by Rysa Walker
“About thirty miles away, over toward Greensboro. He might have also referred to it as God’s Hollow.”
“It’s not ringing any bells. Why?”
“Everyone who lived there was killed in September of 1911, about fifty people total. They were found all together, in their church. Kiernan says the bodies look a lot like those he saw after some war in the 2070s, something Simon showed him. Simon also mentioned Six Bridges to Kiernan one night when he was drunk. Apparently it was something Saul told Simon about a mistake he’d made long ago.”
Katherine raises an eyebrow. “Saul admitted to a mistake? Doesn’t sound like him.”
“I don’t know, Katherine. I’m just reporting back what Kiernan told me. Anyway, we took a trip over to—” I stop and hold up a hand, because she’s clearly about to interrupt. “We drove over a few weeks before the deaths happened and set up some stable points so that we could observe the village. The authorities think whatever killed them was in the well, so I have a few points set there and several in the church. Kiernan’s going to watch those locations. I’ll check back with him shortly. Hopefully we’ll be able to find out what happened.”
“And what do you plan to do if you discover something? You can’t stop it—”
“Yes, I know,” I snap, then remind myself to breathe deeply and get a grip before I go on. “I know that, Katherine. I’ve been reminding myself of that fact for the past few hours. If the well was tampered with by Saul, or anyone else with a CHRONOS key, we’ll go in afterward and get a sample. Connor, can you see about ordering something we can use to transport a . . . I guess it’s called a biohazard? I’m hesitant to bring something like that back with me, but it might not be a bad idea to have someone working on an antidote. If I can’t stop Saul, maybe we can at least limit the damage.”
It’s obvious from both of their faces that they don’t disagree with that point, but then Katherine starts in about how it’s too dangerous for me to go back to God’s Hollow, and Connor asks who we would get to examine the sample. They’re both talking over each other, and I sink back into the couch and close my eyes.
Finally, Connor clues in that I’ve checked out and says, “Okay, this is getting us nowhere. If we determine that it’s Saul, we obviously need that sample, so either Kate or Kiernan or both of them will need to go back and retrieve it. It would probably be best to have Kiernan handle it, like you did with Copenhagen. So all we need to do is find someone who has the technical skill to analyze the sample and who doesn’t have ties to the Cyrists or the govern—”
“What did you say?”
“We need someone with the technical skills—”
I sit back up and stare at him. “No. Before that. About Copenhagen. And Kiernan.”
“Just that you’d probably get him to handle this one, too,” he says and then looks down, shaking his head. “On a personal level, I’d prefer that my ancestor didn’t have to take that degree of risk, but I know that there’s a lot more at stake here than getting my family back. And at least you took precautions. If he hadn’t been wearing body armor, one of those bullets might have done permanent damage—”
He stops suddenly, my facial expression finally registering. “Oh. You didn’t know.”
“I most certainly did not.” I yank my CHRONOS key out of the leather pouch and pull up the coordinates Kiernan and I agreed upon before I left his cabin. I’d planned on doing this tomorrow evening, after school, when I was better rested and my head was clear, but he’s forced my hand. “We’ll have to finish this conversation later.”
Katherine reaches over and grabs my wrist, causing the display to waver. “Katherine,” I say, “please let go. Kiernan and I need to have a little chat.”
She releases her grip, but as I’m pulling up the stable point again, she says. “I was just going to note that Kiernan made the decision we would have made as a group, Kate. Having him retrieve Moehler’s key in Copenhagen was the logical decision.”
“Yeah, well maybe that’s your view, and Connor’s, but unless I missed something, Kiernan didn’t bother to get input from any of us, did he? This was a . . .” My brain is beyond tired, and I have trouble finding the word for a second. “A rogue operation, Katherine. He didn’t have the right to make that decision, to take that kind of risk, on his own.”
BOGART, GEORGIA
October 6, 1905, 4:00 p.m.
