The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

  It seemed that not only was Mr. Augustus in charge of relaying messages from the Seelie dictating how she was to use her powers in their service, but he also was allowed to dictate how the rest of her time was used. The bastard had decided that she would work at his boardwalk for minimum wage.

  Maybe it was a blessing that the other Kitsune were few and far between. Had one of them seen her, she would have wanted to go into hiding for a few centuries in shame. Either that or murder her captors in a bloody rage. Right now, she preferred the latter.

  She took tickets, gave directions to visitors, and waited. If she wanted to cheer herself, she could tell herself that she was biding her time. But she was old enough to know that self-deception was a worthless path.

  “No food or drink inside, please,” she said to a man who held a paper-wrapped Polish sausage with limp green peppers.

  “I’ll be careful with it.”

  “Park policy, sir. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t that she particularly cared about park policy. She didn’t. But she would be the one to clean up spilled drinks and wipe down mirrors smeared with greasy handprints. A dropped sausage would make a mess.

  “Well, I’m not throwing it away, so too bad,” he said and went inside with it.

  She had a little power left. Mr. Augustus was allowing her to dance so she did not become useless to him. And she would be performing again this afternoon. Was it worth using just a little? She needed to decide. Would she make the sausage man see himself in a mirror covered in oozing boils? Or would he see a horrifying monster from his nightmares? Perhaps something more subtle. An image so brief he would never truly be sure he had seen it, one depicting his girlfriend with another man. Or an image of hopelessness, that things never would really get better for him in his dull job and he would work in his gray cubicle forever.

  To hell with subtle. She concentrated for a moment and then waited. As she took tickets from other customers, a short yell of terror came from inside the mirror house. When the man emerged, he no longer had the sausage. Damn. Now she would have to clean it up. But he was shaking and white. It was worth it.

  Astrid walked up. She was wearing her uniform, but had her purse over her shoulder. From the tired, sweaty look about her, she was going home instead of arriving.

  “Augustus told me to tell you that Elliot called in sick,” said Astrid. “So you’re going to be on for a couple more hours until he can get a replacement.”

  “What happened to him? Is he all right?” If Elliot was suffering from whatever the sidhe had given him at the falafel restaurant, then she bore responsibility, at least partially.

  “Just a migraine,” said Astrid. “He gets them sometimes.”

  “Oh, good.” She hoped a migraine wasn’t a side effect.

  More importantly, perhaps she could use Astrid’s presence to her advantage. This could be turned into an opportunity to find her spirit ball, but she had to think quickly. The sea woman had been in contact with the spirit ball, but Yukiko hadn’t sensed the ball anywhere nearby. That meant that it was probably on the other side. And if the Seelie wanted access to the ball, which they needed to keep her enslaved, then it had to be in their world. Astrid could open Doors to Unseelie, and the Seelie world was closer to the human world than Unseelie. But how to get Astrid to open the Door to the correct place?

  Yukiko said, “Can I ask you something? About when the slaugh came through?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you show me where it happened?”

  Astrid looked at the mirror house like something terrible was going to come out of it. Yukiko couldn’t blame her for being afraid. But thankfully, Astrid had not connected the opening of the Door for the slaugh with the tiny illusion of the crying child that Yukiko had planted in the maze.

  “I’m not sure I should go inside,” said Astrid. “Whatever I did, well, I don’t think I should be anywhere near that place.”

  “I need to know so I can perform the necessary steps to keep it from happening again.”

  “You can do that?” Astrid looked hopeful. “You can keep those things out? Can you show me how to keep from opening Doors again? Red Fawn can’t help, and I’m so scared I’ll do it again.”

  “I think so,” Yukiko lied. “But I’ll need to see exactly how it was done the first time. Little details matter.”

  Astrid looked again at the mirror house, and Yukiko saw her take a deep breath. Poor thing. She was frightened. But the girl walked on ahead, straight into the maze. Yukiko followed, pulling together the threads of her power. She had to be ready.

  Astrid stopped at a warped mirror at the back of the attraction. Yukiko thought of her spirit ball, not the image of it, but the feeling of it. A sweet, sparkling scent came from the mirror in front of Astrid, and the girl looked up as the feeling of a cool, fresh breeze brushed against them. Perfect.

  Yukiko watched the mirror’s surface, waiting. The girl was not in control of her powers, and all it had taken before was a little nudge.

  Astrid told her what had happened, about the child stuck in the maze and how she and Elliot had gone inside. Yukiko was barely listening.

  Nothing happened to the mirror. Why wasn’t it working this time? Yukiko put more power into the illusion, adding something else, the sensation of the Seelie, the way that they smelled when they were close. She didn’t want Astrid to see anything, or she would flee, and rightly so. But the scent, the feeling, it might be enough.

  Astrid was describing what she had seen inside, a girl who looked like her twin and the hideous slaugh that had come after.

  “Have you ever heard of the Seelie?” Yukiko asked.

  “They’re the opposite of the Unseelie, right?”

