Chapter 11 #5
“I don’t know what high school you went to, but the most popular guy at mine was the quarterback.”
She shook her head at him. “Really.”
“That’s what I remember.” His insecurity was showing, which wasn’t a good look for him.
“Well, if it helps, Remy is like a brother, so I could never be romantically involved with him, no matter how striking he’s become.”
That pronouncement perked Clay up when they arrived on the second floor, which housed glassware and pictures. How pitiful that a compliment could change his attitude as dramatically as a new lead in a story he was chasing. He pulled her away from the foot traffic.
“What you just said implies that you could be romantically involved with me.”
Her cheeks turned a rosy color. “Does it?”
“Nuanced, but yes.” He let her off the hook and led her down the stairs.
“Can we back up a minute? How are you and Robert related? Who are his parents?”
“A family tree would help, but it gets a little wonky. Rory and Robert are both from the early twentieth century, and we are all related to the MacKlennas.”
He led her down the last flight of stairs. At the bottom, she stopped and moved out of the way to avoid blocking traffic. “Wait! Are you saying that Robert and Rory are from the early 1900s and are now living in the twenty-first century?”
“Yep.”
Her eyes seemed to glaze over for a minute, and then she refocused. “That’s crazy. They’re not just visiting. They’re living there permanently. How are they adjusting?”
“You’d never know they were from another century. The family has brought about twenty people forward in time. All have adjusted, and two women have become doctors.”
“Incredible. It must be easier to go forward than backward. So many times, I’ve wanted to call Bastien. It would be hard never to have a phone again.”
“Not having a way to communicate is the worst part of traveling.” He took her arm and started walking.
“Do you know why Archibald is here?”
“He said to see a friend.”
“Do you know who?”
“No idea. But here’s the thing. In Archibald’s world, I’m fourteen, and we just finished a cross-country train trip to California,” Clay said.
She scratched the side of her head. “I’m confused again. If Archibald died months ago in your time, but you’re only fourteen in his, how does that work?”
“When travelers go from century to century, they meet people at different stages of their lives.”
“That makes sense, but does he know he’s dead in your time?”
“When I told him I found his brooch, he assumed he’d died. But he hasn’t asked questions.”
“If he does, what will you tell him?”
“As little as possible.”
Marcelle pointed ahead. “There’s Skye and Remy.”
“How was the jaunt down the stairs?” Skye asked.
“I know what’s on each floor now. If there’s anything you need, I can tell you exactly where to go,” Clay said.
“Then tell me where to find cigars? I want to give them to the band to celebrate our new gig. But I don’t know which ones are the best.”
“A cigar should have a smooth, even wrapper and feel firm and well-packed when you squeeze it. Before lighting, it’ll have a pleasant, rich aroma. Remember those attributes, and you’ll pick a good one,” Remy said.
“Firm, well-packed, and pleasant aroma. I could do that, but my idea of a pleasant aroma and a man’s might be different. Will you select them?”
“Sure. Where’s the cigar store, Clay?” Remy asked.
“I didn’t see a sign for a tobacco shop, but check on the third floor. It has a bit of everything,” Clay said.
“Don’t need to. It’s right over there,” Remy pointed. “I’m slipping. I should’ve noticed it when we came in.”
“We didn’t come in that way.” Skye pointed over her shoulder. “We came through that door.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Come on. Let’s go buy cigars.”
Remy took Skye’s hand, and they ran off like teenagers.
Marcelle watched them intently. “They like each other, but what will happen to Skye when we leave? I don’t want her to get her heart broken.”
“I don’t either.” Clay led Marcelle to a wrought-iron bench next to the cigar shop, and they sat there watching the shoppers.
“Clay, rewind. You said Rory and Robert are adjusting. What about all the others? What do they do?”
“Whatever makes them happy. But mostly, they’re getting an education and catching up on the significant changes between their time and the twenty-first century.”
“There’s a lot to catch up on,” Marcelle said. “Tell me about your half sister. How’d she die?”
“Under appalling circumstances. I’ll tell you about it when we get home. You’ll need the full context, and it’s too much filth to dredge up right now.”
“I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk about it.” Marcelle’s voice was smooth and warm, like her trumpet. “But I have a question, which I hope you’ll answer now. Do you share a mother or father with your sister?”
“We had the same mother.” The word evoked a visceral reaction, a burn in his stomach. The woman had no right to call herself a mother or expect anyone else to do so.
“Good. I’m not sure I could be civil to Archibald if he played a part in your sister’s death.”
