Marking Time (The Immortal Descendants)

by April White

  Because according to Archer, I had time-traveled to 1888 through a spiral some old tagger had drawn in the Whitechapel underground station. And even worse, apparently I was descended from a whole line of time travelers, including my mom.

  Mom. I whimpered and struggled to my feet. My head was pounding and I couldn’t think, and it was the thing I needed to do most of all. I wiped my mouth and took a deep breath, then poked my head around the corner.

  “Welcome back, Clocker.” The reptilian voice sank into the pit of my stomach like a dagger and before I even knew my feet were doing it, I took off running.

  Slick’s vague expletive followed me as I dodged early morning commuters on the platform. I glanced behind me as I raced up the metal staircase to the green bridge that crossed the Whitechapel station track. Slick was still wearing the expensive business suit he had on last night when he chased me into the spiral-tagged alcove. He was about halfway up the stairs when I slid down the bannister on the other side and stepped into the train that was getting ready to leave. I found an empty seat halfway down the car between a woman reading a newspaper and a kid wearing headphones, rocking out to an old Clash song.

  My eyes were locked on Slick’s progress as he descended the steps and scanned the platform, searching for me. The warning bong sounded and I tensed. His gaze finally found me and his eyes locked on mine. He smiled and slid onto the train through the closing door. But he telegraphed his move just enough that I had time to bolt for the door at the other end of the car and dart outside. As the train pulled out of Whitechapel station, Slick’s handsome face was a mask of rage at the window and I just barely resisted the snarky urge to blow him a kiss for his trouble. I had no idea why the guy had been stalking me since last night outside Elian Manor, but the fact that he had waited all night for me to return from my jaunt through time gave me chills that had nothing to do with the early London morning.

  And realizing I was back in a time where my disguise counted, I pulled my hoody up over my long braid again, shoved my hands in my pockets, slouched my best tough-guy stance, and strolled out of the underground station toward Whitechapel Road.

  Even in the gray light of dawn, this London was busy. Traffic already clogged intersections as vendors opened shops and kiosks for early morning commuter business. The modern city was really loud and made me kind of miss the silence of 1888.

  I was cautious as I left the underground station. My backpack was with the Ripper, with my passport and most of my money. That was going to be a tough one to explain. “Sorry, I seem to have left my passport in 1888.” At that moment though, I couldn’t be bothered to care too much. A major inconvenience? Yes. A life-threatening one? Not after the night I’d had.

  The twenty pound note was still in my back pocket and I could feel the outline of a coin in the front. Archer’s coin. I couldn’t look at it yet. Because if that coin was still shiny and brand-new looking it meant the night hadn’t been a dream. I took a deep breath. Twenty pounds was enough for a cup of coffee and a phone call. I needed them both.

  I found an open coffee shop and grabbed an empty booth near the window. I dropped gratefully into the seat and felt like I was in danger of slipping into an exhausted coma if I didn’t get some caffeine into me soon. The waitress behind the counter was eyeing me suspiciously, but she suddenly relaxed when I pulled off my hood. I must have looked like hell because she brought me a cup of strong black coffee with my menu. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” I gasped as the coffee scalded my mouth, but I sipped it greedily anyway.

  “You’re American?” The waitress was probably just a couple years older than me, twenty at most, and one of the most striking people I’d ever seen. She had mahogany-colored skin, almond-shaped eyes, and long black hair pulled back in a bun. Her face was completely bare of make-up, and she moved like a dancer. I’d bet money she was.

  I nodded and held out my hand to shake. “I’m Saira.”

  The skin on her hand was soft, like she hadn’t been working in kitchens long. “I’m Alex. Are you on holiday?” I didn’t realize I’d made a face until Alex grimaced. “Right. Not a pleasure trip?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Sorry about that.” A cook yelled for her. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “Toast would be awesome.” I must have sighed when I said it because she shot me a quick look of sympathy and pirouetted away. Unfortunately, that meant I was alone with just my thoughts to keep me company.

