The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (23 page)

ROUGHLY TWO DOZEN
people were already milling around Stein’s main sitting room, just off the front foyer. They stood chatting in small groups, sipping cocktails and eating delicious-looking hors d’oeuvres from white china plates. I recognized many of the faces from Historian Eisenhower’s lecture, though seeing them in person was very different. This was the first time I’d encountered so many notable figures at once. An interaction with any one of them could easily change the course of history. To say I was feeling nervous was like saying the Epic War was a mere skirmish.

Be cool
, I thought, slightly worried that my inner fangirl would creep out and embarrass me.
You’re a pro, you can do this.

Even among the group of so many who commanded attention, spotting our hostess was an easy task. Gertrude Stein stood near the fireplace with a group of men that included Rosenthal. They all appeared to be hanging on her every word. At least, until the whispered news of our arrival began to spread throughout the room like a brushfire. Gaige, Ines, and I stood conspicuously in the foyer, every eye in the salon suddenly peering in our direction.

It’s like the opening scene of one of my nightmares,
I thought frantically. Those horror movie-esque dreams always ended the same way: I’d return to a bloody, unrecognizable present caused by my actions in the past. It was truly one of my greatest fears, right up there with being buried alive. And ostriches—terrifyingly aggressive creatures, something I’d learned the hard way.

Lock it up, Drama Queen,
I lectured myself, putting on my practiced, congenial smile.

The volume in the room had gone from an eight to a one. The only sounds were loud whispering and the rustling of clothing. Heads turned and necks craned in an overt attempt to catch a glimpse of the Americans at the center of the latest scandal. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be infamous. I didn’t much care for it.

“No need to stare, the Princes will be here all evening,” Ines proclaimed loudly.

“No worries, folks, that mess with the police has been cleared up,” Gaige added, smiling winningly. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“How positively boring,” a short blonde woman declared to her male companion. Her tone that clearly indicated that she’d been hoping my partner was involved in the murders.

“Some people are so strange,” Gaige muttered in my ear.

“Mix and mingle, my dears,” Ines said. The order leaked through her slightly parted, heavily painted lips, without as much as a twitch of her facial muscles.

Ines ushered us through the entranceway to the salon. Despite Gaige’s declaration of innocence, the crowd inched our way in a not-so-subtle manner, making no attempts to hide their curiosity. To me, wanting to meet suspected killers seemed like a blatant disregard for common sense. The partygoers clearly didn’t share my beliefs. In this instance, I was grateful since it meant the allegations hadn’t ruined our chances of gaining a toehold with Rosenthal’s set. In a society where being interesting was the most readily-accepted currency, Gaige and I were currently flush. Evidently, murder suspects bested artists and literati.

Playing the part of hostess, Stein broke away from the group of men and shuffled over to greet us. With her short, practical hair, and round face punctuated by kind brown eyes, the great matriarch of twentieth century literature could only be described as handsome. I found myself drawn to her, fascinated by the intelligence radiating from her like heat from an inferno.

Stein welcomed Gaige and Ines as if they were old friends.

“Tell me that ordeal with the inspector has not turned you off of Paris,” she said to Gaige.

“Not at all. These things happen.” Gaige waved it off, as though police interrogations where par for the course with him. “Besides, now I have one hell of a story to tell my friends back home.”

“Right you are,” Stein agreed with an approving nod. “A good story is the spark of inspiration necessary to ignite great novels.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Gaige replied, drawing me forward into Stein’s direct line of sight. “Ms. Stein, allow me to introduce my sister, Anastasia Prince.”

I held out my hand, and Stein shook it heartily. “It’s such an honor,” I gushed, unable to stop myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alice Toklas beeline from across the room to stand by her wife’s side. Where Stein was rounded edges with soft curves and a keen gaze, Toklas’s face was composed of hard lines and mismatched features with a suspicious look in her eye. As subtly as a dog marking its territory, Toklas silently appraised our motley crew.

“An honor?” Stein gave a short bark of laughter. “Did you hear that, Alice?” She turned to smirk at her wife, who made no reply save a small grunt of acknowledgement. “Are you a writer, Anastasia?”

“Oh, no, ma’am, merely a lover of literature. I love to read,” I replied nervously.

“Anastasia is being modest,” Gaige interjected. “She has yet to give writing a stab, but she’s a great editor. My dear sister here deserves an award for typing up my chicken scratch ramblings. She makes my boring stories worlds more interesting.”

“Oh? You’re a writer, then?” Stein asked.

“More of a dabbler,” Gaige said with faux modesty.

Stein turned her attention back to me. “You and Alice have something in common—she’s my typist and editor.”

Gaige and I already knew this from our lessons with Historian Eisenhower. And while we hadn’t discussed including either Gaige’s dabbling or my alleged editing skills, the embellishment to our cover story did make for a nice segue. From there, I was able to turn the conversation to more comfortable ground.

“I’m just glad my brother’s hobby has allowed me to put my education to good use,” I said.

“You’re from Baltimore, right? Where did you attend school?” Stein asked.

“Oldfields, just outside the city. Do you know it?”

“Oh, you must know the DuPont girls. Lovely young women, I hear,” Stein inquired.

Thank goodness Historian Eisenhower was so thorough when helping us prep our cover stories. The DuPont girls were among the school’s most notable recent alumni.

