by Sophie Davis
An impressively firm man’s chest, I thought absently.
Somewhere, in an alternate universe, this scene was playing out in a romance novel; I was the swooning leading lady and the hero had just drawn me tightly against him. With that thought swimming in my head, I rested my forehead on the imposing chest in an effort to still the spinning. As I forced myself to draw in slow, deep pulls of oxygen to my addled brain, one of the man’s hands rubbed my back soothingly.
This is ridiculous, I thought. One moment I was running for my life, the next I was living a passionate parable. No costume change required.
Despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, I was grateful to the chivalrous man. He could’ve let me fall flat on my face. He could’ve shoved me away. And I wouldn’t have blamed him, considering my stench. Instead, he was acting the part of the gallant knight, swooping in to save the distraught princess before she knocked out a few teeth on the pavement.
The strong hand on my spine slid down to my hip, moving into my still-downcast line of vision.
Interesting, I thought, still dazed from the collision. Maybe this tale was more scandalous than swoon-worthy, my hero more roguish than knightly. Before I could process that this was definitively reality and not a harlequin novel, the hand continued around to my stomach while the other held me firmly against him. Then, to my utter horror, the hand shot up the front of my dress, caressing every inch of my torso as its owner copped a cheap thrill. Finally, when two long fingers climbed over the deep neckline and down the inside of my bodice, the shock wore off. I snapped into action.
“Get off of me, you perv!” I shouted in English as I shoved against that rock-hard chest, too incensed to translate the words.
Skilled in self-defense, I attempted to create enough space for my knee to lock in on its target: my attacker’s groin. The creep was apparently accustomed to groping unwilling women, though, because he angled his lower body away at exactly the right moment. My blow landed on his outer thigh, hard enough to inflict pain but not the doubled-over-in agony degree I’d hoped for.
“Is that your idea of foreplay?” the man chuckled in my ear, his English just as perfect and unaccented as my own. “No wonder you never go on second dates.”
My eyes went wide. I tipped my head back to get a good look at the man’s face. Dark brown eyes that held just a hint of amber sparkled with amusement. Though a casual observer might have only seen delight, I knew fierce determination was hidden in the shadows beneath. Way beneath, in this case.
“Gaige!” I exclaimed, both incensed and grateful to find my partner had arrived at last.
The grin he wore stretched from ear to ear as his arm slid around me once more, bringing me close again. When his fingers slipped down the front of my dress for a second time, they found their mark. As Gaige’s groping digits retreated from my bodice, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the artifact pouch between his thumb and forefinger. Then, just like the queen in three-card Monte, it disappeared to parts unknown.
“What have I told you about personal space?” I snapped, shoving him away from me.
“Is that any way for a lady to treat her rescuer?” Gaige taunted. “I’m not asking for much, Stassi, just a little gratitude.”
I opened my mouth to respond that feeling me up was more than enough payment for his eleventh-hour intervention, but never got the chance to utter the words. Without warning, my legs were swept out from underneath me. The action was not performed in an enjoyable, romantic manner. Instead, Gaige tossed me over his shoulder caveman-style.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I screeched. “Put me down, jackass!”
“Good lord, you stink,” Gaige intoned.
“You always stink,” I replied lamely, pounding my fists against his back.
“You okay?” he asked quietly. “Still dizzy?”
“Oh yeah, I’m just great,” I said, still struggling.
“Still dizzy?” he persisted.
“No, I’m clearheaded and going to kill you,” I snapped, straining to loosen his grip enough to flip myself over and away from my partner. “Put me down!”
“In that case, can you pretend you’re actually trying to get away, Stass? Sell it for the audience.”
Startled, I remembered that we weren’t alone. When I looked up, dozens of shocked expressions met my gaze. Napoleon’s guards had nearly caught up to us, pushing their way towards the outer ring of bystanders who’d stopped to gape at the show.
