by Fae York
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
“Much,” Emelia replied with a thankful nod.
“Should we start a movie? I think I have some popcorn in the pantry,” he began, moving to stand up again, but Emelia grabbed his hand and pulled him back down beside her.
“Or . . .” she started, a shy smile spreading across her lips.
“Or . . .?” he whispered.
Emelia put her hand on the back of his neck, wrapping her fingers in his dark curls. She leaned in close and pressed her lips against his, pulling away after a few seconds with a mischievous grin. His arm slid around her waist and he pulled her toward him, shifting positions so that they were facing one another. He went in for another kiss, but Emelia pulled away, playfully kissing his cheek then down the side of his neck.
She began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, laughing quietly when the second button refused to come undone. He brushed her hair out of her face and stood, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with ease. She might have been embarrassed if it wasn’t such an attractive move.
Emelia stood too, placing a hand on each side of his chest. She was just reaching to push the rest of his shirt off of his shoulders when something made her stop cold. Black lines. Black lines etched on his skin, trailing from his collarbone back to his shoulder blades.
Aleph was a Doe?
She immediately dropped her hands and sat down.
“I’m sorry,” Aleph began, “Are we going too fast? We can slow things down if you wa—”
“What are those?” Emelia demanded, gesturing at his tattoo.
“What do you mean ‘what are those?’ It’s a tattoo. They’re just lines, Emelia,” he said calmly.
“Aleph, I need you to be straight with me right now, okay? Please. Are you part of some sort of cult or something?” She stared at him and he hesitated a moment before responding.
“. . . Why would you ask me something like that?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Because your tattoo isn’t the first that I’ve seen. It’s-it’s a long story,” she let out an exasperated breath. “It has to do with a case at work that I’ve been obsessing over, but that isn’t important. Please, just answer the question.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“You already know that I’m not from here,” he took a step toward her. “What you don’t know, is that I’m not from now.”
“You aren’t from now? What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Now. 2018. I’m not from now.” Emelia stared at him. Aleph, noting her confusion, continued talking. “I’m with a group of people from the future; 2131, to be exact. The tattoos have to do with my job, or more specifically, time travel.” He paused, patiently awaiting Emelia’s reaction. At first she said nothing, but then laughed out loud.
“Time travel, Aleph? If you’re going to mess with me, at least say something semi-believable.” She threw up her hands.
“I’m not trying to mess with you, I—”
“Aleph you’re being ridiculous. Stop with the games,” she interrupted.
“This isn’t a game, Emelia!”
Emelia sat back on the couch, feeling a little startled. She had never heard him raise his voice before. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Aleph sat down beside her and put his face in his hands.
“You really believe that you are from the future?” she said quietly.
“I know I am, Emelia.” He groaned. “There’s more, too. In the future, we’re . . . you’re . . . I’m . . . your husband.”
Emelia bit the inside of her cheek. Aleph was either crazy, manipulative, or taking this joke way too far. Either way, Emelia was done for the night.
She stood and looked around for her purse, throwing Aleph’s blanket to the floor.
“Emelia, what are you doing? We need to talk about this, please?”
She ignored him, shoving her feet into her shoes and making a beeline for the door.
“Emelia McEntyre Plater, just stop for a minute and let me explain.”
She stopped in her tracks. “How do you know that name?” Emelia never shared her middle name with anyone, and Aleph had been no exception. And she had been so close to letting him in.
“I know everything about you, Emelia, because you’ve told me everything. I’m not crazy, you’re my wife. Stay, let me prove it to you.”
Emelia’s head hurt. She couldn’t deal with this right now, but Aleph pushed forward. “I know that you were raised by your grandparents because your real parents died in a car crash when you were three. I know that you wear a ring around your neck that used to belong to your grandmother. I know that you hate the color orange and can’t sleep with socks on. I know that you rarely wear your hair down because it irritates you when it touches your face. Your favorite scent is vanilla and you have a beautiful voice, though it terrifies you to sing in front of other people.”
Emelia was completely blindsided. “Have you been stalking me? What sort of sick—”
“Emelia—”
“Don’t. Just . . . don’t.” She turned to the door, frustrated tears stinging her eyes. Emelia yanked at the handle and stepped out onto the street, throwing her purse over her shoulder. She didn’t look back.
12 Seeking Support
The air was frigid, but Emelia preferred to walk rather than call a taxi. That, and she couldn’t have called a taxi even if she wanted to—her phone was dead. The wind picked up and Emelia shivered, pulling her hands into her jacket sleeves and balling them up in her pockets.
She had tried to process the events of the evening, but it only made her upset so Emelia chose to distract herself instead. She counted the cracks in the sidewalk and the few cars that passed. She replayed her favorite Hallmark movie plots in her head and fiddled with the ring around her neck. Before Emelia knew it, she was climbing the stairs to her apartment.
Her door was unlocked, which Emelia couldn’t believe. How could she have been so stupid? Emelia walked through the doorway and turned the deadbolt behind her, double checking to see that it would stay closed. It did. She tossed her purse on the couch and plugged her phone in to charge. There were three missed calls.