“We had mutual friends back in school, and even went on a ski trip with a large group one Christmas holiday. Alice is an absolute gas. We haven’t kept in touch, though,” I replied, the lie coming effortlessly.

“That tends to happen throughout life. You’ll encounter those you’ve lost contact with when you least expect,” Stein replied wisely. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment, Zelda appears to be all lathered up.” She nodded towards the blonde who’d termed Gaige’s innocence “boring”. “The last thing we need tonight is another row with Hemingway. No filter on that one. I’ll be right back.”

As the hostess made her way across the room to put out the fire brewing in Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald—there was no love lost between Zelda and Hemingway—I smiled awkwardly at Toklas.

Gertrude Stein seemed to be a pleasant, albeit-no-nonsense, woman. I couldn’t say the same about her other half. Toklas radiated hostility, and her dour expression suggested that she would rather chew glass than spend another second in my company. In the spirit of professionalism, I simply smiled to avoid further offending the woman.

Gaige and Ines were both occupied conversing with other guests, so I was on my own with Toklas. After a moment of tense silence, I scoured my mental database for a neutral topic. Finally, I decided on flattery.

“The food looks delicious,” I remarked, knowing Alice had made it all herself. Her culinary expertise was a particular point of pride.

“Oldfields is a fine institution,” Toklas said, without acknowledging the compliment. “It’s a shame that such a wonderful education is often wasted on young girls with no greater ambition in life than to flit about before becoming a wealthy man’s wife.”

“Many of my classmates have gone on to attend Barnard, Bryn Mawr, Mount Holyoke, Vassar, and the like,” I said, feeling oddly defensive about her judgment of the life that wasn’t really mine. “And I did learn typing—that’s a useful skill, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It can be,” Toklas replied with a wave of her hand. “Surely you do not plan to assist your brother with his hobby all of your life. What is it you intend to do with your education, Ms. Prince? After you conclude your holiday in Paris, of course.”

First, I’ll travel several centuries into the future. Hopefully, I’ll have a couple of days off to regroup. Maybe lounge on the beach with Molly, work on my tan. Supposing, of course, that she has recovered from her time sickness and the burns she sustained when witch hunters tried to make her a human torch. Then, it’s off to another time period to steal—
procure
—another artifact for a client with enough gold to be called Midas. Oh, I almost forgot. This plan all hinges on Cyrus finding the rogue runner and putting a stop to his murder spree before time is irreparably altered and the world as we know ceases to exist.

“I’m not certain what the future holds for me, Ms. Toklas,” I said instead, speaking warmly in the hopes of thawing her frigid tone.  “My father has offered me a position in the philanthropic department of my grandfather’s company, though I’ve always dreamt of owning an art gallery. I was accepted to Pembroke College after graduation from Oldfields, but decided to delay my admission until next year. My brother and I wanted to travel, and our father thought visiting Europe would be a good way to expand our horizons.”

Toklas looked at me strangely, as if I’d spoken in a language she didn’t quite understand. She’d obviously taken me for a flighty girl with no ambition. It was petty, but I enjoyed watching the smug smile disappear from her face.

For the next twenty minutes, Toklas fired off questions at me as if this were a job interview. I answered in as pleasant a tone as I could muster, making a game of remaining unruffled in the face of her biting remarks. It was good practice, since Gertrude Stein’s wife would not be the last hostile asset I’d encounter as a runner.

The conversation with Toklas did nothing to further my knowledge about Rosenthal and where he might be hiding sections of
Blue’s Canyon
. But that wasn’t my objective in that moment. Alice Toklas was known to be the gatekeeper of the group we were infiltrating—her judgment of a person was the deciding factor in acceptance, superseding even Stein’s opinion. I needed her to tolerate me, if not actually like me, so that she would deem me fit to breathe the same air as her wife and their friends.

As Toklas reached into the depth of our cover story, I realized I’d soon to need to change the subject to avoid landmines. I looked to my partner for help. Stein had returned during my odd exchange with her wife. She and Gaige were conversing about Picasso’s art—a subject Stein was always eager to discuss. Ines had migrated towards a group of women several feet away. There was no one paying a scrap of attention to Toklas and me, no one to bail me out.

Toklas narrowed her gaze and launched her next attack.

“Our little group here is very close, and yet many have already taken a particular shine to you and your brother. My wife, for instance, seems quite taken with you both. You have managed to integrate yourselves rather quickly, even by our standards. Why do you think that is?” Toklas challenged, studying my face for a reaction as she spoke. Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. “Perhaps I can make sense of your brother’s interest in this crowd, overlooking of course the forceful way he is elbowing in. However, one would think that a young woman such as yourself, with exceedingly limited life experience, might find herself more comfortable with a set that is perhaps less…wise.”

I was floored—and, admittedly, a little impressed—by Toklas’s ability to cram rudeness into sentences like sardines into cans. It was hard to decide which insult to address first. Toklas was a palpably jealous woman, and I had no desire to spar with her green-eyed monster. Still, I wasn’t a doormat.

“I have only just met your wife this evening,” I said sweetly. “I do believe it’s my brother that Ms. Stein is taken with. As for why I am here, I am a patron of creative minds in all forms—art, literature, theater. To be among the company of so many inspired individuals is an honor I am greatly enjoying. As you say, I have limited life experience, but I am hoping my travels will remedy that.”