Kiernan’s mouth is set into a thin, firm line, and he’s staring at the stable point. It almost feels like he can see me. Judging from the look in his eyes, he knows exactly how pissed I’m going to be. And he doesn’t care.
My first thought is to play it cool. He’s expecting angry, because his Kate would have been angry. So I’m going to give him calm and collected.
That lasts for maybe two seconds after I jump in. The first thing that I notice is that the left leg of his jeans is unusually tight about six inches above the knee, the fabric straining to accommodate a bandage. At that point, I lose it, spewing forth a string of words that would get me grounded for a week if Mom was in the room.
“Are you finished?” he asks, his voice cool.
“No. I’m pretty sure I’m just getting started.”
“Fine. Since I’d much prefer to discuss this with a rational human being, I’ll just sit here quietly until your childish tantrum runs its course.”
“Childish? How can you call me childish when you’re the one who rushes off into danger without discussing this with anyone? You could have been killed, Kiernan!”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t. And you’d have faced exactly the same risk if you’d been the one who went in. Give me one good reason why the risk would have been any less if you’d gone in rather than me.”
I think for a moment. “I was talking about both of us going in, but actually, yes, it would have been less for me, because I’m a smaller target.”
Kiernan rolls his eyes. “I’ll grant you that. But if you think me taking a risk was stupid, then both of us taking one would be doubly stupid.”
He has a point, even though I’m not inclined to admit it. “You have to agree that the risk to the timeline is greater when you put yourself at risk. I never had kids, Kiernan. Grandkids. Great-grandkids? Connor has sacrificed a lot, you know. He realizes getting his family back may not happen, but you getting killed would wipe out all hope. And we’d also have to keep back one of the CHRONOS keys to avoid having him pop out of existence, right?”
“Connor was quite happy to get Moehler’s key. Don’t put this off on him. This is about you not getting to call the shots.”
It’s nice to have him misread me for once, to have him assume that this is some sort of weird control issue. Because it isn’t. Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure why I reacted so strongly. We’re both taking risks—and so are Connor, Katherine, even Dad. Maybe even Trey and his family. It probably would have been riskier if we’d both gone, and I’m pretty sure he could have convinced me of that point if he’d tried, as much as it would have worried me.
“I don’t want to call the shots, Kiernan. I—”
His right eyebrow is raised, like he’s waiting for me to finish, and I remember the cut on his forehead. It’s entirely healed now. There’s a very thin, faint pink line where the cut was, but the bruise has faded to the point that it’s indistinguishable from the other skin on his tanned face.
I’ve been the first one to jump almost every time we’ve traveled together. With very few exceptions, Kiernan has followed behind me on each jump. And unless he’s the world’s fastest healer, he’s sometimes following several days later.
“How many days since I was here last, Kiernan? When you taught me to shoot the gun? You told me to come back in three days, right?”
He nods, reluctantly.
“And that’s what I did, but it’s been more like a week for you, hasn’t it? And when we jumped to 1911, before we rode the bikes over to God’s Hollow, you had to wait a few days, didn’t you? That cut on your head was pretty fresh w
hen I first arrived, and I noticed when we were talking to Martha and Sister Elba that it had faded. So, I’m thinking you weren’t able to follow me immediately. Am I right?”
I wait for him to respond, but he just looks at me, so I go on. “How far out of your own timeline are you right now? Do you even know?”
His mouth twists. “Of course, I know, Kate. I’m not a bloody idiot. I’m eleven days and seventeen hours off my normal timeline right now. And, yes, there have been a couple of instances where I’ve had trouble with the key. I told you it’s not easy for me. I’m doing the best I can.”
“Yes, but you’re doing things you don’t have to do! What if you’d gotten to Copenhagen and couldn’t manage to get back immediately? You could have been killed.”
His eyes drift away from my face, and there’s an odd downward twitch to his mouth. He pushes his chair back and gets up.
