The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (48 page)

HADLEY TALKED NONSTOP
through dinner—a blessing since I was too jittery to engage in anything more than polite conversation. By the time our main courses arrived, I’d managed to knock over my water glass, dribble champagne down my dress, and send a steak knife, blade down, into Charles’s lap. The last incident had my heart beating out of my chest, as visions of nicked femoral arteries and gushing thigh wounds danced in my head.

Thankfully, no blood was actually shed, and Charles laughed it off.

Ernest asked after Gaige, inquiring about his treatment and wanting to know if there was anything he could do to help.

“I truly appreciate the offer,” I told him, touched by the writer’s compassion for a man he’d only known a short time. “My uncle already has an attorney working on bail. I am sure we’ll have this mess cleared up soon.”

“No one believes he did it,” Hadley said, reaching across the table to pat my hand.

“Of course not,” Charles added. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We all know the police are under pressure. That inspector has latched on to your brother and is simply using him as a stooge.”

The food was amazing, yet I ate very little of it. The Hemingways seemed to attribute my twitchy mood and lack of appetite to Gaige’s arrest, which was for the best. Charles wasn’t so easily fooled. He waited to broach the subject until just before we left the restaurant, while Hadley was in the restroom and Ernest was occupied at coat check.

“You are awfully quiet this evening, Stassi,” Charles mused, leaning in close to speak directly into my ear.

“It only seems that way because Hadley is so talkative.”

Charles laughed. “You are not wrong.” He brushed hair back from my cheek, the light sweep of his fingers across my skin giving me shivers. “But there is something else bothering you. And not just your brother’s arrest, I am assuming.”

Staring into his earnest gaze, I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him the Night Gentleman’s real identity, and that it was my fault Hadley had been drugged. It was a miracle the combination of Dragon Dust and so much alcohol hadn’t killed her. I wanted to tell him about the massive sting operation Cyrus and the alchemists were setting up. How Baylarian would likely be gone for good if we failed to trap him at the show. With Lachlan’s name tattoo, Baylarian could jump on his own. Sure, he’d experience time sickness that might drive him as crazy as Lachlan, but how many more people would die before that happened?

“It’s my cousin,” I blurted out. “He is very sick. That’s actually why my uncle came to Paris to begin with. My cousin, Lachlan, was supposed to meet Gaige and me here, but he never showed up. So, Uncle Cyrus came to look for him. Unfortunately, we found him yesterday. At Salpêtrière.”

Charles’s arms were around me, pulling me tight against his chest.

“I am so sorry, Stassi. You poor thing.”

The sentiment was real and heartfelt, and tears pricked the backs of my eyes.

“Is everything okay?” Hemingway’s voice interrupted the moment.

Charles and I broke apart. Turning away, I discreetly wiped the wetness from my eyes before facing the writer with a forced smile.

“Of course, Ernest. You have the coats? Shall we go?”

Cirque d’Hiver was already quite crowded when we arrived. Patrons milled around the lobby, conversing and sipping cocktails as they waited for the theater doors to open. Charles and I took the Hemingways’ coats with us over to the coat check, while they went in search of drinks. Charles helped me out of the fur stole I was wearing, adding it to the pile on the counter. I glanced around anxiously, hoping to spot a face I recognized.

“Here is your claim ticket, Mr. DuPree,” the attendant said to Charles. “Enjoy the show.” Though the man’s French was flawless, his slight accent gave him away.

I whirled back to face the counter just in time to see Wick give me a conspiratorial smile. A high-necked white dress shirt with long sleeves hid his tattoos. Paired with a standard black vest, the Australian enforcer was dressed identically to the theater’s other staff members. A customs’ makeup artist had done wonders on Wick’s facial scars, even drawing in small hairs to complete his eyebrow.

While Charles was focused on pulling out bills to tip him, Wick gave me a wink, exposing his dimples.  I let out a long bated breath that I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. Seeing a familiar face—even one as unfamiliar as Wick’s—made me feel immensely better. Cyrus and his team were here, even if I couldn’t spot every one of them.

The enforcer thanked Charles for his generosity, then turned to the next couple in line. When my date began scanning the throng of theatergoers, I gestured to where I’d spotted the Hemingways waiting for us near the bar with glasses of champagne in hand. Charles placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the crowd, staying only a half-step behind me.

Even with my mind overwhelmingly occupied by thoughts of the Night Gentleman, Cyrus’s strike team, and fears for the safety of us all, Charles’s touch sent pleasant sparks up my spine. At one point, I paused to let a rowdy group pass in front of us, and took the opportunity to lean my head back against Charles. While we waited for them to file past, his other hand caressed my arm before his fingers intertwined with my own. His mere presence was both reassuring and fortifying, and I found myself feeling grateful that Baylarian had forced me to invite him.

I let out a long sigh as I realized this would probably be the last time I ever saw Charles DuPree.

When we’d finally made it across the lobby to the bar area, I saw that the Hemingways were chatting with another couple. As we approached, the woman talking with Hadley turned toward us. To my immense surprise, I saw that it was none other than Ines. Her sweeping black gown paired perfectly with her inky hair and snowy skin to create an overall look of monochromatic contrasts.

“Anastasia! Charles!” she trilled with faux surprise. My Parisian guide leaned in to brush a kiss on each of my cheeks, before repeating the gesture with my date. “How are you my dears? It is so wonderful to see you both.”

