The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (7 page)

“So am I, Fratastic,” Molly replied with a wink.

“You said it, not me,” he joked.

Molly’s eyelids began to droop again. As stubborn as she was, I knew my roommate was going to battle sleep as long as Gaige and I were around to distract her.

“Don’t think I’m not aware that your feigned concern is only a ploy,” she mumbled. “You just want to tell your buddies you spent tonight in bed with the both of us.”

“Meh, it’s just an average night for me,” Gaige replied. “I don’t—”

“We should let you rest,” I interrupted.

“Stass, I feel fine,” insisted Molly, a light sheen of sweat forming along her forehead. “I’m hungry, I want to eat.”

Just the thought of food proved to be too much for Molly. Without warning, she began to swallow repeatedly, as if trying to keep down something that wanted desperately to come up. She sat up with a jerk and I jumped off the bed, unsure what to do. Molly held up a hand and waved me back, the other pressed over her pursed lips.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said, voice strained and muffled by her hand.

All three of us waited, holding our collective breaths to see whether Molly would actually get sick. Proving he wasn’t as shallow as he would have people believe, Gaige remained next to the bed instead of moving out of the splash zone. I wasn’t as keen on being sprayed with vomit, so I ran over to grab the trashcan beside her desk.

After several long moments, Molly lowered her hand from her mouth and leaned back on the pillows again.

“It’s all good, no worries. I’m definitely not going to yack.”

“Maybe you should pass on dinner for now?” I suggested.

“Probably a good idea,” she replied.

“You sure you’re okay?” Gaige inquired, worry drawing his brows together.

Molly waved off his concern. “I’m fine, Fratty.”

Tucking the quilt up around her shoulders, I said firmly, “We are leaving. You are sleeping. Gaige and I will just be right out in the living room. If you need anything, anything at all, just send me a comm. Or yell.”

“So protective,” Molly muttered drowsily. “That’s why I love you.”

After a hurried dinner with Gaige over our mission dossiers, I headed straight for my room and the thrilling prospect of sleeping on my soft, comfortable mattress. Four nights in what they’d called a bed in the eighteenth century had made me stiff and achy, and I couldn’t wait to get a proper night’s rest.

Crawling under the covers, I took only enough time to set my alarm before allowing my head to fall back on the pile of soft, downy pillows. A low moan escaped my throat—it felt
that
good not to be sleeping on a straw pallet.

As I settled in, thoughts of my locket and what I might find on our trip to Paris whirled through my mind. The digi-board above my desk where I was attempting to track the heritage of my necklace was pathetically empty; only pictures and notes from two possible leads hung there, and both had ultimately been dead-ends.

The Paris lead was far more concrete than either of those, since I had a year, location, and actual photographic evidence. Even still, it would be a nearly impossible feat to find the woman. And yet, for some unknown reason, a part of me was convinced that this time would be different. This time I would uncover a vital clue to my origins.

GAIGE STEPPED ATOP
the pitcher’s mound, replacing a freckled boy named Winks who’d moved to shortstop. I faced him down from home plate, ready for him to send what would surely be a lightning-fast pitch. After winding up, instead of a softball, Gaige lobbed a coconut in my direction. I put every ounce of my being into the swing, a giant tulip clutched in my hands. The flower stem connected with the hairy fruit, and I sprinted to first base. Gaige stood on the mound, waggling his behind and sing-songing at me.

“You’re late, you’re late, you’re late for a very important date.”

When I dove for the base, which looked inexplicably like one of the decorative pillows on my bed, a cloud of dirt erupted from the ground and flew up my nose.

“Out of bed!” the umpire cried, slashing his hands through the air in a gesture that meant I was safe.

I woke with a jolt. Four big, brown eyes hovered inches above my face. Blinking rapidly to clear my vision, the twin Gaiges merged into one. With a long, despondent groan, I weakly shoved him away and rolled to the side. Pulling my comforter up to my chin and burrowing in, I clung desperately to the last vestiges of sleep

“I was dreaming about you and your coconuts,” I mumbled.

Gaige put both his hands on my shoulders, pushing me so I was again laying flat on my back. He gazed down at me with utter seriousness.

“Stassi. I…. I….”

My partner’s humorless tone, coupled with his seeming inability to speak, made me open my eyes and return his penetrating stare. Something was wrong. The enormous, toothy grin was missing from his face.

Is it Molly?

