Lightning Rider (Lightning Rider Alterations)

by Jen Greyson

  Penya told me as much, but I lean forward to hear Ilif’s answer.

  “It’s incredibly simple, but we guard the method closely, allowing us to control who goes, where they arrive, when and where they return. But all that is irrelevant to this conversation. Arcing is the only type that matters. It is the only type I will support. All other time travel is merely tourism.”

  “I suppose if anyone can time travel . . .”

  Come on, Papi. You’re almost there.

  “Your father would have wanted you to carry on this work. His life’s work,” Ilif says.

  Wow. Ballsy move.

  Papi stares at me, and I keep my face impassive. We’re precariously balanced here.

  “I’m not sure what other questions to ask. The information seems transparent enough. I want to go without Evy, though . . . to make sure it’s safe.”

  I sag. “Come on. That’s not fair.”

  Papi raises both eyebrows. On his fighter face, the look is effective.

  “Well, it’s not.” I haven’t needed either of them yet, but I can’t exactly use that as an argument since I wasn’t supposed to go the last time.

  “You don’t know enough,” Ilif says. “You haven’t the skill or experience to go alone, nor the resources to create an arc without me.”

  I’m starting to think he spews this stuff just to piss me off. I hold my tongue and give him the benefit of the doubt for being a socially awkward scientist. However, that doesn’t mean I’m about to lie down and obey him either.

  “Maybe.” Blue balls of electricity spark from my fingertips. Jagged white streaks crisscross the softball-sized surfaces.

  Papi jumps back. “Evy! What are you doing?”

  “Oh my,” Ilif says, stepping closer.

  He flickers. I concentrate on the lightning and force them a few inches larger.

  “I’ve never . . . where did you . . . this is bad.” He sets his jaw. “Turn it off.”

  The balls wink out, and I jut out my chin. Take that.

  “Did I jump ahead in the lesson?” I ask innocently.

  “How long have you been doing that?” Ilif demands.

  “Since I almost got fried by lightning two nights ago.”

  “Never do that again.” Ilif turns to Papi. “This is not part of riding. Using that kind of lightning will get her killed.”

  Papi cringes. “Killed?”

  “Yes,” Ilif says and looks back at my hands. I’m kind of surprised he’s acting like he’s never seen lightning balls before. Surely it’s not another “first.”

  “Bodies are vessels,” Ilif says, spraying me with spittle. “Only the most adept rider . . . no, not even then. Only a fool would wield lightning for any duration other than what’s necessary to ignite an arc.”

  “Yeah, but I—”

  “Lightning has one purpose. One.”

  And now Papi’s flip-flopped back to worried.

  “Evy, I want you to stay here.”

  “Come on. Now you know I have what it takes.” I glance between them. “I’ve already gone twice without either of you, and I’ve been fine.”

  “Again?” Ilif asks, his voice strained. “You cannot keep going without a guide.”

  “So teach me.”

  His lips disappear in a fine line. “Your father requires all of my attention.”

  “Please.”

  Papi chokes and quickly coughs to cover it up. He knows I’m up to something.

  “You must tell her to stop.” Ilif shakes a finger under Papi’s nose.

  Papi laughs. “Once you’ve been around Evy, you’ll realize she does what she wants. If I tell her it’s dangerous, she’ll double her efforts.”

  Ilif sneers. Clearly he hasn’t dealt with many women, let alone a Latina.

  “Fine. I’ll handle it,” Papi says.

  “Please do.” Ilif clears his throat. “I don’t want another rider to lose a child.”

  I narrow my eyes. He could use a few lessons in negotiation. Just because he lost one rider doesn’t mean we’re a couple of wimps.

  Papi steps beside me. “Evy, I don’t want you to go until I can get some things sorted out, okay? I’m sure you’d be fine, but I’m going once with Ilif.”

  I stop searching Ilif for motive and look at Papi. “Why? You don’t even have to worry about me. You and Ilif can do whatever you need to.”

