Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3) (22 page)

“Mr. . . .” He flounders about for Kiernan’s name and then spits out, “Boudini. You have upset my wife. And now you ask me to hand over a gift she gave me. A gift I’ve worn and cherished for over ten years. Come on, Bess. These people are engaged in a confidence scheme, and we are far too smart to fall for it.”

“You’re Cyrist,” I say to Bess. “The tattoo?”

She raises her eyebrows. “No. My parents were Cyrists. I tried it as a kid, but it didn’t take. Too many restrictions. My mother was scandalized that I went onstage and married a performer, not to mention a
Jewish
performer.”

“What has that to do with anything?” Houdini asks.

“The people we mentioned are Cyrist, too. The entire religion is a . . . what you said before. A confidence scheme. Created by people with these keys. We’re trying to stop it.”

His mouth tightens. “Nice try, Miss Keller. Here’s an idea for you. If this really is a time travel device, when do I die? Do you know?”

I can’t remember the exact day, but I do know the year—1926. He has a little over twenty years left, according to the histories I read—both the ones from this timeline and the ones in Katherine’s library. His star will continue to rise, his name will be a household word in most of the world. Then, at the height of his fame, he’ll insist on doing a show when he’s far too ill to perform.

I open my mouth to explain why I can’t tell him, but he holds up his hand.

“Don’t tell me!” He leans across the table and says the words so forcefully that I feel specks of saliva hit my cheek. “Just remember it, because the day that I die is when I’ll be done with this gift from my wife. I will leave it in her hands, to do with as she pleases. Until then, do not come near either of us. Have I made myself clear to both of you?”

Houdini stomps around the table, grabs Bess’s hand, and then they’re gone.

“Well, that went well,” Kiernan says after a few seconds. He nods toward my cherry tart. “Are you going to eat that?”

I shake my head, and Kiernan pulls the plate toward him.

“He dies in 1926. I’ll find out the exact—” I halt when I realize the man at the table across from us is listening in. “Let’s go back to your room. The neighbors are nosy.”

Kiernan stops in midbite when I mention his room and once again looks uncomfortable.

“Really?” I hiss under my breath. “You act like I’m going to pounce on you the second we’re behind closed doors.”

And since when would he consider it a bad thing if I did?

“No,” he says quietly. “I’d just . . . maybe a walk on the beach instead?”

“Whatever. I’ll meet you outside.”

The ocean breeze hits my face as soon as I step out the door. I breathe deeply, hoping it will clear my head. The wind whips my hair around, pulling strands from the loose knot at the back of my head. For the first time quite possibly in forever, I wish I was wearing a hat.

The longer I’m around Kiernan, the more I wonder how much I can trust him. If he’s on our side, he needs to know the Culling has a definite and impending launch date—at least for everyone in my time who can’t escape into the past. The fact that there’s no tattoo on Kiernan’s hand worries me. It seems odd that Simon would leave his dear old chum unprotected, but thinking back, I don’t remember seeing one on Simon’s hand, and it’s a very safe bet that he’s protected from the virus.

I take a seat on the same log where I saw the couple earlier when we were walking to the Hippodrome. The temperature seems to have dropped ten degrees in the past hour, although it could just be that I’m closer to the water. After a few minutes, Kiernan sits down on the log next to me.

We’re both quiet for a moment, just looking out at the half-moon on the waves.

“Houdini dies in 1926,” I say. “I’m not sure of the date, but it was very well documented. I’ll check it when I get back to Katherine’s. If Bess will give the key to me after he’s gone, fine. If not, I’ll jump back a few days and take it.”

“Bodyguards,” Kiernan says. “Usually armed.”

“Then I’ll go back to the spiritualist meeting, or whatever it was, and keep Woodhull from giving it to the Davenport guy.”

“How did Woodhull get it in the first place?”

“Someone stole it off Pru when she was asleep. She seemed a bit . . . embarrassed about it, so I’m guessing she’d either been drinking or she wasn’t sleeping alone. Maybe it was the Theodore Tilton guy? She’d have been carted off to jail with Woodhull and the rest of them if I hadn’t given her my spare key.”

“Do you think that was a good idea?”

“That’s exactly what your great-grandson asked when I got back to Katherine’s. And I’ll tell you what I told him—I have no idea, but I couldn’t see another option. You said she didn’t go to jail, and my being there seemed to have changed that.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I was her daughter from one of the surrogates. That she’d asked me to go back and get information on when and how she got the keys from CHRONOS HQ because Saul is trying to prevent it. That her memory is Swiss cheese by the time she’s thirty, which she already knew from encounters with her older self. I kept it as vague as I could. Does it . . . feel like she changed to you?”

