The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (38 page)

This is why you came to Paris. This is why you dragged Gaige on this run from hell. Answers
.
M.L. Worchansky may have the golden ticket. He may not. Either way, you’ll never know if you don’t ask.

Hand hovering over the receiver, fingers itching to make the call, I listened for the sound of feet on steps. Cyrus and Dr. Merriweather were still with Gaige. Ines hadn’t returned since Cyrus declared the townhouse non-smoking. I was alone downstairs, and it was as good a time as any.

I snatched up the receiver and punched in the number. The ringing trilled repeatedly in my ear, and my heart sank a little farther with each unanswered jingle. I let my head fall forward until my chin hit my chest, the weight of disappointment too heavy to fight any longer. It was over. Without Worchansky, answers weren’t going to be found on this trip.

The receiver was nearly back in the cradle when a breathless male voice answered.

“Bonjour?”

I pressed the phone tightly against my ear. “Charles?” I asked.

“Stassi,” he replied, no trace of doubt when he breathed my name.

The smile in his voice made me smile, little butterflies fluttering in my abdomen.

“How are you?” I asked, forcibly calming my voice.

“I am well, thank you. My apologies for the delay, I was in the shower when I heard the phone ringing. I was hoping it would be you. I have been concerned. How is your brother? Your uncle mentioned that he has fallen ill.”

“Gaige is doing better,” I said, praying it was true.

My partner was awake, which seemed like a good start. The memory loss worried me, though. Nonetheless, until I heard otherwise, I was going to attribute his inability to recall our entire conversation to the huge knot on the back of his head.

“I am glad to hear it,” Charles replied sincerely.

There was a long pause, followed by awkward silence.

“I called—” Charles began, just as I started to say, “Are you free this afternoon?”

We both laughed.

“You go ahead,” he told me.

I repeated my question, lowering my voice when I heard movement upstairs.

“As it happens, I am free,” Charles said, sounding amused. “But is there a reason we are whispering? Did I make such a terrible impression with your uncle?”

“No, not at all,” I told him, bringing the mouthpiece closer to my lips. “Gaige is resting in the next room, I don’t want to bother him.”

“That is very kind of you. Did you have an activity in mind for this afternoon? Or should I plan something? A picnic perhaps?” His tone was still light and joking.

Good. We are on the same page,
I thought.

“I think you know exactly what I want to do,” I replied, realizing too late how that could be interpreted. How it
would
be interpreted by anyone at all like Gaige. I started to backpedal.

“Wait, no, not
that.
That’s not what I meant, I was trying to say…I just meant…Worchansky.”

Through the line, I heard Charles chuckling.

“I know what you meant, Stassi. I inquired with a friend who knows Monsieur Worchansky, and got a phone number for him. I took the liberty of calling ahead, I hope you do not mind.”

“No, not at all,” I replied, impressed with his initiative. “Would he mind if we stopped by this afternoon?”

“He said any day this week is suitable. Though I forgot to ask where precisely he lives. You mentioned you had the address, though, correct?”

“I do. It’s in Montrouge. That isn’t far, right?”

“Rather close, actually. I have a car. I can drive us if that is okay with your uncle? Or we can hire a driver, if he would prefer.”

It most certainly was not okay with my “uncle”. But I didn’t plan on telling Cyrus about the excursion.

Upstairs, the door to Gaige’s bedroom clicked shut, followed by the sound of Cyrus and Dr. Merriweather talking in low voices.

“Pick me up at four?” I asked hurriedly. Before Charles could answer, I added, “I’ll be waiting outside. If I’m running late, don’t come up. Just wait for me.”

Charles chuckled again. “As you wish.”

Two sets of footsteps were descending the staircase, the men’s voices growing louder as they drew closer.

“See you soon,” I whispered, replacing the receiver just as Cyrus came into view.

