Time's Edge

  “I don’t want to talk about the me-and-Trey part. But is Katherine busy? This affects everyone.”

  The house no longer feels private. Everything I told Trey about how Prudence could have placed a stable point in his room is, as far as I know, also true for this house. Who owned it before Katherine? How long was it on the market, sitting empty and waiting for someone to stroll in and set up stable points or even listening devices?

  Ten minutes later, Katherine and Connor are up to speed. I edit the story a bit, because I’m not sure how they’ll react to Trey booking a hotel room. Both of them look around the room nervously at least once while I’m talking, so they’re probably thinking the same thing about the house not feeling private.

  “I had the place thoroughly checked for listening devices when we moved in,” Connor says. “We have two security systems, put in by two different companies, and they both ran a magnetic scan before I started moving in our equipment. I don’t see how anyone could have planted a device since then, unless it came in with a pizza box, in which case it would have gone out again a few hours later. But there’s no way I can check for whether someone set a stable point locally on their specific key before we moved in. So, yeah, it’s possible.”

  Katherine says, “If they’ve been watching us, they know we’ve collected four additional keys. Prudence would have known for a while that you weren’t keeping your side of the bargain. So why wait until now to react?”

  “Maybe the keys at Athens are the only ones they need,” Connor suggests.

  “Could be,” I say. “But does anyone else get the feeling we’re being played?”

  ∞18∞

  BOGART, GEORGIA

  October 8, 1905, 9:00 a.m.

  I’m not surprised to see Kiernan near the table in his cabin, since he knows I’ll be arriving at nine and that’s where he usually greets me. I’m a little surprised to see that he’s had a haircut and his skin is about three shades darker than usual.

  What surprises me to the point that I nearly blink myself into the cabin on accident, however, is seeing him with his arm around a woman about twenty years his senior.

  A woman who can only be my aunt Prudence.

  I watch for several minutes, barely breathing.

  They aren’t alone. A blond woman, who is probably in her fifties, stands near Prudence. I don’t think I’ve seen her before, although she reminds me a bit of Katherine around the eyes. The guy just to Kiernan’s left is in his twenties or early thirties, and I get the feeling that I have seen him before, but it could just be that he looks a little like Simon. He’s better looking, though, thinner, maybe fifteen years older.

  Both of them seem eager to leave.

  Prudence is doing most of the talking, but without audio, I can’t tell what she’s saying. Apparently something she said was funny, because Kiernan laughs. Afterward, he leans in and kisses her.

  It’s not a long kiss, but it’s certainly not platonic, and a flood of different emotions rushes through me. Mostly betrayal, some confusion, and a hefty dose of anger, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there’s a tiny bit of jealousy in the mix.

  I lose the stable point and decide it might be a good idea to wait a moment before pulling it back up. I need to think.

  Kiernan knew I was coming in at nine, and it didn’t look like he was trying to rush them off. It’s impossible to be late when you arrive via CHRONOS key, so he knew exactly when I’d arrive.

  I toss the key on the bed and consider whether to talk this through with Katherine and Connor. That would mean a half hour, at least, of debate over whether Kiernan has been working with Prudence from the start. Connor or Katherine or both will say they suspected it all along.

  And in the end, it will come down to the exact same thing. I’ll have to go in and piece this together on my own. If it turns out to be a trap and I don’t come back, neither of them will be able to do a damn thing to help me.

  The only one who can help me is Kiernan. And he just freaking kissed Prudence. Not young Pru, either, but the one he claims is borderline insane.

  Kiernan kissed her when he knew I’d be looking.

  He wants me to know they were there, so I don’t think this is a trap.

  And if Prudence does decide to show up and confront me, I’m kind of okay with that, too. We have a few things to settle.

  I pick up the key, lock in 9 a.m., and watch the whole thing again.

  The kiss was apparently a goodbye kiss, because Kiernan’s guests, including Prudence, blink out a moment later. At 9:04 a.m., he glances around the room for a second and then stares directly at the stable point where I always enter, the spot he knows I’ll be watching. His expression gradually grows impatient. Finally, after about three minutes, he throws up his hands and walks out of the cabin.

