The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1)

by Sophie Davis

  My stomach performed a series of cartwheels in fast succession. I suddenly felt breathless and acutely aware of just how near our bodies were to one another. Charles’s palms slid down my arms to clasp my hands, leaving a warm, tingly trail in their wake. Threading his fingers through mine, he pulled me even closer.

  Pulse pounding erratically in my throat, gaze inexplicably drawn to Charles’s perfect mouth, one thought drove all others from my mind: He is going to kiss me.

  Wait…did I want Charles to kiss me?

  Yes. The answer was a resounding yes. Complications and consequences be damned.

  Just when I was positive that Charles was going for the gold, his eyes landed on the locket nestled between my collarbones. The fleeting moment of intimacy passed, leaving me torn between disappointment and relief.

  “Stassi…,” Charles began tentatively. He inhaled sharply, as though preparing to make a difficult speech. Which was why his next words came as a surprise. “The River Seine is lovely at night, why don’t I show you?”

  What was he going to say? Why had he changed his mind at the last second?

  “Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” I said aloud, forcing a smile.

  Charles released my hands, but offered me his arm instead. The two of us set off down the sidewalk.

  We walked in silence for several blocks. Numerous times, I started to ask about Tessa, but could never seem to find the right words. Charles was distracted, and I had the impression that he was also debating how best to broach a touchy subject. He kept fiddling with something in his pocket, which made me smile. The nervous habit reminded me of the way I toyed with my locket to ease my mind.

  Finally, we reached the cobblestone path that ran along the water’s edge. By unspoken mutual consent, we paused to admire our surroundings. Twinkling lights off in the distance illuminated the various bridges that stretched from one side of the river to the other. The night sky was velvety black, causing the countless stars to appear brighter than usual as they shone down on the quiet city.

  I drank in the beautiful backdrop, committing the intricacies to memory so that I would be able to recall them on a whim. In my present, Paris and many other once-great cities lay in ruins. The Epic War had destroyed sites that’d been standing for centuries.

  Beside me, Charles stared out over the Seine, too. It was highly doubtful that his thoughts were as bleak as mine, since he did not know the perils that would befall his city over the next half a millennium.

  “It’s just as lovely as you promised,” I said, when the silence became oppressive.

  Charles turned to face me, letting his arm fall away from mine. Light from a nearby lamppost illuminated his handsome features, highlighting the fierce determination glinting in his eyes. I steeled my nerves to hear whatever he’d been working up the courage to say since we’d left the restaurant. Sending up a silent prayer, I hoped it was about Tessa.

  “Stassi, I must make a confession.” Charles spoke the words quickly as though they’d been fighting to break free for a while. “That first night that we met at Scott’s book party? I saw you sitting at the table with Ines and your brother, and I had to meet you.”

  My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

  Now who’s flirting to weasel information? I thought wryly.

  One look at the regret in Charles’s expression, and the flames of embarrassment were quickly doused.

  “So, I invited you to dance, anticipating that we would share a few cocktails afterwards and see where the night took us. But we started talking, and I found you so delightfully refreshing compared to my usual dance partners. I thought I would ask you to dinner so that I could get to know you better.” He swallowed thickly. “Then, I noticed your necklace.”

  Almost as though his hand had a mind of its own, Charles reached out and his fingers drifted towards my throat. In my own subconscious gesture, I cupped the locket in my palm. His hand fell to the side, then slid in his pocket to play with the object inside.

  Charles cleared his throat loudly. “As I told you over dinner, Tessa always wore a very similar locket. No, not similar. Identical. I know that must sound crazy to you. But I am certain of it. The pattern around the sapphire is unique and quite distinctive, and I have never seen another like it. I thought maybe….”

  “I might know this Tessa woman?” I guessed, relieved that this was his big secret. I had already surmised as much. “I’m so sorry, Charles,” I added, taking his free hand with one of mine. “I would love to help you find her, but I don’t know anyone called Tessa. I truly am sorry.”

  And I was sorry. For both of us. Whether Tessa’s locket was similar, identical, or the exact same one as mine, I wanted to know her, too.

  I squeezed Charles’s hand and he squeezed back, smiling sadly.

  “May I ask what happened to her? And why you are looking for her?” I inquired, studying his reaction for an indication of how far I would be able to push him on the subject.

  “I understand that she saved your life,” I was quick to add, when Charles answered my initial questions with a blank stare. “But didn’t you say she was a friend of the DuPrees? They must know how to contact her, right?”

  Thankfully, Charles was too distracted to pick up on the note of desperation in my voice. I didn’t want to tip him off that I wanted to find Tessa just as much, if not more, than he did.

  “Tessa passed away some years ago.” Charles’s voice was gruff with emotion.

  “Oh, Charles, that’s awful. When did it happen?” I hoped my question came across as innocent curiosity.

  “Not long after she arranged my adoption with the DuPrees. It was very sudden, or so I understand. A heart condition, I believe.”

  I felt as despondent as Charles looked.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said for the umpteenth time that night.