At the sound of Ines’s greeting, the man talking to Ernest turned to face us. It took several moments for my brain to swap out the immaculate tuxedo for a lab coat and realize who it was—Dr. Merriweather. For the second time in as many minutes, I was taken aback by the presence of an alchemist.

“I’m well,” Charles was saying. “And you, Ines? You look wonderful, as usual.”

“Right as rain,” she cooed in response, then gestured to her escort. “Have you met Jonas Merriweather? Jonas, may I present Anastasia Prince and Charles DuPree.”

The doctor shook hands with Charles, before leaning in to brush a kiss across the back of mine. For a man unaccustomed to fieldwork, he was doing an impressive job of pretending we’d never met.

Our group formed a small circle, with Dr. Merriweather positioning himself firmly on my right side.

“I had the pleasure of meeting your uncle earlier this evening,” he told me conversationally.

“How lovely,” I replied, unsure of what else to say.

Dr. Merriweather waited while Hadley handed me a crystal flute of bubbly and I thanked her.

“I am afraid he was not having the best night,” he continued, giving me a meaningful look that I couldn’t decipher. “Seems a business deal of his fell through. He had another meeting lined up for this evening. Here is hoping that venture goes more smoothly.” The doctor raised his glass in toast.

“What line of business is your uncle in?” Hemingway asked.

“Acquisitions,” I said smoothly, scanning the lobby for said “uncle”. Cyrus was nowhere in sight.

“He’s here, dear. No need to worry,” Merriweather said under his breath, holding his glass up to his mouth to hide the movement of his lips.

Before I could ask him where, the doors to the theater opened. The crowd immediately began migrating in that direction. Instead of joining the stream, our little group stepped out of the way and continued chatting. I kept one ear on the conversation, as my eyes made regular rounds of the lobby. The Rosetta was firmly in place, and I reached up to discreetly adjust the receiver to its maximum range capabilities. Bits and pieces of conversations floated through my right ear, the device catching everything within fifty feet. The effect was overwhelming at first, though I gradually grew accustomed to it. Fortunately, I’d had a lot of practice using the Rosetta.

“—yes, he is—”

“—that is your third whiskey, please don’t—”

“—where he—naturally found that—”

“—Stassi—glad you—so beautiful—”

The blood drained from my face as I froze, glass halfway to my parted lips. I didn’t move a muscle, not wanting to lose the disembodied voice among the others in the crowd.

“—she never did find—”

“—sometimes I swear he just cannot help—”

“Yes, Stassi,” the voice came through again. “I see you can hear me.”

I whipped around, studying the faces around me in the desperate hope I would spot the man from the pictures.

“Oh, don’t bother looking, you won’t recognize me.”

It was a distinct advantage. Not knowing that we’d identified him would hopefully make Baylarian careless.

A hand touched my forearm, and I jumped.

“Are you okay, Stassi?” Charles asked worriedly, sliding his fingers down to squeeze mine.

Ten very concerned eyeballs were locked on me. I forced a smile and laughed breezily.

“Of course,” I replied, scrambling to find an explanation for my spastic behavior. “I’m just feeling a bit jumpy. I do believe I might’ve had a bit too much champagne with dinner.” Forcing an embarrassed expression, I rolled my eyes.

As the others chuckled politely, Ines loudly asked Ernest and Hadley about their upcoming trip. Though she’d expertly deflected the attention of the rest of the group, Charles’s focus remained on me. He peered at me with an unspoken question in his eyes, but the return of Baylarian’s voice left it unanswered.

“Such the actress, Stassi,” it taunted. “Playing so many roles must get confusing. How do you know who you truly are?”

My eyes darted desperately around the room. The crowd was dwindling, making it easier to see individual faces. I searched for a lone man who would appear to be talking to himself, but found none.

“Another drink, miss?” a server interrupted.

I looked down at the glass in my hand that was still filled halfway with sparkling amber liquid. Turning to the waiter to decline the offer, I stopped short when I met his dark eyes. Felipe was staring back at me. The stylist held a tray of cocktails in one hand, and a single champagne flute in the other. He subtly tilted the latter towards me.

“Yes, champagne, please,” I replied, taking the hint. “Thank you so much.”

I placed my drink on Felipe’s tray and took the new glass. He handed me a cocktail napkin from the bottom of his stack, and then drifted away without another word. Ines witnessed my exchange with her fellow alchemist, and she immediately drew Charles into the conversation. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I quickly flipped the napkin open.

No sign of target yet. Has he made contact with you? Nod once for yes, twice for no, then head inside the theater.  C.

P.S. Ines has something I forgot to give you—be sure to get it.

Nodding once, I crumpled the napkin in my hand. Felipe swept by again, and I placed it on his tray. Turning my full attention back to the group, I waited for an opening in the conversation. Ines was just finishing a story about the ridiculous woman she’d helped at the hat shop earlier in the day. When she paused to accommodate the obligatory laughter, I pounced.

“We should find our seats,” I interjected, before someone else could speak.

Charles offered me his arm, and we joined the flow of patrons filing towards the entrance doors. Without warning, the Night Gentleman’s voice found me once more. My pulse pounded, picking up tempo with each word.

“That dress really is exquisite. ‘Tis a shame it might be ruined before the night is over.” He clucked his tongue. “Now, you must be thinking to yourself, ‘Why? Why will my dress be ruined?
How
will my dress be ruined?’ Is it because you have a front row seat to my final performance? Or perhaps it is because you
are
my final performance? Careful what you drink, Stassi.”