It was late by the time I crawled back into my cushy Parisian bed. Molly had taken up residence across the hall in Gaige’s room. We were both mentally exhausted. I was struggling physically, as well. Still, sleep didn’t come easily.
Every time I came close to meeting Mr. Sandman, worry over one detail or another pulled me back to full consciousness. All of the tossing and turning was fruitless, and only exhausted me further. The first rays of dawn were streaming through my window when I finally gave up.
Donning a white silk robe over my pajamas, I plodded downstairs to make coffee and start my day. Thankfully, the door to Gaige’s room was still closed.
At least one of us will be well-rested, I thought enviously.
After boiling water and figuring out the French press, I dug in the back of the cabinets for something bigger than the dollhouse-sized teacups the Europeans were so fond of. Being a modern, American girl, I needed my caffeine in large doses. Today, in particular, I needed it in an extra-large dose.
Victorious in my pursuit, I settled onto the couch with my twenty-ounce mug of strong black coffee in hand, feeling quite pleased with myself. The black writing on the ceramic read “Hogsbreath is Better Than No Breath”—evidently another runner with sticky fingers had left it behind. Instead of contemplating the meaning of the phrase, I spread out the copies of the prison and sanitation system blueprints that Ines had delivered overnight.
The main floor of the station consisted of an intake area with an adjacent waiting room, several interrogation rooms, and a large bullpen where all of the inspectors’ desks sat. That was the area I was in with Thoreau, and while visiting Gaige. Administrative offices for city officials made up the three uppermost levels of the préfecture. Of the two underground levels, one was divided into a records room and an evidence storage area. The other was entirely devoted to prisoner housing.
According to Molly, only about half of the cells were in use on any given day, since the préfecture was meant for short-term incarceration. According to the map, there were twenty cells total. Though the presence of other arrestees was worrisome, we had a few extra doses of the memory modification drug if they became problematic. Given the sort of people down there, I didn’t anticipate running into trouble with them. The jail was only used to house drunks needing to sleep off intoxication, individuals awaiting bail, and men and women currently on trial.
Visiting hours were from eleven until six. Molly and I intended to have our butts sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the waiting area by 10:45, ensuring we would be the first visitors taken down to the cells.
I grabbed a notepad to start a list of everything we needed to take with us. Yes, my inner control-freak was rearing its head. But being systematic was the only way we’d have a snowball’s chance in hell of pulling off this harebrained scheme. I jotted down everything that came to me.
Explosive bandages
Memory modification injections
Okay, so my list wasn’t a long one.
I tapped my pen and contemplated what item three could possibly be.
“For the love of chocolate!” Molly’s voice called from the top of the stairs. Startled, I jumped in my seat, sloshing coffee over the rim of my Hogsbreath mug. “Why are you up so damned early?”
Molly’s huge yawn turned into a throaty chuckle at my reaction as she descended the steps.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I muttered, setting the mug down next to my short checklist.
“Really? Because it sort of looked like you were just sleeping with your eyes open, Stass. You were completely zoned out. Everything okay?”
“Just tired,” I replied with a sleepy smile. “And wracking my brain for things we might forget.”
“You made a list, didn’t you?” she intoned.
“I didn’t not make a list.” I stuck my tongue out at her, drawing another laugh.
“Is there more coffee?”
“Yeah, but it’s probably cold by now,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I can make more.”
Molly waved me away. “I’ll make it. You, my friend, definitely need more caffeine.”
The telephone rang as Molly turned on the burner under the kettle. We exchanged glances. Though I’d been up for a while, it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. I couldn’t imagine who’d be calling so early.
“Dishes for a week says it’s lover boy,” Molly called with a smirk, snatching up the handset. She was standing next to it, so my sleep-deprived self didn’t stand a chance of beating her to the phone. Not that I wanted to talk to Charles. Definitely not….
