The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (56 page)

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up at his expression. Adapting to new surroundings was part of my job as a runner. Even when something shocked or surprised me, I fought to keep it from showing on my face. Then again, I had the added benefit of jumping back to times that I could prepare for. There was no preparing for the future.

Which was precisely why runners didn’t travel forward beyond their own time; it was a fundamental rule agreed upon by all of the syndicates. One glance at Charles’s ghost-white face confirmed that it was a sound decision. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as we approached the reception desk, gaping in an undignified, very un-Charles-like manner.

A wave of sympathy washed over me. The poor guy had to feel like a lost puppy separated from his family. Which he sort was.

The night nurse on duty was a year or two older than me. Her waist-length silver hair was twisted into three separate buns at the nape of her neck and shimmered under the bright infirmary lights. Silver mascara had been liberally applied to her long lashes, and her eyebrows were dyed to match the exact shade of the hair on her head. As she typed on the keyboard in front of her, the text displayed on a clear screen behind her desk.

“Stassi, nice to see you have returned in one piece,” Roxi, the nurse, said with a smile. “Are you here to see Molly and Gaige? I’m afraid the medics are still tending to them, but you can wait if you want.” She gestured to a row of sleek chrome chairs off to one side of the room. “Or, if you’d prefer, you can wait at your bungalow. I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there, and I will comm you as soon as they are able to receive visitors.”

As amazing as heading back to my bungalow sounded, it wasn’t in the cards. I might never be allowed back there. Would Molly pitch my stuff and revel in the luxury of having the bungalow to herself?

“Actually, Roxi, I’m here for an eval,” I said shakily. I nodded towards Charles. “Cyrus wanted both of us to be checked out.”

“This must be our visitor.” A man with the tall, lean body of a swimmer appeared in the entranceway to the treatment wing. Dr. Wain Carver was head of the infirmary, and a man I only knew from a distance. The fact that Cyrus felt the need to call him made me queasy. He rarely treated runners for anything as routine as time sickness. Return from a run with the plague, Spanish flu, typhoid—whatever that was—and Dr. Carver was your guy. Time sickness was left to the underlings, particularly in the middle of the night.

“Dr. Wain Carver,” the doctor said, offering Charles his hand.

“Charles DuPree,” Charles replied, the picture of manners and etiquette.

He must have a high tolerance for weird,
I thought, marveling at Charles’s ability to speak in the face of technology that had to seem like something from an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

“Mr. Atlic has asked you be given a physical.” The doctor spoke in low, soothing tones meant to be reassuring. Naturally, they had the opposite effect on me. “No need to worry, we just want to make sure you are healthy.”

Two large medics loitered in the hallway behind the doctor. Their nonchalant attitudes weren’t fooling me. Probably not Charles, either. The medics were hanging back far enough as to not be threating, but close enough to tackle Charles should he flip his shant.

Charles ignored the men and smiled serenely at the doctor, nodding politely.

“Of course, doctor.”

Dr. Carver gestured Charles towards the hallway. “This way.” He turned to me. “Someone will be with you shortly, Stassi. Have a seat for now.”

The first sign of true distress appeared in the form of a deep frown line between Charles’s eyes. “You are not coming with me?” he asked, voice cracking on the last word. “I thought you would be staying with me. Your uncle said you were to stay with me.”

The medics moved closer to Dr. Carver. I shot them a look that said, “Back the hell up”, and reached for Charles’s hand.

“This is very routine, no big deal,” I told him with a large fake grin. “Dr. Carver will take good care of you. I promise. And as soon as he’s finished running some tests, I’ll come see you.”

“Precisely. All very routine,” Dr. Carver agreed.

“You said I wasn’t sick,” Charles said to me, lowering his tone as though there was a chance the others might not hear him in the quiet reception area.

The medics took another step forward. Too much more protesting or procrastinating, and they were going to dose him. I hated to admit that it might be for the best. Thus far, Charles was handling all of this amazingly well. But he was beginning to crack. One look at the medi pods, and he was likely to freak out.

“You probably aren’t,” I replied slowly, feeling terrible for him. “The island is very isolated, though. Cyrus just wants to make sure you don’t have any communicable diseases.”

The lie slipped out easily enough, partly because it was rooted in truth. Someone from a different time period could very well be carrying a disease long since eradicated. I didn’t want to think about the other reasons Cyrus might want him to undergo a medical evaluation. Or, possibly, a psychological one.

“Stassi, when are—”

I cut him off abruptly, planting my mouth firmly over his. Charles stiffened at first, but relaxed quickly. The kiss didn’t last long, just long enough to shut him up. Then, I brushed my lips softly over his cheek and murmured quietly in his ear.

“Cooperate, please. They won’t hurt you. You’ll be safe. And you’ll be back with me soon.” I straightened and gave him my fake smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

Heart heavy, stomach a bundle of nerves, I watched Charles disappear through the doors.

THOSE SLEEK CHAIRS
in the waiting room were torturous. My butt had more knots than a sailing rig by the time someone came for me. To my surprise, and dread, that someone wasn’t a medic.

