Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1)

by J. D. Faulkner

  Scrambling out of her own coffin, she rushed over to help the person trapped inside. Shoving at the stone lid, she yelled she was coming, to hold on. The lid was so heavy. Too heavy.

  Howling wind tore through the room, whipping at her hair and making her eyes water. She searched the room, trying to find help. Her stomach dropped. The mirror’s surface was distorted and rippling. She recognized the smoky figure on the other side of the mirror.

  She shoved harder at the coffin, ignoring the pain in her hands as she tore at the stone. Something hissed and bubbled behind her, falling to the ground with a plop.

  An icy chill hit her skin, and she tried to ignore the thick black smoke she could see circling her legs. The cries from the coffin were growing weaker and weaker until the only sound was the wind and the hissing smoke.

  A dark voice chuckled in her ear. I win. I always win.

  With a yell, she shoved at the lid, almost falling over when it slid off. It hit the ground with a reverberating thud. A small form was curled up inside, inky curls covering a pale and still face.

  Gwen tried to pick the boy up, to get him out of the coffin. While small, he was too heavy for her to move. The chill around her legs grew colder, biting at her flesh.

  She climbed into the coffin with him, wrapping her arms around his cold skin and burying her face into his curls. “Please, wake up. Please.” Her pleas went unheard, and she could feel the room growing colder, until her whole body was shaking.

  The dark, velvet chuckle echoed around her. Give up, Gwendolyn. It would be so much easier if you just … gave … up.

  When she looked up again, the room was dark with black smoke. Her tears froze on her cheeks, and she could see the soft clouds of her breath in what little light was left.

  The body in her arms shifted, and she looked down. Instead of green, black eyes looked back at her. The boy laughed with the smooth eerie voice from before.

  Gwen opened her mouth to scream. The smoke enveloped her and rushed down her throat. Everything was pain and cold—and black.

  Gwen woke with a shriek, standing in a corridor of the Archives she had never seen before. The lights overhead crackled as if rusty from being unused for too long.

  Leaning against the wall, she sank to the floor with a tired sigh. The images from her nightmare were still clear and sharp in her mind. She mourned for the loss of the small dark-haired boy. A dream, it’s only a dream. No matter how hard she tried to remind herself, her arms still ached with the weight of the boy’s limp body.

  She closed her eyes against the painful thoughts. It made her remember the heavy feeling of cold stone surrounding her. Her eyes snapped open. Wrapping her arms around her chilled body, she shivered. She wanted someone there to tell her it would be okay, that she wasn’t losing her mind.

  Whispers of half-remembered phrases filled her mind, warning her she couldn’t trust anyone with her dreams. No one could find out. Shuddering, she closed her eyes again. Even though it made her skin crawl with remembered confinement, it was better than the empty hallway in front of her.

  A slight touch startled her from her thoughts, and she jumped to her feet. Wide-eyed, she stared at Rafe, who was watching her with a look of puzzled concern on his face. “Hey, you okay?”

  She went to grab her necklace, missing its calming weight in her hand. Why can’t I remember I took it off? He looked even more worried after her fumbling for the absent necklace. She shrugged her shoulder in feigned nonchalance. “Why would it matter?”

  Rafe shook his head and smiled, not noticing her sarcasm was missing its teasing undertones. “What happened to your necklace? Looking for another adventure without its protections?” He touched his own temple as if to remind her. “Didn’t work out so well for you last time.”

  Gwen pursed her lips. “It was a silly necklace. I wasn’t aware I needed to wear it all the time.”

  “You woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

  If you only knew the half of it. Gwen stayed silent, a stabbing pain starting deep inside her already pounding head. She had an overwhelming desire to tell Rafe about the dreams. The ache intensified, and she clenched her jaw. Thief.

  Rafe slung an arm around Gwen’s shoulder. “What are you doing in this part of the Archives?”