“New message. Received: yesterday at 7:13 p.m.,” her phone began. Emelia was not surprised at all to hear Meredith Jane’s lilting voice as the recording played back.
“Mimi Girl, how are you doing dear? It’s been a couple weeks since I last heard from you. I know you’re busy but I would love to catch up! I am on my way to run a few errands now, but if I have time on the way home I’ll stop by your apartment. If I don’t see you, call me back when you can!”
The message ended and Emelia saved it.
“New message,” her phone continued. “Received: yesterday at 9:02 p.m.”
“Mimi Girl.” Meredith Jane’s voice sounded urgent. “Are you home? I’m at your door and I’ve knocked several times but you haven’t answered. I can hear noises in your apartment and I’m worried. If you aren’t home, Emelia, I think someone has broken in. Please call me back. Quickly.”
Emelia gulped, fear squeezing her heart. Her door had been unlocked.
“New message. Received: yesterday at 9:13 p.m.”
“Emelia,” Meredith sounded terrified. “Emelia! Someone is in your house. I am certain of it. Do I call the police? Should I—” She was cut off by the sound of a door swinging open. Then, Meredith Jane screamed so loudly that Emelia had to pull the phone away from her ear. Then silence. The phone beeped.
“You have no new messages.”
Emelia’s heart was racing. She stood slowly, listening for movement in her apartment. Nothing. Emelia looked around the living room for signs of a struggle, but her belongings were all right where she had left them—down to the pair of socks discarded under the coffee table. Though she wasn’t sure what to tell the authorities, Emelia picked up her phone to dial 911. That was when she saw it, a tiny splotch of red on her otherwise flawless white car
pet—blood, and it was fresh. With one hand over her mouth and the other raising her phone to her ear, Emelia tiptoed toward her front door.
A handle rattled in the hallway.
Before she could run, a rough hand clasped around her mouth and a blade flashed in front of her eyes. A man dressed in all black yanked her hard against him, lifting her feet from the floor.
“Where is Artemis?” he yelled. He was so close to her ear that she thought her eardrum might burst.
Emelia tried to scream, but his hand held her mouth so tightly that her teeth were cutting the inside of her lips. She thrashed like a wild animal, digging her nails into his arms and batting blindly at his face. Finally, Emelia swung her heel backward and contacted with his shin, surprising him just enough that he loosened his grip. She scrambled forward, and the intruder following closely behind.
Emelia was almost to the door again when the stranger caught up with her.
“Tell me where she is, and I’ll leave you alone,” he growled, eyes flashing through the thin slit of his mask. When Emelia didn’t respond, he slammed his fist into her jaw and pushed her shoulders against the wall. The air in her lungs escaped in an oopf and she crumbled to the floor.
“I . . .” she slurred, head swimming. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re lying!” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet.
“No,” she choked, “I’m not lying. Please, let me go.”
He lifted his hand to strike her again. Emelia closed her eyes, bracing for impact, but the blow never came. Instead, she heard a loud grunt and opened her eyes to see not one, but two men in her apartment.
In a matter of seconds, her attacker was pinned against the opposite wall by the new arrival. The new man was also dressed head-to-toe in all black, standing with his left hand around the other man’s throat. Emelia watched as he reached with his free hand to press some sort of button on his wrist. Suddenly, the palm and fingertips of his gloved left hand glowed yellow and bolts of electricity coursed through the intruder’s body. He dropped to the ground in a heap then the gloved man turned to face her.
“We have to go. I have only stunned him.”
Emelia was too overwhelmed to respond. Her vision was swimming and everything was blurry.
“We need to go. Now,” the man said, more urgently this time, extending his hand.
Emelia managed to shake her head slowly. Maybe if she stalled long enough, the police would arrive. Though Emelia had not been able to speak with anyone before she was attacked, she had made that 911 call. Someone had to know there was trouble.
“Emelia!” he barked. “He will wake up soon. You are in danger. You have to trust me. Come with me, now.”
Apparently stalling wasn’t an option. She wouldn’t take his hand but nodded as he spun toward the front door. When his back was turned, Emelia squatted to pick up her cell phone and quickly shoved it into her pocket. If she wasn’t there when the authorities arrived, at least they would have a way to track her location.
13 Thirteen
Allies
In an empty apartment in a shady part of town, Emelia sat on a lumpy couch that reeked of cigarette smoke and Febreze. The room was dimly lit and covered in cobwebs, and the floor had a layer of dust so thick it made her wonder how long it had been since someone had actually lived there.
On the coffee table in front of her sat the gloved man, who hadn’t said a word since they left her apartment. He stared at her through the slits in his mask and Emelia shifted uncomfortably.
After a few awkward minutes, “I am Vane,” he said quietly, pulling off his ski mask to reveal a tousled mane of dusty blond hair. “I’m here to keep you safe.”
Emelia stared at the ground, unsure what to say. Safe from who? What did they want from her? She had so many questions but no idea where to begin.
