Glimpse (The Tesla Effect Book 1) (11 page)

“Yeah, but I didn’t finish the story,” Tesla began somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve seen that cave, and that room.”

“That room,” Bizzy said slowly, “is the time machine.”

Tesla’s world had begun to spin out of control and she knew she might not be able to get a firm grip on it again.
Her eyes sought Finn’s and this time he was looking right at her, pinning her to the sofa.

“I think I’ve done it,” Tesla said quietly, her eyes wide open and fixed on the tall boy by the fireplace.
She was afraid to blink, afraid to upset the fragile balance suggested by the comfortable room.

“What do you mean, you’ve ‘done it’?” asked Lydia sharply as her hands gripped the arms of her chair tightly.

Tesla took a deep breath. “I think I traveled through time.”

CHAPTER
11

“Do you think you really time-traveled, then?” asked Joley, who walked beside Tesla, with Finn and Beckett right behind them. They were all headed toward the Abbott house.

Tesla swallowed, hard, then cleared her throat.
How could she be sure? What she remembered—what she had been sure, up until last night, had been hazy, concussion-induced dreams—made no more sense in the light of day than they had at the time. Despite her announcement last night at Lydia’s house—which she’d made on painkillers, Lydia had been quick to remind everyone—she really wasn’t certain.

“I don’t know,” Tesla finally answered.

“It might help if you told us the story,” Joley said, somewhat aggrieved. “I know you’ve been through bugger-all, and Lydia was concerned for you last night when she sent you to bed before you could give us any details, but it was bloody frustrating for the rest of us.”

“In other words, despite the drama of last night, we don’t know any more than we did before you showed up,” said Beckett.

Tesla didn’t turn around. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what she’d done to make Beckett despise her.

The four walked the tree-lined block in silence after that.
Lydia had said they would all meet again this afternoon and hear the rest of her story, but Tesla wasn’t sure she even
knew
the story—some of the details of that night in the hospital were fuzzy at best. And she still felt a little shaky—due in part to the pain pills she was on—but better than she had the night before. She’d slept until noon, a heavy, dreamless sleep, and woken up on the couch, covered by a soft cotton blanket. The first thing she’d seen when she opened her eyes was Bizzy, who watched her from the leather chair Lydia had occupied the night before. After Tesla had eaten the bowl of cereal Bizzy offered, washed her face and used the new toothbrush the goth girl waved at her, they had walked down to the kitchen in silence while Tesla wondered if Bizzy applied black eyeliner the moment she woke up each day, or if she actually slept in it. Downstairs, the others leaned or sat on the counters, clearly waiting.

“I think you should go to your house first,” Lydia had said without preamble.
“Look around, go get your brother, and see if, given the information you now have about your parents’ work, you are reminded of a memory, an event, anything that might be relevant. By then we’ll likely have heard from your father.”

“I don’t like that he hasn’t called,” said Tesla, cradling her cast with her right hand and holding it protectively to her chest.
She’d checked her cell first thing, but her father had neither called nor texted. It was an unwelcome, but hauntingly familiar sensation, to be unmoored, adrift in the world, as if she and Max were utterly alone. She’d hoped to never feel again that sense of abandonment she’d experienced after her mother died.

“I don’t see any need to worry at this point,” said Lydia briskly.
“I expect to have more information about the explosion very soon. Elizabeth will go to the lab—the lab and the Bat Cave—and she’ll report back when she returns. I’ve got to check in with another field agent. We’ll meet back here later, and we’ll hear the rest of what you remember about that night.”

Tesla wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do, other than pick up Max from Dylan’s house, but she figured she could just go with it for now, since she was clearly not in charge. One corner of her mouth quirked upward wryly as she considered what her reaction would be to this type of dependency and passivity without the painkillers she was taking.
She loathed being told what to do.

Tesla’s arm didn’t hurt, thanks to those pills, although she could already feel the strain on her shoulder, as if she carried a ten-pound hand weight around with her all the time.
She resolved to rig up a sling after she got home and everybody else had left.