  “Please.”

  I chew my lip.

  “I cannot track you both,” Ilif says.

  “See?” Papi says. “We’ve only traveled at the same time once, and look how that ended up.”

  Crossing my arms, I huff. Twin bolts race up each arm.

  Papi steps away. “I’m sure we’ll be right back.”

  “Maybe,” I say, looking away.

  “Your last arc took you to New York.” Ilif brushes the front of his pants. “As you didn’t complete the alteration, you’ll revisit the same time and locale. Since we’re leaving from the same place, I’ll track you by the electrical residue you leave behind, placing me about fifteen to twenty minutes behind you.”

  “Ahhh . . . New York didn’t go well . . .” Papi fidgets, his attention darting around the room. “I thought we’d have a chance to dissect it before I went again.”

  “I’m confident I will be able to guide you through any problems this time. While you did well on your own, having me there will make a vast difference.”

  “I guess. Feels like I’m about to skydive for the first time and the instructor is a long-haired hippy saying something stupidly non-reassuring.” He sighs. “What about getting home?”

  “I’ve done this a thousand times, Victor.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Papi wrings his hands and studies me. I toss him the coin but stay quiet. I’d like for him to at least think I’m going to obey him. And for Ilif to start ignoring me.

  Slipping the coin in his pocket, Papi looks to Ilif for direction.

  “Palms up, repeat after me,” Ilif says. “I am whole.”

  “Yo soy todo.”

  “I am filled with light.”

  “Estoy lleno de luz.” Papi’s lids close. “Nada existe más allá de este momento en el tiempo. Las rutas son míos para hacer y deshacer. El tiempo es flexible.”

  His body relaxes, and the edges of his silhouette blur. And then nothing.

  Ilif curses. “Evy, your lightning, please.”

  “See? You need me,” I say.

  “No, we don’t. He’ll learn to call enough of his own to arc. I’ve seen him do it. He just needs more practice. No one needs that excessive display of yours.”

  While we bicker like toddlers, my lightning drips in silver pools at my feet.

  One coil slithers across the carpet and up Papi’s leg.

  Chapter 10

  The moment Papi vanishes, Ilif releases the vehemence he’s barely kept in check. “You think you’re something special, don’t you?”

  “No more than you do.”

  He closes the small distance between us and tries to force me backward.

  I lean away. “What’s your problem?”

  “Watch yourself,” he says. “You’re a mistake, an anomaly. There’s a reason women don’t inherit.”

  “What reason? Tell me why there’s never been a girl rider. Tell me why you hate women.”

  “They’re genetically weaker. I’m here to teach your father. Not you. Don’t forget it. And do not return to Spain.”

  I want to laugh in his face. No one tells me where and when I can’t be. He’s not the first man to try it, and he won’t be the last. Leaning forward, I lift my hands between us and the lightning balls expand, pushing him back. “We’ll see. I think you know exactly what I am, and it scares you.”

  He flinches and the border of his body fades.

  “Thought so.” There’s a whole lot he’s not telling us. Penya may have been right. It’s our power Ilif hides, not the dangers. I step around him. “Take care of my father.”

  “His safety is my
utmost priority.”

  Finally some truth. “You’d better hope so. If not, I will be your worst nightmare.” Twin ropes of lightning spill from my palms.

  “You already are.”

  “What’s your deal?”

  “Women do not arc. They simply do not.” He’s shaking.

  “They do now.”

  He wipes his face with a trembling hand to compose himself. “I apologize.” He looks away, then back. “That was inappropriate. Finding your father—and you—after all these years has created an unexpected well of emotion in me. I don’t handle it with poise. I have been known for the occasional outburst.”

  My jaw drops.

  “I’m only concerned for your safety. When Rafe died, your grandfather could not bear it. I only assume the same fate would befall your father if anything happened to you. It is far easier to keep you safe if you are here. I cannot predict how arcing will affect a woman, and I am loath to experiment. You must understand that. If your father were to lose a child . . . I’m asking you not to put me through that again. Spare your father the pain.”