My heart sank as my annoyance rose. It was so not the time for Gaige’s pranks. I was going to be completely screwed if the moron didn’t let me go in the next moment. Probably even if he did. Still, I kicked my legs as hard as I could in a desperate attempt to flee.
Unfortunately, Gaige’s arms were well-muscled from all the rock climbing he did in our downtime and they were locked around me in a steel embrace.
“Just a piece of friendly advice,” my partner called over his shoulder. “You might want to take a nice big breath real quick. Oh, and definitely keep your mouth closed.”
Alarm bells went off inside my head.
Hold my breath?
Realization dawned. I struggled harder against his hold. Not in the hopes of actually getting free from him, but to indeed give the spectators a show.
“You bastard!” I screamed in mangled French.
“After what you did to my brother, you’re lucky it’s not the gallows!” Gaige roared back in a monstrous tone, taking two steps to the side. In a lower tone meant only for my ears, he added, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Without further ado, Gaige threw me over the side of the bridge.
Despite my partner’s advice to keep my mouth shut, I couldn’t help the scream that tore loose from my throat.
Every expletive in my vast repertoire flew through my mind in the seconds before I hit the fetid water. The instant the stench wafted into my nostrils, I vowed revenge upon Gaige for this little stunt. Maybe he’d just saved me in the moment, but the impromptu bridge dive probably wouldn’t have been necessary had my partner been actually backing me up.
The landing was as ungraceful as humanly possible—back-first with my legs futilely bicycle-kicking the air. Lips still parted in an involuntary shriek, murky river water seeped into my mouth before I had the wherewithal to clamp it shut.
Pretend it’s one of the hot springs on the island, I chanted over and over again in my head like the refrain of a poorly-written song.
Fortunately for my sanity, a reminder of my mortality quickly derailed that train of thought. Once wet, the heavy wool of my dress felt like newly-poured concrete. I sank like a boulder.
As much as I really didn’t want another molecule of the Arno River inside of me, I reluctantly opened my eyes to gain my bearings. The foul water stung painfully. I blinked several times before straining to keep them open. All I saw was deep, dark, murky brown. I glanced around frantically, searching for lighter water that would indicate the surface. Once I spotted it, I managed to flip my body around. With powerful kicks of my legs and strokes of my arms, I fought against the weight dragging me down and slowly reversed my course.
Contrary to what he would tell you, my partner didn’t have superhero-strength, so I couldn’t have been far from the large stone construct. Fortuitous, since I needed to be underneath it for Gaige’s gamble to pay off.
Through the cloudy water, a shape emerged up ahead, maybe five feet away. The water was dimmer there, too, as though bathed in shadows instead of sunlight. Swimming towards the pool of darkness, I prayed that I was heading closer to the bridge and not away from it. My lungs were already starting to burn. In the very near future, they would be screaming for air.
Seconds that felt like hours to my oxygen-deprived system passed before my outstretched hands made contact with the slimy stone foundation of the bridge. If I could’ve breathed a sigh of relief without filling my lungs with pure nastiness, I would have.
My heart began to pound harder, anticipating w
hat was to come.
As soon as my entire body was pressed against the inside of the stone pillar, an unnerving tingling began. The dichotomous sensation started in my toes, cool at first, then growing colder and colder as it crawled up my calves. The crown of my head was instantly warm, becoming uncomfortably hot as the feeling slid down my chest. Though not unpleasant at first, the sensation intensified as it traveled down my torso and up my legs, until the tingling felt more like being continually jabbed with a cheese dagger. It was as though I was the fabric of time itself and thousands of sewing machines were simultaneously stitching me together with white-hot needles.
Within moments, hot and cold collided in a clash-of-the-titans match-up in my abdomen. The pain was unfathomable, indescribable to those who have not felt it. And it was rocketing through me.
A burst of light exploded in my line of vision like a star detonating. Golden white swirls twisted and churned before my eyes, illuminating the murky water with preternatural beauty. At the epicenter, the light was pure gold. It pulled me in as though it was a powerful magnet and I was nothing more than a fleck of metal.