His forehead creases. I’m pretty sure he’s sorting through his growing collection of double memories. Finally he shakes his head.

I look out at the water again for a long time, debating how much more I should tell him. He’s quiet, too, either because he doesn’t have anything else to say or maybe because he can just tell that I’m thinking. Does he know the date they’ve set for the Culling? Does he know that at some point I’ll be under Simon’s control?

“I need to know what you’re hiding from me before I can tell you anything else,” I say. “I want to trust you, but you’ve changed so much. I told Julia to kiss off when she said you were a traitor, but a lot of other people’s lives are on the line here. You need to meet me halfway.”

“Kate, look at me.” When I do, he holds my gaze for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry for being an ass. I’m just not . . . comfortable around you. Before, I believed you were still my Kate or that I could change you into her, given the time and opportunity. But over the past six years, I’ve . . .”

He stops, staring at toe of his shoe as he runs it back and forth a few times in the sand, and then he gives me a pained smile. “I’ve come to accept that you’re really not her. I thought I’d made my peace with it, until our paths crossed again, and . . .” He gives a wry laugh and rolls up his sleeve. “Being near you is like this scar. While I’ll admit the wound didn’t heal cleanly, I don’t want to go through the pain of opening it back up.”

I feel tears come to my eyes. “You’re sure that’s it? You haven’t gone over to the Dark Side?”

“Kate told me once that they have cookies on this Dark Side. But no. I’m in this to the end.”

I’m pretty sure he’s being truthful on that part. Still, I can’t shake this niggling feeling he’s not telling me everything.

But can I really ask that? Doesn’t he have the right to some secrets?

Once again, I’m left with the same decision. Either I trust Kiernan, despite my doubts, or I push ahead alone. I might have this Fifth Column behind me now, but none of them can help me on a jump. Who do I trust more in a matter of life or death, Max or this angry, older Kiernan?

The answer is still Kiernan.

“Okay, then. Back to Houdini. We need that key before we do anything else. It’s Pru’s key, and it has a stable point that will keep me from having to operate a rocket belt.”

He gives a quiet chuckle. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“What’s your best estimate for when they’ll do the Culling?”

Kiernan looks surprised. “The date? Um . . . I’ve heard some guesses, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure. I’m not even sure Saul has decided. Simon joked once that we were on a ten-year plan—basically the ten-year anniversary of Saul’s arrival. So I’d say 2034.”

“They’ve pushed things forward a bit.” I unfold a Xerox copy of the news article from September 17th stashed in my pocket. It’s too dark to read, so I hold my CHRONOS key close to the paper so that he can see.

Kiernan skims the article, then looks back at the date. “How far away is this for you? I mean, what day—”

“September 11th. So less than a week.” I wave the medallion back and forth. “But plenty of time when you’ve got these, right?”

“Maybe, if the enemy didn’t have them, too. Kate, they know about the Fifth Column. I don’t know how much, but I’ve heard rumblings. I mean, things changed. Suddenly you’ve got this moderate group that wasn’t there before. Saul’s not an idiot. Neither is Simon. They both connected it to Delia and Abel. To me being back in the fold. I think I’ve convinced Simon I’m not a threat, but . . . they
are
watching the group.” He runs a hand through his hair, and that reminds me about the tattoos.

“Tilson believes that they’ve inoculated Cyrists—at least the Orthodox variety—through the tattoos. Some sort of subdermal . . . something.” He gives me a look. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and I’ve heard a lot of technobabble.”

“And where are they in terms of an antidote?”

“Not an antidote. A vaccine. And we have one. But I have no idea how we’ll disseminate it. Tilson thinks the virus will be spread by the Cyrist regional and local Templars. And they’ve already started with official speeches about The End and the wrath of nature. Prudence made an appearance today in Rio. Except . . .”

“Except what?”

I hesitate, not because I don’t trust him with this, but because suddenly I feel very exposed here on the beach. If someone were to kidnap me in the past, that would leave plenty of time for me to lose twenty pounds or so and become noticeably pregnant before the speech in Rio.

Kiernan grips my arm. “Katie. Except
what
?”

“Except it wasn’t Prudence.” I’m shaking now, both from the chill and from fear. “It was me. A very thin, very
pregnant
me, trying to scream out a warning to the crowd.”

He’s off the log now and on his knees in the sand in front of me. His hands are holding both of my arms and his eyes are wide. “Where in Rio? Do you know the exact time?”

“No. It was this afternoon. The Templo . . . something . . . something. I can’t remember. We watched it on the Cyrist news. On the computer.” I wriggle my shoulders, but he just grips tighter. “Kiernan, let go. You’re hurting me.”