A slight breeze lifted Tesla’s hair to cool her neck and shoulders as she walked, and she closed her eyes, just for a moment, the sun warm on her head.
She loved summer, despite her propensity to burn. Behind her, Finn watched her bright hair twist and move in the air, red and orange and honey strands woven together, and caught a glimpse of the back of her neck as the breeze blew among and around them.

As they turned the corner and her house came into view, Tesla came to an abrupt stop, suddenly reluctant to go any further.

“Now what?” asked Beckett, annoyed to have almost run into Tesla.

“Nothing,” said Tesla.
She walked on again despite her reluctance to go home.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Finn said as he jogged a couple of yards to take the lead. “But I’ll go first, just in case.
No arguments, Abbott.”

No one caught the brief smile that played around Tesla’s
lips. She had no intention of arguing, but it was nice of him to help her save what little face she had in this strange group, especially in front of Beckett Isley. Perhaps he wasn’t such a pain in the ass, after all.

As they approached the front door of Tesla’s house, Finn glanced briefly at the open windows.
The curtains blew gently in the breeze just as they had the night before when he and Tesla had hidden in the shadows of the neighbor’s hedge. He saw nothing out of the ordinary now, however, and continued up the front steps. “Becks, after you,” he said as he opened the still-unlocked front door.

Beckett moved swiftly and purposefully up the steps and through the front door, her feet in soundless black ballet flats, her body deceptively relaxed.
She was a coiled snake, ready to strike. Her right hand was held loosely at waist-level, her left hand down by her thigh, where its open palm faced the others who stood just behind her. Tesla did not need to be told that that open palm meant they should wait, and be quiet. The lithe blonde moved slowly into the foyer. She stepped lightly, carefully, turning her head in a new direction with each step.

In under two minutes—though it seemed much longer—Beckett was back in the doorway.
“The first floor is clear, but be on your guard,” she said. “I’ll check upstairs.”

Tesla stood in the living room and stared at the wreckage.
The coffee table was upside down, the magazines that had been on top of it scattered across the floor. A few pages fluttered in the summer breeze. The lampshade on the little table next to the sofa was crooked, and a delicate bottle-green glass vase that had sat beside that lamp for years was smashed into one hundred fourteen discernible, razor-sharp pieces on the floor. Several dark spots, large enough to be identified as blood from where she stood, had dried on the carpet among the shards of glass.

“You okay?” asked Finn, right beside her.

“Yeah,” she said, a little surprised to find that it was true. She indicated the blood on the beige carpet. “Did you get cut last night?”

“No, just this.”
He gingerly touched his bruised cheekbone.

“Yeah, me either.”
She stepped toward the bloodstain and squatted down to sit on her heels, her head cocked slightly to the side as she took a closer look. “Maybe it was the other guy. The burglar.”

“Maybe,” said Finn, and something in his voice made Tesla glance quickly at his face, but she could not read his carefully blank expression.

“Don’t touch anything,” said Joley, who now stood beside Finn and surveyed the room. “Lydia will have a team here shortly, and they’ll dust for fingerprints, take the blood from the carpet, run everything through their databases.”

“Should we call the police?” Tesla asked.

“Let’s hold off on that,” said Finn, “at least until we determine the extent of the damage, and what might have been stolen. You ready to do a walk-through?”

Tesla nodded.
“I’ll take a look here, why don’t you start upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute.” She felt okay, but it was weird to stand here in her living room, blood and broken glass on the floor. Perhaps all she needed was a minute alone, to feel comfortable in her own house and like she wasn’t under surveillance. For a change.

Joley donned latex gloves and went to work in the kitchen, but Finn didn’t move.

“It’s weird, standing here, isn’t it? After last night,” he said absently. He figured Tesla had to be shaken up, being here where she’d been attacked just a few hours earlier. He felt it himself, and he hadn’t even been hurt.

