Time's Mirror: A CHRONOS Files Novella (The CHRONOS Files) (19 page)

I don’t think she really means the last bit as a threat, but it still annoys me. “I don't have to do everything—or every
one
—that you did. Saul said that was the whole purpose for intercepting me. To fix your mistakes. That way there would be time for me to have a life when all of this is over. He said…he said I could avoid becoming like you. You're
not
me. You're who I could become. But I have choices.”

I raise one hand and run it across the new haircut I gave myself right after Saul grounded me for staying too long in the future. It’s short on the left and shaved almost bare above my right ear, which has four new piercings. One in my nose. One on the left eyebrow. And then I pull down the shoulder of my nightshirt so that she can see the brand-new tattoo on my arm. It’s a Cyrist symbol…black and flipped upside down. Saul hasn’t even seen it yet.

“Oh, yes. You’re
such
a rebel.” She practically spits the words out, and then grabs me by the shoulders. “Do you think you're the first to try and shock Saul? Just because it wasn't on your official to-do list, don't assume that I didn't do it. You have
no
choices,
no
free will as long as Saul and Simon are calling the shots. And don't think for a moment that the list they gave you is the final list. Because I can promise you Saul will have a few surprises waiting for you at the end.”

Older-Pru shoves me backward onto the pillows. I land partially on Gizmo, who lets out a little yelp. I pull him up into my lap and he starts chewing on my arm again, growling his cute little puppy growl.

She flips her arm over and activates the key. It must make a sound that humans can’t hear. But Giz definitely hears it. He startles, yanking his mouth away from my arm before his mouth is fully open. Several of his razor-sharp little puppy teeth rip into my skin.

“Ow! Gizmo!”

The puppy cowers under the covers. We horse around all the time and he usually just leaves little red tracks on my skin, but he’s definitely drawn blood this time. I press the hem of my nightshirt against the wounds to stanch them until I can get an actual bandage.

He looks frightened, either from the blood or because I yelled. “It’s okay, Giz. I’m all right. You’re still a good boy.”

Older-Me just sits there, watching. All of the anger is gone from her eyes. They’re nearly as sad as Gizmo’s now, and when she speaks her voice is soft, almost childlike.

“You should play more gently with him. I’m surprised he’s not dead already.”

T
HE
F
ARM

E
STERO,
F
LORIDA

Day 268—May 28, 2030, 8:47 a.m.

I wish the Other-Me would visit in the daytime. It took several hours to fall back asleep, and since I operate on Saul’s schedule, he expects me to check in for breakfast and dinner. Saul really
doesn’t
like to eat alone. The only reason lunch isn’t required is that he rarely bothers with it. Breakfast is always served in the sunroom at eight thirty sharp. If I’m not there, I’d better have a good reason.

The mandatory mealtimes aren’t really a big deal, except for the days when the Rat Bastard is hanging out. A granola bar in my room is much better than Marcel’s blueberry waffles if Simon’s at the table. And I can tell that today is a Simon day the moment I turn into the hallway. The noise level increases by a factor of five when he’s in the house. You never know which Simon you’re getting, either. He’s popped in for breakfast at every age from fourteen to late twenties.

Saul can actually carry on a decent conversation if it’s just the two of us. I liked him better in 2024, but he can still relax. He’ll call me down to watch a movie with him some evenings. When the Rat Bastard is here, however, the conversations revolve around Cyrist International and financial holdings and various bits of court intrigue as Patrick, Edna, and several others jockey for Saul’s favor.

It’s weird. Patrick, the scared kid Saul introduced me less than a year ago from my perspective, now has silver hair and a daughter who’s around my age. Of course, they probably find it weird dealing with my older self at these meetings and then coming back to the Farm to find
this
me here, waiting for the next time they need to pull a toga over my head and cart me off to bless a new temple or whatever. Saul couldn’t decide where to “park” me at first. I spent a week or so at the Farm back in 1901, but it was so very boring. I rode Wildfire, but they wouldn’t let me go outside the perimeter, and even with hundreds of acres, there’s only so much time you can spend on horseback. Someone finally decided I needed quality time with my father, so…voila…back to the future. I’m not complaining. There are computers here, movies. And the horse in this barn isn’t the same Wildfire, but he’s not bad.

Saul and Simon talk about
her
, too, sometimes—the older me. How to keep her in line. I suppose I should listen to those comments a little more carefully from now on, but…I’m equally tempted to tune them out. Two can play her little
no spoilers
game. And how much do I really want to know? I think June is right. There’s a good reason why the vast majority of the Cyrists who can use the keys don’t cross their own timelines. Life is easier if you live it in a straight line.

I really don’t want to deal with Simon today. I’ll just go back to my room and face Saul later. Tell him I overslept or whatever. He’ll give one of his passive-aggressive punishments, but I’m learning to weather those. You just push back. This haircut. The piercings. The tattoo he still hasn’t seen.

I’ve already turned heel and I’m heading the other way when I hear Simon say my mother’s name. The context isn’t clear, but they rarely mention her, at least not within my earshot, so I’m curious. Of course, they’ll move on to some other topic if I join them in the sunroom. So I cut through the formal dining room and into the kitchen that sits between the two areas, ready to give some excuse for coming in this way if Marcel is still in there cooking or cleaning.

The kitchen is empty, however, so I can listen in without Saul or Simon seeing me. I snag a banana from the wire basket and park myself on one of the barstools.

Even though I’m closer now, Saul’s side of the conversation is a little hard to make out. “…much harm can they do?”