  I cock my head. He sounds almost sincere.

  “I must go. If not for me, do it for your father. Remember that he asked you not to arc.” He sweeps his hand through a floating bit of lightning and vanishes. I assume he’s gone to Papi.

  I imagine one day I’ll do what I’m told. Today is not that day.

  The moment he’s gone, I utter the words and think of Spain and the answers I need from Penya.

  Relying on some instinct I can’t quite pinpoint, I stretch for my lightning in the darkness and hold it with both hands until I can see it blazing blue in front of me like the last time I came to Spain. I flex my knees and wait for the impact.

  Beneath my toes, I feel the solidity of ground rolling slowly up my feet until my heels touch, like I’m being lowered gently by a giant hand.

  The briny air lets me know I’m by a dock. I hope it’s the one I’m looking for. Water swishes against the pier, and I orient myself before opening my eyes.

  Ships dot the landscape. Some look familiar, and several more look like that Roman guy’s fleet. Fishing vessels are moored, and the sun is shining high in the sky. I’ve come late enough in the day that the fishermen have all gone home.

  Shit. I’m in pants again, and Penya’s going to be pissed. It’s not my fault Ilif rattles me so I can’t think through a plan. I’d arc home and change, but Ilif and Papi might be back there already—who knows what the hour will be this time.

  If I hurry, maybe I can make it to her place before anyone sees me. There aren’t many people milling around, but it will only take one accusation to get me branded a barbarian. Too bad I’m not a girly-girl whose first choice is always a skirt.

  I stomp down the pier, unsure why I let Ilif get to me or why he pushes my buttons like that. He can’t really be that furious because I’m a girl—I get chauvinism, but he’s off the charts. There’s got to be something else.

  Which is why I left. I have too many of my own unanswered questions, and I don’t want to taint what Papi needs to learn. Ilif’s interest doesn’t extend to me. He considers Papi the asset, which means he’ll keep him safe. Ilif may not have our best interests at heart—clearly the man is working from some twisted agenda he’s been drafting for sixty years—but until I can find information to confront him with, he’s going to keep separating us and pushing Papi toward his own ends. I need to find out if I can trust Penya. And quickly.

  At the end of the dock, I take another look around. Low clay buildings stand guard. I may be close to the time I left. Everything looks fairly similar, but Spain takes her changes in moderation, so I could be a hundred years in either direction.

  “Sorceress.”

  I jump then turn around. The Roman I met last time is exiting a building across the way. He pulls the door closed behind him and marches over, grabs my upper arm, and keeps walking.

  “What are you wearing? Where have you been?” There’s a fierce urgency in his whisper.

  “Where have I been? What are you talking about? Where are you taking me?” I try to turn, but he’s propelling us down the street toward another building at the end of the block before I can wrench out of his grasp.

  He shushes me and barks a command at the men guarding the entrance.

  They let us through into a wide airy room, and as they close the doors, I catch the glance of one—he doesn’t look happy to be leaving me alone with this guy. I wonder which of us he’s worried about.

  The Roman whirls. “Do you know me?”

  I jump. “No.” Prickles of fear lift the hair at my nape. I jam my hands in my front pockets to prevent any errant lightning until I figure out what’s going on.

  “I’ve spent five years looking for you since you disappeared that day on the pier. Today you stroll down the road like it’s any other morning.”

  Five years? I run quick calculations. At least I got somewhat close to the last time I was here. Better than the thousand-plus-year span of the two trips before. Getting better.

  “You’ve really been looking for me all that time? You need a life.”

  “My life is fine.”

  “What does that have to do with who you are?” I cross my arms.

  “I am Gaius Titus Pomponius Constantine.”

  I shrug. “And?”

  “You were sent to steal my secrets.”

  I can’t fight the burst of laughter. “You think I’m a spy?”

  He folds his arms and manages to sound incensed. “Yes. You saw who I met that day on the dock, and you arrive again today of all days.”