Cyrus entered the infirmary waiting area and took a seat next to me. Without a glance in my direction, my boss leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, and stared at the floor in front of him. I rubbed my eyes, stifling a yawn as I steeled myself for my beheading.

“I’m so sorry, Cyrus,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. For several extremely long minutes, I stewed in the silence. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore, I broke down and asked the question weighing heaviest on my mind.

“How much trouble am I in?” I asked quietly, bracing myself for his judgment.

“Depends. Which transgression are you referring to?”

I hesitated, and then opted to wait him out.

“Afraid you’ll hang yourself with the rope I’m giving you?” he prompted after another lull.

“A little,” I admitted.

Finally, my boss turned to look at me. Those emerald eyes studied me with the intensity of a high-powered microscope. It wasn’t long before I began to squirm under the scrutiny.

“Answer me one question, Stassi. And answer it honestly. Did you intend to bring Charles DuPree back with you?”

“What?” I exclaimed. “No. Of course not, no. Cyrus, I swear. It happened just like I said. He must have grabbed me right before I jumped. I didn’t even realize he’d been brought along, until we landed here and I gained my bearings. I swear.”

Cyrus nodded. “I believe you. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

Though I was grateful that he believed me, I wasn’t sure it was enough. Bottom line, Charles was here because of me. Did my intentions matter?

“What is the punishment for stowaways?” I asked, my voice low and wavering. “Exile?”

Cyrus looked alarmed as he met my eyes. The kindness I saw set my hopes aflutter.

“Accidents happen, Stassi,” he said gently. “You’re not going to be punished for it.”

My sigh of relief could be heard on Mars as the crushing threat of exile was lifted from my shoulders. Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around Cyrus and squeezed.

“Thank you, Cyrus,” I said, my voice cracking.

“We’ll still have to hold a council meeting for you to tell the other Founders exactly what happened. They need to hear it in your own words.”

“I understand,” I replied quickly. “No problem.”

A genuine smile played across Cyrus’s lips. “Nice job with the prison break. You and Molly make quite the team.”

Blushing, I looked down and waited for a reprimand. When none came, I ventured a question of my own.

“Have you seen her?” I asked. “Molly? How is she?”

“Not too bad. If I am being honest, surprisingly well, in fact. I expect she’ll make a speedy recovery.”

“Thank goodness,” I said, relieved. “Gaige, too?”

“He’s a little worse for the wear. Being locked in a damp cell for a week was already taking a toll on him. And, in general, jail food isn’t the most nutritious. No need to worry, though. He’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”

“And Charles?”

“Now that is interesting.” Cyrus furrowed his brow, perplexed. “He demonstrates no signs of time sicknesses. For his sake, let’s hope he’s just as lucky on the return trip.”

My heart sank. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d been hoping that somehow, someway, Charles would be able to stay on the island with me. The notion was ridiculous, of course.

He didn’t belong here.

He didn’t belong with me.

Our lives were so very different. Our worlds couldn’t have been further apart, our times less compatible. He could stay in 2446 no more than I could stay in 1925. At least, not indefinitely.

“When will he go back?” I asked quietly.

“Soon,” Cyrus answered, leaning back in his seat. “Dr. Carver wants to run some tests. I need to speak with him. When we’re finished, I’ll take him back to 1925, give him a heavy dose of memory mod, and send him on his way. Then the alchemists will monitor him for a while to ensure his mental and physical health are unaffected.”

Make sure he doesn’t go blabbing about futuristic islands and time vortexes,
I thought.

“Can I take him back?” The question slipped out, spoken so softly I thought for a second I’d simply thought it.

“That might not be best,” Cyrus said, not unkindly. He squeezed my shoulder affectionately. “His feelings for you are very strong, Stassi. I’m not even sure the memory mod will erase them at this point. The less contact he has with you, the better it will be for him.”

Averting my eyes, so Cyrus wouldn’t see the ridiculous tears gathering in the corners, I nodded.

“Can I at least see him before he goes?”

Cyrus’s hand tightened on my shoulder. He took a painfully long time to answer.

“I suppose one last visit won’t hurt. Not too long, though.”

My head shot up, the tears forgotten. “Really?”

“Think of it as a reward,” Cyrus replied, nudging my shoulder with his own.

“For bringing back a guy instead of a book?” The sarcastic response slipped out without thinking. I clasped my mouth shut, not wanting to test the limits of my boss’s benevolence.

To my surprise, Cyrus chuckled at my comment. “Definitely not. Rupert found the briefcase in the vortex. It seems you not only completed your assignment, but also went for extra credit. Those Hemingway novels will fetch quite a bit.” He shrugged. “Who knows? I may keep them for myself. I have always loved ancient literature.”

“How crazy is it that we got those?” I asked, faint guilt still tugging at me. “I feel terrible for stealing from Hadley, we were only after
Blue’s Canyon
. I cannot believe everything else we acquired, too.”

“C’est la vie,” my boss replied with a wink. He checked his watch. “Voulez-vous voir votre ami maintenant?”

