Shadow Boxer: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 2) (28 page)

He turns and takes my hands and leads me to the blankets and lowers us both. He stretches out, arm left out for my pillow. Nestled against him, I settle against his warmth and lift just enough to kiss his cheek. He kisses my temple and my eyes and my lips, pressing a sweet kiss before his lids drop closed and his head falls on his shoulder.

Bright morning sun blinds me and I push up from the empty pallet. I crane my neck and search the house, but Constantine’s gone. On the bench near my head, a fresh plate of bread sits atop a note. I tug the paper free.

As much as I enjoyed watching you sleep, I couldn’t bear to watch you leave me. Easier this way. It would please me to see you return tonight.

C

I lower the paper to my lap and tear a hunk off the bread. He’s doing his best, I suppose. From the beginning, he’s been his own man, battling with my need to be my own woman. I stretch and stand, popping the last of the bread in my mouth before tugging on my socks and boots.

Last night was nice. No sex, just us trying to find a place to exist.

I flip the paper over and carry it to his map table. They’ve changed since I was here last, now a new enemy’s camp. I finger his handwriting and chide myself for stalling.

I scribble out a hasty note.

Last night was great. Please keep your forehead clean. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Know I’m missing you while I’m gone.

E

I straighten and fist my hands into my lower back. Maybe next time we can sleep somewhere other than the floor. With one last look around, I palm my lightning and arc.

C
HAPTER
30

I
ARRIVE
IN
Nikola’s hotel room, near the door. My first step ruffles a newspaper that housecleaning has slipped beneath the door. I check the date—1937. The entire room is shadowed and I can barely make out the standard furniture in the darkness. The air is dense and housekeeping hasn’t been by in a while. I take a cautious step into the depths and I’m bombarded by a sense that something’s very wrong.

Before I can get too comfortable, I shiver. The room feels unnaturally silent.

I move closer and kick a bowl of birdseed, sending it flying and scattering tiny seeds throughout the room. At the end of his bed, I reach out a tentative hand and touch his shoe. “Nikola?”

“Evy.” A croak from the shadows.

I sprint to the bed and crash to my knees. “Nikola… ” I scan his face. He looks awful. There’s a gash over his forehead, but it’s bandaged. His cheeks are sunken with age, and his hair is nearly white. Beautiful olive skin is yellow and jaundiced. Even without the injuries, he looks at least ten years older.

His arm flails to find me. I cup it and lean closer. “What happened?”

He tries to shake his head, but grimaces and squeezes my hand. “Car.”

I squeeze back in what I hope is reassuring pressure and doesn’t convey my terror. “A car? You were hit by a car?”

He blinks.

“Oh, Nikola.” I drop my head to the back of his hand. “I’m such a fool. I should have been here.”

“My own fault,” he whispers, every word a struggle.

I spent the night on a date while I should have been trying to get back here to the next spot in the alteration. How did I miss this? Why didn’t I show up in time to prevent it? I jump up. “What do you need? Has a doctor seen you? Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head and waves me to sit. I drag a chair to the head of the bed and lower myself to his side. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“The patents?”

“Safe. They’re safe at my house. I took them with me when—” I squeeze his hand. “What happened with J.P.? Did he come back?”

He nods, anguish and pain deepening the creases around his lips and eyes. With great difficulty, he sits up and I lean forward to help, but he brushes my hand away. After a few long minutes where I swear he’s going to run out of breath, he opens his eyes. “After that evening, several auspicious events occurred. George implored me to research the cause behind them, but I was—” He coughs and wheezes and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief. “I was ignorant. I wanted to believe J.P., that he would keep his word and finance my tower. He didn’t.”

“Did George think he was involved?”

“He suspected. I thought J.P.’s unwillingness to lend the money and my injury were unrelated.”

“Who hit you?”

He closes his eyes. “Not J.P.”

Any icy foreboding trails bony fingers across my nape. “But you know who it was, don’t you?”