“Probably not much,” Simon replies.

I wish I could see Simon from here, because it’s a lot easier to gauge how old he is by sight than by hearing him talk. And unless you’re in the room when he gives Saul the date he’s popping in from, it’s hard to know
when
he’s talking about.

“Since Pru and your buddy came through with the spare keys,” he says, “we don’t really need the ones the girl is hunting. I just don’t like her snooping around.”

The girl.
Usually that means me. But…he just finished saying that I
came through
for them.

“It’s something that changed,” he adds. “I guess that’s what’s bugging me most, Saul. And I don’t know how much we can trust Pru where this situation is concerned.”

“I thought that was the entire…”
something, something,
“reboot? How many sets is she carrying around now?”—I don’t follow anything for the next few seconds, but Saul sounds angry. He doesn’t yell when he’s mad. In fact, his voice gets softer—“…that Kiernan kid?”

“No,” Simon tells him. “He doesn’t. All of that was
before
the timeshift. I made sure he doesn’t remember any of it. He doesn’t remember Kate at all now.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“Yeah.”

But he doesn’t sound certain. And I’m apparently not the only one who catches it, because Saul mumbles something I can’t hear.

Whatever he said seems to have set Simon off. “Hey, I don’t ask for much, Saul. Have you ever had reason to question my loyalty? Or my competence? No. You know you haven’t. If I tell you I’m taking care of something, I’m taking care of it. Kiernan’s a friend. You let me handle him, okay?”

There’s a brief silence, and then Simon chimes in. “Pru bungled the whole thing with Katherine, or we wouldn’t even be having a discussion about her granddaughter. Maybe the best bet is just to solve both our problems at once. What we talked about before—a clean slate. I’m assuming you don’t have any sentimental reasons to keep them around.”

Saul says something I don’t catch, but he must have answered in the negative, because Simon continues, “Then the only question is whether it will impact what happens
later
?”

“There could be a minor schedule change. I don’t…” A long space where Saul is too soft to hear, and then, “…ironed itself out. Wouldn’t be the first historian they lost in the field. The question is whether you have the votes from the board if Pru gets wind of this.”

“You want a formal vote on this at the meeting?” Simon sounds surprised.

“No. And I think we should do it either way, but why make the board angry when they find out? If we can get their support…”

A pause, and then Simon says, “I’ll make sure we have a majority. There are only few weak links. Ronald could go either way. Jeanine…well, you know Jeanine. If I don’t get a chance to talk to her before—”

“Sister Prudence!” The door from the dining room swings open.

It’s Marcel, the guy who usually cooks for us. I hop up from the stool and toss my banana peel into the disposal.

“Breakfast is on the sidebar,” Marcel says.

“Yes, thank you. I just…I was playing with Giz and I forgot to wash my hands before I left my room.”

“Yes, miss.” He glances into the sink, where the yellow end of the banana peel is still visible in the drain, probably wondering why I was eating a banana if I was about to go in for breakfast.  But he doesn’t say anything.

The sunroom is silent when I enter. Simon and Saul are both looking at me, and I suspect they’re combing through what was said in the past few exchanges, trying to figure out if there’s anything I might have overheard.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell them. “I didn’t sleep well last night, and then I overslept the alarm.”

“We waited for the first ten minutes, Prudence.” The fact that Saul is using my full name is a bad sign.

“Holy shikes, you weren’t kidding, Saul. That is one…original haircut. Did you take the scissors to it yourself, Pru?”

“A steak knife, actually. Do you like it?”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“I haven’t,” Saul says. “But I made my feelings on the matter clear to her the first time I saw the butchery. Marcel!”

He pushes open the kitchen door. “Yes, Brother Cyrus?”

“It’s after nine. Clear the sideboard.”

Marcel shoots me an apologetic look, and then bows his head and starts to collect the serving dishes.

“That’s fine,” I say, shrugging. “I wasn’t very hungry anyway. May I be excused?”

“Hold up.” Simon reaches into the bag by his side and tosses me a dark, curly wig. “There’s an ordination at the temple in Jakarta.” He snaps his fingers. “Key?”

I step closer and he presses the back of his key to mine, transferring the coordinates. “Is that all?” I ask, when he’s finished.

“Wait,” Saul says. He’s staring down at the gauze wrapped around my wrist. “What happened to your arm? Are you okay?”

His voice is gentler than before, and it takes me by surprise. It usually takes a few days for his mood to improve when we have a spat.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Looks worse than it is.”

“Did you see June?”

“No. It’s just a scratch, really.”

But he’s up, and coming toward me. “Let me see it, Pru.”

I roll my eyes and unwrap the bandage. “It doesn’t need stitches. We were just playing and Giz got a little excited…”

“That’s not a mere scratch. It’s a
puncture
wound. Several of them, actually. You could get an infection. Your immune system is probably already weakened from this little stunt.”

He yanks down my sleeve to reveal the tattoo. Simon laughs, but he cuts it off pretty quickly when he catches Saul’s expression.

“I told you when you asked for the pup that you’d have to control him. Clearly you can’t. A dog that will bite its master is a dangerous creature.”

“No, Saul! Please, please no.” I grab his arm. “It was an accident! We were playing and something startled him. I’ll be more careful. Or…obedience training. We can do that. You can’t give Gizmo away!”

Saul gives me a sad smile, but something very different is dancing behind his eyes. Something that terrifies me.

“I have no intention of giving him away.”