by K. C. Archer
Teddy let that sink in. She’d had no clue what she was doing in Sector Three. What if her accidental trip had trapped her in that particular time loop—watching her father’s torture, her mother’s desperate panic—for eternity? She shuddered.
“Travel happens when your astral self separates from your physical self. Just like in your telekinesis. But instead of extending only one part of your body, you’re going to detach completely. We’ll begin by working on foundations. Then we’ll work on moving through space—how to project your astral self onto different points in the present time line. Afterward, we can think about looking toward the past. As the diagram explains.”
He stood at the chalkboard, pointing to the x’s and o’s, though Teddy wasn’t sure what each letter was supposed to represent. Was she an x? Or an o? Whatever letter, Clint was basically telling her that she could teleport.
“It’s important to remember the astral principle that time isn’t linear but simultaneous. Then you can travel anywhere you want. It’s not about going backward or forward. Just about switching lanes.” Clint flipped the board over. “Traveling in the present is the easiest. You’re not projecting yourself through time. Just space. We call this remote viewing. It’s the most common skill. Remote viewers use their astral bodies to see locations thousands of miles away.”
Teddy’s thoughts flickered to Stargate, the top-secret government program Dara had mentioned. She watched as Clint drew a circle on the board, which Teddy assumed was a representation of her. Underneath, he wrote the word present.
“The past is trickier,” he said. “Events are fixed. But to be able to sift through time to find exactly the right moment? It can be like finding a needle in a haystack.” Past went in the bottom left corner of the board. “And traveling to the future? As you know from last year, psychics can have visions of multiple futures, some that never come to pass. So visiting a future event will be the most challenging of all.” At the top right of the chalkboard, Clint wrote the word future. “My hope for you, Teddy, as someone with astral abilities? Is that you can master them all.” He drew a diagonal slash across the board, connecting past, present, and future.
“So,” Teddy said. “No big deal.”
“I know it seems like a lot, but we’ll do it in stages. Our first goal is to work on present travel. As I mentioned, that’s the simplest.” He tossed aside the chalk and resumed his seat. “On that topic, I wanted to talk about your yellow-house dreams from last year.”
She tensed. “What about them?”
“Was your mother there?”
Teddy recalled the warmth she’d felt the first time she’d walked up the steps of the cottage. The cheerful green door, the smell of dinner cooking. She’d felt her mother’s presence. “Sometimes.” She looked at Clint. “Why, can people see me when I travel?”
“No. But there’s evidence suggesting that other astral travelers can see or at least sense each other’s presence.”
Her mother had noticed her in Sector Three. But in the yellow house, Teddy had never even seen her mother. Yet Teddy had always felt an intuition, like Marysue was right there waiting for her just around the corner.
Clint didn’t have to push into Teddy’s head to read her thoughts. “I think you were traveling in those dreams. To the past or the present or even the future, I’m not sure. Only you know what you saw, what you felt. But in altered states—like through dreams, meditation, or certain drugs—it becomes easier to separate your astral body and to visit other locations and time lines.”
The dreams had felt real. Maybe that was why they’d had such a deep impact on her over the years. Before she’d ever set foot in the house in Jackpot, she’d recognized it. She’d known every hallway, every room. Because she’d been there. Her astral travel had taken her there.
Clint continued. “It’s fortunate that you’re studying psychometry this year with Professor Dunn. There may be a shortcut for us here. Not that I’m a fan of shortcuts, but there’s an astral theory about a phenomenon called Pilgrim’s Tunnels.”
“What, does it take you back to the first Thanksgiving?” Teddy asked. “Can we reveal the holidays as a crock made up by Hallmark?”
C’mon. Laugh. If you laugh, I can convince myself there’s a chance you’re not going to punish my mother at the end of all this.
Clint narrowed his eyes. “No. It’s named after a famous traveler named Robert Pilgrim. They’re vortexes—tunnels through time and space that let you travel without doing the meditative work of separating your bodies—”
“Tunnels?” Teddy said, her heart rate picking up. That was what it had felt like back in the bunker, like she was being forced through a tunnel. But Clint was saying her body had stayed in the present Sector Three, and only her astral self had ventured through time.
