connections. "Xander marries the fourteen-year-old brother of Ellie when she was eleven. He kills the boy, stages it as a suicide. Now he's going after Ellie? Why?"

  "We were hoping you could figur
e that out, being a detective and everything. We have a room for you here, Dad. Oh, that sounds so weird to say after so long. You are going to stay and help us, aren't you? Inquisitor Shay told us many good things about you. He's tough, but fair."

  There was something he desperately needed an answer to. "Where is Faith, Nathan?"

  "I don't know. Lance had her in his room. He started being nicer to her. You know he wasn't going to kill her, right? He just wanted to scare you so you'd join us." Nathan placed his hand on a sensor outside the next set of double doors where something sweet wafted through the hinges from the other side. "Hope you're hungry, Dad."

  In a renovated section of the hidden lower floor, the heavenly fragrance of roasted coffee beans, sweet caramel, steamed milk, and baking pastries made Dean whimper with the need for caffeine and sugar. Inquisitors gathered at the tile-top red tables under the low-hanging dome lights that filled the cozy room with a dim glow. Some drank coffee that was prepared behind the glass counter while others sat on the corner sofa and played board games, laughing and cheering over the sound of news broadcasts from around the world being played on twelve television screens on the brown walls.

  Nathan led him to a table on the side of the room below a collage of photographs from various Inquisition weddings. He slid into the red plaid booth and motioned for Dean to join him on the other side. "We'll order some coffee while we wait on Brad to get here. I want you to meet him. Do you drink coffee?"

  "Like I need it to survive."

  Nathan giggled, the same high-pitched laugh from when he was a little boy. "That's where I get it. I remember you. We'd play Titanic in the living room floor with pillows to hold onto to keep us from drowning. Every memory I have with you smells like coffee. Hazelnut."

  "That's right. I only drank hazelnut coffee back then. Morning, noon, and night. I would even sneak you and Lance special cups of it. They were mostly milk and sugar, but you two loved it. You would smile so big and say you were like Daddy."

  Nathan reached across the table to take his father's hand. It's okay, Dad. You're here now. I'm just glad I get this time with you. I know what happened that night, why the police took us from you. It wasn't your fault. You did what you had to do to provide for us. You wanted to keep your family together. No one could blame you for that. Oh, there he is. Dad, meet Bradly Chaucer, my fiance."

  The red-haired inquisitor in the white robe with the pointed red shoulder pads waved at them. He smoothed his fiery goatee with his burn-covered fingertips as he slid into the booth next to Nathan. "We've met, honey. On a mission."

  "So?" Nathan beamed. "What do you think, Dad?"

  "You're asking for my approval?" Dean asked, surprised.

  "It means a lot to me."

  He said what he honestly felt. "Brad seems to really care about you."

  "See the scar above his left eye?" Nathan gently touched the healed gash on his fiance's forehead. "He got this protecting me from Lance. Brad is strong and brave."

  He was no longer smiling. "Lance attacked you? Does he do that often?"

  Bradley clutched his fiance's hand. "Sir, if I may, Enforcer Lance is . . ."

  "He's mean." Nathan took his quill pen from his ear and twirled it nervously. "He says it's to toughen me up, to make me into a man."

  Brad continued. "Sir, Lance has attacked Nathan multiple times. He likes to stalk us, then find us in bed so we're vulnerable. He likes fire. He says we are sinners who must burn like witches or apostates. I'll show you."

  Nathan reached out for him as he stood up. "Don't, Brad. You know I hate seeing that."

  "Then don't look, honey." Brad shrugged his robe to the floor the pulled his red t-shirt over his head. "He set the blanket on fire. We were under it."

  Dean grimaced when he studied the severe pink burns that covered Brad's back from shoulders to waist. "My oldest did that to you?"

  "I'm just glad I was able to take most of it. Nathan had a couple of burns to his legs, but they've healed. Sir, I'm not saying Lance is a bad person, but he is dangerous. That's no fault on yours, sir. I don't mean that it's because of anything you did."

  He had to dispel the man's fears. "Calm down, son. I know what you're saying, and I agree."

  "He called me son." Bradley hopped into the booth. "Nathan, he called me son."

  Dean smiled at the two of them before he continued. "I will not allow Lance to do this to you or anyone else. What he did is a hate crime."

  Bradley put his arm around Nathan. "Not in the eyes of the Inquisition. Most of the higher-ranking inquisitors adhere to the old laws. That includes burning witches, sorcerers, blasphemers, and . . . homosexuals at the stake. They only turn a blind eye to our relationship because Nathan is the best scribe they've had in years and I'm an Iskaydrian who can trace ancestry back to one of their founding fathers."

  "Was Lance punished?" Dean asked.