I watched as the expectant grin faded from my best friend’s face, her expression sinking as she learned the caller’s identity. Not Charles, I thought, my own feelings of disappointment mirroring Molly’s.
“Hi Hadley…. Yep, it’s Molly…. So nice to speak to you, too…. No, no, I was already awake…. Of course, just give me a minute to see if she’s up. I haven’t seen her yet.” Molly covered the phone receiver and raised a questioning eyebrow at me.
I shook my head in response.
“Take a message,” I mouthed, tossing the notepad with my extensive list across the counter to Molly. The throw lacked oomph, and the notepad sailed only two feet before fluttering to the carpet.
Molly rolled her eyes at my pitiful attempt.
“It’s not heavy enough,” I whispered. “Not my fault—it’s science.
“I’m sorry, Hadley,” my roommate said into the receiver, sparing me an exasperated smirk. “It appears as though she is still asleep. Can I give her a message?”
There was a pause while she listened to Hadley’s answer. The teakettle sang its shrill song, and she stretched to remove it from the burner. Cradling the awkward handset in the crook of her shoulder, Molly filled the French press as she listened.
“Of course…. Oh, today? The 10:15 from Gare de l’Est Station to Frankfurt? Of course…. I’ll let her know…. I’m sure she’ll try….”
Molly glanced over at me.
“She’s doing much better, but still a little weak…. Yep, of course…. Toodles.”
“So she’s leaving today?” I asked, as soon as Molly had replaced the receiver.
“Yeah, she said Ernest received a telegram last night from one of their friends in Germany. The guy is leaving for the U.S. in a couple of days, and Ernest really needs to meet with him beforehand. They can’t delay the trip any longer. She said they’re leaving for Gare de l’Est soon, and asked if you could possibly meet her for coffee at Le Petite Rose to say goodbye. It’s apparently a café in the station.”
“Well, damn,” I swore.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, bringing the coffee pot and another cup over to the sitting area. “I thought you liked Hadley?”
“I do,” I said quickly. “That’s not the problem. I mean, I know we don’t have any spare time on our hands. In fact, it’s quickly waning. It’s just…well, the Hemingways leaving is decisively the end of any hope we might get the rest of Blue’s Canyon.”
Molly gave me a questioning look.
“Wanna try?” she asked mischievously.
“Right,” I replied with a sigh. “Because we have time for that when we’re planning a prisoner escape in three hours.”
“We could do it,” Molly declared. “You know how I love a good felony first thing in the morning. Always starts my day off right.” She grinned broadly. “The question is, are you up for two heists before noon?”
I weighed our options.
“Even if we could get Hadley over here, and Ernest was somehow already on his way to the station, the manuscript won’t be in their apartment. Hemingway will have it with him,” I hedged.
“Exactly,” my roommate said, excitement creeping into her voice. “They’ll have it with them at the station. Call her back. We might be able to pull this off.”
As always, Molly projected confidence into her words. I, however, was dubious.
Molly’s big blue eyes narrowed
to slits, a sure sign she was deep in thought. “You could swipe it from their luggage at your coffee date. Or I could. Either way.”
“It’s worth a shot,” I decided. “We might as well try.”
“Exactly!” she repeated. “And in a few short hours, you and I will be back on the island. With Gaige. And maybe even a complete manuscript of Bluebells—”
“Blue’s Canyon,” I corrected.
Molly sipped her coffee, her squinty thinking face still in place.
“Worst case, we’ll be sitting in our own jails cells in a few hours,” she decided. “You know, locked up with a suitcase full of Hemingway’s tighty whities.” Molly shrugged, as if that didn’t sound so bad. “Either way, we have a very eventful day ahead of us.”
“That sounds just peachy,” I muttered, pushing the thought from my head.
Molly was definitely right about one thing: we couldn’t have packed more scheming and heisting into our morning if we’d tried. It made me nervous, but I didn’t voice the thought. Knowing my roommate as well as I did, it was a guarantee that she’d see it as a challenge to defy. Molly had never met a limitation she couldn’t push. Two of her favorite words were “Challenge” and “Accepted”.