“Tunnels, yes. With the help of an object related to the event or person you’re trying to locate, the psychometric connection creates a vortex or a tunnel. We’re working on finding an object of Marysue’s, but Pilgrim theorized that this shortcut would be possible even without an object, if the traveler was connected to the event or person. Especially if the connection was genetic. And since you mentioned your dreams . . .” Clint trailed off.
Teddy fought the urge to reach into her pocket and touch her mother’s pendant. “When do we start?”
“In a minute,” he said. “I want to caution you about travel, especially to the past. Because there are rules you must adhere to. First, you can’t change what’s happened.”
Unbidden, Teddy’s eyes settled on the screw that sat on Clint’s desk. The one from Sector Three. The one that Clint kept to remind himself of what had happened, what he’d lost.
“What’s done is done, Teddy. What’s in the past stays there.”
“I’ve seen The Butterfly Effect,” Teddy said. “Even though I wish I hadn’t. Not Ashton Kutcher’s greatest work.”
Clint crossed his arms. Gave her The Look.
“All right. I get it, don’t touch anything.”
“Don’t be flip about this. Your astral body, just like in your telekinesis, is able to interact with the physical world. So sure, it may seem like a joke to move”—Clint looked down at his desk—“a screw. But who knows what the ramifications might be? It’s called the butterfly effect for a reason. Even the smallest event, like the landing of a butterfly, can result in world-altering repercussions for the future.”
“Understood.”
“I hope so. Any change you make to the past, even if it’s accidental, could result in a future you’re not a part of and erase the fact that you ever existed, leaving you with no physical body to come back to. You’d be trapped in the astral plane forever.”
Teddy rubbed her forehead. This was a lot. She thought of her impromptu OBE in Sector Three. She hadn’t touched anything, but still. Teddy knew herself. If she’d done something . . . She ran her finger over her arm. Remembered the shattered glass. “You said that my astral body can touch physical objects. That means I can get hurt while traveling.”
Clint nodded. “If you’re wounded while traveling, your physical body will be wounded. And if you die while traveling, the entirety of your consciousness—who you are—will cease to exist. Doctors may be able to heal your physical body, but what’s left would be an empty shell.”
Teddy shivered.
“Are you with me, Teddy? Knowing all the risks?”
She wasn’t with him, not like he thought. But he didn’t have to know that. She sent another burst of energy to her mental shield and nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” His impassive features rarely gave anything away, but she didn’t miss the flash of relief that crossed his face. In that instant, she realized that Clint needed her, just like Yates did. She stored that bit of knowledge away. When people were desperate, Teddy Cannon could use it to her advantage.
Clint gestured to the couch in the corner of his office. “Today I’d like to guide you through some meditation in order to work o
n detaching your astral body completely from your physical body.” He turned on a CD player. New age music filled the room—hand cymbals, a flowing creek, a flute. So like Jillian, and so unlike Clint. Teddy settled on the couch and tried to relax as he began to recite the guided meditation, telling her to be conscious of her breathing, counting to four so she would slow down her inhalations and exhalations. But she couldn’t. She felt his anxious stare like a weight upon her mind.
Teddy felt utterly relieved when a knock on Clint’s door interrupted them. “I’m sorry. I should have put a sign up,” he said.
The door opened and there stood Nick, who looked from Clint to Teddy. “Apologies, I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
“It’s fine.” Teddy swung her legs over the side of the couch and sat up. She was grateful for a reprieve. “Only the possibility of me traveling through time and space and being trapped forever in another vortex.”
Nick furrowed his brow. “I can come back—”
“What is it, Nick?” Clint asked.
“You know that break-in Boyd asked me to look into?” He paused, shot a significant glance at Teddy. “I just received some information.”
