Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3)

  And then Max is in Kiernan’s face shouting about the keys, and I’m shouting for him to back off.

  “Quiet!” Tilson bangs his crutch against the metal air-conditioning unit near the window for emphasis. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here with this commotion. And I think you can lower the guns. He’s not going anywhere as long as Charlayne has his key.”

  I give all of them an incredulous look. Obviously Kiernan’s wearing his backup, since he’s still here. But they didn’t know that. None of them did.

  “Were you people not listening earlier?” I yell. “It’s possible none of us with the CHRONOS gene exists right now outside the range of a medallion. Who took his key?”

  “That would be Max,” Trey says, giving him a foul look. “I told them Kiernan was on our side and tried to stop them. I was worried he’d vanish like Katherine did, but let’s just say I was outvoted. Or rather, we were outvoted,” he adds with a glance at Tilson.

  Charlayne looks uncomfortable, but she still doesn’t lower the gun.

  Ben puts his arm around her and says, “We were following orders, Kate.”

  “This isn’t the freakin’ military!”

  “Maximilian,” Tilson says, “tell them to stand down. And come deal with your fiancée.”

  “She’s not my fiancée.”

  “Well, she sure as hell isn’t my responsibility.” Tilson pushes himself up with the crutches. Eve makes a panicked noise, grabbing his shoulder as she stands and nearly causing both of them to tumble. The instant she regains her balance, Eve pulls her arms over her head. I rush forward, thinking she’s going to hit him. She does yank downward, hard, but straight down rather than toward Tilson, grinning triumphantly when the duct tape on her wrists splits straight up the middle.

  Eve grabs for Tilson’s pocket, where the blue glow of the CHRONOS key is shining through the fabric. Tilson dodges to the right, whacking her with a crutch as he stumbles backward into the chair.

  Charlayne turns her rifle on Eve, but Max is already there, pulling her away from Tilson and the key. That’s when Eve sees a closer option than the key in Tilson’s pocket—Max’s key, which is still in the open, hanging from the dark leather cord around his neck.

  She grabs the cord and yanks. Max’s body is blocking my view, so I can’t tell whether the cord snaps or Eve manages to pull it over his head, but either way, it’s in her hands.

  Max clutches her arm and twists.

  That’s not a bad move for disarming your opponent. It’s definitely a bad move, however, if you want to keep yourself in contact with the object in your opponent’s hand.

  Their faces don’t even have a chance to register surprise as the medallion falls from Eve’s hand and skids across the carpet and under a chair. It’s less than a foot away when they both blink out of sight.

  We just stare at the empty space for a moment, and then Charlayne looks at me and says in a strangled voice, “Go back. Go back and stop him. Tell him what happens.”

  “I don’t think it will work, Charlayne.”

  But I try. I roll the key back, and, sure enough, they aren’t there. It’s like everyone in the room is viewing a blank spot on the carpet.

  “It’s possible,” I say, “if we manage to fix the timeline, that they’ll pop back in. When Katherine’s key was yanked in the other timeline, it was because she’d been killed in the past. I stopped her from being killed, and it repaired the rift. But Max and Eve—they’re gone because CHRONOS never exists in this timeline. Their parents, grandparents, whatever, were never born. Without the key, I’d disappear, too.”

  As I say that, I realize that, aside from Trey, the same is true for everyone I care about: Mom, Dad, Katherine, Connor, Kiernan. But it’s also true for the Cyrists. Does Prudence know this? Do Simon and Saul?

  “Maybe once we fix this, Max and Eve will be back like Katherine was. I mean, they weren’t killed . . .” I press my palms into my eyes hard enough that it hurts, hoping it will distract me from the raging headache this is causing. “They were just erased. I don’t know if you come back from that.”

  “So why didn’t he vanish?” Charlayne nods toward Kiernan. “After Max took his key, he should have disappeared, right?”

  “I would have,” Kiernan says, “except someone was wise enough to give me a backup when I was eight. This isn’t the first time it’s saved me. And before you decide to go looking for my spare key, could we have a few moments of rational discussion? As Kate said, I’m not your enemy. And given that your Fifth Column is now down several members, I’m thinking you need all the allies you can get.”

  BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  September 12, 6:23 p.m.

  Dad and Connor are in the kitchen drinking a beer when I jump in. I’m tempted to join them. I doubt either of them would lecture me about underage drinking after the day I’ve had. But I have no idea how it would mix with the tonic from the Juvapod. And truthfully, I’m already feeling a little buzzed. Whatever they put in that drink beats the hell out of Red Bull.

  My original plan was to jump back to earlier in the afternoon, before Pru arrived, and warn Dad and Connor that they were about to have a guest. But Kiernan convinced me that would only be a good idea if Pru was actually a threat. A quick skim through the two hours between her arrival and the current time showed her crying, talking, drinking coffee, sitting on the floor to pet a very nervous Daphne, and at one point yelling at Dad and Connor. They both seemed confused and on edge, and something looks a little different about the area around the sofa. Tiny shreds of fabric are scattered in front, covering most of that side of the carpet. At no point, however, did I get the sense they were in danger.

  About ten minutes ago, Pru collapsed on the couch, and I took that as my cue to enter. We need a few minutes without her in the conversation, so I hope she’s really asleep, not just catnapping. On the other hand, the Culling bomb is ticking, and I’m really hoping Pru has some ideas on where the virus was kept. And that she’s not only willing but also coherent enough to share them.

  Neither Dad nor Connor mentioned, or even seemed to notice, that I’m now dressed in a toga. I think that fact is a pretty good indicator of exactly how bizarre our lives have become.

  Connor lifts one finger to his lips, gesturing toward the living room, where Pru is on the couch. At some point recently, one of them pulled the comforter over her. Her face looks strangely peaceful.

  I nod toward the patio, and they both follow me. Actually, all three, because Daphne rouses herself from her spot under the breakfast nook and limps after us. Connor pulls the picnic table a bit to the left so that we can still see Pru through the window as we talk. I’m not sure it matters, though. The key in her arm means she can leave anytime she wants, unless we restrain her.

  “What’s that stuff on the floor?” I ask.

  “One of the sofa pillows,” Dad says. “Your aunt ripped a hole in the side and then methodically pulled out the stuffing piece by piece. She got a little upset when I mentioned it.”

  Connor gives a short, nervous laugh. “A little upset? She threw a lamp at you.”

  I must have skimmed past that bit when watching on the key. That’s why the area around the sofa looked different—no lamp.

  “He ducked,” Connor adds. “But Prudence is a real trip. Not always a pleasant one, either. Did you get the keys?”

  “Yes. But I couldn’t bring them here once I saw her. And I’m pretty sure Simon’s watching the library, so we can’t put them in the safe, either.”

  Dad looks a little uneasy. “You left them with those Fifth Column people?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Good, because Connor found something on the security camera. In the library.”

  “We have security cameras?”

  “Yes,” Connor says. “I told you we have two different systems guarding the house. Anyway, Simon didn’t set that fire. It was Max.”

  “What? You’re sure?”

  A moment ago, I was fee
ling bad about him vanishing. Now I feel confused, but also strangely vindicated. A sixth sense told me from the very beginning that Max couldn’t be trusted. Why would he torch the library?

  “It was definitely him,” Connor says. “I got a clear look. So I guess he’s working with Simon.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Max . . . he’s the one who rescued me in 2308.”

  I give them a quick summary, ending with Max and Eve’s disappearance, but they both seem more interested in the fact that it’s not me, or at least not this me, in Rio.

  “So I was right,” Connor says.

  “How can there be two of you?” Dad asks.

  “Because we’re both under a key. Without a key, Other-Kate would disappear.”

  “Or maybe go back to her original timeline,” Connor says.

  “Maybe.” My voice is hesitant, because I’m not really sure about that last part, although to be honest, I’m not sure about anything at this point.

