Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (21 page)

Kathleen backed up from the smaller woman, scowling down into her angry face. “What right do you have to tell me to—”

Louisa picked up Kathleen’s purse and shoved it into her hands. “This is my house now. I say who is allowed to stay and who goes. Now.” She made shooing gestures at the taller woman. Kathleen was too busy glaring daggers at Gwen.

“I thought you said she left everything to you.”

Gwen shrugged. And even with all the hurt roiling inside her, she still managed to smile grimly at Kathleen’s enraged face. “Looks like I may have forgotten a detail or two.”

Kathleen held her gaze before tossing the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stalking from the room. She paused on the porch, giving Rafe a flirtatious once-over. “If you ever want a real woman, call—”

Her words were cut off by the door Louisa slammed in her face. Gwen’s last glimpse of Kathleen’s startled face did a lot to ease the steel band tightening around her heart.

Louisa rushed over, wrapping her arms around her. “Oh honey, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—but that woman!” She made a noise of aggravation. “It doesn’t surprise me she’s not your real mother, nothing so good could ever come from such a thing!” With a tight squeeze and a kiss on the forehead, she bustled out of the room in another whirl of energy citing the need for a quick snack before the ceremony. The meaning of her obvious look in Rafe’s direction was clear.

Gwen’s head spun from Louisa’s casual acceptance of the fact she was adopted.

The couch cushions dipped as Rafe sat next to her. He seemed to struggle to find the right words to say, and Gwen felt laughter bubble up the back of her throat. What were the right words after witnessing such an awful scene?

“When it rains, it pours?” Her voice was dry.

When he clenched his jaw to prevent from laughing, her own laughter escaped. He joined her.

“I’m sorry. This is horrible. I shouldn’t be laughing.” He wiped at the moisture in his eyes. “Did you see her face when Louisa slammed the door?” He gave such a faithful representation of Kathleen’s disgruntled face it set Gwen off again.

It took a while, but the two settled down. Closing her eyes, Gwen leaned back on the couch cushion with a sigh.

“Really, though, are you okay?”

She cracked open one eye and peeked at him. “Who knows? I guess. Well, mostly I guess I’m relieved. It’s kind of comforting to know I’m not related to her.” She gave a disbelieving laugh. “She’s horrible.”

“And insane.” Rafe leaned back on the couch next to her, closing his eyes as he relaxed. “Have to be to not want you.”

She stared at him. The warm glow of his words dispelled any lingering pressure in her chest. A thousand unsaid words welled up in her throat, and she almost spoke.

With a sigh, she relaxed back into the couch next to him. Maggie’s funeral wasn’t the right setting. They had time. With another sigh, she drew comfort from his silent presence next to her, hoping the rest of the day would unfold without any new major revelations.

C
HAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

G
WEN LAY CURLED
UP in the bed that had belonged to Maggie. In the cool night air, she could still smell her aunt’s familiar and comforting perfume. The ceremony had been long and exhausting, although it had gone as well as she could have hoped.

Besides the part where her presumed mother had stormed into her life and informed her she was adopted. It was a relief to find that she wasn’t related to such an awful woman. It also made her appreciate everything that Maggie had done for her even more. Her aunt had no obligation to care for the sullen teenager that she had inherited from a flighty adoptive mother. She had taken her in all the same.

Her heart ached, and her longing to have Maggie back was too much. Her fingers pressed against the cool silver of her bracelet. Gwen fought to remember the laughing woman that she had known and the young, vibrant woman she had spoken to in the park. Although it was a strange thought, it helped to think that in another time, Maggie was somewhere laughing and living her life.

Turning to her side, she pulled the covers up to her chin. Kathleen’s harsh words replayed in her mind. She still felt a curious lack of emotion over the news she was adopted. Perhaps it was because she knew Kathleen never loved her. She had grown up thinking that there was something wrong with her. After Kathleen’s horrible behavior, she could accept it was a fault in Kathleen, not in her own self, that had prevented a loving relationship between the two.