“I can’t,” he started again, and then held up one finger in a signal for me to wait. He looked down, as if composing himself.

“You’re scaring me, Gaige. Just tell me,” I gently prodded.

He looked up at me again, his gaze intensifying as he glanced back and forth between my eyes, searching for something. I threw back the covers and sat up.

“Gaige…what is it?” I asked, now fully awake.

“I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words. I knew you dreamt about me and my coconuts, I just never thought you’d admit it.”

Then something yellow sailed through the air, connecting squarely with my face.

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” I groaned and reached for the bright blob he was waving under my nose.

The end tore off in my hand as Gaige leapt backwards off the bed, and I was left holding a stem-less tulip.

Pointing the stem in my direction, he shouted, “Make Stassi a real girl!”

Gaige made a zigzagging motion through the air, like he was a boy wizard brandishing a green wand. He frowned at me for a long moment, and then repeated the theatrics.

“I
said
, make Stassi a real girl!”

I threw the flower at him.

Scowling, Gaige inspected the end of his makeshift wand as if it had betrayed him.

“Damn,” he said. “It’s broken.”

Raising my eyebrows, I waited to see where this was going.

Wagging the stem up and down to punctuate each word, Gaige continued with his rant.

“You know, that wand shop has really gone downhill. I’m going to write them a strongly-worded letter about the dangers of selling inferior products.”

Unable to help myself, I burst out laughing.

“You are such a
weirdo
,” I told my partner. “Why are you here? Did I oversleep?”

Instead of waiting for his undoubtedly irritating reply, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and padded towards my bathroom. The movement required great effort—I was incredibly sore from my little barefoot jaunt the day before.

“For starters, you didn’t oversleep. But you do only have ten minutes to get ready, so…I guess you’ll have to wear that face to our meeting.”

A grimace accompanied his matter-of-fact statement, implying that I really should’ve woken up early enough to procure a different face.

Yeah, he was a real charmer.

“And secondly,” he called after me, pausing for dramatic effect. When I didn’t beg him for answers, Gaige huffed before continuing in a smug tone. “Secondly, I had a breakfast date.”

“You mean you gave a bowl of cereal to some willing young thing you ran in to on the way home last night?” I retorted, starting my morning routine.

“Not exactly,” he replied gleefully.

I stopped, my toothbrush midway to my mouth, when his words registered.

“Wait, what?” I demanded, poking my head through the bathroom door to glare at him. “You’re the reason the term ‘manwhore’ even exists.”

“No,” he responded, drawing out the word to seven syllables. “I did
not
find a new pillow pal.”

“‘New’ being the operative word?”

Disgusted with my partner’s ever-changing paramours, I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth and went to work cleaning my teeth.

“My date was with Molly!” he declared triumphantly.

Nearly choking on the toothpaste, I swung my head back out into the bedroom.

“Huh?”

“My date was with Molly!” Gaige repeated.

“Does she know that?” I asked. “Or when you say ‘date,’ do you mean you crawled into her bed and ate while she lay next to you in a medication-induced sleep?”

“You’re
so
funny, Stassi,” Gaige said, his goofy grin still present. “I don’t tell you that often enough, but I genuinely enjoy your wit.”

I shot Gaige a pointed look. He was avoiding the question.

“Was she conscious, or were you lurking like a creeper?”

“That’s not
exactly
how it happened.”

“Do I need to get a restraining order, Gaige? Put an electric fence around our house and a shock collar around your neck? You’re not allowed to harass my roommate when she’s unconscious.”

“Well, it might be
similar
to how it happened,” he continued, ignoring my threats. “I mean, she was awake. Sort of. I would say it was closer to a medication-induced haze, not total catalepsy. But we ate, we talked, and I paid, so it qualifies as a date.”

I finished rinsing my mouth and then splashed water on my face.

“Where’s my breakfast?” I asked.

“Well, I ate it. There’s still coffee, though,” Gaige said helpfully.

“Good enough,” I replied. “Now go wait in the living room while I get dressed.”

Gaige dutifully retreated into the hallway.

“Eight minutes, Stass,” he called over his shoulder. “Better start trying on other faces.”