Engrossed in their conversation, my boss and the alchemist doctor didn’t notice me right away, giving my trembling hands time to still. They were discussing the oddity of Gaige’s condition. According to the doctor, there was nothing wrong with him aside from the concussion.

“The memory loss is troublesome,” the doctor was saying. “He is lucid now, though. And his vitals are all within the normal range. Blackouts are typically a stage five symptom of time sickness, so I don’t think that’s what we’re dealing with. Once a runner reaches that point, he is almost never able to regress. Mr. Koppelman would be confused, delusional even, if this were from his travels. It is generally so severe by then that the runner becomes unable to function independently, and I usually recommend institutionalization. But he appears to be fine now. Mr. Koppelman has no other symptoms of time sickness, either acute or chronic. I don’t believe that is the proper diagnosis.”

Cyrus and the doctor were standing in the living room, facing each other. Neither man acknowledged my presence, which made eavesdropping entirely too easy.

“What about his behavior before the fall?” Cyrus asked.

Dr. Merriweather’s expression turned troubled. “I cannot say just yet.” He patted the pocket of his white coat. “With the additional blood I just drew, I will be able to run more tests.”

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for? Something you haven’t already tested for? Some inkling of an idea?” Cyrus asked, his tan face looking impossibly grim.

Averting his gaze, as if what he had to say next wasn’t going to be received well, the doctor continued.

“From Stassi’s description…. You know I’d never think the worst of one of your men, Mr. Atlic. You have impeccable instincts. It’s just that…well, we might need to consider that Mr. Koppelman was using recreational drugs. There are a number of substances that would cause such behavior.”

“Gaige doesn’t use drugs!” I exclaimed.

Both men turned to stare at me. Seeing as I’d just outed myself, I slid off the stool by the phone and joined them in the living room.

The doctor shifted from one foot to the other and pointedly avoided eye contact with me. I turned my hard stare on my boss.

“You and I both know Gaige would not do that. I mean, sure, he likes to drink, but that’s the extent of it. And, on a run, he is careful to only use alcohol when the situation calls for it.”

Cyrus nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. When his perfectly neutral expression wavered for the briefest of moments, I caught sight of something akin to pride.

“Stassi is right. I have known Gaige his entire life. The boy may imbibe. On several notable occasions, he has even gone overboard. But drugs have never been a part of his life.”

The doctor held up his hands, conceding the point. “I understand. And I apologize if I have offended either of—”

“You’re damned right you’ve offended me,” I snapped.

Cyrus rested a hand on my shoulder. I waited for a reprimand, but none came. Instead, my boss pulled me to his side, a subtle gesture that showed he was on my team. A little of my anger faded away.

Palms pressed together and held in the center of his chest, Dr. Merriweather bowed in my direction. “I am sorry for that.” He inhaled deeply. “I do, however, believe we need to consider the possibility—” He held up an index finger to staunch the flow of irate rambling threatening to flow from my lips. “—that he was drugged.

“I have asked Gaige to write down every detail of his day, from the time he woke up to the last thing he remembers. If he tests positive for an unnatural substance, that should give us a timeline with which to work. From there, we will be able to narrow down where and when he was exposed to the toxin.”

“Thank you, doctor. That sounds like the best way to proceed.” Cyrus turned to me. “Does that sound okay to you, Stassi?”

I nodded in agreement.

Now that no one was accusing my partner of going on a bender, the fight had gone out of me, replaced by exhaustion. In hindsight, my outburst seemed childish and silly. I should have defended Gaige in a more mature, professional manner.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Merriweather,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be so reactive, I’m just worried about my partner. Thank you so much for taking care of him.”

“I understand completely,” Merriweather replied with his kindly smile. “We’ll get this all sorted out, one way or another.”

“Let me walk you out, doctor.” Cyrus gestured to the door.

I turned toward the stairs, figuring I had time for a catnap before Charles was due to pick me up.

“Stassi?” Cyrus called without looking back. “I’d like a word when I return.”