Time stretches and expands like I’m shifting places, and for a moment I think he isn’t going to answer me, and his eyes pop open and he sits up higher in the bed, renewed by a phantom energy. He flattens the frayed edge of the sheet between his long fingers. “We’ve never talked about your Ilif after that night so many decades ago.”

I scoot my chair closer and shiver as the hair on my nape raises. That’s not what’s important right now, but I don’t want to interrupt with him looking so vibrant.

“Though I’d dismissed him as a zealous student of electricity like me, there was always a detail about him that troubled me. A few years after your last visit, that detail clarified for me when two foreigners came to see me. After the men departed, I realized your Ilif’s interest in my work was never casual. His participation nagged and caused me to research the level of his international involvement. What I found disturbed me. His international relations created an underground armory. Weapons to the highest bidder, machinery no one had ever seen. Recently, he worked with a man named—” He coughs and pauses to catch his breath. “A man named Hitler.”

I reel. Please don’t let it be the Hitler I’m thinking of.

“Ilif put Hitler in touch with geneticists who’d advanced eradication of certain diseases. And from what I read in the papers, possibly entire races.” He waves the tangent away and takes a slow breath that creases the deep lines around his eyes. “But of all the weapons in the world, mine proved the most deadly, the ones Ilif and his partner, Penya, could sell for the most money.”

The room tilts, and I grab a fistful of bedspread.

“Over my lifetime, many heads of nation have come to see me, asked for my patents and cooperation to build weapons. I’ve only ever wanted to better the world, so declining those offers was never challenging. However, that day, the men used other tactics to persuade me.”

I don’t want to ask, but there’s no way I can’t. “What kind?”

“Threats of death and torture for my dearest relationships. George. His wife. My sisters.”

My head drops forward.

“But I believed you had the patents, so it was easy to tell them I’d destroyed them after realizing the deadly applications. Most of the originals
were
destroyed in the fire. George—and now you—are the only ones who know I always duplicate my findings.”

I rock back in the chair. “Holy shit, Nikola. Do you think they believed you’d destroy your work?” Because I don’t. Not for an instant.

“What else did you tell them? Are they coming back? Did they buy your story? Do these men know about me?”

He raises his hand to silence me.

I bite my lips and clench my fists against my trembling mouth.

“They asked after you. I believe they watched us together on one of our visits. I told them you were a friend, nothing more.” He wheezes and slumps over.

I half rise from the chair, but then his breathing evens out and he turns his gaunt frame.

No way would they write me off after Nikola destroyed the patents and tried to convince them I’m a friend—he doesn’t
have
friends. And I thought Ilif was bad. Now I may have international killers coming after me. Killers from the turn of the century, when genocide and missiles were as common as breakfast, not terrorists of today, who seem to abide by the Geneva Conventions. I’m not sure how I thought changing history wasn’t going to paint a giant target on my back. Maybe Papi was right to worry… and Constantine. It’s time for Penya to quit screwing around and give me answers about Ilif and what the fuck he’s up to. I’m done pandering to her spa time. I want answers. I want her out of there.

And it may be time to reconsider Constantine’s offer of protection. Even a lightning rider has to sleep sometime.

“Do you think that’s who ran you down?”

“My memory of the foreigners’ visit is like all my others—vivid and perfect. They brought another man with them that day. He didn’t speak, and they didn’t introduce him. It wasn’t until six or seven years later that I learned his identity. While waiting in the lobby one day for George, I caught a program about this Adolf Hitler, and recognized the acquaintance. After a small amount of research, I learned he was one of Hitler’s closest associates.”

“He came to see me three days ago. Again, he asked for my weapon patents. Again, I refused.”

I open my mouth to ask what they talked about, but Nikola waves me silent.

“
That
man is who ran me down yesterday. I don’t believe he meant for me to live. Fortunately, his timing was poor, and dozens of theater-goers were leaving the dining room when the accident occurred. According to accounts, their quick response and interference kept the driver from finishing the job.

“I should have been here.”

“So you could have been hit? The thought is ludicrous. Your involvement comes next, Evy, and I would have it no other way. I would rather die a thousand deaths in order for my work to survive.” A coughing fit steals his breath, and I can hear a gurgling quality to each cough. He probably has a collapsed lung—or worse.