Clint nodded at Teddy. She got the memo. Time to go. “I was just leaving.” She stood and grabbed her backpack.
She made a hasty exit and closed the door behind her but lingered for just a moment, curious about this mysterious break-in that had captured Boyd’s attention. She assumed it was something that had happened on campus. Another break-in at the lab, maybe. Was Jeremy back? Some news of Molly? But as they spoke, the low rumble of Clint’s voice produced two words with distinct clarity.
Hyle Pharmaceuticals.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TEDDY FROZE OUTSIDE CLINT’S OFFICE. If she could pull off astral travel, she’d be behind that door in a heartbeat. A break-in at Hyle Pharmaceuticals. The likelihood that her friend and said friend’s alternative-pants-wearing activist boyfriend were involved? One hundred percent. Whitfield dining hall organically cleared, USDA-certified, no additives, preservatives, or artificial flavors required, Grade-A definitely.
Teddy rubbed her forehead. That was why Jillian had pulled that all-nighter on Friday in San Francisco. It all added up now: missing curfew, her dark clothing, her reluctance to account for her whereabouts. The chance that Nick would discover Jillian’s involvement was practically guaranteed. He was an FBI agent, after all. No way would two amateurs be able to break in to a pharmaceutical lab without leaving some evidence behind. Knowing Jillian, she had probably cuddled half the dogs in the lab, leaving her DNA on every surface possible.
Oh, Jillian. What have you done?
Even though Teddy wanted to hear more, she had to get back to the dorm to warn Jillian. Right after giving her a talking-to for her recklessness. Being an activist was one thing. But this was breaking and entering. It was exactly the kind of illegal activity that could get Jillian kicked out of Whitfield. Teddy couldn’t let that happen. She’d already lost Molly. She wouldn’t lose another friend.
By the time Teddy reached her room, she’d worked herself into a state of high anxiety. If she didn’t take a breath and calm down, she’d end up ripping Jillian a new aura instead of getting the information she needed to understand what was happening in Clint’s office. Be there for her, Teddy coached herself. That’s what friends do. She thought back to last year, when Jillian had done that for her.
Inside their room, she found Jillian lying down with a damp washcloth on her forehead. Teddy stopped in the doorway. Obviously Jillian hadn’t slept well (if she’d slept at all) in the last couple of days. As she entered, Jillian removed the washcloth and glanced up: her usually bright eyes were dull.
Teddy took a deep breath and tried to channel her roommate’s cheerier disposition. “Hey there. You okay?”
Jillian didn’t respond.
“Look, we need to talk about whatever’s going on with you and Eli.”
Jillian blinked once and resumed her very important task of studying the water stains on the ceiling.
Teddy took a step closer to Jillian’s bed. Maybe a joke would lighten the mood, bring her out of her funk. “If it’ll make you feel better, I can chant. I can sage this whole place down. But I’m drawing the line at anything involving nudity.”
Jillian blinked again. That was when Teddy ran out of patience. “I just came from Clint’s office,” she said. “They know about the break-in at Hyle Pharmaceuticals.”
Finally, after a silence that lasted too long for comfort, Jillian drew in a ragged breath and said, “You have no idea what they’re doing to the animals in that lab. Testing some kind of new drug on them. There was this one black Lab. Sadie. She must have been, like, twelve years old. Oh, Teddy, it was horrible.”
Teddy wanted to yell at her for being so stupid that she’d gotten caught, but the middle of a sob story about a furry pharmaceutical test subject wasn’t the best moment.
“What happened?” she asked instead.
“After HEAT found out what was going on in the lab, we came up with a plan to break in and set the animals free.”
Whatever it takes.
Finally, Teddy knew exactly what that meant—days too late to do anything about it.
Jillian continued, “I told Eli I knew about secured facilities. That I’d had some experience getting in and out without detection. But the whole thing was a disaster.”
She seemed relieved to be confiding in Teddy. But with each new detail of the botched mission, Teddy felt worse. Jillian, plus animals in danger, multiplied by Eli, equaled bad decisions—ones driven by emotion, not by logic.