Crap. Was that word going to be “probation”?

Yelling at an alchemist doctor was likely frowned upon. There were worse crimes, like Lachlan’s, but the price for defiance was much higher in the syndicates than other workplaces. Without strict obedience and absolute fealty, the syndicate system would break down.

Hopefully, my boss would consider stress a mitigating factor in this situation. This run, with all of its twists and turns and serial killers, was stressful. Cyrus understood that, right?

Of course, if he’d overheard me on the phone with Charles…that was direct insubordination. I tried to recall my side of the conversation, so I’d know just what circle of hell I’d damned myself to if Cyrus had been listening.

Forewarned is forearmed and all of that.

With my mind racing at a million miles a moment, I was sitting on the couch and making mincemeat of my thumbnail when Cyrus reentered the townhouse. He took a deep breath, met my anxious gaze, and then said the last words I was expecting.

“How do you feel about sanitariums?”

“YOU’RE GOING TO
have me committed?” I asked uncertainly.

Cyrus stared at me with flat green eyes. “That depends.”

“On what?” I shot back, apprehension creeping up my spine.

My first question had been a joke. Sort of. The jury was still out on whether Cyrus’s answer had been in the same vein.

“On how much information the employees are willing to share with a man claiming to be searching for his missing son.”

“I see,” I said, drawing out the second word as his meaning sunk in. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Cyrus, you aren’t seriously sending me undercover in a sanitarium? In the 1920s? They still use electroshock to try to zap the lesbian out of women. And zipper you shut in bathtubs. No fracking way.”

“Did you become a lesbian in the last twenty-four hours?” he asked.

“That’s not the point.”

Much to my relief, Cyrus cracked a wide smile and chuckled.

“No, Stassi, you will not be going undercover,” he said, his emerald eyes twinkling. “Gaige may not have time sickness, but I think that Lachlan does. As I told you before, his syndicate’s Founder was concerned over Lachlan’s mental health prior to his disappearance. Far as we can tell, Lachlan isn’t using customs stations to enter and exit territories. We have no idea how many jumps he’s made over the last several weeks. The chocolate wrappers suggest he knows he’s sick and is trying to counteract the effects. And the police reports from the Night Gentleman crime scenes point to a deranged, very unstable man.”

“Aren’t all serial killers deranged?” I asked.

“One could make that argument,” Cyrus agreed. Rounding the coffee table, he joined me on the couch. “The Night Gentleman has not taken a victim in four days, which is longer than his last cooling-off period. Serial killers typically speed up their timetable, not slow it down.”

“Which must mean Lachlan is out of commission,” I reasoned, picking up where Cyrus had left off. “You didn’t find him in the morgue, so he probably isn’t dead. If he’s not wandering freely but is likely still alive, that leaves incarceration or institutionalization.”

“Very good,” Cyrus told me, nodding his approval. “I made an inquiry at La Sante Prison here in Montparnasse, and no one matching his description is currently in holding.”

“And then there was one,” I proclaimed. “One likely possibility remaining—a sanitarium.”

I leaned back against the couch cushions, exhausted beyond belief.

“And then there was one,” Cyrus echoed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Salpêtrière.”

“The place that rounded up all the prostitutes and treated them for hysteria?” I asked incredulously.

Horrific images began to invade my mind’s eye: Glassy-eyed men and women with electrodes at their temples and bits in their mouths strapped to metal gurneys with leather restraints; doctors and nurses taking perverse pleasure in “curing” their charges through sadistic methods; patients muttering nonsensically to their shadows after one too many electroshock sessions.

“That’s the one,” Cyrus replied. “I’m impressed by your knowledge of its history, but
Salpêtrière is now a state-of-the-art psychiatric facility. If Lachlan has been committed, I’d guess that’s where they took him.”

“Next stop, Salpêtrière,” I said, doing my best impression of a train conductor. “Toot, toot! When do we leave?”