“You got the document out of the safe, correct?”

I jerk and shake my head. “No. I never did. This is the first time I’ve been back since I took the trunks.”

His eyes close. “Of all the documents, that is the most important. You must retrieve it.”

“I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks. I should have at least come back to finish the job before seeing Constantine. My guts twist and I reach for Nikola’s hand again. “Is it still there?”

His head bobs slightly as he slides down the pillows until he’s prone. He’s paler than when I first arrived. I’ve failed him on every level.

“It’s time. Time for me to die, and time for you to go.”

I crash to my knees by the bed and grip his hand. “I’m so sorry. Please. Please forgive me.”

He nods and turns his head away.

“Thank you for trusting me. I will not fail you again,” I whisper.

As I slip from his room, I take the long hallway to a stairwell hidden behind a large display of potted plants, and I ease down the back stairs to the lobby. My hair is still standing on end, and I wish I could keep a strand of lightning out, just in case.

In the lobby, a large group of guests mingles by the bar, and another couple is checking in. One gray-haired man is sitting in the far corner, playing chess alone. A watered-down tumbler sits at the small table by his elbow. A layer of melted ice sits above the amber alcohol.

After the couple leaves, I step up to the desk. I swear the chess player tracks my movements. I should have asked Tesla what the guy who hit him looked like.

“Yes?” The clerk is young. I turn up the flirt. “Hi there. Mr. Tesla sent me down for a document. I think it’s in the safe.”

He slides a notebook and pen across the tall counter. “Your name, his name, and room number, please.”

I smile and tilt my head like the coquettish girl I was a lifetime ago. “Of course.”

He leans forward. “And maybe on the second page, your phone number.”

I bat my eyelashes and try not to gag at what a jackass I am. Nikola lies upstairs dying, and I’m down here taking advantage of a boy who’s probably barely shaving. Nikola probably wouldn’t care how I get the paper, as long as I get it, but this feels wrong. With a flourish, I lift the top page and scribble my name and phone number—the real one since it hasn’t been invented yet—then slide the pad over.

He reddens around the collar and averts his gaze. After he stumbles away, I turn and catch the chess player staring at me. He meets my gaze then returns to his game. Lightning stings my fingertips and I drum a riff on the counter.
Hurry.

The clerk returns with a small white envelope and slides it across the counter. Before he releases it, he manages to make eye contact and says, “I’ll call you.”

“I hope so,” I manage breathlessly.

A new couple presses into my space and I glance over my shoulder. The room is full with patrons ready to enter the dining room. Nowhere here to arc. I could run back up to Nikola’s, or the stairwell, but dinner-goers are flowing through every doorway.
 

My cute clerk releases the envelope, and I force myself not to sprint from the building. At the front doors, I risk a glance at the chess table. The chair is empty.

Outside, I search faces while I stuff the envelope in my waistband. No one looks familiar. I walk as fast as I dare down the sidewalk, searching for a spot I can duck into and arc. Halfway down the block, I spot a small alcove between two buildings and speed up. Just as I get there, two women stop to talk, blocking the opening. I keep going, risking a glance over my shoulder. I don’t see the gray-haired guy.

I trip and bump into the portly man in front of me. He curses and jerks away. At the end of the block, I decide to stay on this street and cross with the mass of people. They’re everywhere, coming in and out of buildings, chatting up street vendors, gathering in groups to chat. Heat radiates off the sidewalk, and I’m definitely pre-deodorant. Everyone is talking at once, speaking loudly to be heard over the din. Onions and deli meats mingle with a sickeningly sweet perfume of hairspray and overheated male. Chaos rules.

I need to settle my nerves before I arc.

On the other side of a hot dog vendor, I find a vacant lot. Following the chain link, I turn down a narrow alley bordering the lot and slip between the gate panels. The ground is uneven, but I move quickly beyond the covered gate to a section of boards. The second I’m out of sight, I flare my lightning and bail. A head of gray hair turns the corner just as blackness impairs my vision.