“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you were shot. You couldn’t steady the interface the first time.”
Kiernan doesn’t answer. He just turns toward the door and walks out, limping. He bangs both the cabin door and the porch door on his way out. Pretty sad for someone who seems to think he’s being the adult here.
I follow him outside to a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the woods. He’s leaning against a limb that swoops out almost parallel to the ground. I walk over and pull myself up onto the bough, a foot or so away from where Kiernan is standing.
We stay like that for a minute or so, just looking out at the woods, saying nothing. I swing my feet slowly beneath the branch, taking deep breaths, trying to rein my temper back in. After my outburst, I suspect Kiernan is reassessing his comment about me being a calmer version of his Kate, but if he was this big of an idiot around her, it wasn’t just Katherine who kept her angry.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“I can do an average of two round trips a day, more or less, depending on how far in time and distance.”
“Not that. I meant the bullet wound.”
He shrugs dismissively. “Flesh wound on the outer thigh. If it had been two inches to the left, it wouldn’t even have grazed me. Looks more like a gash or a burn than a bullet wound, really. Missed the family jewels, so Connor is theoretically safe. Although I have no idea who the woman is in that picture he showed me. Or even where that farm might be.”
“Connor showed you the two different family pictures?”
“After I asked, yeah. I do like the look of the farm family a lot better than the one where I’m toting around a Book of Cyrus. But judging from the age of the kids in that one, I should have started on that family a few years back.” He slides over a little closer to where I’m sitting on the branch. “And it’s hard to get enthused about starting a family with someone I’ve never met when . . .” His voice trails off when I close my eyes. The words hang in the air, unspoken but unmistakable.
After a few awkward seconds, he shifts the subject a bit. “I did use that Kevlar stuff, you know. You can check up in the loft if you’d like—I haven’t had a chance to take it back yet. Even managed to mostly hide a helmet under one of those stupid-looking fur hats. I wasn’t hotdogging.”
“I didn’t say you were, Kiernan. I just wish you’d be honest with me!”
He looks over at me, his eyes doubtful, and holds my gaze for a long moment. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
The word is barely out before his mouth is on mine. He slips one arm beneath my legs, lifting me off the branch, while the other curves around my back, pressing my body against his. Kiernan groans softly and shifts the pressure away from his injured leg when my weight is added to his, but he doesn’t let me go. He just leans his shoulders against the limb and pulls me tighter, the kiss deepening.
The rational voice inside my brain clears its throat and whispers Trey’s name. Brain and body are clearly not speaking the same language, however. My hands, instead of pushing away, clutch tighter for just a second—one grips the collar of his shirt, and the other holds the back of his neck, my fingers laced through his hair.
And then the rational voice realizes that polite insistence simply isn’t going to cut it and screams loudly enough that my body has no choice but to listen.
Kiernan senses the change in me and breaks off the kiss. I start to turn away, but he doesn’t release me. His hand slides up to the back of my head, and he turns my face around to his so that I have no choice but to look him in the eyes.
“That was me being honest, Kate. That is what I want to do every second I’m near you.” His voice softens, and he leans forward, pressing his lips against my neck. “And that was you being honest, too, before you decided to put your mask back on.”
I start to speak, but he shakes his head. “I’m not saying you don’t care about Trey. I know you do. You might even be in love with him, although I don’t like thinking about that possibility. All I’m saying is you have feelings for me, too. And don’t give me any crap about my inflated ego. I’ve seen you in love with me before, and I still see something of that in your eyes. I’ve tried to tell myself it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s not. If you want to keep pretending, I won’t stop you, but please don’t lecture me about honesty unless you’re willing to stop lying to me and to yourself.”
Kiernan slides me down to the ground, and I take several steps away. It’s not that I don’t trust him. I’m pretty sure he’s made his point. But I’ve put mind and soul under far too much stress for one day, and I’d rather keep a little distance between us.