Cyrus studied me. If I looked at all the way I felt, I was not a pretty sight. I felt like a girl who’d spent the night cramped in an uncomfortable chair.

“Go lay down for a bit, Stassi. You need to catch up on sleep,” Cyrus said, not unkindly. His tone turned stern when he added, “That’s an order.”

I stood and stretched, the vertebrae in my spine crackling like pop rocks. Stifling a yawn, I mumbled, “Right after I check on Gaige.”

“Gaige is fine. He’s doing crossword puzzles and eagerly waiting for the all-clear from Dr. Merriweather, so that the two of you can complete the run. You, on the other hand, look about one breath away from an all-gray-matter diet. Bed. Now.” He pointed towards the stairs.

“Did you just say I look like the undead? Not cool.”

Despite his tactful choice of words, my boss was right. Now that I wasn’t fearful for my partner’s welfare, all of the adrenaline that’d kept me going was rapidly dissipating. Exhaustion swept over me as I trudged towards the stairs, my feet feeling like they were encased in cement blocks. The sensation intensified as I navigated the steps, using the bannister like a crutch.

No mattress had ever felt so soft, no pillow so perfect, as the ones on my bed in the Paris townhouse.

WHEN I WOKE
, I went straight across the hall to check on Gaige.
Blue’s Canyon
was being projected as a hologram from the Qube in his lap, a mug of mint tea steaming between his large hands as he read Rosenthal’s novel.

“Have it memorized yet?” I asked from the doorway.

“Just about. The story will make a lot more sense once we have that middle piece, though. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to Serena’s cat for the last hour.” Gaige tapped the screen of his Qube and the hologram disappeared. “You look way better, not like a rabid raccoon anymore.”

“Nice gratitude, ass. I stay up all night, holding your hand, and that’s the thanks I get?” I rolled my eyes. “Next time, I’ll let you die alone.”

Hand over his heart, Gaige batted his long lashes.

“Aww, Stass, you were worried I’d die? I didn’t know you cared.”

“Dead runners generate a lot of paperwork,” I deadpanned.

“Come sit.”

My partner beckoned me forward and gestured to the floral torture chair. My gaze darted between the chair and Gaige’s bed.

“Move,” I said, indicating that he should make room.

Stretching out beside him, I rested my head on his shoulder. Gaige leaned his cheek on my hair and wound an arm around my shoulders to pull me close. The embrace was affectionate without being romantic, as though we truly were brother and sister.

“Thanks, Stass,” Gaige murmured.

He didn’t elaborate, but there wasn’t any need to.

“We’re a team,” I replied, patting his arm.

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” he intoned, bringing a smile to my face.

In companionable silence, we sat like that, pseudo-cuddling, for several minutes. He didn’t need to tell me how scared he was. Between the rigid set to his muscles and the uncharacteristic grinding of his teeth, it was readily apparent to me. His large fingers nimbly picked at the stitching on the brocade blanket.

“You wanna talk about it?” I asked finally.

“Doc says I’m healthy as an ocelot. He came in while you were sleeping to give me the good news.” Gaige’s voice lacked its normal flippant tone.

“I think you mean ‘horse’. The saying is ‘healthy as a—’”

“I know how the saying goes, Stass.”

“So, if Merriweather gave you good news, what’s the problem?” I asked, slanting my gaze to see his expression from the corner of my eye.

“Healthy people don’t black out.”

Right, there was that.

“Did Dr. Merriweather have an explanation for it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, he did.” Gaige snorted derisively and let his head fall back against the pillow. He groaned and gingerly touched the lump on the back of his skull. “Doc Merriweather and I had a heart-to-heart. Five times, in five different ways, the alchemist had the nerve to ask me about my ‘drug habit’.” The air quotes made me smile. “Five times, in five different languages, I told him to turn his ivory tower into gold and go frack himself.”