He lets go and sits back, his eyes darting around to various spots on the sand in front of him, like he’s trying to figure something out. “Do you need my help with Houdini?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, it’ll be Bess, assuming Houdini keeps his word. I can handle Bess.”

“She may have bodyguards . . .”

“If I can’t handle it, I’ll let you know.”

He nods and then holds out his hand. “Give me your medallion. I’ll set a time for us to meet at the cabin. Get Houdini’s key, and we’ll leave from there for CHRONOS.”

“Kiernan . . . are you sure you can make that jump? I’m not Pru. I won’t leave you behind to be arrested and tortured, so if you can’t make it there
and
back, I should go alone.”

“I’ll be smarter this time.” He gives back my key, but holds my hand for a moment longer. “Are you okay?”

I nod, but it must not be convincing, because he pulls me forward into a hug. The whiskers feel odd against my skin, but his arms are safe and reassuring. When he pulls away, his dark eyes lock onto mine.

“Just remember that what you saw isn’t . . .” He stops and sighs. “It’s not necessarily
your
fate, okay? We can fix this. We can fix
all
of it.”

∞14∞

B
ETHESDA
, M
ARYLAND

September 11, 5:37 p.m.

“Your phone rang,” Connor says. “Twice. One was your dad, so I answered. The other was Trey, so I answered.”

“You do know there’s this fancy new invention called voice mail, right? It lets callers leave a message for me so I can call them back.”

“Yeah. I think I’ve heard of it.” He clicks off his monitor and spins the computer chair around to face me. “But they’re both worried about you, and they’d be more worried if they got kicked to voice mail. And I thought I’d save you a little time by bringing both of them up to speed.”

Valid points, but I still take my phone off the desk and stick it into my pocket. “Thanks, I think.”

Connor gives me a cheeky grin. “Always happy to do my part. Harry had to take your granddad to the doctor this afternoon. They’ve got some sort of home health care worker coming in first thing tomorrow morning, then he’ll head back here. Trey is on his way over now. He said to tell you he loves you madly and he’s missed you every single second.”

“He did not.” I hesitate for a moment and then ask, “Did you tell them about the video from Rio?”

His jaw twitches. “Not Harry. He’s stuck there overnight, and . . . I couldn’t. I gave Trey the link, though. But I told him we couldn’t be certain of anything, because we can’t. That girl didn’t look exactly like you to me. I still think it could be Prudence.”

“You’ve never met Prudence.”

“I’ve seen photographs. It looks as much like her as it does you.”

I shake my head. As much as I’d like to believe he’s right, I know better, and denying it won’t change what I saw. The only thing that will change it is me ending this nightmare, and to do that, I need to find Bess Houdini.

“Is there anything in the costume trunk that might work for 1926?”

Connor glances down at his flannel shirt and faded jeans. “You’re seriously asking me? Anything I’ve told you about historical fashion has been passed along from Katherine. Speaking of, she’s awake, but the light makes her head worse. I told her we’d stop by her room.”

He flicks off his monitor, and I follow him downstairs. I’ve never actually been in Katherine’s bedroom, at least in part because Connor stays there most nights, and Katherine’s still pretending no one else knows that. It’s silly to act like I’m a little kid who’d be shocked, but it seems we always have more pressing matters to chat about than their relationship status. And if it would stress her out for me to know, I don’t mind playing ignorant.

The lamp on Katherine’s bedside table has one of those really dim night-light bulbs. The CHRONOS key in Connor’s pocket is almost as bright. Daphne hops down from the foot of the bed where she’s been snoozing and squeezes through the door before Connor pulls it shut.

“Kate.” I expect Katherine’s voice to be weak, but it sounds normal. “I told Connor I could just put on some sunglasses and meet you out there, but—”

“We can just as easily talk in here. Right, Kate?” Connor pulls up a chair from the corner, and I sit on the edge of the bed. A faint medicinal smell permeates the room, although I think that’s due more to the half-full cup of herbal tea on the nightstand than the bottles of pills next to it.

“Connor briefed me on everything except your visit with Houdini. Did he cooperate?”

“No. At first he said we could pry it out of his cold, dead hands. Then he amended that slightly, saying Bess could take it from his cold, dead hands and give it to us. So my next stop is 1926. Costume ideas?”

“Hospital, funeral, or house?”

“Haven’t gotten that far. I’ll check my notes on Trey’s laptop when he gets here and see which is closest to a stable point.”

