Kiss Across Blades

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Neven broke the kiss, his heart hammering and his body taught.

  Remi rested his head against Neven’s. “Damn it. Now I can’t think.”

  “Good,” Neven said, his voice as ragged as Remi’s.

  Remi tugged at Neven’s jacket. “We have to get her back.”

  “We will.”

  “Something good has to come out of this. Even if it’s not what I wanted.”

  He had arrived at the truth already, then. Neven sighed. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Remi let Neven go with a soft exclamation. “Fine job we’re doing of it so far,” he said, his tone dry. He had shifted to the dry sarcasm he used to hide his soft core. Remi was in retreat.

  Neven was content. Remi in cold asshole mode meant he was thinking clearly.

  “There’s something which has been bothering me about this hunt,” Neven said, instead.

  “You mean, apart from the lack of pheromones and any trace of London at all?”

  Neven rolled his eyes. “I mean, why did Denis pick north?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “He chopped us up, pushed us into separate directions with the efficiency of a general. Only, he didn’t give us directions for what to do if we found a trace of London.”

  Remi was thinking properly. He swore. “The bastard knew we wouldn’t find anything.”

  “It feels like something you would do,” Neven judged. “He knows where she is. He pushed us away from that place. What is north of the house, Remi? Where might Carole go which lies in that direction?”

  Remi paused only for a brief second. “The old house. Son of a bitch!”

  “Old house?”

  “The house where Carole and I lived when we were first married. I didn’t want to live in the chateau with my father. He gave us the old house on the edges of the estate. It’s on the other side of the river and two miles away from him, which suited me just fine.” He scowled. “It makes sense she would go there now, although the place is nearly in ruins. It’s private and isolated. She can do whatever she wants there.” His mouth turned down.

  Neven stepped back. “Lead the way. As fast as you can.”

  Remi took off. Neven followed and was ironically amused to realize that his steps were heavier than Remi’s.

  Chapter Eleven

  Neven sensed when they were close to the house in the woods. He could detect London’s scent in faded, pale hints, coming thicker and closer as they drew near.

  Remi’s pace also slowed. He halted and lifted his chin, his eyes closed. “Blood. Ahead. It is…a strange scent. Weird.”

  Neven sampled the air and almost smiled. “That’s because it’s you,” he said grimly. “You’re confused by the smell of your own human blood.”

  “Denis,” Remi muttered.

  Neven had the direction now, and a rough distance. “A quarter mile, that way.” He pointed.

  They moved off, picking up speed. There were no sounds in the surrounding forest. Creatures hunkered down. No humans moved anywhere they could hear. The trees were still, with no leaves to rustle.

  Denis laid between two great roots of an oak trees, the body of a man sprawled two paces away. Blood splattered the ground, not all of it Denis’.

  They turned him over and he groaned, his eyes still closed. “Follow them!” he said weakly. “Hurry!”

  Remi glanced at the dead body. “They’ve already gone. There is no one left in this wood, not for miles. Just you.”

  Denis sighed. His shoulders sagged.

  “Watch him, Neven,” Remi said, standing up. “I’ll search the house, see what I can find. I’ll be right back.” He took off at a fast speed, sending dry leaves up into the air in his wake.

  Denis didn’t notice.

  Neven checked the source of the blood. Denis had a cut over one ear, which had bled profusely. More blood soaked the gnarled root he had been lying beside. “Did you attack the other man, or did he attack you?”

  “I wanted to reach the house,” Denis said, his voice weak. “He was guarding it.”

  “So were many others,” Neven assured him, for the traces were there for him to pick up, wafting on the shifts of air through the trees. “I can smell smoke from their fires, still. You realize you’ve alerted them now? We could have stolen through them. They would never have known we were there. Now, we must find them again.”

  Denis didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t look apologetic, either. “I wanted to speak to her.”

  “Carole? Why? To reason with her? What for, man? Your wife is not your wife anymore. She abducted someone and is holding her captive.”

