Kiss Across Blades

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Remi looked at him from under his brow. “What do you think happens?”

  “I think that when travelers jump back to times which are new to them, they’re creating paradoxes. They weren’t in that time before they jumped, therefore they can’t be in it now. And I think time is flexible enough to adapt when it happens, because all times exist simultaneously. It’s only humans who experience time linearly.”

  Remi squeezed his temples with one hand. “Ugh. You’re saying time just…what? Rewrites time?”

  “It reassembles the space-time continuum to include the changes incorporated into the time-stream by a traveler’s activities. I think it creates a divergence again, so that one timeline has the world with the traveler in it and the other has a world without them in it. It’s the only way to explain it which doesn’t completely wreck Relativity.”

  Remi massaged his temples. “If we don’t go back and speak to Denis, then Time just…deals with it?”

  “Yes,” Neven said.

  “That’s fucking fantastic.” Remi threw out his hand. “I’ve always figured London was pretty much invulnerable because she hasn’t gone back to teach eighteen-year-old you how to time travel without killing yourself. Now you’re telling me it might never happen?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Neven admitted. “If it comforts you, I’ve seen more loops complete themselves than moments when I suspect a loop has failed to close. I said it was just a theory.”

  “It’s a fucking brilliant theory,” Remi growled. “Which doesn’t thrill me in the slightest.”

  Neven grinned. “Let’s make sure we close this loop, huh? Look, we’re at the tree line now. We can pick up the pace.”

  They moved well into the trees. They could move freely, at a pace which would be a blur to the human eye. It barely taxed either of them, although they would pay for the effort later with an earlier onset of blood fever.

  It had the advantage of clearing the forest ahead of them. Other creatures felt their coming and moved well out of the way.

  “Tell me about Brusard,” Neven prompted Remi.

  “He’s a Grade A bastard. There’s not much else to tell about him.”

  “How did you know him in your time?”

  Remi scowled as he jumped over a deadfall. “The man is a peasant who rose through the ranks of the Jacobins and was Robespierre’s best friend and, some say, his enforcer, too. He must have had a blast during the Terror. All that power and legal murder, too.” Remi paused. “He’s the one who arranged my father’s execution. He brought the charges and riled up the village, so they all started screaming for my father’s head.”

  Neven drew in a sharp breath, startled. “I should have guessed that.”

  Remi halted. Neven had to brake his speed and turn back to where Remi stood under a bare oak tree, his expression grim.

  “Carole tried to deflect him,” Remi said. His voice was harsh. “When the execution was set.”

  Neven shook his head. He didn’t understand.

  “After I spoke to the magistrate and pleaded for leniency and he told me to suck it up. Carole went to see Brusard. She told me afterward. After she had failed.” Remi grimaced. “Brusard was a crude man. He made no attempt to hide his attraction to her, so she used it.”

  Neven sighed. “She slept with him…”

  Remi nodded. “She came back the next morning and told me, as she washed herself from head to foot and scrubbed her skin with lye. He laughed at her, when she presumed he would honor the agreement they’d made.”

  “Her for your father’s life,” Neven breathed.

  “He didn’t abide by the agreement.” Remi reached out to the tree trunk beside him and dug at the bark with his fingernails. “I often wondered, in the years which followed, if she found the night as taxing as she said she did. I wonder if a part of her enjoyed being used by such a man, because Carole was not the same, afterward. She did not run to Brusard’s arms the way this Carole did, yet she was not the Carole I married.” Remi chipped away another piece of bark.

  “I’m sorry,” Neven said softly.

  “I always thought it was my fault, that I didn’t do enough, and forced her to such an extreme. Only now…” Remi tore another piece of bark away with a violent movement. “She is even worse here, and it is still my fault.”

  Neven rested his hand on Remi’s shoulder. “We will fix this. We will. Look, the house is not far. That’s where we start to make this right.”

  Remi took in a breath. Let it out. “There’s something else.”

  Neven let his hand drop. “What?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’ve thought about it a lot over the years and I dug into what few records there are of this time,” Remi said. “I’m almost certain Brusard was the man who orchestrated the burning of my house and my children.”

  Neven stared at him, appalled. “You can’t know that. You died that night and didn’t wake for three days.”

  “Christoph saw what happened,” Remi said, his voice quiet. “He told me Brusard had attached himself to the Directory, which was really the remnants of the Jacobins in a new iteration. They learned that a noble in the Lot-et-Garonne department was conspiring against the Republic. Louis, the heir to the throne, is exiled in Russia right now. He took half his father’s court with him. Roderick was writing to them and to nobles in England, and to King George, as well. He wanted the Directory overthrown—hell, we all did. Roderick tried to do something about it, instead of simply wishing. So Brusard arrested him. I found this out later, of course. Brusard would have been less than gentle in his questioning. Roderick denied everything and gave him me, instead.”

  Neven considered. “If Brusard is part of the Directory, why is he sneaking around the forest and hanging out with a bunch of thieves?”