AN HOUR LATER, I fastened my locket around my neck and slid my camera inside the runner pocket of my dress. If everything went according to plan, we would not be returning to the townhouse. Anything I intended to take back to the island had to come with me. I wanted to say goodbye to the team at customs, but we couldn’t risk telling the alchemists our plan. Instead, I wrote quick notes to Naomi and Felipe to thank them for everything, and to tell them I hoped we’d see each other again.
A brief feeling of sadness fluttered through me—a new reaction to leaving a run. I’d never before grown so attached to customs agents.
That’s the beauty of time travel, I assured myself. You’ll see them again. Maybe you’ll come back on a vacation trip.
I crossed to the full-length mirror, to be sure I looked okay without the skills of the alchemist stylists. The girl staring back at me looked damned close to the one I’d been seeing after Felipe and Naomi worked their magic. Most importantly, the bruises and lacerations were gone, thanks to my boosted immune system.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, is Stassi the fairest of them all?”
I spun to find Molly, arms folded over her chest, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on her painted red lips.
“Ha, ha,” I replied with an eye roll.
“You ready?” she asked.
“As I’ll ever be. Do you have everything?”
“If you mean the exploding bandages and mind-erasing serum, then yes.”
“It doesn’t erase minds,” I scolded, already feeling guilty about messing with someone’s memory.
“Potato, potato,” Molly replied with a grin, pronouncing both the same way. She held up a small black handbag. “Isn’t it crazy that our prison break kit fits inside here? We might need to raid the alchemists’ batcaves more often.”
The distant ringing of the telephone came from downstairs.
“Just ignore it,” I said. “There is nobody we need to talk to right now. We literally cannot detour at all, there’s no time.”
“You sure?” Molly asked. “It might be Charles. This is the last chance you have to say goodbye….”
Sadly, she was right. But I couldn’t say goodbye to Charles. Not only because the mere thought of it made my heart hurt, but also because I couldn’t explain where I was disappearing to.
“It’s better this way,” I told her, trying to convince myself it was true. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. “Come on, we need to go if we’re going to catch Hadley.”
The phone was still ringing when I shut and locked the door for the last time.
We arrived at Gare de l’Est an hour before the Hemingways’ train left. Through the plate-glass window of the café, I saw Hadley and Ernest sitting together at table in the back corner. His head was bent over a folio, his hand flying across the pages. Hadley was staring off into space, looking impossibly bored, and more than a little irritated by her husband’s lack of attention.
Such a lonely life, I thought sympathetically.
“They still have their luggage. That’s a good sign,” Molly muttered, pointing towards the stack piled up beside the Hemingways’ table. There were two train cases sitting atop two old-fashioned suitcases—the kind without gliders. On the very top was a battered leather briefcase.
Molly and I exchanged glances.
“Think it’s in that one?” I asked quietly.
“It probably is. Or it might be,” she hesitated before squaring her shoulders. It was odd to see Molly in action on a run, though I should’ve expected her take-charge, take-no-prisoners approach. “Try to find out for sure which bag has the manuscript. I’m going to hang back. Once they hand the bags over to the porters, you distract them, while I make the grab on the platform. Unless you have any other ideas?”
We hadn’t exactly planned out the details. I let out a long, slow breath and shook my head. “No, I can’t think of anything. Wish me luck.”
A bell tinkled as I pushed open the front door to the café. Hadley’s eyes darted in my direction, and her expression lit up when her gazed landed on me. She jumped to her feet and waved me over.
“Stassi,” she breathed, engulfing me in tight hug. “I am so glad you came.” Drawing back, Hadley held me arm’s length and studied my appearance. “You look well! I am so glad, I heard how terribly ill you were.” She hugged me again. “Ernest, dear, look who has come to say goodbye.” Her tone was unabashedly annoyed when she addressed her husband.