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t really remember what happened. Just bits and pieces.”

“I can sum it up,” Finn said in a clipped, cold voice. “Some asshole broke your arm and I didn’t get a chance to return the favor. Yet.”

Fists balled up tightly at his sides, Finn turned and climbed the stairs without another word.

What the hell
? Tesla thought.
He sounds like he’s mad at me
.

Upstairs, Finn turned into the first open doorway and found Beckett going through the papers and books on the desk of what must be Tesla’s bedroom, if the posters of LeBron and Zack somebody—a young actor whose name he couldn’t remember—were any indication. There were two basketballs on the dresser, a very old, very used, one-eyed teddy bear on the windowsill, and a short stack of theoretical math books on the bedside table. Crumpled clothes were strewn everywhere, books and magazines lay open, facedown on the carpet, and the bed was a rumpled mess. At least half a dozen dirty glasses cluttered every available surface.

“She’s really a slob, isn’t she?” he asked, astonished and amused.

“Yes, she is,” said Beckett. “A slob and a little girl. Can you believe the tweeny crap all over this room? She’s probably got a
Team Edward
shirt in every color.”

“What is your problem, Becks?” Finn asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what is your problem with Tesla? You’re not typically warm and fuzzy, but you’re downright hostile where she’s concerned.”
Finn had moved into the room and stood in front of the window, only a few feet from Beckett.

“You’re right, I have been kind of nasty,” she said, her voice pitched softly, her hesitation clear.

Finn felt wary; Beckett didn’t do soft and hesitant.

She took a step closer to him, reached out and touched his hand, and he had no choice but to remember the other time they’d been this close.
“I guess it’s harder to be around Tesla than I thought,” she admitted. “Hard to be constantly reminded how lucky she is and how I grew up—always the foreigner, with a family more concerned about the plight of strangers than their own daughter.”

Finn knew Beckett’s story.
He knew she’d had to become tough—and done a damn good job of it—to survive her years in several developing countries. An only child and then, years later, in charge of a younger sister, with missionary parents who’d home-schooled her and left her to explore the streets of Singapore, Bangkok, Xi’an and Beijing on her own, she knew how to take care of herself, but she didn’t know much about how to make friends.

“Yeah, I get it, Becks.
Sorry if we’ve been oblivious, but you know it’s not because the group doesn’t care, right?” Finn was careful to make this about all of them, not just Beckett and him. There was no Beckett and him, despite what had happened between them.

And then somehow, Becket was in his arms, her own arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her head buried in his shoulder. He put his hands lightly on her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her, and looked awkwardly out the window as if he might escape through it.
Beckett was a mass of intriguing contradictions, smooth and shiny to the touch but deadly sharp underneath. Whatever she might truly care about was buried under a layer of biting wit and nonchalance. She was brutally sarcastic and, frankly, hot as hell—an appealing combination, at least to those who imagined themselves up to it. But Finn had decided months ago he didn’t want this entanglement. He didn’t want
any
entanglement.

“Thanks, Finn; you always did know how to make me feel better,” Beckett purred suggestively, and then she reached up and kissed him on the mouth.

Downstairs, Tesla closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
She exhaled and let herself remember the fear and the pain, the hands that had grabbed her in the dark and thrown her across the room, her intimate knowledge of the placement of furniture and uncanny spatial awareness absolutely useless as her body was propelled forward, unchecked. She had crashed into the coffee table with enough force to break the bones in her arm—not just crack them, but break them clean through, and she remembered it as sensation and image, unconnected, nightmarish fragments. She had little recollection of what came after, just a hazy sense of Finn’s face close to hers, his brown eyes dark with concern, not a trace of his usual mockery when he looked at her. She remembered the cool night air as they made their way outside and the sudden realization that she would pass out. She knew nothing more until she woke up on Lydia’s couch.

Of course I don’t remember at all that Finn carried me down the street and into the house
, she thought, her eyes suddenly open again as she laughed softly to herself.