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I hadn’t really been examining the fact that the last person I saw before I spiraled out of 1888 was my mother. The image of her, wearing a heavy green dress and a feathered hat totally appropriate to Victorian times, staring at me in shock across the tracks, was burned into my brain like a still from a movie.

  What was she doing in Victorian England? Did the time travel thing only work between now and 1888? And why was I back after one night and she had been gone almost a week?

  I needed a plan, but a coherent thought would be a good start. Millicent. The woman my mother despised, but the grandmother who took me in after the cops threatened to send me to foster care in L.A.: she would know what was going on. She obviously knew about the spiral portal, otherwise why would she forbid me to draw it? And if Archer had been right about the Elians, she was probably a time-traveler too.

  Alex was back with my toast and more coffee and I thanked her in a way I hoped would invite more conversation, but she was already off and running for another customer. I wondered how she’d ever have the energy to dance after a shift in this place.

  I looked out the window and suddenly there was Slick, looking like a Russian mobster with his greased-back blond hair and designer suit. He and some boy-next-door-type about my age were outside Whitechapel station talking to a maintenance man.

  I slouched down in my seat. What was it with Slick? What did he want?

  Alex showed up with my check. “Anything else?” Her air of distraction suddenly disappeared as she looked out the window. I wasn’t sure, but it almost seemed like fear on her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she finally tore her gaze back to me, “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  I fished in my back pocket for the twenty pound note and handed it to her, wrenching my head around. The only thing I saw was my own nemesis, still lurking on the street corner with the young guy. “There’s a guy out there I’d like to avoid running into. Any chance I could use a back door?” Alex’s attention was suddenly riveted on me as she counted out my change. I thought I saw something like interest in her look.

  “Down the hall past the toilets. It goes to the back alley.” She scanned the people across the street again, but Slick and the young guy had stepped inside the station.

  I quickly grabbed all but a one pound note and slid out of the booth. I upped the wattage on my smile in an unfamiliar attempt at friendliness. “Thanks for everything.”

  Alex smiled and I had the sense she didn’t do that too often. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I headed down the hall to the back door. “I’ll need it,” I added under my breath. Okay, now to get back to Elian Manor. As much as I hated the thought of facing Millicent again, she had information I needed.

  I stepped out of the alley and made a left turn, away from Whitechapel station. My hoody went back up and I turned on my “guy” walk. About a block later I realized I was on Brady Street when I passed the old Jewish cemetery where Archer and I had talked about an hour before, give or take a century. The cemetery was somehow more deteriorated yet less overgrown than when I saw it in 1888. It wasn’t a block of row houses, so I assumed someone had been buried in it in the past one hundred years.

  I picked my way over the broken paths to the Houle Family garden. Despite falling plaster and smashed roof tiles, the gated entrance was still standing. I peered up under the eaves, expecting to find nothing. It would be easier if I found nothing. It could all be a dream if there was nothing there. Except it was there,
my spiral question, faded and chipped, but still marking my presence. Proving my night in another time.

  I held my breath and reached into my front pocket. The coin was warm in my fingers and I opened my hand. It was beautiful, shiny, brand new, and dated 1887. Oh. I quickly closed my fist and shoved the coin back in my pocket. Seeing it made me miss Archer. And if that wasn’t shocking enough to the girl-who-needs-no-one, I realized that I wanted to see him again.

  I had only met the guy last night, first in this time when he’d rescued me from Slick on the road outside my grandmother’s manor house and driven me to London, and then, inexplicably, in 1888 when I’d found him crouched over one of Jack the Ripper’s victims. Maybe he was a traveler too? Or maybe he was somehow able to access the time portal I’d opened in Whitechapel station? But if he had figured out the time travel thing, why hadn’t he been waiting for me at Whitechapel when I came back?