“He had no part in that, but he’s not without guilt for screwing up other lives.
” Clay gazed across the great hall, observing dozens of men, women, and children strolling in and out of shops.
He mentally concocted elaborate vignettes about their reasons for being there.
A mysterious woman in a long fur coat sparked his imagination, and without seeing her face, he envisioned her as a mobster’s enigmatic girlfriend.
That all changed when she turned. The sudden shock of her appearance sent his heart lurching.
He instinctively smacked his chest, fighting off the sensation of impending doom. “Speak of the Devil.”
Marcelle sat up straighter, scanning the room. “Devil? Where?”
Clay didn’t answer at once. He tilted his head slightly, keeping his gaze forward. “Do you see the woman at my two o’clock, wearing a long fur coat?”
Marcelle followed his line of sight, leaning just enough to peer past the crowd. “She’s beautiful—but why is she hiding behind that column? Do you know her?”
“Not really.” Clay swallowed, his jaw tightening. “I doubt anyone does. But I need to talk to her. I’ll be right back.”
Marcelle’s hand closed around his sleeve before he could step away. “Do you want me to wait here?”
“Go tell Remy and stay with Skye.” His voice stayed even, but his shoulders had gone rigid.
Marcelle searched his face. “Is she dangerous?”
Clay’s scalp prickled with dread. He froze, caught between instinct and uncertainty, imagining what Violet might do when she saw him. “Does she look dangerous?”
“No,” Marcelle said slowly, studying him now instead of the woman. “But you’re acting as if she is.”
“She’s an apathetic narcissist and gives the disorder a bad name.” He stared at Violet and automatically reached for his journal and pencil. He’d left them at Skye’s house, but he could draw the woman later from memory.
“Sounds like she’s an unpleasant person?”
“It’s strange, but she can be pleasant, just not very often.
” A vise clamped his chest. He couldn’t move, his gaze locked on Violet, breath held tight in his throat.
She was scanning the great hall, but her eyes slid past him.
A list of questions waited in his journal, but his mind went blank, the words dissolving into static the moment he saw her.
“I’ll get Remy,” Marcelle whispered, her eyes wide. “Be careful.”
Marcelle darted off, and with her departure, the last shred of his resolve vanished.
He tried to move, but his feet remained anchored to the gleaming hardwood floor.
He pried one foot loose, then the other, but as he lunged forward, Violet slipped into the shadows behind the column and was gone. “Damn!”
Remy was at his side within seconds, his expression unreadable. “Where is she?”
Clay kept his eyes on the spot by the column, as if looking away might make the truth worse. “She disappeared while I was watching her. She was there—and then she wasn’t.”
Remy’s jaw tightened. He glanced once at the surrounding crowd, then back at Clay.
“Like brooch disappeared,” he said, low, “or like what she did in the cave?” A tremor slipped into his voice despite the control he was fighting to maintain.
“Neither.” Clay shook his head. “Violet was there. Then she wasn’t.”
Remy let out a quick breath. “Like a magic show?”
“There was nothing showy about it.” Clay’s fingers curled at his side. “The woman just vanished.”
“If she had that capability, why didn’t she and Erik use that method of travel in the cave?”
Clay finally looked at him. “I can think of only one reason.” He paused, letting it settle. “They wanted us to believe a made-up story.”
Remy was silent for a beat. Then, quieter, more deliberate: “Should we look for her?”
“If she doesn’t want to be found, we’ll never find her.” Clay scanned the great hall once more, his gaze lingering on the columns, the balconies, the places she could hide—or already vanished from. “Let’s go before Erik shows up.”
Remy fell into step beside him. “You think he will?”
“Why not? Archibald and Violet are here.”
Remy huffed a breath, half relief, half tension. “As long as it’s not Sten, I’m okay with Erik.” He glanced sideways at Clay. “But what about Archibald? This is the first time I’ve met him. Does he look younger or older than he did in Buffalo?”
“Younger,” Clay said without hesitation. “And so is Violet.”
“Neither of them knows what happened in Buffalo, which means Violet doesn’t know you and wasn’t looking for you. Just Archibald.”
“He said he came to meet a friend,” Clay said, his mouth tightening around the words.
“Looks like you’ll be spending time with both parents without them knowing you know the truth.”
Clay let out a humorless breath. “That sounds like a catastrophe waiting to happen.”
Remy bumped his shoulder lightly as they walked, grounding him. “If you can’t figure out what to do, ask yourself—what would Elliott do?”