  Charles managed a small smile. “Yes, well, death is a part of a life, is it not?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Several more minutes of silent reflection passed. I spent the time trying to find a tactful way to ask Charles why he was so interested in my locket if Tessa was dead. It wasn’t like I could help him find her, even if the locket around my neck had once hung from hers.

  “I did not know Tessa well,” Charles said finally, as though there had been no pause in the conversation. “But she was instrumental in relocating me to the DuPrees, and for that I owe her a great debt of gratitude. One I can never repay. She gave me a new life. A second chance. The freedom to become a man of my own making. I would very much like to do something for her in return. Or, as is the case, for her family.” The object in his pocket made a jingling noise as he again indulged in his nervous habit. Staring out over the Seine, Charles continued speaking, seemingly embarrassed to have shared such personal information with me. “It was silly of me to think that you and Tessa might have been acquainted at one time.”

  “It’s not silly at all,” I told him quietly. “She saved your life. That sort of thing leaves a lasting impression. Wanting to meet and speak with someone who knew her is understandable. When someone disappears from your life, you grasp at every thread of information about that person that you come across, no matter how farfetched it might seem. It’s a way of keeping them alive and with you always.”

  Charles stared deep into my eyes, a small sad smile on his perfect lips.

  “You have lost someone close to you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” I spoke the one word before I’d given any thought to the ramifications of divulging such a sensitive detail about my real life.

  “Who?” Charles asked, his gaze holding mine captive.

  You have no idea what a loaded question you just asked….

  For several long seconds, we simply stared at one another, neither of us blinking. Memories flooded my mind—the countless nights I’d spent with my head tilted back, neck craned, eyes glued to the heavens, while I selected the two perfect stars to call Mom and Dad. Then, I thought about t
he leads I’d followed to trace my necklace’s origins, and how they’d ultimately fizzled. Finally, I thought about Molly and Gaige, and how amazingly supportive they’d both been from the moment they’d heard my tale of woe.

  Supportive, however, was the key word. Because neither my partner nor my best friend knew the loss of a parent firsthand. Charles did.

  Suddenly, I had an overwhelming desire to tell him the truth. Not that I made my living traveling through time to steal objects for absurdly wealthy clients; I wasn’t stupid. But I could tell him some version of the truth. One that wouldn’t conflict with my cover story.

  “My parents,” I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat, “disappeared when I was four. James Prince, the man in Baltimore, is not my biological father. I was also adopted.” My free hand, the one not linked with Charles’s, flew to the locket at my throat. “This necklace belonged to my mother. My real mother.”

  Pain swam across my companion’s expression, raw and undisguised. Now that he knew we shared a grief that few others could truly appreciate, it seemed as though Charles no longer felt the need to hide behind stoicism.

  Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I tried to turn away before he could see.

  Charles did not draw me to him, as Gaige or Molly would have done in the same situation. He did not tell me it was okay to cry. He did not spout flowery platitudes meant to comfort, but inevitably sounding hollow. Instead, he squeezed my hand tightly, just once. Just to let me know he was there to listen when I was ready to continue. It was the exact response I needed. His uncanny ability to read me endeared him to me all the more.

  I’d planned to let the topic go. I should have let the topic go. But fifteen years of repressed bitterness, anger, and heartache were clawing their way to the surface. I couldn’t stay silent any longer.

  Once my eyes were dry, I faced Charles again. Tone brusque, I picked up the story. “I was found wandering the streets as a child, and taken to an orphanage. This necklace is all I had with me, other than the clothes I was wearing.” My brain screamed at me to stop talking. My heart, longing to tell my story to someone who would understand, compelled me to go on. “My earliest memories are from there, the orphanage. I don’t remember anything at all about my parents—what they looked like, what they sounded like, what they smelled like. I don’t remember my life before the orphanage at all. And I still don’t know the circumstances that led to me wandering the streets alone at four years old.

  “Mrs. Prince, my adoptive mother, volunteered at the orphanage. I guess something about me appealed to her. Eventually, she brought her husband to meet me, and then they adopted me.”

  To his credit, Charles didn’t immediately begin firing off questions. Instead, he waited patiently, gently rubbing the side of my hand with his thumb in a soothing circles.

  “Stassi, I am so sorry,” he said finally. “I feel so foolish for prattling on about losing my parents, when you never even knew yours. I can’t begin to imagine how awful that would be.”

  The insensitivity of his statement, though definitely unintentional, made me cringe. Charles blanched. The horrorstruck expression that followed was oddly comical, and I actually giggled.

  “I cannot believe—”

  “Please, don’t apologize,” I cut in. “I know what you meant. And please don’t feel sorry for me. Like you, I consider myself lucky to have found such an amazing adoptive family. Or, rather, I guess I should say, to have been found by such an amazing adoptive family.”

  The smile I gave Charles was automatic and genuine. I did have an amazing adoptive family. Gaige, Molly, and, in a roundabout way, Cyrus were my family. I loved Molly and Gaige more than I could imagine loving a blood sibling. And I respected Cyrus, who was always looking out for me, like he was really an uncle.