  Today of all days? Since he sounds like we’re going to be here for a while, I look for a chair and find a line of benches stacked beneath tall windows on the far side of the room. My laughter echoes off the high ceiling as I make my way across the expanse of open tile. He turns as I pass him, as if he’s nervous about leaving his back to me. I tug a heavy bench a few inches from the wall and wince at the screech of wood against tile. That sucker was heavy. My hands sting and I shake them out. I sit and draw one boot onto the bench, then drape my elbow over my bent knee.

  He’s watching me.

  “Seriously?” I ask.

  He mumbles something, but I can’t make it out.

  My laughter dies. Enough of this drama. “I need to get going.”

  He ignores me. “Where have you been for five years?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  He crosses the empty room and stops in front of me. “I fear I may be in need of your assistance.”

  “I’m kinda busy.”

  “This is no laughing matter.” His shoulders relax, like he’s decided I’m not a sorceress after all. Now there’s something desperate in his eyes, and he sits down next to me, comfortable enough with his assessment of me to drop his head into his hands.

  I’m quiet. He doesn’t like my joking, and I’m not sure why I’m so confidently sarcastic around him.

  I wait for him to tell me how he thinks I’m going to help him. My eyes rove across the breadth of his back. He’s more refined now, not such a thick mass of meat like last time. His muscles are lean and quick. If I had to guess, I’d bet he fights with speed and finesse instead of brute force. I shiver.

  He doesn’t look up as he speaks. “I’ve been tasked with killing a man.”

  I bite my tongue.

  “He has become a plague upon Rome, this Viriato. He is a man who will not surrender, who will not die. But there is a way.” He raises his head and pierces me with those golden, lion eyes. “It will require your talents.”

  I scramble from the bench. “I’m not what you think I am—”

  I only make it three steps before he’s behind me.

  “Stop.” He wraps one arm around me, while the fingers of his other hand encircle my wrist. His lips press against my ear. “You will help me. This mission will not succeed without you. Our lives are intertwined in this.”

  “Why? And
if it’s so important, maybe you should start by saying ‘please.’ I’m pretty sure I won’t get a ‘thank you’ either.” I struggle against him, but he easily holds me with one hand, the other now resting on my shoulder.

  “For what reason? You have skills that will help us defeat an enemy, and you’re concerned about niceties? Niceties are for festivals.”

  “Who said this guy was my enemy?”

  “Why do you ask so many questions?” His thumb swishes lazily across my wrist.

  “Let me go.”

  “Why are you here today?”

  “Why should I tell you?” The heat of his body seeps through the back of my T-shirt. Everything about him should be setting me on alert, but his earlier vulnerability nags at me, making it hard to accept this tough-guy image. Nonetheless, I’m a futuristic foreigner, he’s ancient military . . . we seem to clash naturally.

  “You know I’ve had dealings with Penya,” he says. “Why do you hide that you are here to see her?”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Yes. I can.”

  The rigidity in his body melts. Softly, he slips his hand across my shoulder and rests it against the curve of my neck. His grip is loose around my wrist, and the vulnerability is back in his voice. “I need you.”

  The whisper slides across my skin.

  “Why me?”

  He shifts, and his lips are dangerously close to the erratic pulse in my neck. When his breath catches, I’m not sure he’s talking entirely about the mission.

  I step out of the circle of his arms and turn to face him. “I’m not your girl. Sorry.”

  A smile plays at one corner of his lips. The hunger isn’t entirely gone from his eyes. “Let’s go ask Penya, shall we?”

  I straighten. “I was going there anyway.”

  He extends his arm toward the door. “One way or another, I’ll release your spell.”

  “Still with the sorceress thing? Oh, and a spy, don’t forget that.”

  He shrugs. “One never knows what a person will reveal when pushed.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Lightning sizzles in my palm, and conflicting emotions rise up in my chest. He looks hot, all rattled and off-balance by his own conflict of needing me and . . . needing me.