“Why didn’t you talk to me before you did anything?” Teddy asked.
“I wanted to. But you were so rude to Eli the other night. You didn’t care at all about the animals. None of you did. How could I expect you to understand why we had to break in and stop it?”
“So this is all my fault?”
“This isn’t about you, Teddy.” Jillian reached for a crumpled tissue and dabbed at her cheeks, then leaned back against her pillow. “The point is, we weren’t doing any harm. We just wanted to free those poor dogs. We didn’t get far, anyway. A security guard spotted us, so we ran.”
“You were seen? Jesus, Jillian.” Teddy ran a hand through her hair. “If you get kicked out of Whitfield, then what? You won’t be able to help anyone, human or animal. You really want to risk everything you’ve worked so hard for? Is Eli worth it?”
Jillian’s eyes flashed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he is. But I didn’t do it for Eli. I did it for the animals. Someone needed to take action on their behalf. And even though we didn’t release them, at least we have proof of Hyle’s misdoings.” She stood abruptly, went to her desk to shuffle through her papers, then tossed a lab report on Teddy’s lap. “There, read it for yourself.”
Teddy ignored it. She didn’t need to open the report to read the writing on the wall: Jillian Blustein was about to be expelled from Whitfield for breaking in to a secure lab. And not for the first time.
“Listen, when Clint asks you about the lab, can you say that it was Eli’s idea? That you had no idea what he’d planned until it was too late?”
“I knew what I was getting into.”
“I understand that, but—”
“Forget it, Teddy. I’m not throwing Eli under the bus.”
Teddy couldn’t believe it. Even when Jillian’s ass was on the line, she was still worried about Eli. Teddy switched tactics and tried again. “Look, Nick and Clint must know that someone from school is involved with the break-in, otherwise, why would they be looking into it? Boyd ordered the investigation. After what happened last year, that means there’ll be serious consequences.”
Jillian went quiet, her eyes now dry. Teddy waited for Jillian to soften again so she could continue. That was what had always happened before. But this time Jillian spoke first. “Yeah,” she said. “Well, whose fault it that?”
Ouch.
&n
bsp; Before Teddy could think of a reply, Dara appeared at the door. “Hey,” she said. “Boyd is looking for you.”
“Me?” Teddy asked. Force of habit, because Boyd was perennially pissed at her.
“Not you,” Dara said. “Boyd’s in Clint’s office with Nick. They want to see Jillian right away. And they don’t look happy.”
* * *
Teddy waited in the room for Jillian to return. After two hours had passed, Teddy wandered to Clint’s office to see if the interrogation was still under way, harboring the vague, absurdly unlikely idea that she might be able to help. But no. Clint’s office was locked, and the lights were off. Nor was Jillian at the dining hall, the gym, or the library. Fighting back images of her friend being strong-armed onto a ferry and escorted off the island, Teddy made her way down to the docks. No sign of Jillian there, either. Her concern mounting, Teddy turned to hike back to main campus.
When she was back at the door of her room, before she could insert her key, Jillian’s high-pitched giggle echoed into the hall. Teddy’s concern turned to anger. She’d spent hours walking around campus looking for her roommate, and she’d been in their room playing carefree schoolgirl?
A second later, the door swung open, revealing Pyro. In her room. With Jillian.
But one glance past him let her know there was nothing funny going on. At least not that kind of funny.
Jillian stood on her bed, waving two silk scarves in the air. “And when you talk to a cow,” she was telling Dara, “you can’t put up with any bull. Get it?”
“Yeah, Jillian.” Dara sighed. “I get it.”
Pyro grimaced at Teddy. “She might have gone a little overboard with the tequila.”
“You think?” Teddy reached for the bottle. Break-ins and now contraband. She wondered if she knew Jillian at all.
Dara frowned at Teddy. “What happened to you?”
“Oh, nothing much. I just spent the last two hours wandering around like a complete idiot, looking for Jillian.”