  “Exactly. Well, not really. No. They’re cousins, more like brothers, but they like to define themselves as opposites.”

  “Yeah, I read about that in a book once.”

  The scent and feeling coming from the mirror were strong, pulsing, alive. The girl needed some time, perhaps. And a little extra push.

  “Well, the Seelie world is very much like our own,” said Yukiko. “The worlds exist side by side, and humans have been known to visit Seelie and vice versa.”

  “So why did I open a Door to the Unseelie world?”

  That was a good question. An excellent question. But Yukiko did not know the answer.

  “So the Seelie world, is that where someone might go when they die?” Astrid asked.

  “What? Die? I didn’t say anything about dying. And no, it’s not any land of death. No one comes back from there. Well, it happens sometimes in old stories.” The last thing they needed was for Astrid to open some Door into death. She needed to get Astrid to think of Seelie again.

  “A week ago, I thought things like the slaugh were just in stories,” Astrid said.

  “Well, people have been telling stories for slightly less time than they’ve been able to speak. But we were talking about the Seelie world.”

  She changed the illusion she was projecting, just a little, including Astrid in it instead of just the mirror. It was riskier, as Astrid might feel the change. Yukiko added in her longing for the spirit ball and a stronger feeling of the Seelie world. And now that she was including the girl, she felt something inside her now, loss. The intensity of it was shocking. The girl was young, but she had experienced loss, great loss that cut into her heart. And it wasn’t heartbreak from some high school boy either. It was the loss of love, mixed with the pain of betrayal. And more than the loss itself, there was the absence of hope. That was the worst of it.

  No time to dwell on it. Her feelings could be used as fuel, as a tool. It was against the Myobu code to use a human like this. But she was in a desperate situation and it called for action, not noble passivity. Besides, if she stayed as a slave to the Seelie, they would have her commit
deeds far worse than tricking a girl into making a Door.

  She paused then. The Myobu did not harm innocents, and this certainly would qualify as harm. The lying, the manipulation, they could be used in some cases, but not in a self-serving way against innocents. She thought then of World War II, how she had been in California while the humans of Japanese descent had been interred in camps. Her ability for speaking any language flawlessly had saved her then, as she could pass as Chinese, Korean, whatever she wished. She remembered the confusion among the Americans at the kamikaze pilots, and she had understood the confusion. To commit suicide for a cause seemed alien to her then. And it still did.

  She did not wish to die or wait for centuries for her chance to escape the Seelie. She would fight, and she would live.

  Yukiko saw the mirror flicker. Astrid’s pain was good fuel. And there it was, the Door she needed.

  But she needed more. She needed a way to get back. And there was only one way she could get a Door back to the human world, to her world. May The Lady help me, she thought. She glanced at the mirror and gasped as if she had seen something. Astrid turned toward mirror and Yukiko slipped behind her.

  She wouldn’t push her, as Astrid would feel it. But she could do something. She made Astrid feel dizzy, and then she used more power to give her the illusion that wind was pushing her, that she was falling backward, away from the mirror. Astrid overcompensated and staggered forward, putting out her hand for the wall to steady herself. Yukiko moved space, just a few inches, so Astrid leaned on the mirror. It bent, tore, and opened. The girl slipped through.

  Yukiko leaped through behind her, and as she passed the threshold, her body transformed into its natural shape. The Door blinked shut behind her, ripping a few white hairs from the tip of her tail.

  Chapter 32

  There was a banging sound and Elliot rolled over, pulling some of the covers with him. The blanket was still dark blue, and he closed his eyes. His head ached, but it was a duller pain than before. The banging came again. Someone was at the trailer door. Astrid would have just come in without knocking, so it couldn’t be her.

  “Just a minute!” he yelled and then immediately regretted it as pain spiked through his skull. Maybe it was the trailer park manager, but he had paid his rent and was reasonably sure his check wouldn’t have bounced.

  He dragged himself out of bed and pulled open the door. Outside stood four people, two men and two women. At the front was a tall, thin man with black hair curling wildly in every direction. He wore an old-fashioned long brown coat over suspenders, a vest and striped pants. His odd appearance was only matched by a younger woman, about Elliot’s age, wearing loose pants, knee-high leather boots and a white blouse with a patched vest over it. A small capuchin monkey perched on her shoulder and blinked at him.

  The other two people, a man and a woman, were more sanely dressed. The man was in black jeans and a long black duster, like something from the old West. He was of average height and build with medium brown hair. The other person, a Latina woman with light brown eyes, wore jeans and a sweater.

  “Hello, Elliot,” said the man in the black duster. He looked happy to see him. “May we come in?”

  “I’m not interested in theater tickets or whatever it is you’re selling.” Elliot started to close the door.

  “Wait!” said the woman in the loose pants and vest. “It’s about the things you’re seeing. The changes.” The monkey on her shoulder scratched at its ear and then watched him as if waiting for him to answer.

