by Rysa Walker
“Then why say that me getting hurt is your fault, Kate? I’d have been fighting them with or without you. It was just a matter of time.”
We’re both silent for a minute, and then he sighs. “I know this isn’t fair to you, but you’re the only person I can talk to about any of this. You have your dad, Connor, and Katherine, who all know what’s goin’ on, right? And most likely Trey as well, ’cause I’d bet the farm—now that I have one to bet—that he’s where you headed when you left here in such a rush.”
The answer is on my face, so I don’t say anything. And I’m just thinking he doesn’t have the right to guilt-trip me about this when he says, “I’m not out to make you feel bad. You were upset, and it’s only natural you’d seek out comfort. It’s just . . .”
“You needed comfort, too.”
“Yeah. I’m not asking you to hold my hand and tuck me into bed at night, not that I’ll argue if you find yourself so inclined. But we’re partners until this is over, and I’d like to think that you at least consider me a friend—oh, Kate, don’t cry, okay? You look like a shamed pup, and I never want to make you feel that way. If you cry, I’ll end up crying, too.”
I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand and try to hold them in, because they’re just making him feel worse. “I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a spoiled child. You have every right to be angry.”
“I’m not angry at you. Yeah, I was, but mostly at this whole situation that has you turning to someone else instead of me.”
I bite my lip to keep it from quivering, but another couple of tears sneak out of the corners of my eyes. Kiernan tries to move toward my end of the couch but grimaces when he moves his leg and mutters a few muted curses.
“God, would you just come here, Kate? I’ll behave, I promise. It wrecks me to see you cry and not be able to hold you. Or if you can’t do that, go to him and let him hold you. I’m making a bloody mess of everything.”
He looks so miserable. I can’t tell him no. I’m not even sure I want to.
I slide to his end of the couch and curl up next to him. We hold each other, and I cry—tears for the things we can’t change, or won’t change, but most of all, for things lost. And I fall asleep in his arms when we’re both cried out.
It’s dark in the cabin when I open my eyes, so I’ve no idea how long we slept. But it was deep and dreamless, and I don’t get much of that these days. I move away carefully, so that he doesn’t awaken, and then look around for a pencil and paper so that I can leave him a note.
Kiernan ~ I’ll be back tomorrow morning at eight. Please wait until I’m here to finish watching the points at Six Bridges. You shouldn’t have to do this alone. ~Kate
I underline the word wait three times, then give him a soft kiss on the cheek and tuck the note into the crease of his arm. And then I pull out the medallion and jump back to Trey.
Is that wrong?
Maybe.
I don’t really know anymore. All I know is that I have to stay true to the letter of the promise I made Trey, because I seem to be ripping its spirit to shreds.
∞15∞
The front porch of Katherine’s house is one place I’m reasonably sure Trey will be, since he’s picking me up for school at seven fifteen. My other option is to go back to the townhouse yesterday, but that carries a risk of bumping into my earlier self. While I could also run into myself here, this is my later self, and she will know I’m sitting out here on the porch swing at this moment. So if I’m dumb enough to look outside before Trey rings the doorbell, I deserve whatever headache may follow.
Trey comes through the gate a few minutes early, wearing the khaki pants and white button-down shirt that is the Briar Hill warm-weather uniform for guys. It’s what he wore when he’d stop by to see me after school in the last timeline. He’s a little less crumpled now than he usually was by day’s end, but this is his everyday look, the one I remember best, and my breath catches in my throat.
He smiles when he sees me on the swing, but it’s a confused smile. He’s expecting me to be in my school uniform, ready to go, and I’m in jeans and a T-shirt, both wrinkled. My face is probably still puffy from crying, and my hair is wild.
“I know what you’re about to say,” I begin, “and unless I oversleep the alarm, I’m already in my school clothes. Probably in the kitchen, finishing breakfast. I’ll go back and get a good night’s sleep before you ring the doorbell. I just needed to see you now.”
He sits down next to me on the swing and pulls me toward him. “I know. I felt the same way after last night, but since I’m not blessed with a CHRONOS key—”
“Cursed.”