  Gwen jerked away from him, hissing as if his touch burned. Don’t trust him. Thief. He’s a thief. She steadied herself against the wall with a shaking hand. “So everything I do is your business? I didn’t get the memo.”

  His gaze grew serious. “Gwendolyn.”

  She glared at him, feeling like an observer trapped in her own mind, watching the scene unfold in front of her and powerless to stop it. “For the last time, it’s Gwen. Is it that difficult to remember? Need me to start wearing a nametag?”

  “I’m not sure what your problem is.”

  “You wouldn’t be sure, would you? Maybe that’s because you don’t even know me. You think we have some kind of unspoken bond because you call me Gwendolyn. God, be real.” Gwen rolled her eyes and started to walk away.

  He grabbed her arm and something flashed behind his eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Gwen wrenched her arm from his grasp. “What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you go be useful instead of bothering me all the time? I don’t even know why Alistair lets you hang around here. You don’t ever do anything.” She looked him over. “Why don’t you go bother him?”

  Rafe made an irritated noise, running his tongue over his teeth. “Looks like the little cat does have claws.” Even his characteristic good humor seemed to have its limits. Still, he wasn’t leaving, and Gwen’s heart started to race with panic.

  She choked out a mocking laugh. “Why are you still here? I don’t feel like putting up with your little flirty game right now.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his cool blue eyes narrowed.

  “How big of a masochist are you?” Her words felt like broken glass in her throat. “Mummy didn’t pay enough attention to you when you were young, and now you’re begging for attention somewhere else?”

  Claws were digging at her skull, and she wanted to cry from the horrible things she was saying. She knew what it was like to grow up alone and unloved. Why was she using it as a weapon against Rafe? Thief! Liar! She laughed again, the sound brittle, if only to cover up the screaming voice in her head.

  He stepped closer to her, his eyes burning with anger, and she stepped right up to meet him, her face inches from his. The voice was terrifying. She focused on the anger instead, welcoming it. Anger was easier than fear. “Did I hit a nerve?” Her shoulders were heaving. “Mummy didn’t love you as a child, boo hoo.”

  “Last chance, Gwendolyn. Care to act like an adult and tell me what’s wrong?” He stretched out her full name, his voice low.

  Unexpectedly, tears welled in her eyes. Gwen brushed at them, her shoulders still shaking with anger. She wanted to scream, to push him away, to say the horrible things that would make him leave. Another part of her wanted to bury her face in the front of his shirt and cry, to have his arms wrap around her and block out everything except the warmth of his embrace. Thief! She stepped closer to him so that they stood nose to nose. “And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

  His nostrils flared. Point to me. He leaned closer to her so she could feel the warmth emanating from him. The anger still surged through her, although with it was something different. She licked her lips. And when his gaze darted to her mouth, she was aware of how close they were standing.

  Everything stood still. The voice was quiet; the pain was gone; and they stood in air gone thick with tension. She shifted, imperceptibly, towards him, the silence deafening.

  Then it came back in a rush: the pain, the voice. It was screaming at her sick promises of what would happen if she trusted Rafe, if she told him anything.

  He must have seen the shift on her face. He didn’t move away. Instead, he touched her cheek. “Gwen …” The
anger was gone, now replaced with obvious worry.

  Lying, he’s lying. He doesn’t care about you. They never do. Liar! Thief-liar-thief-liar-thief-liar! Gwen shoved him away. “You’re all alike, so easy to manipulate.” She laughed and flipped her hair. “Pathetic.”

  His eyes were cool again, and Rafe shook his head. Raising his hands in defeat, he backed away from her. “You win, Conway. Not sure what we were fighting for, but you win.”

  “Fantastic.” Her voice was snide.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. When his gaze once again focused on her, it was cool and flat. “See you around, then.” He started to walk away.