“Well, either way, I have a black drop-waist dress in the closet. It’s not ideal, but it should fit you well enough, and the length is about right. If you have some closed-toe heels, you’ll be fine except for the hair. Unless you want to cut it, I’d advise shoving it under the cloche hat—”

“Which I had to ditch behind a jail toilet in 1938 Georgia.”

“Or you can be the only teenage girl in the late 1920s who resisted the stupid craze of bobbed hair.”

I smile. “I think I prefer that option.”

“Do you think Bess will actually give you the key?” Connor asks.

“Maybe. She’s kind of superstitious. Kiernan and I had her convinced the key was bad juju. She begged Houdini to hand it over to us then and there. But that seemed to set him off. Bess will be a total wreck when he dies. I hate to bother her at a time like that, but if I wait too long, we risk her getting rid of it.”

The doorbell rings, and Daphne sounds off a second later. It’s not her stranger bark, so it must be Trey. I start to get up, but Katherine holds me back.

“Let Connor get it. We need to talk for a moment.”

“Sure.” I swallow hard and turn to face her, scared that this is a just-in-case-I-die-before-you-get-back talk. I can’t deal with that yet.

“Don’t look so worried. I’m okay.”

“No, no. I’m not worried.”

“You’re a lousy liar, my dear, even in the nearly dark. But we’re not quite to the part where I start in with tearful goodbyes. It’s just . . . I’ve watched it again.” She takes the phone from the nightstand, taps the screen, and hands it to me. The video at the temple in Rio is paused at the point where I’m screaming the warning to the crowd. “In fact, I’ve watched it more than once, because it bothers me on several levels. Saul’s plan goes into action in a matter of days. And from everything we’ve seen, Prudence has been pushed aside. Why would he need you posing as her at this stage of the game?”

“Maybe Saul has run out of hours in the day that he can steal from Younger Pru? Like Julia said at the meeting yesterday . . .” I stop, trying to remember whether that was yesterday or earlier today, and then decide it doesn’t matter. “Julia called Prudence the human face of Cyrist International. Or something like that. And unfortunately, her face is pretty close to my face.”

Katherine nods slowly. “True. Prudence’s face
is
the one on their religious art, at least most of it. She’s the one their people recognize. Their fertility goddess, their symbol of the future. Their constant.”

“And even if the Cyrists are spared the brunt of the Culling,” I say, “they’ll lose friends, family members. I don’t see how you could lose that much of the population and not risk the social structure and economic system breaking down. Maybe Saul thinks they need the image of Prudence to keep the survivors centered. To keep them focused on rebuilding this new future in the way he wants.”

She takes the phone back and stares at the screen for a moment. “How many months ahead would you say this is?”

“Six?”

“I’d guess closer to seven. I saw Deborah several times when she was pregnant with you. She was dreadfully thin. Poor Harry kept enough ice cream in the house to start his own Ben & Jerry’s, but anything she ate came right back up until around six months.”

Kiernan said pretty much the same about Prudence when she was pregnant, but I’m not sure Katherine needs to hear the details. It won’t make her feel better to think about the fate she couldn’t protect her teenage daughter from. And since all signs are pointing in that direction for me right now, I don’t want to dwell on it either.

“Well, on the plus side, my scar continues to fade.”

Katherine waves her hand. “It’s barely noticeable now if you wear makeup. And I wish you wouldn’t make light of the situation, Kate. You need to be very, very careful. I know you don’t . . .
usually
don’t . . . take reckless chances, but this video tells us that in the course of events as they currently stand, the Cyrists will grab you at some point and take you back—”

“I know, Katherine!”

It comes out more sharply than I intended, and I hear the thrum-thrum
of my pulse revving up. I draw a deep breath through my nose and release it very slowly before continuing, trying to keep my voice calm.

“I know. And that idea terrifies the freakin’ hell out of me. If locking myself in the closet for the duration was an option, that’s exactly what I’d do. But it’s
not
an option, and if I’m going to get through this, I need to avoid dwelling on the thing that terrifies me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is quiet and frail, and her eyes fill almost instantly with tears.

And mine, of course, instantly follow suit.

“No! I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just . . .”

Katherine reaches out and pulls me toward her fiercely. Her grip is almost painful, and I can’t help but feel she’s trying to give me what strength she has left to help me get through this. And that starts me crying—big, wet, noisy sobs—because the other thing that terrifies me is knowing that even if by some miracle I stop the Culling, even if I never become the girl in this stupid video, my time with Katherine is drawing to a close.

When I finally look up, Katherine gives me a tender smile and reaches for a tissue, then shakes her head. “On second thought, this isn’t going to suffice. Go into my bathroom and grab a wet cloth. Cold. I’m afraid none of the Shaw women ‘cry pretty,’ but in my experience a cold compress will solve the worst of it.”