  “I thought…if I could speak to her, I might convince her to come back, to be a proper mother…”

  Neven didn’t answer. The man was a fool, if he believed Carole would meekly return to the house and slave away with him to feed the poor and needy.

  He checked himself. This was Remi he was calling a fool. A version of Remi, anyway. Only…it didn’t feel as though he was Remi. Not at all. This man was a tired, hollow shell in comparison. A human clinging to illusions to keep himself going.

  “You knew she was here,” Neven said. He felt tired now, too.

  For the first time, Denis opened his eyes. Remi’s limpid green eyes peered at him, giving Neven a moment of disorientation. “She’s with that man. Brusard. And his gang of thieves.”

  Neven lowered himself to the ground, to sit upon the other big root. “The robbers you warned us against. They’ve been using this house as a base?”

  Denis grimaced. “I suspected they were. There are many of them and too few in the district with the strength to fight them. The gang has ruled the roads for years…and Carole with them.” His tone was bitter.

  Neven rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought Carole was a Royalist?” A gang of robbers didn’t sound like something a noble with pretensions would get involved with.

  “Brusard is a Jacobin.” Denis’s voice was tired. Strained. “He was friends with Robespierre and escaped the reprisals by the skin of his teeth. Now he lives off the land, evading authorities. Every homeless ruffian with a grievance finds their way to him, eventually.” His voice turned bitter. “So did Carole. I think she developed a taste for the adventurous life he provides.”

  “You’ve known all along?” Neven was appalled.

  “Not at first. Only, her absences grew longer. She refused to explain them. There were rumors… For the sake of the children, I said nothing, as long as she returned to see them regularly.”

  “And you put up with that?” Neven tried to hide his amazement. Remi would not have tolerated such a situation for long at all. He would have dealt with Carole one way or another.

  “You don’t understand. This is my fault,” Denis said, with more energy in his voice. “Ten years ago, after Lucienne visited, when I told Carole what I planned, she was beside herself. I explained we would sell everything of value and keep only a few personal possessions. We would use the money and the old house—that one, just through the trees—” and he nodded over his shoulder. “We would house and feed the homeless, the needy, anyone who needed our help, no matter who they were. She was blazing with anger and did not speak to me for a month.

  “By then, it was too late. I had begun the work which Lucienne insisted I do, and…” Denis gave a small smile. “I liked it. I liked being able to make such a difference in people’s lives. I could see the effect immediately. I grew to understand the plight of the common man. Nothing would have changed my mind after that.

  “Carole begged and pleaded for me to keep hold of at least a small portion of my income. I refused. Nothing was spared. We remained in a single room ourselves and gave the rest of the house over to anyone who needed the roof and the food. My father was also outraged, for his sensibilities ran as Carole’s do. He was Royalist, through and through.”

  Denis gave a great sigh. “He was beheaded. After, Carole…” He shook his head. “She changed. Almost overnight. I suspect it was
when she took up with Brusard. She wore men’s clothing to move about the countryside with complete freedom. As long as she came home to see her children, I said nothing.”

  Neven was glad he was sitting down.

  “I know this Brusard,” Remi said softly, behind him, startling Neven. He had been concentrating so closely upon Denis’ story, he had missed Remi’s approach.

  “Later,” Neven said quickly. “The house?”

  “There have been people there recently. The fire in the fireplace is still smoking. There are wine pitchers in a cupboard and food beside them. A kettle over the fire. The house is empty, though. They must have guessed we would look here and decamped quickly.”

  “Unless the guard over there brought them time,” Neven said, staring thoughtfully at the body. “Did you kill him, Denis?”

  Denis looked startled. “No! I mean, well, yes, I suppose I did. He rushed at me and I moved out of the way and he tripped.”

  “Tripped,” Remi repeated, his voice flat.

