Extracted

  EMBER

  A shrill ring echoes in my ears. I reach back and touch the spot where my head connected with the door. No blood. That’s good, at least. Across the distance, Lex looks over, and an expression of surprise is clear on his face for a moment before he turns back to Tesla. It takes me a second to realize why. I’m at the door. Whatever temporal barrier holds the Fixed Point in place has either fallen or let me inside.

  Gloves’ words drift back to the front of my mind, driving the ringing away. “You aren’t changing anything. You will go back again because you always have. Your actions are part of the Fixed Point.”

  With the help of the doorjamb, I climb to my feet. Ethan is taking on Flynn, and Stein and Kara are going at it like rabid tigers. No one is looking at me. I try to step forward to join them, but I can’t. Something is holding me back. Behind me, my hands grasp for the doorknob of their own accord. Opening my mouth, I try to call out, but my voice is frozen. Like a puppet whose strings are being pulled by someone else, I push the door open behind me and step backward into the house.

  As I turn to go into the room, two young soldiers stare at me, momentarily confused.

  “Get her!” the first screams in Russian. They both lunge for me, guns drawn. I fall to my back and kick out, getting them both in the knee. They each scream in agony as they crumple to the floor. I roll to my feet, spin, and kick the gun out of the first soldier’s hand. Then, yanking him up, I pull him in front of me. The soldier on the ground fires a shot, but he hits his buddy instead. I throw him at the armed gunman. While he struggles, I deliver a roundhouse kick to his head, knocking him out cold.

  The whole thing happens so quickly it’s almost a blur, but I’m still panting as I cross the room toward the stairs. I reach the door as another guard appears. He gets in one good punch to my face, and I stagger back. He pulls a mean-looking blade from his boot. Knocking the knife from his hands, I kick him in the groin. Then I kick him in the head, sending him flying backward. Once he’s down, I jump on top of him, pulling the gun from his holster. A sound behind me makes me turn, gun pointed.

  “Flynn,” I say, surprised. How did he get through the force field?

  He cocks his head to the side, staring at me curiously. That’s when I realize, he isn’t the Flynn from my timeline. He’s the other Flynn. His clothes are different and his hair is just a bit shorter than the man fighting outside. I lower the gun.

  Another guard appears beside him.

  “Look out,” I shout.

  Without even looking—Flynn turns, steps forward, and delivers a blow to the guy’s neck. Then another quick punch to his face sends him backward into a small table. An oil lamp rolls off and shatters, setting the drapes ablaze.

  “How do you know my name?” Flynn asks, rubbing his hand.

  What can I say? “It’s a really long story, and not one I have time for right now. Follow me.”

  I turn the corner and head upstairs. The fire spreads quickly, racing its way up the walls and across the ceiling. Below us, I hear the remaining soldiers panic.

  “Get the other children,” someone yells.

  “But sir, the fire.”

  “We can’t leave them. The Tsar and Tsarina are dead. Their bodies must be moved quickly, before the rebels get here.”

  “Sir, they are as good as dead up there. There’s no way out.”

  “Fine. You guard these stairs for as long as possible, be sure they don’t make it out of this house alive.”