He nods. “Yeah, that’s probably more accurate.”
The swing rocks us back and forth, and he just stares out at the road for several seconds, silent. I’m about to ask what’s on his mind when he says, “I thought about what you said. And you’re right, okay?”
“About?”
Trey gives me an odd look and then laughs. “About us?”
I’m not quite sure which thing about us he’s referring to, but he keeps going.
“And I know it’s a school night, but with your schedule right now, it could be weeks before you make it through five days of school, right?”
He’s definitely right. I’m going back to Kiernan’s as soon as we finish classes today. It’s not fair to make him watch the stable points at God’s Hollow on his own. I can’t even imagine being in that cabin alone, watching those people die.
“So, I’m thinking . . . maybe dinner tonight? I’ll get reservations someplace nice, so we can make it special.”
I’m a bit torn. I’ll probably be lousy company, given all that’s going on, but I did promise to try to give him equal time.
“I think that’ll be okay,” I say. “But pick me up at the townhouse.”
“Got it. Six o’clock?”
I nod, and then a big yawn hits me.
He kisses me on the forehead. “You need sleep. We have a big day and a big night ahead. Sweet dreams.”
I almost say “you, too,” until I realize that would be silly, so I just give him a sleepy smile and pull out the CHRONOS key. “Give me a couple of minutes, then ring the bell.”
I’d rather jump straight to my room, but I set the coordinates for the foyer, a minute after I jumped away yesterday afternoon, so that I can update Katherine and Connor.
They’re still on the couch, with their backs to the foyer. Katherine is grumbling about something, so I clear my throat to announce my presence.
“Kiernan’s okay,” I say.
Connor huffs. “As I said just before you took off.”
“You said it could have been a lot worse. Not the same thing. Anyway, the massacre at God’s Hollow, Six Bridges, whatever you want to call it, is definitely Saul’s work. I’m going back tomorrow after school to get more details. Right now, I’m going to sleep.”
When I get to my room, I call Dad to check on Grandpa, but I get his voice mail again. It feels like he’s been gone a week, so it’s a bit of a jolt to look at the time and see that it’s not even nine yet, which means he’s only been gone about eight hours. There’s also a message from Mom, but I’m too exhausted to chat.
I drink some water, run the toothbrush across my teeth a few times, and then collapse into bed, hoping to get a solid ten hours or so of nightmare-free sleep. But the fire dream sneaks up on me a little before daybreak. My subconscious clearly doesn’t go in for subtlety, because this time, in addition to all of the strangers, Kiernan and Trey are among those I “save” by tossing them out the window onto the sidewalk below, where they shatter to tiny bits. There’s no way to sleep after that. On the bright side, I have time to exercise before school.
After working out and showering, I eat my protein bar on the patio with Daphne, mostly so I won’t be tempted to peek at the front porch, where Trey will arrive in about two minutes. I don’t hear his car when it pulls up, but Daphne does. She gives a few barks and r
uns to the patio door before I call her back over. I think she can hear us talking out front as well, because she keeps giving me these pitiful looks, like she can’t understand why I’m here, but my voice is out there. And, more importantly, why I’m keeping her from her job as household greeter.
I’m at the door when Trey rings the bell a few minutes later, and I let Daphne out onto the porch, so she can get her barking, tail wagging, and sniffing out of the way. Then I reach up to give Trey a kiss.
He glances back over his shoulder at the swing, which hasn’t quite stopped moving, before he steps inside. “You know, this would be a lot easier to get used to if you had to go back to your TARDIS or whatever before you disappeared.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to mess with your head. It’s just that I’m having to find creative ways to keep my promise.”
“You still look tired,” he says, slipping an arm around my waist.
“Dreams.” I grab my backpack from the closet. “You look kind of wiped, too.”
“Yeah, well, I had a lot on my mind. But none of that today, right? First day of school! Aren’t you excited?”
He’s giving me a look that suggests he’s the polar opposite of excited, and I laugh.