  "Twenty-four lashes, but that's nothing for an enforcer like him. They're so drugged up with steroids and stuff that they barely feel pain anymore. It was mostly for show."

  "When can I see him? I'll make sure he doesn't hurt either of you again."

  A look of pure horror spread across Brad's face. "That's not a good idea, sir. Lance is a tank. He'll be able to rip you in half like you're a sheet of notebook paper. I tried fighting back when I found him punching the crap out of Nathan while he was taking a shower. That's when he ripped the shower head out of the wall and whacked me in the head with it. When I woke up, Nathan was being carried to the medical wing and Lance was buckling his belt."

  Nathan hid his face in his arms on the table.

  It was settled, then. "I see. So, Lance is beyond help. If there's anything I can do to help you, let me know. I'll do whatever I can."

  "Nathan received counseling, and he's working through it. I help him. We're recovering well, as long as Lance leaves us alone. He's been busy with assignments recently, so we've had some peace and quiet."

  The double doors creaked open as Father hobbled into the cafe with a golden cane holding him up on his weak legs. He approached the table and tapped the tip of his cane against the booth, making Nathan give a tiny mewl of surprise.

  "Father!" Brad jumped up then bowed. "What can we do for you, Your Excellency?"

  "There's been action in London around the spot for the wedding. If we're going to intercept Ellie before Xander can marry her, we need to move now. Mr. Amethyst, do you believe the boys are alive?"

  "Personally?" Dean asked, searching his soul for the answer until he found it. "Personally, I think they're too resilient to fall there. Like you said, Jack is powerful enough to take on Xander himself."

  Father thrust his cane towards the doors. "Very well, then I ask that you come with us. We know you are not Iskaydrian or Avelayan, but we will be able to take you with the help of a powerful Chronomancer. You have two hours to prepare for the journey. Inquisitor Ivy will fit you for some period-appropriate clothing. There's no telling what we're going into, so be on alert, Detective."

  Chapter 27

  Alexandria during the day was one of the most awe-inspiring locations Jack had ever seen. Like a glittering white pearl on the edge of the seemingly endless brown sands, the city was its own oasis. It was surrounded by trees, cliffs, and waterways filled with boats. A lighthouse burned, signaling its presence to all who journeyed by sea. White ibises waded in the canals along the outskirts where the poor lived in clay buildings with laundry hanging outside on bare tree branches. Stray cats moved around the area unbothered, sacred in Egypt.

  "Whoa!" Thyme pointed at the arched gateway into the city where guards in crimson tunics stood talking next to their steeds. "Jack, look!"

  Jack squeezed his knees tighter against the sage boy to make sure he didn't fall off the back of the white horse where he sat in front of him. He kept his pierced hears hidden below the white fabric that draped over his head and shoulders to keep the sun from baking him more than it already had. When they stole the horse, they also st
ole new clothes of nicer quality, matching green tunics with cream-colored wraps across their torsos and tall strapped sandals with brass buckles. They even found a set small enough for Thyme in the back of the poor weaver's home they raided.

  Sure, Jack felt guilty about stealing, but they had to survive. Without money or food in an ancient and foreign land, it was a necessity. Jack chewed on some hard bread while he rode next to his Time Knight who had his own black stallion, the same one from the night before.

  The two of them had ridden in few words across the desert while the harsh sunrise painted the forbidding sands like pink and orange sherbet. The tension from the night before grew heavier. It wasn't that Jack was mad at Niki, but he avidly wanted to avoid having to answer any questions about losing his father. Even when they stopped at an oasis to spar in awkward silence, due to Niki's insistence on teaching him to be moderately sufficient with a sword, they exchanged very few words.

  They were both exhausted from lack of sleep, fighting, and the sun that sapped the energy out of them. At least Thyme was bright-eyed and bouncing. The boy's feet had been bandaged, but the damage from the caning was so severe that he couldn't stand. Jack had to carry him everywhere. He planned to get Thyme to a hospital the moment they arrived back in the present. With the way they were swelling and purple, Jack feared broken bones.

  Thyme gasped again. "Jack, a chariot!"

  "I see it, buddy."

  The boy looked over to Niki with a pout on his pink lips. "Uncle Niki, don't be sad."

  "I'm not sad."

  "Ooh! Statues. They're fighters, right?"

  Jack rode across the white stone bridge with the marble statues of Greek warriors with javelins and others with swords and shields. "Soldiers. Greek soldiers."

  "Why not Egyptian soldiers?"

  The leather reins creaked when Niki tightened them in his hands. "Because anyone as dark or darker than me was viewed as being lower in society. They value pale people more."

  "Why?" Thyme asked, the sunlight catching in his eyes, making his identification disk visible momentarily.