“I don’t understand. Who was that man in my apartment? Why did he attack me? Why did he kill . . .” her voice caught in her throat. The echoes of Meredith Jane’s terrified screams sounded in her ears.
“Emelia, you have to understand, you are far more important than you realize. And that makes you a target.”
A target? For who?
“You must have me confused with someone else. I’ve never seen that man before, I promise you. I was just listening to my voicemails then he attacked me and kept shouting all of these crazy things about a woman named Artemis and I . . . ” The words spilled out of her mouth as the chaos of the last few hours sunk in.
“No, Emelia.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she recoiled away. Vane dropped his hand and clenched his jaw. “Let me explain.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Everyone knows your name, Emelia,” he replied. “You are integral to our operation.”
“Operation?”
“Yes. I work for the government—”
“The U.S. government?” Emelia asked with a doubtful look on her face.
“In a sense, yes. But not really. Just—”
“Who is Artemis?”
“Look. You ask a lot of questions, that’s good. But if you stop talking for just a few minutes and let me explain, maybe I’d be able to give you some real answers,” Vane snapped. She opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. He pressed on.
“Right now in 2018, your time, there are some very dangerous people with a lot of power.”
Emelia felt something tug at her stomach. Your time. Her brain immediately jumped back to the conversation that she’d had with Aleph not twenty-four hours ago. Maybe Vane had misspoken; her brain was fried. She’d been attacked in her apartment after all! However, Emelia needed answers. She decided to let him continue before doing anything stupid.
“Where I am from, 2018 is the year that Noah Thicke gained unprecedented power. It’s not entirely clear how, but we know that it started with terrorist attacks and civil unrest which were all orchestrated by Thicke, then ended with a massacre and some sort of super weapon. The point is, Thicke built a utopia on top of the ruins of it all, and it’s a system that still functions a hundred years down the road. That being said, things have been a little . . . unstable lately.”
Emelia sat back on the couch, sending up a small cloud of dust. This just kept getting crazier and crazier. What had she gotten herself into? Emelia silently slid her phone out of her pocket and into her shirt sleeve. As soon as an opportunity was presented, she would send out an SOS to Aleph. Vane pressed on, oblivious.
“When I am from, there is a faction of people called the ‘Minutemen’ that are on a sort of killing spree. In our utopia, crime was a thing of the past, but the Minutemen are upsetting the balance. They are seeking power and influence, and they will do anything to get what they want. Right now they are looking for a powerful woman named Artemis, which is why they came after you.” He paused, giving Emelia the opportunity to respond.
“That’s what I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t know who this Artemis person is or what she has to do with me?”
“The government is certain that there is some sort of connection between you and Artemis. We aren’t sure exactly how, but we think that she is a distant descendant of yours, like a great-great-granddaughter or something along those lines.”
Emelia fought the urge to laugh out loud.
“You do realize that you’re talking about all of these things, ‘your time’ and ‘my time’ and ‘my great-great-granddaughter’ like it’s any regular conversation. Time travel doesn’t exist,” she scoffed.
“It doesn’t exist . . . yet,” Vane clarified. “Sorry, it’s hard to keep your head straight when you bounce between different centuries.”
“Okay. Fine. Let’s say that time travel is real, how does it work? Prove it to me.”
“To be honest, I don’t understand all the logistics. Where I am from, I am no engineer. I am a leader. I don’t waste my time trying to figure out the trivial details of how it all wor
ks. What I do know is that we are able to bend time and create a wormhole, allowing us to travel as far back as a few hundred years. Backward, but not forward. For whatever reason, we can’t travel even a second forward in time, the machines don’t work that way.”
“The machines?” Emelia asked, her interest piqued.
“Yes, machines. Did you think we just popped in and out of time at will? It isn’t magic Emelia,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not only do the machines allow us to travel, but they regulate time travelers as well, keeping a record of who goes where and when. Each time I travel, the system marks my neck here,” he pointed to the back of his neck. It matched the Does, the woman from the bar, and Aleph. Either Vane was telling the truth, or they all belonged to the same insane sci-fi cult.
Emelia wasn’t sure which was worse.
“It’s to . . . prevent complications,” Vane continued. “I’m traveling via authorized equipment, government sanctioned missions only, but there are others, like the Minutemen, who travel using dangerous knock-off technology. These groups have tampered with their equipment in an attempt to remove the tagging, but they have only been partially successful. Rebel travelers are still marked, just lower down on the spine.”
“Are the lines given at random?” she asked. “Each tattoo I have seen seems distinct from any other.” Emelia wasn’t sure that she believed a word that he was saying, but at least he was giving her some sort of explanation.
“One line, one jump into the past. The length of the line is determined by how long we stay in a time that is not our own. Time only lets us stay so long before it figures out how to restore the balance, so we have to go back to our time and stay out of the past long enough to trick Time. If we come back to the second we left, Time would think we had never left,” he explained.
“Time? What do you mean, ‘Time?’”
“Time, the universe, karma—call it what you will, but there is something out there that knows time travelers don’t belong in the past. It tries to kill us, and the longer we stay the more likely it is to succeed.”