  “But . . .” Dad pauses for a moment, his expression troubled. “If that’s the case, there should be two Prudences, too. Right? There wouldn’t be duplicates of Deborah or Katherine because they weren’t wearing keys. But Prudence must have been under a key when the shift happened. Where’s the other Pru?”

  That hadn’t really occurred to me, but he’s right. “Add that to the list of things to ask her when she wakes up.”

  “What about the rest of the Fifth Column?” Connor asks. “You mentioned before that this was just one cell, so . . .”

  “Max gave Tilson and Ben the contact information he had before he vanished. Tilson was going to get in touch, let them know what’s up. Before Max vanished he was insistent that I bring the keys to them, that they’d handle deactivating them.”

  “Because Pru’s here?” Dad asks.

  “No, I didn’t exactly tell them about Prudence. I think it’s more of a control thing, and . . .” I shake my head. “It doesn’t feel right. Can you deactivate them the way you did the others, Connor? Although I’m not sure how you’d handle it with Simon watching the library.”

  “Not a problem unless he’s also watching the shed.” He nods toward the small building in the backyard where the lawnmower and assorted tools are stored. “I did the first one inside, but I had to heat the metal to a high temperature, and the chemicals gave off fumes. Katherine’s already queasy from her medicines, so I moved the gear outside.”

  “That’s good,” I say. “I’ll bring them to you there. I have to get back soon. I think they’d have tried to stop me from leaving the hotel if Kiernan and Trey weren’t staying behind as . . . collateral, I guess? Especially Kiernan, since he knows where the keys are.”

  A squirrel is perched on the swinging bench, eating an acorn as the early evening sun dips behind the trees. Daphne would normally have chased it away by now, but she just watches from the edge of the patio, probably due to her injured leg. That’s when I realize her key—the one we attached to her collar—is missing. Simon must have yanked it. I suddenly imagine her blinking out like Max and Eve, which is exactly what would happen if she took off after that squirrel.

  “Daphne?” I click my tongue to call her, and she limps over, stretching out near my feet. “Do we have another spare?”

  Connor turns a little pale when he realizes why I’m asking. “No. Trey and your mom have the last two—and then there’s the spare you take when you jump. I’ll just keep her close.”

  “Okay.” I draw in a long, slightly shuddery breath. I feel wired. Maybe there are some caffeinelike side effects to that Juva-boost stuff. “I’m so glad I ignored Julia and went to London. If Mom hadn’t been wearing a key when that last shift happened, she’d have vanished. Although I guess we can’t be sure either she or Katherine still has it. Simon could easily have—”

  “Shh.” Dad puts his arm around me. “That’s part of what had Prudence so wound up about an hour ago, before Connor gave her . . . What was it you gave her, Connor?”

  “Some of Katherine’s sleeping meds. Although she was back to acting like a little kid even before the stuff kicked in. Her moods turn on a dime. It’s sad, but also kind of creepy.” He glances through the window at where she’s sleeping. “She kept talking about Simon grabbing Deborah and then a bunch of people we’ve never heard of, going on about how they’re gone now. Not dead. Just gone. Kids, too. You’d think Saul would have made sure his people were under a CHRONOS field.”

  “Do you think they vanished because we have those medallions now?” Dad asks. “The ones that would have protected them?”

  “I think a lot of those people were never under a key. Kiernan said most of them couldn’t jump. Saul kept them around as workers, but I doubt he’d have cared whether they were protected by a CHRONOS field. And even those who will eventually wear these keys . . . they wouldn’t have them yet.”

  “But the keys are a constant,” Dad says. “That’s why you were able to find them, even though the timeline changed. So wouldn’t they . . .” He shakes his head, unable to find a way to frame the question.

  I sympathize. I think I know what he’s trying to ask, however, so I take a stab at explaining.

  “The keys are a constant. But they have their own chronometer, internal clock, or whatever. Tilson said one of the chips inside is a counter of some sort that ticks off the days since the key was created. Prudence grabbed them from CHRONOS on the same day I did . . . just not in the same timeline.”

  “Do you know when it was?” Connor asks. “I mean . . . for her. How old was she?”