I do as I’m told and then lie back down across the foot of her bed, holding the cloth against my eyes.

We’re both silent for several minutes, and then Katherine asks, “Did you figure out what’s going on with Kiernan?”

Her usual crisp, no-nonsense, down-to-business voice has returned. I’m relieved to hear it. I needed the cry, needed the release, but I can’t afford to dwell on my fears right now. And neither can she.

“I think so,” I say, propping myself up on my elbows. “He’s says he’s having trouble being around me again, after so long.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“No, I believe him. It’s just . . . I still get a feeling there’s something he’s not telling me.”

“Do you trust him?”

It’s the second time she’s asked me that in the past few days. I sigh, because the answer is still more complicated than I’d like. “I trust that he’s not with Saul. That’s he’s still in this fight. And that’s all that really matters. Everyone needs their secrets, I guess. But I’m not sure how much help he’ll be anyway. I don’t know if he’s overusing it, or if his ability with the key is deteriorating, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to make a jump to CHRONOS and back in rapid succession. I’m worried he’ll get stranded . . . again. It’s happened once already. Pru just left him somewhere, and I couldn’t do that.”

I take a deep breath. “And speaking of Prudence, she thinks you were responsible for the sabotage of CHRONOS. Not sure exactly what Saul told her, but . . .”

Katherine doesn’t look surprised. “Well, I knew he must have told her something. That son of a bitch. What I wouldn’t give to use that key one last time.” She squeezes my hand. “Go. Trey is waiting.”

I get up and toss the washcloth into the sink. “One more thing. Pru mentioned someone named Tate. He wasn’t on the list, but he’s CHRONOS, right?”

“Yes. Tate Poulsen. Nice enough guy. Studied the Vikings, a few other primitive warrior societies. He was Saul’s roommate the year I was in field training. Seemed more brawn than brains, but Saul said that wasn’t true once you got to know him. Why?”

“Do you think he was in on Saul’s plan?”

She thinks for a moment. “If he was, why would Saul have left him in the future? We usually jumped in cohorts, organized roughly around the eras we studied. But there were exceptions. I took a few jumps to the medieval era during training and studied a few women’s groups in the 2100s as well. Saul could’ve found a time when Tate was in the field with him, if that’s what he wanted. Why did Prudence mention him?”

“I think they were friendly. Possibly . . . very friendly. Kiernan said Tate was responsible for rescuing Pru from the CHRONOS wreckage and probably for connecting her with Saul.”

“From the frying pan to the fire.” Katherine sighs. “I’ll see if I can dredge up anything else on Poulsen later this afternoon. Now go. I’ll bring the dress out in a few minutes.”

“No, I’ll just come back after—”

“Oh, would you stop it, Kate! I am not a total invalid. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Connor. There’s no way I’m checking out until this whole damned thing is finished.”

I muster up a return smile, even though I can’t help but worry she’s jinxing herself.

The aroma of coffee hits my still-stuffy nose as I walk into the kitchen. Trey sits at the breakfast nook near Daphne, who has a new toy—a bone decorated with the Union Jack—wedged between her paws.

“Somebody likes her souvenir.”

Trey hands me a round candy tin with pictures of London tourist spots. “You have to share the toffee with Connor and Katherine. And me. But this guy . . .” He reaches behind him and pulls out a Paddington Bear, complete with his blue coat and red hat. “He’s all yours.”

I smile and hug the bear. “Was your flight okay?”

He must catch the hint of guilt in my voice because he pulls me closer. “The flight—both ways—was totally worth it. Connor says you’ve been busy.”

“You could say that. We have less than a week, Trey. And Victoria Woodhull is kind of a bitch. Houdini could be a bit more reasonable, too. And . . .” I stop and just look at him. I don’t have the words to talk to Trey about Rio.

Apparently he doesn’t have the words, either. He pulls in a long breath through clenched teeth, and then he kisses me, hard. A little too hard, but I’m okay with that.

When the kiss ends, he says, “I love you so much, and I want to tell you I won’t let anyone hurt you. But . . . you’re going places I can’t follow and—damn it! This sucks, Kate. It totally sucks.”

I don’t say anything, because that pretty much sums it up.

His voice is flat when he continues. “I watched the video in the cab coming from the airport. I’ve never had the urge to kill anyone, Kate, but when I saw that guy grab you like that. . .” He shakes his head and says, “Kiernan’s going with you, right?”

“He’s going with me to get the keys at CHRONOS, but not to get the key from Bess. Houdini’s wife.”