Now the disappointment she had felt when she thought she was Kathleen’s daughter was replaced with the ache of not knowing her real parents. It was strange to miss something she never knew she’d had. Gwen wondered what her real parents were like and what her life would have been like if she had never been adopted.

Most likely, her biological parents had put her up for adoption because she was unwanted. At least that was what her mind told her, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kathleen. Yet a smaller part hoped that she had real, loving parents who regretted giving up their baby girl.

From that same small part of her came the thought that she could find her biological parents. The reunion, she imagined, would be heartfelt, and the tears her family would shed on seeing her again would go a long way to heal all the hurt Kathleen had brought her. As quickly as it was imagined, it was dismissed as fantasy. As a practical matter, the procedural work alone would be tedious, especially with an adoptive mother who had no intention of helping Gwen find her biological parents. Maybe one day it would be worth the time and effort. For now, Gwen was willing to wait.

Gwen wanted to focus on the life she had been blessed with. She couldn’t regret Kathleen because she brought her to Maggie. And Maggie had worked hard—and loved her even harder—to turn her into the woman she was now. Gwen had a fleeting wish she could have told Maggie about the Archives. She wondered what her aunt would have said if she found out her niece was destined to help save the world—to help save all the worlds.

Pressing her cheek into the pillow, Gwen smiled. The thought of how far she had come was a little too silly to believe. From a sullen-faced teenager to a time traveling hero. It was quite the transformation.

And then there was Rafe. Gwen wished she had gotten a chance to talk about him with Maggie. Part thief, part court jester, part soldier from a lost age, he was able to switch characters as easily as an actor during a costume change. At the center, he was always the same, even if it had taken Gwen a while to see past his laughing smile. As dependable as Alistair, as much of a protector as Max, and something so uniquely Rafe that it was hard for her to name.

She knew whenever she felt too overwhelmed, she only needed to find him in the crowd and she would feel stronger. While Max and Alistair had left after the ceremony, Rafe had refused to go back to the Archives. Instead, he had promised Alistair he would stay with her and make sure she got home safely. There was no hidden implication she couldn’t take care of herself. Instead, he was interested in just being there.

He hadn’t strayed too far from her side. And when all the respects had been paid and it was the two of them and Louisa in the house, he had mostly left her alone. He stretched himself out on Maggie’s couch with a borrowed book and looked for all the world like a gentleman lord whiling away the midday hours.

His presence steadied her as she and Louisa sifted through the memories that lay littered around the house. Gwen hadn’t wanted to take much as far as physical possessions. There were a few small mementos she couldn’t bear to part with: a few of Maggie’s favorite books, a monogrammed silver hairbrush, pieces of the beautiful jewelry Maggie had made—nothing too big—and all were pieces that had special places in Gwen’s memories. Louisa had tried to encourage Gwen to take more, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to take anything else from the house. It all belonged there, and removing it was too much like disrupting the memories floating in the air like dust.

Gwen’s thoughts shifted back again to Rafe. At odd times, the memory of their kiss in the mirrored trap came back to her. Well, she supposed it was her kiss, since Rafe didn’t remember it.
And I’m not about to tell him about it. She
wasn’t sure exactly what she had been thinking.

She touched the charmed necklace. Half-formed thoughts and sentences swirled in her sleepy mind, and she mumbled the words that she was too afraid to say aloud when awake. A final thought tumbled through her mind as she fell asleep.
I wonder if my real parents would like him.

The rain poured around her, soaking through her thin shirt and shorts. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her chest. The press of her necklace against her skin was a comforting weight.

Her dreams were usually fluid, changing things. Now, her clothing and the dreary rain refused to change no matter how hard she wished. With a sigh, she accepted it with the detached curiosity of a sleeping mind and looked around her. The plants growing around her glowed with the bright green color of summer.

She stood on a cobblestone path, smooth under her feet. A wild garden grew around her. Something about the place was familiar, as if she had been there before. A gentle wind, warm in the icy rain, teased past her and with it went the sound of children laughing. She turned to look behind her, but her view was blocked by a tall wall of green. She was alone.