  I give it another thirty seconds and then blink in. The cabin is chilly, so I toss the last log onto the fire and kneel on the floor, jabbing at the embers with the poker to get it going. It sputters and then flares up a bit when the front door swings open, creating a brief gust.

  Kiernan comes in, carrying an armload of wood. He deposits it in the bin next to the fireplace before setting another log on top of the one I added. His limp, which was still visible when I left him with Martha, is now completely gone.

  I want to ask him about Martha, but I don’t know who’s watching or maybe even listening. So I just stand there, waiting for him to speak first.

  “What, no good morning?” He gives me a quick kiss on the lips. I stiffen automatically, but he whispers, “Play along, Kate.”

  “Good morning. You just . . . caught me by surprise.” I give him a stiff smile and pull away, walking toward the room where my things are stored. “I need to get dressed for Athens.”

  “Don’t you want to look at my notes first?”

  “After I’m dressed.”

  I realize as I close the door that Kiernan was probably trying to tell me something. But it would look suspicious to change my mind now, so I just tug off my jeans and T-shirt. The 1938 outfit is hanging in the closet, where I left it last time. There’s a sweater I don’t recognize, but I’m glad to see it, because it’s October here and this cabin is a bit drafty.

  As I remove the dress from the hanger, it dips to one side, and I realize there’s something heavy in the pocket. It’s the pistol. I start to pull it out, but then I remember Kiernan cautioning me when we were training to always put the pistol on a flat surface. He said the safety on this model isn’t foolproof and it’s been known to go off accidentally when dropped. If Kiernan has hidden it in my pocket despite that warning, I probably need to keep it out of sight.

  I step into the dress, a simple blue shirtwaist, and pull on the sweater, which is long enough to cover the pocket holding the gun. I stuff my phone in the only safe location I’ve found on these trips—my bra. Not comfortable, but unlikely to fall out. My glasses and the cloche hat are still in the dresser. The disguise is pointless now, but Prudence doesn’t know that I know, so I tuck my hair under the hat and push the stupid glasses onto my nose before joining Kiernan. He’s seated at the table, still in the same jeans and flannel shirt, reminding me, once again, that male time travelers have it really, really easy.

  He pushes a sheet of paper across the table. “These are some notes I took while observing the stable points at the boardinghouse where Delia is staying.”

  It’s just a few bullet points, most of which look like city and street names. Watkinsville is circled. The others are crossed out, but there are two that he’s both circled and crossed out.

  “I’ve narrowed down where they’re going,” he says, his voice oddly formal. “Thought it might be one of these other spots, but I’m pretty sure it’s Watkinsville or just to the south.” He taps the word Watkinsville on the paper and then slides his finger down to where the word G’s Hollow is circled and then crossed through. Just below that is Colt Springs Rd., with the entire thing crossed out and just the word Colt circled.
>
  “So, we go to Watkinsville,” I say. “Any clue where in Watkinsville?”

  “No, but it’s a small town, and I know the road they’re taking and what they’re driving. We’ll wait till they’re near town, then pull out and follow them. Should be a snap. Like I said before, we were just spinning our wheels trying to get the keys in Athens.”

  He stresses the last sentence very distinctly and looks straight at me as he says it.

  I give him a confused smile and say, “Okay,” even though I don’t recall him ever saying anything of the sort. I get the message on the paper—Pru doesn’t know about the events at God’s Hollow or about the gun. But I’m not sure what he means by the comment about Athens.

  “Okay, then let’s go,” I say, and start toward the door.

  “Uh, Kate?” He’s looking at me, eyebrows raised, his expression slightly worried. “The truck is in 1938.”

  “Right.” I give him a fake silly me smile and pull out my CHRONOS key. “You first.”

  BOGART, GEORGIA

  August 11, 1938, 10:00 a.m.

  The cabin is warm, and I smell coffee. I glance around and see that everything is pretty much the same, aside from a new lamp in the living room. The kitchen table is empty, except for a newspaper with the headline “FDR to Speak at UGA Commencement” and a thermos with the words Icy-Hot on the side.