“I know. I usually like school, but it’s hard to get enthused. I mean, I like that I’ll have classes with you. And Charlayne will be there—that’s a plus . . . I think. But so will Eve and her groupies, and there’ll be a bunch of new Cyrist teachers. I kind of feel like we’re walking into a snake pit.”
“Thanks, Kate. Way to make the new guy even more nervous.”
“Oh, give me a break,” I say, closing the door behind us. “I’ve never seen you in any social situation where you seemed even the slightest bit nervous.”
We arrive at Briar Hill with only a few minutes to spare. I point Trey toward his homeroom, which is, unfortunately, not the same as mine. He gives my hand a brief squeeze before he walks off. It’s a very clandestine squeeze, since we’re both pretty sure that the PDA rules are about to undergo a drastic overhaul.
I slide into my seat just as the first bell rings and glance around. The first thing I notice is Charlayne, two seats behind me. She gives me a little finger wave when I catch her eye and then turns back to say something to a guy seated on her right. The second thing I notice is that all of the new girls, most of whom I assume are from Carrington Day, and maybe a quarter of the girls I recognize from my classes last year at Briar Hill, are in a different style of uniform. The blue-and-gold plaid skirt that hits about an inch above the knee has been replaced with a longer beige skirt that’s only a few inches shorter than the one I’ve been wearing in 1905.
Apparently some of us missed a memo.
Two teachers—one I vaguely remember seeing in the halls last year and the other a short, middle-aged guy I’ve never seen before—are passing out folders of some sort. The new teacher slides one of the folders onto my desk, and I note the lotus tattoo on his hand. I hadn’t really looked at the tattoo on any of the male Cyrists, and I’m surprised to see that it’s blue, instead of the pink they use on the girls. I have to choke back a laugh, but it’s only partially successful, and I pretend I’m coughing to cover. The folder must be something that was used last year, because there’s a Carrington Day logo—a Spartan helmet with a Cyrist symbol on the side.
Eve and one of the three girls Charlayne tagged as an “Evelette” stroll into class just as the final bell sounds. Seats are assigned, so Eve is near the front. Her friend must be closer to the end of the alphabet, because she gives Eve a little pout and starts toward the back of the classroom. She’s only taken a few steps when she spots me and then hurries back to whisper something in Eve’s ear. Eve wrinkles her nose in distaste and flashes me an annoyed look, then whispers something back to the other girl, and they both laugh.
The Smart Board blinks to life for the morning announcements, and the Briar Hill mascot, a falcon that looks like the artist played too much Angry Birds, appears in his usual spot at the middle of the opening screen. Instead of his normal deep blue feathers and gold beak, however, he’s an odd plum shade. A collective groan goes up, not just from the Briar Hill crew but from everyone, followed by assorted grumbles.
The Briar Hill teacher finally says, “Enough. You’ll have time to voice your opinions later. And the answer to any questions you have is in the folder.”
The Pledge is apparently not recited at Carrington Day, because they sit silent and stiff at their desks while the rest of us stand. After we’re done, it’s our turn to sit uncomfortably as they all rise to face the Cyrist symbol on the screen and recite the Creed. When they reach the part where they say, “Enemies of The Way will face our Wrath and Judgment,” Eve shoots me a look. She’s clearly trying to get under my skin, and it would almost be funny if it wasn’t also kind of sick. With everything that’s on the line right now, everything the Cyrists are planning, Eve is still interested in stupid schoolgirl games.
I wait until Eve and her friend push through the door and then stuff the magical answers-to-everything folder into my bag.
Charlayne is standing next to my desk when I look up. “Well, that was enlightening,” she says. “Did you hear what Bensen, the guy sitting next to me, called the new bird mascot? The Purple Pigeon. I think that has a certain ring to it.”
“Or maybe they should switch things up,” I say. “We could paste the blue-and-gold plaid from the Briar Hill uniforms on the Carrington Day mascot, and he’d be the Tartan Spartan.”
We merge into the flow in the hallway. Everyone seems much taller now that the middle school crowd has been shipped over to Carrington.