  Neven moved over to the body and turned it over. A deep bruise and broken skin showed over the temple. More blood daubed a sharp stone buried point up in the hard, bare earth under the tree.

  “It does look as though he fell,” he said. “How did you hit your head, Denis?”

  “Our feet got tangled up together,” Denis said. He leaned his head back against the mighty trunk behind him. “My head aches.”

  Remi held his mouth in a hard, straight line, as he considered Denis.

  “Where would Carole go?” Neven asked Remi.

  “I don’t know,” Denis replied, his voice remote. His eyes were closed once more.

  Remi shook his head. “Anywhere I can think of, they will have thought of first, and not go there. It has to be somewhere Brusard knows, which Carole does not. He’s been scavenging the land for years. He must know dozens of tucked-away places.”

  “You must know those places, too,” Neven replied. “You grew up here. You lived here the first thirty-five years of your life. You know the place inside out and backward. Where did you play as a kid?”

  Remi rolled his eyes. “In the garden, supervised by a dozen servants.”

  Neven grimaced. “Right. Of course.”

  Denis studied Remi, a puzzled expression in his eyes. He looked from Remi to Neven and back. “You both speak…well, oddly, when you speak together.”

  Neven cleared his throat. “Different times, Denis. Don’t worry about it.”

  “And now you speak the same way to me,” Denis pointed out. “There is more to this traveling affair than merely passing through time.”

  “We told you about the other worlds, the mirror worlds,” Remi said, his tone patient. Mirror worlds were the closest they could come to a reasonable explanation for alternative universes and quantum theory, which Denis would not grasp. It was amazing the man had coped with the idea of traveling through time. Time as an entity wasn’t a widely understood concept in the eighteenth century.

  “And you’re me in that world, yes,” Denis said. “It explains why you would know how I played as a child. You grew up here, yet no one knew of you when they saw you in the ballroom this morning. Are matters so different in your world that you speak casually in ways which hint of…of far greater matters than this simple valley?”

  “You’re had a good knock on the head,” Remi said. “You’re confused. And we don’t have time to explore generalities. We will get you home, then we must head out again. If Brusard is out there, we’ll find him. We know what to look for now and we know a direction.”

  “North of the river, somewhere,” Neven concluded, because they had both covered the territory to the south and would have come across a band of murderous thugs, if they were there. He got to his feet and bent to help Denis up. “Up you come. Slow and easy.”

  They walked Denis back to the chateau, talking of nothing of importance. Denis was too perceptive, which Neven should have anticipated, because nothing got passed Remi, either. He noticed the smallest of details and extrapolated from there.

  When they came into view of the chateau, a dozen people hurried out, all murmuring and babbling in concern, for the front of Denis’ shirt was red with his blood. They swooped in around Denis and led him back to the chateau. Neven and Remi stood upon an unevenly mowed patch of lawn between the house and the high hedge where the vineyard began.

  Remi let out a deep bellowed breath. “Thank the lord! Now we can do something.”

  Neven suppressed his own relief. “Let’s start at the old house and cast around for traces. That way, we can trail them instead of hunting for them. It’ll be quicker.” He turned back to the opening in the hedgerow which gave access to the vineyards.

  Remi fell in beside him. “The man is…is irritating.”

  “He’s had the stuffing kicked out of him. Have some sympathy, Remi.”

  “He doesn’t carry a sword, he tripped over a dying man’s feet and knocked himself out. He’s a buffoon.” Remi shook his head.

  “He’s a gentle man who wants only to protect his children. You should at least appreciate that,” Neven replied, repressing the touch of irritation which wanted to build in him.

  They moved swiftly along the row of vines, which were dark brown twisted trunks and slender branches wrapped around thick wire hawsers running along the rows at the height of the tops of the trunks. The stems were gnarled and twisted. Grapevines could live for a century. There were some in the California valley which had been planted in 1880 and were still producing wine grapes. These vines were possibly as old, for Bordeaux and the Gascony region had been producing wine for a long time, even in this decade.