When I took my hair down from the messy topknot I’d donned after the previous night’s shower, I expected it to be a tangled rat’s nest. Instead, somehow my blonde hair fell in pretty waves that reached the middle of my back. Even the fading pink streaks looked more vibrant in the light of a new day. I pulled a comb through the tresses to get rid of the tangles, and ran a bit of coconut oil over them to smooth out the frizz. After applying a layer of suncream to my face, I was good to go. I rarely wore makeup while on the island, so this face was my norm. Gaige would just have to deal with looking at it.

Five minutes later, dressed in pink shorts, a navy tee with white writing that advertised some long-defunct clothing brand, and leather flip-flops, I went to join Gaige in the living room. Except, he wasn’t there.

Loud laughter and the scent of strong, Ethiopian coffee drifted from Molly’s open doorway. I was still groggy from the lack of sleep and unpleasant awakening, but my yearning for caffeine led me to her bedroom, despite being concerned about what I might find there.

Propped up by a bevy of pillows, Molly was sitting in the middle of the bed with her patchwork quilt drawn up over her legs. Gaige perched on the side of the mattress, his body angled so that he was facing her with his back to the door. He was talking animatedly with his hands, making sweeping gestures that looked suspiciously like he was recreating the scene from earlier in my bedroom, when he’d tried to make me a
real
girl.

“Hey, roomie,” Molly called when she noticed me, waving her fingers in greeting.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked, pushing away from the doorframe and crossing to stand beside the bed. “You look much better.”

She did, too. Her color had improved drastically overnight. The visible burns on her arms appeared far less severe, as well. The
prima
within our tattoos had incredible healing powers, and was more effective than any of the new-age medications developed by the syndicate’s med teams.

“I feel a million times better, actually,” she said with a tired smile.

“
Prima
power!” Gaige cried, shooting his fist up in the air.

He really needed to stop watching cartoons from the 20
th
century.

“I was starving when I woke up, though,” Molly continued. “Luckily, Gaige was nice enough to bring us breakfast.”

“Too bad he ate mine,” I said, giving him a pointed look before returning my attention to Molly. “Just take it easy today, okay? Maybe try not to overdo it? It’s only been like twelve hours, your body needs time to heal.”

She smiled cheekily. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

After saying a quick goodbye to Molly, I scooped up my dossier from the coffee table and practically dragged Gaige out the door.

Our conversation on the walk to the conference center was all business. Gaige and I reviewed the plan we’d made the night before. Despite their reputations for being tough, I felt confident the historians would be impressed by what we’d learned.

Gaige held the door for me when we reached the conference center, then followed me inside. With a wave to the desk attendant, we crossed the large lobby and headed for the library, which made up the entire west wing of the center. The four-story depository held the syndicate’s massive book collection, as well as the historical archives. Every time I entered the rotunda, I was awed by the impressive array that lined the shelves.

By the mid-twenty-second century, the depletion of the earth’s trees had led to the digitization of books, phasing out the printed word almost entirely. And when the world’s technological networks crashed during the Epic War, many of time’s greatest works were lost to the ether. Cyrus believed this loss such a great tragedy that he offered a credit bonus to runners who brought back bounds books from their runs. Now the island library had the most impressive collection of titles, both print and digital, on the planet.

Given the vast amount of knowledge located in the Atlic Syndicate’s library, it was only fitting that the classrooms for our seminars were located there, as well. Ringing the upper floors of the library’s rotunda, each historian had a dedicated space to brief us on everything we needed to know about the times and places we’d be visiting. Most of the history books were located on the upper levels, divided up by the historians’ regions near their dedicated classrooms. There was also a loft-type space on each floor that overlooked the rotunda, dotted with overstuffed armchairs and sofas that made for comfortable reading.

As we climbed one of the four spiral staircases, a faint ocean breeze wafted in through the open windows on the uppermost floor. A salty mixture of weathered leather, old parchment, and the organic mint oil used to preserve the books swirled around me. I inhaled deeply, loving every breath of the strange concoction.

“Hey, Stassi. Hey, Gaige,” a voice called from above, breaking the quiet.

Tilting my head so far backwards that the ends of my hair grazed my waist, I saw Rupert leaning over the fourth-floor railing and waving excitedly down at us.

“Hey, kid,” Gaige said.

“What are you doing in here so early?” I asked. “You should be sleeping in while you still can.”

Rupert rolled his eyes and pushed a lock of dark hair out of his face.

“I’ve got work soon, I’m just looking for something to keep me busy during my shift,” Rupert replied with a sheepish grin. He held up a thin book. “I found something awesome.”