“That’s even better,” she says. “And maybe the Tartan Spartan could carry the Purple Pigeon around on his shoulder. This could be good. Too bad no one will listen to us.”
“Yeah. Although to be honest, I’m not really into the whole school-spirit thing.”
“I can see why, with a bird for a mascot.” She turns to the side so that I can see the emblem stitched to her backpack—a guy with a purple helmet and cape that hangs slightly open to reveal his well-muscled arms and torso. “But I liked our Spartan. He’s ho—” She stops, takes a deep breath, and rephrases. “He’s . . . historical.”
I laugh. Non-Cyrist Charlayne is still in there. Most definitely.
“Yeah,” I say. “Historical is nice. And he’s also wicked hot.”
Charlayne rolls her eyes, but the sides of her mouth twitch, and it takes several seconds for her to tamp down the grin that’s trying to sneak out.
“If you say so,” she says primly. “I hadn’t really noticed.”
I glance around the cafeteria for Trey, but I can’t find him. I only need to watch one side of the room, however, because an invisible line runs through the center, separating the Cyrists from the more familiar Briar Hill faces. The one positive thing I can say about the merger is that it seems to have at least partially erased the social cliques that divided us. There’s a sense of solidarity, and several students I’m pretty sure didn’t know I existed last year gave me friendly smiles in the hallway. They probably don’t have a clue who I am, and probably don’t care, but the shorter plaid skirt tags me as one of us, not one of them.
I finally locate Trey at the other entrance to the cafeteria and give him a wave. We merge into the line and pick out a few of the less icky options. Apparently the cluster of kids directly in front of us is used to a better assortment, because they whine and complain all the way to the cashier. And, yes, Briar Hill’s lunches do kind of suck. If not for the salad bar and yogurt, I’d definitely pack a lunch from home. But their tone still gets under my skin, and I suspect the same is true for the servers, because one of them plops a scoop of mashed potatoes onto a Cyrist guy’s plate hard enough for it to splatter onto his shirt. And she doesn’t look the least bit sorry.
We’ve just found an empty table, close to the virtual Berlin Wall, when Charlayne and the guy from homeroom, the one she call
ed Bensen, drop their backpacks into the other two chairs.
Charlayne scans our food. “You’re the only person I know who’s survived a Briar Hill lunch. Can I assume the chicken sandwiches and fries are edible?”
“The fries aren’t bad, but Trey’s gambling with that sandwich. The salad bar is good. Real bacon, not the fake stuff, assuming it’s not already gone.”
As I suspected, bacon is a major selling point for Charlayne. She smiles and tugs at the guy’s arm. “Come on, Ben.”
I’m returning her smile when it occurs to me that something is wrong with this picture. It was natural for Charlayne to walk with me to history, since we’re in the same class. But then she walked with me to second period, and gym isn’t exactly on the way to the Arts Annex. She was also near my locker between third and fourth period, and now she and Ben are the sole Cyrists sitting in the Land of the Unwashed Heathen.
The smile freezes on my face. Charlayne is spying on me.
“The sandwich isn’t half bad if you add ketchup,” Trey says, and then notices my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Charlayne. I’m pretty sure she’s been told to sit here. Look around. Are there any other Cyrists on this side of the cafeteria?”
He smiles sadly. “I thought you’d already figured that out. I mean, it’s a little too convenient, don’t you think? Your best friend from before plays for the other team, but she wants to be your BFF again.”
Now I feel stupid, because, of course, he’s right. Just because my conversation with Charlayne felt natural, just because she seems like the old Charlayne, doesn’t mean she is. I felt a connection, but I was probably the only one who felt it. Wanting something doesn’t make it real.
Trey dips one of the fries in ketchup and waves it in front of me. I shake my head, and he shrugs, popping it into his mouth instead. “So, do we tell them to go back to their own side or play along?”
“Play along. I’d much rather sit here with just you, but I can’t let Eve or Prudence or whoever the hell is behind this know that I finally . . . finally . . . caught on. Playing dumb shouldn’t be too tough—it seems to be a natural talent.”