Here and there, broken statues and stone urns were overrun with green ivy. Brilliantly colored flowers poked through the dense overgrowth. She stopped to admire a statue standing in a pond choked with lily pads.

It was of a young Greek girl bending over with a large urn in her thin marble arms. Gwen could imagine the gurgle of water spilling from the urn. Now it was empty, the edge cracked, the white marble gray with age. The same creeping ivy had snuck its way around the marble figure and wrapped itself around the stone girl’s eyes in a green blindfold. It was no longer such a pleasant sight, and she turned quickly away.

The rain stopped its downpour. In its place, a cold wind blew towards her face. Yet she was drawn forward. Dropping her chin, she set her shoulders and walked on. In the distance, she could see a large hill, a small stone building resting at its top. A hedge enclosed the garden; a small metal gate hid among the heavy leaves. With a metallic screech, it swung open in front of her.

At the top of the hill, she looked up at the ornate mausoleum. The mantle once would have been carved with a family name. Now, the stone not covered with ivy lay crumbled and broken at her feet.

Two large trees grew on either side, towering over the structure. A short bank of stairs led up to a heavy grated iron door set behind four large columns. Whatever instinct had drawn her to the top of the hill was now telling her to go into the building in front of her. It didn’t matter if it was a dream, the thought of walking into a mausoleum was less than pleasant.

The stone steps were like ice under her feet. Like the iron gate in the garden, the door swung inward at her light touch. A long stairwell descended in front of her, the dark gloom pierced by the occasional flickering lantern on the wall.

Common sense told her that walking down those stairs would be a huge mistake. No one in their right mind walked into dark, underground graves.
But this is just a dream.
She cared less about common sense and more about adventure; so with a quiet tread, she made her way down into the dark. As she descended deeper into the ground, she had to place her feet carefully on the broken stairs.

Whatever had ruined the stairs was too deliberate to have been a force of nature. The crypt at the bottom showed the same signs of destruction. The room held four stone sarcophagi. Like those of ancient times, the stone tops were carved in the image of the person laid to rest inside.

In the center of the room sat two larger ones, the stone figures of a man and a woman, their faces smashed in. To her left was a smaller stone coffin, carved with the sleeping form of a young boy. The name had been scratched out, although she could still make out the dedication.
‘Lost too soon. Never forgotten.’

It was the final coffin that held her attention. It wasn’t the lack of stone figure carved on the top or the newness of the stone that drew her gaze. Instead, it was the name carved in a looping font. Her own name. The impossibility of it mocked her. With a hesitant step, she made her way over to the stone plaque, brushing her fingers over the lettering.

As her fingers touched the letters, there was a sharp click. With a grinding sound, the panel slid away to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside lay a long silver dagger, the hilt carved with symbols in a language she had never seen.

Without thinking, she touched the silver blade, snatching her hand back when it dissolved like mist in front of her. The compartment collapsed in on itself, and the crypt started to rumble.

Oh crap.

Gwen backed away, watching with wide eyes as the stone sarcophagus folded in on itself, the crumbling circle of stone growing wider. She had no desire to see another, now familiar, scene of such destruction, and she willed herself to wake up. The scene in front of her refused to be replaced with the more comforting one of Maggie’s bedroom.

A loud crack echoed around the room as a deep fissure opened in the center of the crypt.
Run
, a voice whispered over her shoulder. The room was empty.

Another heavy crack and a rumbling crash.
Seems like good advice to me.
She raced up the broken stairs, managing not to trip, and burst out into the open air. The earth shook, and she fell, wincing as her knees hit hard on the stone pathway. Looking behind her, she watched as the ground opened up around the mausoleum and swallowed it whole. Scrambling to her knees, she ran down the hill towards the garden.

“Wake up!” Not bothering to look behind her, she banged her shoulder into the iron gate and rushed into the garden. An angry wind swept her hair into her eyes, and she pushed at it with impatient hands.

It was too late to see the thick strand of ivy creeping across the path in front of her. The vine twisted around her feet, tripping her as she ran. With a scream, she felt herself fly forward and raised her hands to brace herself for impact with the ground.