  “Maybe nineteen. She’d only had the one baby. The Cyrists may also have had a few offspring from the stranded historians who could use the equipment at that point, but they’d likely have come in with their own keys. From what Kiernan says, Pru’s trip to grab the keys that were stored at CHRONOS was before she did the egg donor thing. So at the point she brought back the keys, Saul only had a few people who would have needed to be under a CHRONOS field, and most of them had their parent’s or grandparent’s key. So I’m guessing the medallions sit in a vault somewhere for at least a little while, until the surrogates start giving birth to all of the little Pru babies.”

  “Yeah,” Dad agrees. “In fact, they probably weren’t being used for years. If we’re assuming the other Cyrists hadn’t even been born yet, wouldn’t they have had to wait until they were old enough to use the key?”

  Connor shakes his head. “’Fraid not, Harry. If you have people giving birth to your offspring in 1905 or whenever, you wouldn’t need much time at all. The kid would be an adult by 1925 and could jump forward a hundred years to join you in the future. Twenty years for the kid would seem instantaneous to you. The only thing they’d need is time to set up the whole thing with surrogates, or at least take care of the medical side of things. So if you’re certain they hadn’t already started—”

  “I’m not certain of anything, but that’s my best guess. And . . . does it matter? I mean, practically, in terms of what we have to do in the next—what? A day and a half, at most? Does it matter?”

  “Well . . . no,” Connor says. “Just thinking out loud, mostly. Trying to understand why Saul—or at least Simon—would encourage you to grab those keys and not make arrangements for his . . .”

  Connor’s voice trails off, and he glances at Pru again, still curled up on the couch. “But yeah. The whole question of whether it’s due to the keys you grabbed or not is moot. I’d bet the Cyrists loyal to Saul and Simon are somewhere under a key, just on the off chance that this latest shift erased CHRONOS. Eve was on their side, right? And she had a key, at least until Max took it from her. The ones who have vanished were Pru’s people. They didn’t know when the time shift was coming, so it wiped them all out.”

  “Maybe a kinder end than having them wait around a few days and die of this virus,” Dad says.

  “Yikes. That reminds me.” I turn away from the two of them so that I can pull out the tattoo stamp discreetly. Like the catsuit, there are no
pockets in this toga. The stamp is stashed in the bodice, along with my phone and the spare pack of contacts.

  Dad gives me an amused look. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t design these outfits. Anyway, give me your hand.” I stamp a blue lotus on the back of Dad’s hand and then reach for Connor’s.

  “Come on, Connor. The ink is temporary. It’ll fade in a few days.”

  “Maybe. But in the meantime, I’ll have to look at that damned tattoo on my hand.”

  “Really? You’d rather get a deadly virus?”

  For a moment, a cloud passes over his face, and Connor looks like he’s considering the question . . . and as I think about his situation, maybe he is. If each shift has pushed our little time train one track over, how far are we from the reality where he existed outside of a CHRONOS field? Where his kids existed? That was a pre-Cyrist timeline, and I can’t see a path for restoring it. And here, in this reality, or one of the neighboring realities that we might actually be able to achieve, Katherine’s days are numbered.

  But then he rolls his eyes and gives me a half smile. “Fine. But if you must give me the Mark of the Beast, at least put it where I don’t have to see it constantly.”

  “Such as?”

  “If we want to be in keeping with what I think of the damned symbol, I’ll drop trou and you can stamp it on my ass. But in the interest of propriety . . .” He rolls up his left sleeve, and I stamp the inside of his arm.

  “Wish I’d thought of that,” Dad says, giving his hand a dubious glance.

  “We can be twinsies,” I say, and cringe inwardly when I remember that Pru said the same thing to Kiernan when she had the key embedded in his arm.

  “What’s the matter?” Connor asks, but my phone buzzes and saves me from explaining.

  It’s Trey. “Hey. Just checking in. Nothing much going on here. Just finished another game of Blip.”

  Translation: The blip has stopped. Mom’s not on the move anymore.