  Kiernan taps the newspaper with his index finger. “Delia’s group will head out of Athens around ten thirty, during Roosevelt’s speech. FDR’s car goes through Watkinsville on the way to the next speech, over in Barnesville. I’m thinking their goal is to see how the locals react. FDR’s car may even stop there briefly—I don’t know.”

  He holds the thermos out to me. “We may have to wait awhile. I didn’t jump ahead to check the exact times.”

  “No problem. I’m sure you’ve been much too busy with other things.”

  I tried to keep the sarcasm to a minimum in that comment, but I must have failed, because Kiernan rolls his eyes.

  “There’s no milk. Is that okay?”

  I nod. Hopefully Kiernan’s coffee is better than his great-grandson’s.

  He opens the back door, and I follow him out into the yard. The place is clearly a working farm now—several cows graze near the barn, and a tractor sits among the brown remnants in the cornfield. The paint on the shed has faded. An older man in a white shirt and overalls is perched on a small ladder beneath one of the peach trees, which have grown considerably since 1911.

  Two dogs, a collie and some sort of mixed breed, rest in the sun a few feet away. When the door closes behind us, they begin barking. The man looks over and waves one arm as he climbs down from the ladder.

  Kiernan groans. “I was hoping we could avoid Bill. If he asks, you’re at the university. I just drove you out here to see the cabin before we go back into town to hear FDR.”

  We walk toward the shed where the man is now waiting, a canvas bag, half full of peaches, slung over his shoulder. He pulls off his cap and stuffs it into his pocket. “Boy, you sure do look like yore daddy. I know I tell you that most ever’ time I see you, but it’s like the good Lord made a carbon copy when he made you.” His eyes slide over to me. “And who is this purty young lady?”

  “This is Kate Keller, Mr. Owens. She’s in one of my classes, and I brought her out to look at the farm before we head over to hear Roosevelt’s speech.”

  Owens looks surprised and starts to say something. Then he changes his mind, giving Kiernan a smile and a wink before glancing back over at me.

  “It’s a right pleasure to meet you, Miss Keller. I’ll let you young people get on with your day, but here—” He reaches into the canvas bag and pulls out two peaches, handing them to Kiernan. “Y’all need to take some of these peaches. We had a bumper crop this year, more’n Alice knows what to do with. I’ll have her bring by a few jars she put up, now that you’ll be around a bit more often, with the school year startin’. Maybe some of her pickles and plum jam, too.”

  “I would certainly appreciate that, Mr. Owens, if it’s no trouble.”

  “No trouble. No trouble at all.” Owens reaches into the bag and pulls out two more peaches. “Here’s a few for you to take back to your dorm, young lady. Y’all have a good time, an’ give ol’ FDR my regards.”

  “Would those be your good regards or the other variety?” Kiernan asks.

  Owens throws his head back and laughs. “You know which ones.”

  Kiernan shakes his head as he opens the door to the truck, a black flatbed. “I totally forgot the truck’s been here all morning. He knows I didn’t drive you out here to look at the cabin.”

  “Then why—”

  “That’s what the wink was about. He’s assuming you were there all night. I just hope he doesn’t chatter to Mrs. Owens, or I’ll have a stack of church pamphlets about the dangers of sex before marriage on my porch, along with the pickles and jam. And she’ll probably drop a well-intentioned, motherly note up to Boston to let my father know his boy is misbehaving.”

  “And you’ll write back later, thanking her for letting you know.”

  He grins. “Precisely.”

  The truck is already uncomfortably warm, so I tug off the sweater and crank down the window as Kiernan starts the engine.

  He shoots a nervous glance in my direction once the truck is on the bumpy trail leading out to the road. “So . . . no twenty questions about Pru?”

  I glance around. “Is it safe? I wasn’t entirely sure if someone could set a stable point in a car.”

  He snorts. “If they did, it’s still back in the shed.”

  “What about listening devices?”

  “Not unless they did it in the past hour or so, and I think Owens would have told me if anyone was poking around my truck. Truthfully, I don’t think there’s a device in the cabin, either. But there are definitely stable points, and I wouldn’t put it past Leo to read lips.”