  “What do you mean?” Elliot said. He wasn’t about to talk to any strange people about anything. And who knows, perhaps these people were figments of his imagination as well. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Neil,” said the man in the black duster. “Neil Grey. This is Felicia Sanchez.” He motioned to the woman in the jeans and sweater. “And this is Hazel Dubois.” The young woman with the monkey bowed, actually bowed. The monkey managed to cling to her shoulder without falling off.

  “And I’m Seamus Doyle,” said the tall, thin man. He had an Irish accent.

  “We can help you with what’s happening,” said Neil. “We know what it is. May we come in?”

  “We can talk out here.” Elliot closed the door behind him, climbed down and leaned back against the side of the trailer. He couldn’t imagine who these people were or what they would want with him, but he wasn’t about to allow them inside his home.

  “If you prefer,” said Neil. “So, how have you been?” The way he asked it seemed forced, as if he was not used to making small talk.

  “You’re the ones who want to talk to me. So talk.” Elliot’s head hurt, he was tired and had a dead cat in his freezer. He was in no mood to indulge anyone.

  “Very well,” said Neil. “You are experiencing time slips. You’ve slipped time streams a number of times now. It’s mostly harmless, but disconcerting. The changes in buildings, décor, clothing, are all symptomatic of someone with an unusual sense of time-sensitivity. You’ve met Mick, correct?”

  Elliot nodded.

  “He is partially time-sensitive, but there are other things that have happened to him.”

  “Are you the birdman?” Elliot asked.

  The two women exchanged a look.

  “No,” said Neil. “But we know someone who is friends with Mick and talks with him. He helps him sometimes.”

  “And I’m going to be like Mick?” said Elliot. “Seeing things?”

  “Not unless you stay here like this. You could also choose to come with us.”

  “And go where? Are you people like Mick too?” He looked pointedly at Seamus’s green and brown striped pants. Maybe they were a little mad as well. “Are you time sensitive?”

  “No,” said Neil. “We are not. But we have experience with things like this. You yourself told us to come and get you. You gave this time and date.”

  And then he remembered them, the dreams here and there. He couldn’t remember any details, but there was a strong feeling of friendship with this man Neil, and an affection for the other three, touched with annoyance with the Irish man. The Irish man stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around at the outside of Elliot’s trailer like a tourist.

  “Fine. You can come in,” Elliot said.

  The inside of the trailer was crowded with all five of them and the monkey. It stayed perched on Hazel’s shoulder, but looked around, taking everything in.

  “The babies!” cried Hazel and picked up the box of kittens. Then her smile changed to a look of concern. “Where is the other one?” She had a Southern accent.

  “You know Astrid?” Elliot said. “Are you friends of hers? Did she put you up to this? Are you from some artist’s group or something?”

  “What happened to the other baby?” Hazel asked, and she leaned down to glance at the floor under the table.

  “Well, he died. The mother died. At least, we think she did. And that kitten was the runt.”

  “Oh God,” said Felicia. Seamus touched her shoulder and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. “We didn’t get here in time.”

  Then Elliot remembered. “Was it you at the pound?” he said to Seamus. “My cousin said there was a tall skinny Irish man there. And he took Cinderella.”

  “She is alive and well,” said Seamus. “And she will want to be reunited with her children. So what happened to the other little one?”

  Elliot explained what had happened to Runt, including the weird door that had opened. If these people wanted to talk to a crazy man, then he’d give them what they came for.

  “My cousin will want to see Cinderella,” Elliot said. “She was so worried about her.”

  “We can worry about that later,” said Neil. “For now, we are here to take you back to your own time stream. It’s not good to wander too far afield time wise.”r />
  “And how do you plan on doing that?”

  “We have a machine. It can get us back to the main time stream.”

  “Sounds nifty, but why would I go with a bunch of crazies who show up on my doorstep? Yukiko or Mick or Astrid could have told you about all this. I mean, you didn’t even blink when I talked about foggy doorways and crazy things like that. I probably had some bad stuff at the bonfire a couple months ago and it’s just flashbacks.”

  The woman named Felicia said, “Elliot, what is happening to you is not a medical problem. Drugs won’t help you, and neither will therapy or anything else. We know you in the future, your future. The machine allows us to travel in time, between universes, although in a limited way, and through parallel time streams. And it allowed us to come to this portion of this time stream to bring you back. This is your only chance to return to the world you know.”

  “So this is some alternative universe?”

  “No, of course not,” said Seamus. “If it was an alternative universe, you wouldn’t see any of the people you know. Each unique portion of the multiverse contains unique people. But a time stream slip means you’d see little changes, but the people would be the same. You’ve simply experienced a minor level temporal dislocation. In fact—”

  “Not now,” Felicia said softly to Seamus and then turned to Elliot. “What we came to do is to help you. To bring you back with us, where you can learn to use your … talent.”

  “It’s not a talent. It’s some kind of chemical imbalance or something.”

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “Sometimes, things are just weird. Really weird. I’ve questioned my sanity after dealing with something like this. But in your case, the concoction that the sidhe, the Seelie, gave you at the falafel shop enhanced the ability you already had and you slipped time streams as a result.”