  “Gentle!” Remi said, with a snort of disgust. “He is nothing like me.”

  “Because he has not had the life you have,” Neven replied.

  “He’s weak,” Remi declared.

  “He’s doing the best he can.” Neven halted. “You do understand we made him that way, don’t you?”

  Remi turned back, his mouth dropping opening. “No!” he declared. His jaw flexed. “No, we would not have done this!”

  “We did,” Neven said calmly. “You’re not used to thinking in time loops, where cause can come after the effect has made itself felt. We changed Denis, Remi.” He considered it and added, “Actually, I believe it was merely you and London who changed him. He only speaks about Lucienne, have you noticed? He did not know me at all when I first showed my face. You, he knew, though. He was expecting you. So you and London went back to ten years ago. You saved him from having his face scarred by highwaymen. And give him directions to save himself and his family from the Reign of Terror and the anger of a whole village. It seems he has followed London’s directions to the letter.”

  Remi looked as though he badly wanted to argue the point. His green eyes were narrowed.

  “Whatever London told him—whatever she will tell him—it’s given him enough information to chart shoals and avoid some of the experiences you had in these last ten years. Those events changed you, Remi. The lack of them shaped Denis.” He shrugged. “Let’s move on.”

  Remi turned and walked alongside Neven. He stared at the ground. Neven could see he was thinking hard.

  Then Remi straightened with a snap. “Wait, wait! If London is still to go back ten years to tell Denis what to do, then we know she lives through this, yes?”

  “It’s a qualified yes,” Neven said, even though he badly wanted to agree and give Remi the hope he was looking for.

  “What do you mean, qualified?” Remi growled.

  Neven smiled. In matters of time travel, loops and paradoxes, Neven out-stripped Remi’s expertise by many years and jumps. In matters of the Blood, Remi was the expert, while Neven had only been turned a couple of years ago. He enjoyed these occasional moments of superiority. Most of the time, Remi made him feel young and inexperienced, a sensation he had not had to deal with for a great many years.

  His experience had a harsh edge, though: He knew exactly h
ow wrong a time jump could go. Since they’d landed here, his heart had been constantly slipping away on him. He could already feel the need to feed building in his chest and his mind, a silent siren song. He was using too much energy. The low-grade, constant anxiety was something he had forgotten about being back in history, when small slips could bloom into instant major disasters.

  He answered Remi truthfully, instead of glossing over it. “It’s a qualified yes because something could happen which would stop you and London from closing the loop.”

  Remi scowled. “How is that even possible?” he demanded. “We spoke to the man ten years ago. I don’t remember doing it, therefore, it’s something I do in the future. London has to come back to finish that loop!”

  “It’s not guaranteed,” Neven said evenly. “If, for whatever reason, you and London fail to go back and save him from the thieves and speak to him about the future, then this timeline will experience a major divergence.”

  “One where we do go back and one when we don’t?” Remi guessed. “What happens to the world where we don’t go back?”

  “I’m not entirely sure…but I think…well, it’s a theory, at least…” He sighed.

  “What?” Remi said impatiently.

  “It’s just that, Veris is the expert in this and he says it can’t happen. I think it can, and what’s more, I think I’ve seen the results.”

  “Your timeline,” Remi said.

  Neven nodded. “Consider this. When travelers jump back in a linear jump, the one doing the steering returns to their earlier bodies. The jumper seems to have their own bodies and what’s more, they have a life, an identity and friends who know them. They even know the language. Have you ever considered how that happens?”

  “Magic?” Remi asked, his tone dry. He shrugged. “The Blood are magic. We don’t get better, we heal instantly.”

  “It is the actions of the symbiot, preserving its host. Everything we thought was mysterious about vampires can be explained by the symbiot. No, something other than magic happens when a traveler goes back to a time they’ve never lived through before and finds themselves with a life and sometimes even a family.”