Several beats of awkward silence passed, while Hemingway continued to scribble furiously in his notebook.
“Ernest,” Hadley snapped.
This time he glanced up, clearly exasperated by his wife’s interruption. Hemingway’s expression softened when he saw me.
“Anastasia, how nice to see you.” He closed the notebook, the pen still inside to mark his place. Ernest stood and offered me his seat.
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can pull over another chair,” I began, looking around the café.
Molly entered through the front door, a black hat and dark glasses obscuring her features. I had no idea where the disguise came from, or why she was even wearing one when she hadn’t met Hadley or Ernest in person. My roommate settled at a table near the entrance that provided an unobstructed view of the entire café.
“No need,” Hemingway was saying. “I want to run to the newsstand before we board. How is your brother?”
“It seems that he will be let out very soon,” I vaguely replied.
“Wonderful!” Ernest boomed. “Man wasn’t meant to rot away in a cell. We all knew he had nothing to do with those killings, I’m pleased the damnable police finally came to their senses.”
“I’ll pass along your kind thoughts,” I promised.
Ernest—Ernest Hemingway—set down his writing and clasped one of my shoulders.
“I’m so glad we were able to see you before we left, if only to say goodbye,” he declared. “I apologize that I must dash so quickly, but I feel a headache coming on and need some powders for the journey. I do hope you will still be in France when we return from Germany, we can catch up then.”
Hemingway placed a quick kiss on each of my cheeks, grabbed his notebook, and started for the door.
“Will you be back to help me with the luggage? Or do you expect me to schlep this all on my own?” Hadley called after her husband.
It was as though the brightest star of luck was shining down upon me.
“I can help you, Hadley,” I offered quickly.
Ernest paused and consulted his pocket watch. He glanced over his shoulder to us. “That is very kind of you, Anastasia. Much obliged,” he told me. To his wife, he said, “I will meet you on the platform.”
I settled into his vacant seat as Hemingway exited the café. I bri
efly wondered if I’d ever see him again.
“I apologize for his atrocious manners,” Hadley said, drawing me back to the present moment. “We had a tiff this morning, and he has been in a foul mood ever since. But telling you about our squabbles is boring, and I do loathe boredom. How are you feeling? How is your dear brother faring in that terrible place? I read in yesterday’s paper that his bail has been denied. Do you really think he’ll be released?”
“I’m confident that he won’t be there much longer,” I replied. “And I am feeling much better. Thank you so much for all of your care and concern, I am quite appreciative.”
Hadley waved off my gratitude. “Can I get you a coffee? Or tea, perhaps?”
“No, thank you. I’ve had my fill of caffeine already today,” I said. “Depending on how things go with Gaige, I am not certain we’ll still be here when you return. The lawyer is hopeful that we can have this mess cleared up shortly, despite what the papers say, and then our father is anxious for us to return home to the States.”
“That is so good to hear about your brother. And I’m quite glad you came.” She reached across the table and patted my hand.
For the next twenty minutes, Hadley and I exchanged small talk. I asked about her plans while in Germany, and she gave me a list of sights to see once Gaige was released. I tried unsuccessfully to bring the conversation around to the manuscript. Every time I mentioned Hemingway’s writing, her expression turned sour, as if the topic left a bad taste in her mouth. Finally, she sighed heavily.
“I wish we had met earlier, Stassi. Goodness knows I could have used a close friend here this last year. I find you to be a breath of fresh air, and perhaps even a kindred spirit.” Hadley paused, and it dawned on me that she was right; we’d both known great loneliness. When she continued, her voice was steadier than it had been. “Now, see here. Write down your address, both here and in Baltimore. That way I can write to you. I really would like to keep in touch.”
The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow. For the umpteenth time, I had to quell the horrible feeling of betrayal making my insides squirm.