  Last night, a hundred and twenty-five years ago, seemed more real than this time was. I realized that besides my mom, I barely knew anyone. In fact, that one night with Archer was probably longer than I’d ever spent talking to a person I wasn’t related to in my life.

  Archer believed I was a time traveler. What did I believe?

  A train rumbled underground and my eyes snapped open. I spotted a sign for the Bethnal Green Rail Station and headed toward it. I needed public transportation and a good map to figure out how to get back to the manor, Millicent, and the answers to my questions.

  The station was full of early morning commuters coming into London from the outer boroughs. Bethnal Green put me directly in line toward Brentwood in Essex and Elian Manor was outside a small village near Brentwood.

  At the ticket window a bored cashier sold me a one-way ticket to Ingatestone for ten pounds sixty as my train was just pulling into the station. I ran past a spray paint artist and stuffed a one pound note into his can as I boarded my train. He looked up in surprise and then winked as he saw me drop into my seat onboard. The rock of the train was comforting as it rolled out of the city.

  The trip was only an hour and I knew there was no way I’d be able to stay awake that long. I leaned across the empty seat to an older lady across the aisle.

  “Excuse me. I’m going to Ingatestone and I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep and miss my stop.”

  “Don’t worry, dear, I get off at Brentwood. I’ll wake you then.” She had a crisp English voice that made me think of tea and crumpets and walled gardens.

  I smiled at her. “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. Sleep well.” She looked like the grandmother I wished I had instead of Millicent-the-Battle-Ax.

  It felt like barely five minutes passed when the lady gently shook me awake. “Wake up, dear. We’re at Brentwood.” I cracked my eyelids to find her leaning across a fat guy sawing logs next to me.

  “Thank you.” The lady smiled as she moved off down the aisle. I rubbed my eyes and sat up straight to look around. The fat guy snorted himself awake and I decided it was time to leave. He didn’t get up and I had to crawl over his tree-trunk legs without being jostled into his lap by the movement of the train. Ick.

  The village of Ingatestone was tiny and picturesque, with stone cottages and walled kitchen gardens. I suddenly realized why it looked so familiar to me. Because it was full of my mom’s paintings. Her English Countryside was set in this village.

  I really missed her. To the casual observer my mom and I were nothing alike. I dressed sort of like a rocker boy, and fancy was a white linen shirt with my jeans and boots instead of a hoody or an anime T-shirt. My only jewelry was the pearl necklace my mother gave me when I turned sixteen. It had been hers when she was young, and was in my suitcase under the bed in Elian Manor. I’d never worn it but I didn’t leave it in L.A.

  My mom dressed like the artist version of a woman who wears pearls. Slightly tailored and slightly bohemian. She always wore a man’s white dress shirt tucked into jeans when she was working or linen pants when she wasn’t. She owned skirts but didn’t wear them, and when she went out in the Venice sun, she always wore a big, elegant sun hat. My mom never lost her Englishness, and she wore it every day like a second skin, not like the armor my uniform of boots and jeans was.

  Claire Elian had been raised a lady and she never lost the habit of it. I, on the other hand, had been raised by a lady to be a vagabond. My upbringing gave me a different set of skills and my priorities definitely made my mom a little nuts. But I was as much a product of her choices as my own.

  The train pulled into the Ingatestone Station with a creak of wheels and the hiss of air brakes. I stepped onto the platform before the doors were fully open and was already down to street level when I heard the train pulling away.

  I stood in the shelter of the doorway for a moment, scanning the street for signs of someone waiting for me. Suspicion and caution had settled in like old friends. I guess that’s how prey manages to make it through each day. I’d never thought of myself as a victim, but victim and prey are two different things and the fact was, Slick was still hunting me. The “why” part to that question was a total mystery and one I hoped Millicent could answer.

  A long silver car pulled up to the curb and parked just down the block from where I stood, half-hidden in the train station arch. I couldn’t imagine there was more than one Silver Cloud Rolls Royce in town. I was right.