  I’m quiet for a minute, because I have absolutely no idea where to start. I open the thermos and take a swig of the coffee, which is so hot it scalds my tongue but otherwise not bad.

  “First,” I say, “please tell me Martha is okay.”

  “Martha is fine. I put a few hundred dollars in a savings account for her and told Bill to give it to her when she came of age or got married. Meanwhile, Martha stayed with them. Mrs. Owens has four boys and was happy to take her in. She was less happy to take the two motorbikes, but her menfolk insisted.”

  “And you think these Owens people will be good to her?”

  “I know they were good to her. She married a guy from Atlanta, but he died in World War I. Martha and her little boy came back to the farm for another year or two after that. I saw pictures—he was a cute little tyke. Then she married again and moved over near Bishop, close enough she can drop by and visit every few weeks.”

  “How did you explain—”

  “I kept her here at the cabin until the police found the scene at Six Bridges and removed the bodies. Then I arranged to be at the local store at the same time she showed up asking what happened to everyone in her village. She’s a good little actress and played her part just fine—after that, I made the arrangements with Mr. and Mrs. Owens.”

  “And Prudence knows nothing about it?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, no. She had no reason to watch the cabin in 1911, because I never told her we were there in 1911. And you know how long it takes to watch stable points. I’m pretty sure she’s got other—”

  “Why don’t you explain why in hell you’re telling Prudence anything?”

  “Well, I’d planned to start with that. You’re the one who wanted to know about Martha first. And stop looking at me like I’m some sort of bloody traitor, because I’m not.”

  I don’t say anything. We reach the end of the dirt trail, and Kiernan makes a left onto a two-lane road before glancing back over at me. “It didn’t make sense, okay? This has gone much too easy.”

  “You take a bu
llet in the leg and you say it’s been easy?”

  “That wasn’t Pru. That was probably Simon. Or someone else Saul sent out.”

  “Which makes zero difference. Despite their internal squabbles, they’re on the same side, right? It doesn’t matter which ones you’re talking to and which ones you aren’t if they’re working toward the same thing.”

  “Maybe. But it might matter that they want the same thing for different reasons.”

  “No,” I say. “Not when the thing they both want is to wipe out a huge chunk of the world’s population.”

  “Okay, you’re right. But . . . Pru’s reasons might make it possible to negotiate with her. To change her mind. But, Saul . . .” He shakes his head and reaches over for the thermos, then hands it back after he takes a swig. I wouldn’t have thought twice about drinking after Kiernan before this morning, but after seeing him kiss Prudence, the coffee doesn’t seem nearly as appealing.

  “You know I was with Prudence and Simon for a few weeks after my Kate disappeared, right?”

  “Yes. You said you convinced Pru that you didn’t remember your Kate and that you couldn’t really use the CHRONOS key. You said she decided to leave you alone.”

  “Well, it may not have been that simple. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being played, Kate.”

  It’s really strange hearing him say that, having just said the exact same thing to Connor and Katherine.

  “So,” he continues, “after we finished at Six Bridges and I got Martha settled, I decided to go back to Estero 2038 and see if I could get some answers. Chopped off my hair again, wore the same clothes. I jumped in maybe ten seconds after I left Pru last time. I asked her exactly why we broke things off. She gave me the same story she did before, which is total bullshit, but this time I pretended to believe it. And we patched things up.”

  Kiernan grabs the thermos and takes another swig. He looks uncomfortable enough that I have absolutely no doubt what he means by patched things up.

  “With Older Pru?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m silent, and after a moment he continues, his voice a little exasperated. “It’s not like I wanted to, Kate. But it’s the only way she’d trust me. Anyway, I hung around at Estero for about two weeks—long enough to find out that Saul, Simon, and about half of the inner circle have moved into the big house near the regional temple in Miami. No surprise, since Saul has been spending most of his time there anyway. And I sneaked in a few jumps up to Boston for shows at Norumbega. Simon is still there, pretty much every day, with . . . her.”