Because I know that he’s right. I care for him more than I should, more than I want to, and way more than is fair to Trey. That’s the not-so-simple truth, and I’ve known it since we kissed on the Wooded Island, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
“While we’re being honest, love,” he says, “this leg is bloody killing me. Can we finish this conversation inside?”
I nod and follow him back into the cabin. Kiernan hobbles over to the couch and sits at one end, propping his leg on a large ottoman. He has on his get-back-to-business face, and I’m not even slightly inclined to argue. I sit down on the far end of the couch and turn to face him, trying to get my brain back into some semblance of order.
Kiernan tugs a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, wincing slightly when he moves the injured leg. “This is a list of the coordinates you should watch—times I’ve located so far where Saul shows up. I still need to finish watching inside the church itself, but, yeah, it’s him. I watched the location above the well first, and he clearly drops a vial of something into the water. It was night, and I couldn’t see much, other than the fact that he was wearing gloves and some sort of mask over his nose and mouth. He looks a little younger than he did at the Expo, but that could just be because he’s clean shaven and in normal clothes rather than the rich-bloke costume he wore at the Fair. He talks to Martha in front of the chapel for a long time. She had that same look as when she was staring at me. They seriously need to introduce that kid to some boys closer to her own age.”
A shadow passes over his face, and I’m pretty sure he’s just remembered that no one will be introducing Martha to anybody. “And Saul—I mean, I can’t hear what he says, but his expression. God, it made me want to jump in and knock his stupid head off, because he’s . . . what? . . . thirty? She can’t be more than thirteen.”
She’s probably closer to fifteen, but the point is still more than valid.
He pulls in a deep breath and says, “I’m sorry, Kate. Okay? Not for kissing you. I’m not one bit sorry about that, though I’ll try not to do it again without your permission. I’ll try.” He gives me a fleeting smile and then goes on. “What I meant is I’m sorry we didn’t discuss Copenhagen first. I was just so damned angry at you—”
“Why? What did I do that you’re pissed at me?”
He starts to speak, then stops, leaning back against the sofa and rubbing his temples for a few seconds before he continues. “Maybe it’s n
ot fair. But you left here the other day with hardly a word about what happened at Six Bridges. You insisted that we immediately go to 1938, and then once we were finished, you rushed off. Like the situation was entirely my fault, like you blamed me for bringing it to your attention.”
“Kiernan, no. I was tired and upset. I wanted to go home. As a matter of fact, I’m still tired and upset. That was only a few hours ago for me. I was reporting back to Connor and Katherine when they mentioned Copenhagen and said you’d been shot. That you were lucky you weren’t killed. I was worried about you, okay? And pissed that you didn’t tell me what you were doing, that you could have been killed and it would have been my fault.”
His eyebrows go up. “Why would it be your fault? You don’t control my decisions, Kate. I should have discussed it with you, but I’d have retrieved Moehler’s key from Copenhagen whether it got the Cyrist Fighters’ stamp of approval or not.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t even be involved with this if I hadn’t taken you back to Estero and . . .”
My voice trails off, but it’s out, and I suspect he caught it, too. I never took him to Estero. That was Other-Kate. When did I start thinking of the things she did as my responsibility?
He watches my face for a minute. I assume he’s going to gloat, having so often pointed out that I am she and she is me. But his eyes are sad, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, barely a whisper.
“Do you think so little of me, Kate?”
Okay. What did I miss? I just shake my head, confused.
“Do you think I’d have just stood by and watched Saul wipe out countless innocents? Or, hell, countless people? I don’t care if they’re innocent or not. Do you think it doesn’t twist my gut to walk among those people at Six Bridges and know they’re all going to die at Saul’s hand? That I could physically stop it, but . . .” He shakes his head. “Or maybe you just think I’m so bloody stupid I’d never have caught on and would’ve followed Cyrist orders to kill—”
“Stop it! You know I don’t think any of that.”