Even without the Rosetta, I knew what he was asking.

“Yes, please,” I replied.

Cyrus personally escorted me back to Charles’s treatment room. Despite the late hour—or early, depending on how you looked at it—Charles was awake and alert. He wore pale blue scrubs and the wide-eyed expression of a man sure he’d blink and find the last twelve hours had been a dream.

“Hey there,” I called from the doorway. “Can I come in?”

Charles sat up straighter and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

“Stassi.” He said my name on a long sigh, visibly relieved to see me. “Yes. Please, come in.”

This was truly the last time we’d see each other, our final goodbye. I’d done this once already, but hadn’t appreciated exactly what it meant during the chaos with Baylarian. Realization dawning, the cold fist of fate grabbed hold of my heart and squeezed. I hid my pain behind a smile. He didn’t need to know the truth. No need for both of us to be upset.

“I apologize for my attire. Dr. Carver took my clothes and gave me these.” He plucked at the scrub top, giving the shirt a look of disdain.

His expression made me take stock of my own appearance. I was still wearing the day dress I’d put on that morning in Paris, the fabric now rumpled and stained. I could only imagine what he must think, coming from a world of people who never looked less than perfect.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, inexplicably nervous in his presence.

It was odd. On my home turf, I should have been more relaxed, more at ease with him. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t think of anything to say, couldn’t find a place to put my hands, and couldn’t stop fidgeting.

“Well, thank you,” Charles answered. “You?”

So formal. He’s nervous, too.

“Good. It’s always nice to be home, you know?”

Silence erupted between us like an invisible barrier that we were both afraid to cross. Finally, Charles pointed to an armchair in the corner of his room and invited me to sit with the arch of an eyebrow. I started towards the chair, changed my mind, and altered course.

Charles’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. He held out a hand as I approached, and I threaded my fingers with his. Leaning down, I kissed his forehead, then rested my cheek against his silky golden hair.

“This is goodbye,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t a question.

Lying no longer seemed necessary. Not trusting my voice, I only nodded in response. I wasn’t sure how much Cyrus would tell him, maybe nothing at all. Either way, Charles would soon have no memory of the island, the jump, or our conversation. If they gave him enough memory mod, I might be little more than a whisper in his mind. An itch he couldn’t quite seem to locate, let alone scratch. The thought sickened me.

“Forever goodbye?”

I nodded again.

“Is that what you want?” he asked.

“What I want doesn’t enter the equation,” I replied.

Gently, Charles pushed me back so we were facing each other.

“Is that what you want?” he repeated.

“You don’t understand. You can’t understand. And I can’t explain it to you,” I said, my frustration seeping out.

“I understand more than you might think,” Charles said quietly.

I shook my head. “No. You don’t.”

“Technology beyond comprehension? Women prancing around in less than a cabaret dancer? People who speak English, and yet I cannot understand half the words? I am in the future.”

There wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

“Wha—”

Before I could form the words swirling through my mind, Charles grabbed my hand and tugged the sleeve of my dress back to expose the tattoo on my wrist. I tried to pull free, but his grip was firm. Delicately, as if I were made of spun glass instead of flesh and bone, he traced the loops and scrawls of
prima
as he spoke my name. The act was oddly sensual, and gave me a thrill that started deep in the pit of my stomach. When he brought my wrist to his soft, full lips, my knees went weak. Closing my eyes, I sank onto the bed beside Charles.

His breath tickled my skin as he whispered in my ear, “Is that what you want? Do you want this to be goodbye forever?”

“No.”

His lips found mine, and I lost myself in that kiss. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, we seemed to just fit together.

A knock on the door interrupted our goodbye before it became as involved as I’d have liked. The unfocused look on Charles’s face told me that he felt the same way. A second knock sounded, louder and more insistent.

I reluctantly crawled off of the bed and attempted to smooth my dress.

“Stassi, I’m afraid your time is up,” Cyrus said, poking his head through the door.

Embarrassed, I refused to face my boss.

“One minute, I’ll be right out,” I called.

“Sir, could I speak with you?” Charles asked, tone formal.

“Of course. I have some questions for you, as well.”

Cyrus stepped inside the room.

“Alone,” Charles added.

“Excuse me?” I stammered.

“I think it is best if we speak in private,” Charles told me, his neutral expression rivaling one of Cyrus’s.

“Um, no.” It wasn’t the most eloquent response, but perhaps the truest.

“You need to get some rest, Stassi. You’ve had a long day,” Cyrus chimed in.

“I’m not tired,” I snapped.

“Stassi, please,” Charles pleaded. “Just trust me?”

Trust or not, I was unceremoniously ushered from the room by Cyrus, feeling dumbfounded by the dismissal. I paced the hallway outside of Charles’s room, pausing every so often to listen at the door for snippets of conversation. The damned thing was virtually soundproof. All I could make out was the dull hum of conversation, but no actual words.

I considered visiting with Molly or Gaige to pass the time, but curiosity kept me pacing the same four square feet like an invisible fence held me captive.