  “He’s still a wanted man,” Remi said, with a false patient tone. “He should have lost his head straight after Robespierre did—he was found guilty of the same charges. He has friends in high places now. Although even they cannot withdraw the charges against him. He does their bidding here in Sauveterre, and in between enjoys a life of barbarism and thievery.”

  “Brusard questioned Roderick, who pointed at you,” Neven summarized. “He roused the village into coming after you and yours.” He grimaced. “It’s why you know the man. I see. Well, we’ll have to deal with him one way or another, now. If Carole is with him, then he’s involved in holding London and that, I will not forgive.”

  Remi chipped away another piece of bark. “Why doesn’t London just jump away from them? She could, at any time. All she needs are her feet on solid ground…and I suspect she doesn’t really need that, either. It’s a physical cue for the jump, which is all mental. So why doesn’t she jump?”

  Neven smiled. “You have been watching, after all.”

  “Of course I have. All the quantum crap I could do without, though.”

  “You’ve always preferred action over theory.” Neven glanced through the trees. He could see the straight lines of a structure, about a mile away. That would be the old house. “There are two possible reasons why she hasn’t jumped, and I don’t like either of them.”

  Remi stopped digging at the bark and met his gaze. “She’s afraid to try.”

  “That’s one of them,” Neven agreed. “The jump to here scared the hell out of her. It wouldn’t occur to her to jump back to our time, maybe collect Veris and Brody and bring them back with clubs and knives to deal with Brusard.”

  “That’s what you’d do?” Remi asked curiously.

  “If I could still jump, I would try something like that,” Neven said. “London, even you, aren’t used to considering time jumping as a strategy. She doesn’t know this time and place at all. The only location she knows is safe is Denis’ private sitting room…and even that isn’t guaranteed to be safe, because it’s where she was taken from. She wouldn’t know where to jump to.”

  “That’s the other reason,” Remi concluded.

  Neven shook
his head. “What if she can’t jump?”

  “Tied down,” Remi growled.

  “Or unconscious,” Neven added. “Or disoriented, sick, wounded…”

  “If we had not waited for hours last night…” Remi hammered at the tree.

  Neven caught his wrist. “Look at me,” he urged Remi. “Let me see your eyes.”

  Remi held still for a moment, then relaxed. “Blood fever,” he muttered. “Perfect.”

  “I’m nearly there myself,” Neven assured him. “It’s understandable, given the circumstances. We can pick this up again tonight. We’ll have the advantage of darkness, then. You must feed. I’ll go back to the chateau which will take me well out of your range.”

  They had learned quickly that Remi, when suffering blood fever, considered any vampire in his vicinity to be a competitor for the food he hunted. He reacted violently to such competition. Their single attempt to hunt together had never been repeated.

  “Go,” Neven added.

  Remi scrubbed at his hair with a frustrated hiss. “Damn it…!” And he leapt and ran, heading deeper into the trees.

  Neven turned southward and hurried. The sooner he was out of range of Remi’s senses, the better.

  London came to far more slowly, this time.

  As before, she kept her eyes closed, while she assessed her situation and put together what had happened. Her last memory was of the big man—Brusard, Carole had called him—flinging open the door of the room London was being held in, while Carole tried uselessly to halt him.

  “Leave me be, woman,” Brusard growled and shoved her aside.

  London scrambled to her feet as Brusard stalked her.

  “She’s mine!” Carole yelled. She sprawled on the floor by the door.

  “She’s valuable. We’re taking her with us,” Brusard declared. “We must make sure she can’t scream and alert anyone. She can’t see where we’re going, either.”

  London relaxed. They were not here to kill her. Not yet, at least.

  Brusard lifted his hand and with a jolt, London realized what he intended. She tried to duck the club of his fist, but her surprise made her too slow. His fist struck her temple and sparks flared in her mind.

  It was the last she remembered before waking this second time. Even with her eyes closed, London was surprised by how much she could figure out just by listening and using her other senses.

  Her first discovery was that she was tied. Not just her arms, with the skinny corset string, but with thick rope. She was trussed like a turkey, with yards of rope wrapped around her lower legs, up to her knees. The rope bound her arms to her body and wrapped her from shoulder to waist. She was on her side, her head on something much harder than a wooden floor. Rock, she guessed. Her neck ached as badly as the temple which Brusard had struck.

  She was cold to the point of shivering. The coat she wore provided no warmth at all.

  From somewhere close, she could hear the crackle of a fire. The crackling, though, sounded odd. She listened for a while, then realized why it was distinct. She must be in a cave and far away from the warm fire.

  Was there anyone else there? Carefully, she opened one eye by the smallest amount and peered through her eyelashes.

  Rock wall, rock floor, firelight playing on both. She was facing the wall. That made it safe to open both eyes, at least.

  She considered her situation and came to the unhappy conclusion that she could do nothing until the ropes were released. She would have to wait until someone untied her and use the opportunity.

  Carole spoke, with a tone which said she had been considering deeply. “No, I am afraid I cannot see a way around it. Denis must die. It will scatter his scabrous peasants and give us the chateau.”

  “We should milk him for ransom, first,” Brusard replied, with a tone which said it was not the first time he had said it.

  The coldness seemed to soak deeper into her bones. London held in her reaction. Any movement at all would shift the sharp stones beneath her and alert them.