“You didn’t!” I exclaimed, half in awe of my partner and half concerned about repercussions. Though if yelling at alchemists was exile-worthy, at least we’d be together.

“Pig Latin was my next choice, but Merriweather quit asking before I could tell him to ackfray himself. He did say that my blood sample came back negative for common drugs, so they’re going to test for the more obscure ones now. He made it sound like it was possible that someone dosed me with something, but I could tell that he didn’t really believe that.” Gaige paused, looking grim. When he continued, his voice was quiet and grave. “Cyrus is going to have my balls if I test positive for anything.”

“Castration is a little bloody for the big boss man. He strikes me as more of a double-tap-to-the-back-of-the-head kind of guy. Neat and tidy,” I said pragmatically. “But you have nothing to worry about, because they won’t find any drugs in your system. Besides, Cyrus is on your side. He knows you. He knows you wouldn’t jeopardize a run for any reason, let alone something as pointless and reckless as drugs.”

Gaige shrugged, feigning indifference. “Whatever.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked again.

“No, not at all,” Gaige replied. “But thanks.”

“Is Cyrus around?”

He shook his head. “He’s meeting with that tailor Charles told you about.”

Thank heavens.
I hadn’t yet conjured a believable excuse for leaving the townhouse to see Worchansky, so this was extremely good news. Almost like fate wanted to help me with my search.

Checking the grandfather clock in the corner of Gaige’s room, I saw that I needed to get moving if I was to be ready when Charles arrived.

I rolled onto my side, so I was facing my partner with a fixed expression of innocence. “Want to help me out?”

“I know that look.” Gaige grinned. “What harebrained scheme have you concocted?”

“Well, since you asked….”

As always, my partner’s excitement mirrored my own when I told him about my plans for the afternoon. Hoping to avoid a tirade of teasing and inappropriate comments, I left out the part about Charles accompanying me. Gaige spent several minutes trying to convince me that he could sneak out and go with me, though his efforts proved fruitless.

“But we’re
partners
, Stass,” he pleaded, sticking out his bottom lip and giving me puppy dog eyes. “We’re in this together. I go where you go, that’s the deal. How will you make the dream work?”

“I know, sweetie. But the doctor hasn’t cleared you to get out of bed yet, and I’m running out of time here. We’re going to be gone in a couple of days, this might be my only chance to go see Worchansky.”

Gaige let out a long string of expletives in Pig Latin, directed at Dr. Merriweather. When my only response was a withering look, he dropped the whole wounded-animal-meets-belligerent-sailor act.

“I don’t feel right about you going by yourself,” he said in a serious tone. “We don’t know anything about this Worchansky guy’s connection to your locket, nor what kind of person he really is. For all we know, he’s the Night Gentleman. I know we’re short on time, but what about just waiting until tomorrow, so I can do with you?”

“Tomorrow is full. I have the sanitarium in the morning, and then I’m going to see the Flying Codonas in the evening.”

With Hadley nursing a hangover, the Italian aerialists were still up in the air…no pun intended. Tickets were a whole other issue, but I was confident that Ines could arrange that side of things. Hopefully, Hadley would be feeling up to the outing. It was the last chance I’d have to see her before the Hemingways left for the land of sauerkraut and schnitzel.

“I’m sorry…did you just say you’re going to see flying testicles?”

The expression of utter bewilderment on Gaige’s face was priceless. I rolled my eyes.

“Codonas, not cahones. They’re Italian aerialists. Maybe you can even come with us, if you’re feeling up to it.”

From the corner of the room, the grandfather clock chimed a quarter to four.

Climbing out of bed, I said, “That’s my cue. You’ll cover for me with Cyrus?”

“We’re a team,” Gaige answered, echoing my earlier comment.

I paused in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame, and looked back at Gaige over my shoulder. My partner’s big brown eyes were hopeful, as if I might urge him to say “screw it” and come with me after all. My face split into a devilish grin straight out of his arsenal.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going alone.”