This was a bad idea, I thought, panic overtaking me as surely as the light. Shoving the thought aside, I focused with every ounce of my mental capacity on my destination: The Atlic Gate in my present time.
My body bowed backwards, my spine arching as long fingers of light shot out from the supernova and grabbed hold of my waist. The pain in my midsection peaked right before the golden light engulfed me.
And then I was gone.
I LANDED OFF-BALANCE and disoriented. My hands shot out instinctively to break the fall. Pain shot through my wrists and up my arms when my palms collided with cold, dry rock. I clawed at the smooth surface, desperate to remain upright. Unfortunately, all I received for my efforts were several broken fingernails. Panting, I sank to my knees.
The skin on the inside of my wrist began to hum, bringing an instant sigh of relief. It was a tune I felt rather than heard, but it touched me down to my marrow all the same. The earth around me answered in kind, singing the same silent song with a power and intensity that had scared me at one time but I now welcomed with open arms. A sense of peace enveloped me, the kind of universal harmony that few in the world could understand, and only then from experience.
“A gate,” I muttered to myself with a weary smile. “Good sign.”
I knew all too well what came next.
Teeth clenched, forehead pressed against the rock wall, I prepared to ride out the after-effects of the unorthodox jump.
Tremors rocketed through my body with bone-jarring force. My muscles seized, not all at once, but each in turn, over and over. My lungs burned, more from the sudden influx of air than the jump through time.
It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It. Will. Pass, I chanted to myself, even as the spinning sensation in my head made me feel like the lone sock in a dryer programmed for warp-speed.
Unpleasant as the seconds that followed were, I was in far better shape than I should’ve been. Not travelling through a gate was a shock to the system, one very difficult for the human body to withstand. It was the reason we were forbidden from free jumping, except in dire emergencies.
As the worst of the effects finally began to wane, I surveyed my surroundings to gauge my whereabouts. Not going through customs was not only unsanctioned and dangerous, it left a lot of room for error—there was no way of knowing where and when I’d end up. Between the river water still obscuring my vision and the vertigo whirling through my head, blurry shapes and vague impressions were all I could see.
As I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, the vortex came into focus around me. Absentmindedly, I rubbed the tattoo on the inside of my right wrist. The letters on my skin glowed bright red for several moments, as they always did after coming in direct contact with other prima.
The secret to traversing time lay within the precious mineral. Prima materia was more rare than a flawless colored diamond, more valuable than the crown jewels, and more sought-after than a relic from the Ming Dynasty. Throughout history, the existence of prima had been doubted more than Excalibur and Atlantis combined. But, as any runner could attest, the mineral was very real. Though it didn’t turn substances into gold, as many had hoped it would, it did make time travel possible.
Using the energy my body absorbed from the prima to bolster myself, I pushed off the floor and climbed unsteadily to my feet. My head spun from the movement. I leaned against the wall until the dizziness subsided. After a few tentative steps, I plodded slowly around the curve of rock wall towards a patch of hazy light at the end of the tunnel.
A form appeared at the far end of the passage, backlit and shadowed.
“Stassi?” The tall, gangly figure rushed forward, youthful male features came into focus as he closed the distance between us. I recognized him immediately, Rupert Rudolph.
I’m home, I thought with another surge of relief.
“Stassi? What happened?” Rupert asked, taking in my sopping-wet appearance. Concern created a deep crease between his dark brows.
“Gaige happened,” I intoned, sparing a weary smile for my favorite gate attendant.
Rupert, a teenager just on the awkward cusp of manhood, was one of several attendants who rotated shifts in my syndicate’s waystation. The job wasn’t glamorous—entering destinations into the customs ports, logging the comings and goings, and assisting those returning from missions. Still, it was a coveted position among those with aspirations of one day becoming runners, but who weren’t yet old enough to begin training.