  Jeeves, my grandmonster’s chauffeur, stepped out of the driver’s side and entered a shop nearby. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Okay, now what? Do I go bold and brassy and bum a ride from Jeeves, or do I stick with the feeble plan of somehow navigating my way back to the manor on foot and sneaking in?

  I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the manor from the village, so I decided to put my fate in Jeeves’ hands. A risky move, but I didn’t have a whole lot left to lose.

  I left the train station and casually strolled over to the Rolls. I’m not big into cars but this one was seriously gorgeous. She looked like a classy old lady with the guts to tell you what she thought and the elegance to do it nicely.

  I tried the door. It opened. I guess a car like the Rolls defies theft. Either that or everyone knew who it belonged to and no one wanted to risk the wrath of Millicent if they messed with her ride.

  I slid into the backseat, almost managing Millicent’s grace. “Class” the woman had in spades, graciousness and kindness, not so much. Even after everything that had gone down in the past twenty-four hours; I was surprised at how angry I still was about having been locked in my room at the manor.

  I had barely closed the car door behind me when Jeeves emerged from the shop. I slipped down out of view before he got in the car.

  “You look ridiculous lying down in the seat like that. Please sit up like a respectable passenger of this car.” Jeeves didn’t even look behind him as he spoke.

  I sat up sheepishly and met his eyes in the rear view mirror. “Hi Jeeves.”

  “Good morning, young lady. I believe your grandmother is very near setting the groundskeepers to drag the pond for your remains. I trust you had a good night?”

  “Not really.” I didn’t elaborate and Jeeves’ eyebrows went up a notch.

  “May I suggest you find Lady Elian immediately then so she can call off her dogs? They’re ruining my flower beds.” The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

  I settled back into the cushy leather seat. “I’m sorry about your flowers.”

  “I’m sorry about your night.”

  The impending confrontation with Millicent was already making my stomach churn. Hopefully I could eat crow convincingly so I could get the information I needed. Although I would almost rather face off against The Ripper again than grovel to my grandmonster. This was going to suck.

  The Silver Rolls turned onto the long drive leading up to Elian Manor and then glided smoothly to a stop. Jeeves got out and held the back door open for me like I was the Queen. It felt weird to be treated so nicely when
I was pretty sure I was about to get yelled at, but I’d take kindness wherever I could get it. I slid out of the car with a smile for him.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  He leaned in with a whisper. “Don’t let Lady Millicent scare you. She was more worried than angry and she’ll be glad you’re back.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’ll see.” I took a deep breath, straightened my spine, and headed for the massive front door.

  Secrets of Elian

  The ancient oak creaked like a bad horror film when I entered the dim hall. Of course the Hobbit appeared out of thin air and made me jump, but I probably would have been more surprised if she hadn’t. She stood completely motionless. I smiled and it seemed to break the spell. She beckoned me with one gnarled finger. I knew if I hesitated even a moment she’d be down a passageway and gone like Alice’s White Rabbit.

  I made my feet follow the stooped little old woman down a hallway to a door I hadn’t seen before. “Herself isn’t the enemy, no matter what she’d have you believe. But she isn’t a friend to us either.” Then the Hobbit knocked twice on the door and faded back into the shadows of the hall.

  “Come.” Millicent’s voice sounded stern and edgy through the closed door, and I could feel my temper rise. I reached for the handle but it was flung back out of my grasp. Millicent stood glowering. Then she saw me and her expression shifted from anger to something more like surprise, or maybe even fear.

  She spun on her heels and strode across the room to the massive desk in its center. She picked up the phone and spoke into it. “Tell Thomas she’s back.” Millicent didn’t wait for a response before hanging up the phone with a firm click. She rubbed her temples, and then turned to face me. “You may as well come in and sit down, Saira.”

  I stood next to a spindly gold chair, but Millicent didn’t sit so neither did I. “I’m sorry if I worried you.” I tried not to sound sarcastic.

  Millicent looked sharply at me. “I thought you were lost.”