  “I even got a brother as part of the package,” I added when Charles didn’t say anything.

  “So Gaige is not truly related to you?” Charles asked, a hint of something dangerously close to jealousy in his otherwise bland tone.

  “No. But I promise you, my affection for him is only sisterly. And he feels the same way about me.”

  Charles relaxed. “Good to hear.”

  Chimes from an unseen bell tower began to ring out, signaling the hour.

  “Goodness, is it really so late?” Charles asked. “I should get you home before that brother of yours comes after us. Our walk along the Seine will have to wait for another evening, perhaps one where we get an earlier start.”

  I fought a losing battle to hide the grin his comment elicited.

  We resumed strolling back in the general direction of the restaurant as I told him about the friendship between Gaige and me. Though I changed many of the details—swapping out the island for Baltimore, and the future for the present—much of what I told Charles was true.

  Then, feeling especially brave, I also told him about Cyrus. Sure, I said his name was James Prince, and that he was a shipping magnate instead of the head of an international crime syndicate. But the underlying truth was there. Feeling bolstered by my ability to deftly swap out incriminating details for those of my cover story, I even told Charles about Molly.

  It was oddly liberating, letting someone in without fearing rejection. That was probably why I didn’t stop talking once I started.

  By the time we were nearing La Coupole once more, my date knew more about me than anyone in any time, save my two closest friends.

  “My adoptive family has been very supportive of my desire to find my birth parents,” I found myself telling Charles. “That’s actually a lot of the reason Gaige and I came to Europe. A jeweler here in Paris made my locket.”

  Immediately, I knew I’d said too much.

  I FELT CHARLES stiffen beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw undiluted interest in his expression.

  “Your biological mother was French?” he asked, excitement palpable in his voice.

  “No, she wasn’t. I do know that she was American,” I said gently.

  Surprisingly, this did not have the dampening effect I assumed it would. I also wasn’t sure whether it was true. I figured my parents were American, since I was found in Tennessee, but they could have been born anywhere.

  “Did the jeweler tell you that?” Charles asked.

  “Oh, no, he was exceptionally unhelpful. He recognized the locket as one of their pieces, but had no record of it being sold or commissioned. Although, he did have sales records for several other pieces of jewelry with sapphires surrounded by this same patterned design.” I traced the gold filigree around the stone with my fingernail.

  “Who is this jeweler?”

  “Matthieu Bonheur, of Bonheur’s Jewelry.”

  Charles abruptly stopped walking. His expression turned to utter disbelief.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Do you mean the Bonheur’s near Sylvia’s bookstore?” Charles asked.

  “Yeah, that’s the one. It’s got the five-leaf clover on the sign, which is the same insignia stamped into the gold on the back of my locket.”

  “So it is,” replied Charles, though I had the distinct impression his mind was a million miles away. After several moments, he snapped back to the present. “You said there were sales records for other items of a similar design?”

  I thought carefully about my next words. I couldn’t very well tell Charles that the same person had commissioned at least three pieces of jewelry over the course of four hundred years, all of which bore an uncanny resemblance to my locket. Even being a time traveling bandit myself, the idea sounded farfetched.

  Ultimately, I decided to gloss over the specifics. Hopefully, Charles was too distracted with his own thoughts to realize I was only giving him a fraction of the big picture.

  “And did this jeweler actually show you the receipts for these similar pieces?” Charles was asking.

  “Yes,” I lied. Then, anticipating his next question, I added, “There wasn’t another necklace. I’m sorry, C
harles. There was a broach and a pair of cufflinks. There was also a third receipt, but it was badly stained and faded, and I couldn’t tell what the item was supposed to be.”

  “Could it have been a pocket watch?”

  The question caught me by surprise.

  “I don’t know. I guess it could have been. It could have been anything, honestly.”

  Charles’s hand was back in his pocket. This time, when he withdrew his hand, it wasn’t empty. One glance at the item cradled in his palm, and the real reason for Charles’s obsession with my locket became crystal clear. Suddenly, my stomach felt incredibly hollow.

  “I should have mentioned it earlier. It was never my intention to deceive you, I swear. I just, well…,” he trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

  He wasn’t the only one. My mouth, though hanging open, seemed incapable of forming coherent speech.

  The brilliant blue sapphire gleamed up at me enticingly from the gold disk in Charles’s hand. I had to suppress the urge to grab the watch and run. Instead, I settled for running my fingertip over the filigree surrounding the stone, tracing each loop and swirl that was so like the design on my necklace.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “From Tessa.” He paused while this nugget of information registered. A million questions floated through my head, though I was unable to focus on any single one. “She gave it to me the day she took me to the DuPrees’ home.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither,” Charles admitted. “I truly do not know the significance, if any. But this must be one of the other pieces made by Bonheur.”

  Sure enough, when I flipped it over, I found a perfect five-leaved clover stamped on the back of the watch.

  “It could be a coincidence,” I hedged, knowing full well that it wasn’t. The odds of such a thing were…well, they were as astronomical as me randomly encountering another person with one of the pieces J. Jacobson had commissioned.