“Are you okay?” the boy asked, curiosity mingling with worry in his dark eyes.
Together, we exited the passageway and entered the rotunda of the underground gate.
“I’ve had smoother runs,” I replied, holding out my dripping arms to prove my point.
“Shoot, I’m sorry,” Rupert apologized. “Let me get you a towel before you freeze to death.”
As if on cue, a violent chill ran through me. I hugged my arms to my chest to conserve what little body heat remained.
“Thanks.”
He darted towards a metal rack on the opposite side of the cavernous room. Fluffy clean towels were arranged in neat stacks beside bottles of water and energy bars. Rupert grabbed one towel, started back towards me, reassessed the situation, and went back for a second one.
The underground room was a magnificent blend of the old and new worlds. The perimeter of the high, domed ceiling was carved with symbols of the ancient alchemist order—a perfect juxtaposition to the advanced technology used to program mission coordinates. The sloping red walls radiated a cool beauty that hinted at their true nature. At first glance, it was easy to mistake the material for clay, but the faint glimmering where light hit belied the power within.
Another violent shiver wracked my body, pulling me from my admiration. As beautiful as the gate was to look at, the temperature left something to be desired. My fingertips were starting to turn blue. The cool, clean air was also making the horrific stench emanating from me more apparent.
I cursed Gaige.
“Here you go.” Rupert held out the towels, which I accepted gratefully. “These should help.”
I buried my face in the soft fabric and inhaled the scent of fresh, clean laundry detergent.
“I think they work better if you unfold them,” Rupert teased.
My quick burst of laughter sounded muffled beneath the towel.
“Is it Pick on Stassi Day? I didn’t get the memo,” I replied, slinging one towel over my shoulders and using the other on my hair. Noting the lack of activity in the gate, I added, “Slow day?”
“Yep,” he responded, popping the “p” for emphasis. “There aren’t any outgoing runs today. Before your unscheduled appearance, we weren’t anticipating any arrivals, either. So, yeah, pretty boring ‘round these parts.”
“Do you know when Molly and Tiger got back?” I asked.
Molly was my best friend, roommate,
and fellow runner. She and her partner, Tiger, had left the day before Gaige and me on a run to America. It was supposed to be a quick mission, two or three days max.
“I don’t think they’re back,” Rupert said.
The first hints of dread settled in my gut. I didn’t want to seem dramatic, but a run that ran too long over the scheduled time allotment was cause for concern.
“You sure? They should’ve been back yesterday, maybe even the day before that,” I prompted.
“They might’ve come through when I was off-duty,” Rupert replied, scratching his head in the perfect caricature of someone thinking. “I don’t remember seeing their arrival in the logs, though. Want me to double-check?”
“Do you mind?” I asked Rupert sheepishly.
“For you? Not at all.”
That kid’s a real charmer, I thought as Rupert jogged over to his workstation and entered his access code. He scrolled through the arrival log for the past week and shook his head.
“Sorry, Stassi. They’re still out.” Anticipating my next question, he added, “We haven’t received any distress communications from Philadelphia customs, so no need to worry. I’m sure they just got held up. It happens.”
“You’re right,” I agreed, forcing a smile that surely didn’t reach my eyes. “How’d you get to be so wise?”
“Age and experience,” Rupert answered with a wink.
“Mind getting me another towel, old man? This one’s soaked.”
With the grace of a young deer still adjusting to its long legs, Rupert loped off to fetch me another dry towel. He returned a moment later with a full-length robe instead.
“Ahh, even better. Thanks, Rupe.”
I threw a wet towel at him, hitting him squarely in the face.
“I have to get out of here and change my clothes before hypothermia sets in,” I said, tossing the other towel to him.
“You’d better hurry,” Rupert advised, walking over to deposit them in the laundry hamper by the shelves.
Pausing mid-hair-wring, I stifled a groan.
“What time is it?” I asked.