  “Fool!” Carole snapped. “We don’t need him to pay a ransom. Once we have the chateau, we will have control of all his money and the estate, too.”

  London wondered who was actually in charge. In the house, it had seemed as though Brusard dominated Carole. Now, Carole was giving him orders and belittling him. Perhaps Brusard’s domination was merely an illusion, one which Carole enjoyed for a while before returning to business…

  “What about the whore?” Brusard said.

  “We don’t need her anymore.”

  Silence, while fear settled in London’s chest.

  “Shall I…?” Brusard offered.

  “No. I want to do it.”

  Brusard chuckled. “I would stay to watch, but it’s nearly sunset and we left the food and wine in the house. We need to restock.”

  “Go, then.”

  “Have at it and enjoy.”

  London heard boots on rock, moving away and the sound diminishing. Softer bootsteps, coming closer.

  She kicked and continued kicking with her bound feet, flailing at anything which tried to come closer, fear exploding through her.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Neven stepped into the chateau, the sun was lowering. The short winter day was nearly at an end and still London had not been found.

  Eventually, she would attempt to jump away from her captivity. She would build up the courage to try it, even though she must jump blind…if she could jump at all.

  He suspected Remi was right. The actual physical leaping start was merely a mental prompt, a way to kick the mind into initiating the jump. Even though he didn’t like to remember it, Neven could not help but consider the moment when he had drowned in a lake, anchored to the bottom. He had jumped from that place, although he could not remember the jump at all.

  As Neven entered the front hall of the chateau, the old man with the young eyes who had been working at the table that morning came up to him. “Monsieur Sauveterre requests your presence, Monsieur Neven.”

  Neven nodded. “Where is he?”

  “In his apartment, Monsieur.”

  “Thank you.” Neven turned to the stairs, climbed quickly and made his way to the apartment. He tapped on the door and walked in.

  The front room of the apartment was empty. Doors at the back of the room stood open, showing a large bed with a canopy embroidered with fleur-de-lis. There were three doors on the side wall, all of them closed.

  The sitting room they had arrived in last night was the middle door. Neven opened the door.

  Denis sprawled in the armchair, his feet up on a stool. He looked drained. “You are back sooner than I thought. I didn’t expect you until the morning at least.”

  “We had to postpone the hunt for a few hours,” Neven said unhelpfully. He closed the door behind him.

  Denis shoved the stool with his foot, so it scraped across the floor and away from him. “Sit for a moment. I would speak with you.” He sat up, wincing.

  “How is your head?”

  “Wounded, thank you,” Denis said. “I have been thinking, while waiting for you to return and there are some questions I would ask you.”

  Neven didn’t sit. “Perhaps we should wait until Remi returns.”

  “No, thank you,” Denis said. “Remi does not like me, which is rather odd, under the circumstances. I want to know why.”

  Neven perched on the stool. It was too low for his long legs, but it was better than standing over the man. “You feel it is your privilege that everyone should love you?”

  Denis rolled his eyes. It was very Remi-like. “I long ago gave up such pretensions. Are you familiar with philosophy, Neven?”

  “I studied the ancient philosophers when I was younger.”

  “I have studied them all over the years,” Denis said. “The books are there in the library and of no value to anyone but me. That has been my only personal indulgence for many years. There was a Roman, Seneca…do you know him?”

  “On
e of the Stoics,” Neven replied. “Yes, I know a little about him. He was rich. Privileged. Then he lost it all and was forced to kill himself.”

  Denis grimaced. “He proposed that self-examination was a valuable thing. I have tried to emulate that value. I find the lack of it in Remi disturbing.”

  Neven couldn’t help but smile. “Remi relies on instinct more than you do, that is true.”

  “As he is me, then for me, studying Remi is like looking in a mirror which shows not just my reflection, but a revelation of what might have been.”

  Neven said nothing even though he admired Denis’ insight. He was uncomfortable with how much they had already revealed to Denis about time traveling.

  “And Remi does not like me,” Denis added. “What does that say for me?”

  “It says merely that you have followed a far different path than what you might have under different circumstances, that is all.”

  Denis considered Neven’s reply for a moment. “There is a question I would ask you. A delicate one.” His gaze met Neven’s. “Are you and Remi lovers?”

  Neven didn’t flinch, for Denis had telegraphed the question and braced him for it. “We are more than that.”

  “You…live together?”

  “Yes.”

  Denis nodded, as if Neven had confirmed what he suspected. “Then I do not understand your wild concern for Lucienne’s welfare. It is more than the concern of a friend for another’s safety.”

  Denis was as observant as Remi, as Neven had suspected he would be. “It is because Lucienne is our lover, too,” he replied.

  Denis’ lips parted. “The three of you are together? How is that possible? Is your world so very different from this one that such a living arrangement is tolerated by both church and king…and the people, too? Or do you keep it secret, as you have tried to do here?”

  “I think you have already guessed that answer, too,” Neven said calmly.

  Denis considered again. “You are from the future….”

  “The far distant future,” Neven replied. “More than two hundred years from this day.”