  “Can’t wait.” Her words were ice cold and juvenile. His stiffening shoulders as he disappeared around the hallway corner told her they were, at least, effective last words.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GWEN SAT AT HER DESK, the anger still burning bright and hot in her chest. Like a flame, she stoked it, keeping it alive by reminding herself of her fight with Rafe. To lose her anger would leave her unguarded from the fear, and from the sly whispering voice in her ear. Instead, she replayed their angry words over and over again, careful not to question her reasoning for being so spiteful and bitter, careful not to recognize she had been spiteful and bitter.

  A soft sound had her whirling in her chair to see Alistair standing puzzled at her doorway.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here. Did Rafe not find you?”

  Even his name made the anger flare bright inside her. Although she pushed back an answering wave of guilt, “What?” Her voice was sharp, and she had a sickening feeling she knew what would happen next. Even though she had no desire to hurt Alistair, he would be the next victim of her uncontrollably harsh words. Trust no one.

  Alistair’s brow furrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest, the starch linen of his shirt making soft raspy noises. “Rafe was looking for you, at my suggestion. I thought perhaps the two of you could continue your practice jumping the time streams.”

  The walls of her small office closed in on her. The parallel to her recent nightmare was unbearable. Jumping from her chair, she stormed out into the main office. She bit her lip so she didn’t apologize for shoving past him.

  Alistair turned to watch her, his expression even more concerned. His gaze looked so much like Rafe’s when he had found her in the hallway she couldn’t bear it. “I didn’t feel like putting up with him.”

  Alistair winced, as if it was his own self she had criticized. “I know his behavior can be less than mature at times, but I would urge you to recognize that he knows—”

  She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand. Why am I being this way? Her face burned. “Look, I don’t care what he knows. I’m sick of always being on the wrong end of his jokes. So I told him that, and we fought. End of story.” Her shoulder shrugged. “Besides, I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

  This time the wince was even more obvious. “Miss Conway, if something is going on, I would be more than happy to talk it over with you. Your whole world has been turned upside down. Trouble accepting it would be understandable.”

  Her jaw ached from the pressure of keeping it closed.

  His voice was softer when he spoke next. “I realize I may not be the best at showing it; but I do care what happens to you. And if you are having trouble, I would hope you would come to me.”

  Lies! They all lie! He doesn’t care about you! He doesn’t! The voice was overwhelming, and Gwen shook her head. “I’m fine. It was a stupid fight. It doesn’t matter.” It mattered too much. “Can I go home now?”

  Alistair looked startled by her shift in conversation.

  “I’m not feeling well, and I would like to go home.”

  He nodded, as if he wasn’t comfortable with allowing her to leave. “Of course. You are free to come and go as you wish.”

  She stared at the scarred wooden floors, refusing to look into Alistair’s face. “See you, then.” Her shoulders heaved when she realized she had quoted Rafe’s last words to her, and she hurried to leave the now suffocating office space, grabbing her purse. Alistair was quiet, and she could feel the weight of his gaze as she slipped out the door.

  Alistair made his way to his rooms, feeling ancient and weary. He couldn’t explain Gwen’s behavior or why it made him sick with unease. He only knew there was something dangerously wrong about it. And whether he could explain it or not, he had grown accustomed to trusting his instincts.

  The broken mirrors came to mind. Hidden within that mystery, there was the answer to the shift in his assistant’s behavior. Everything was changing, and he no longer felt he had any understanding of what was happening.

  With a tired sigh, he changed his path and made his way to the room of the broken mirrors. There he found Rafe, pacing across the room, glass cracking like gunfire under his heavy tread.

  Rafe gestured at the mirrors with wild energy. “What’s going on, Alistair?” His voice had a brittle edge to it.

  Alistair knew him well enough not to ask Rafe about his fight with Gwen. Questioning Rafe about emotions he didn’t want to share was an exercise in futility, particularly when he was radiating the same restless fury as he was now. “The black mirror. The protections are still holding. Still, something has changed.” He moved to touch one of the broken mirrors. “Can you feel it?”

  Rafe stopped his pacing. “It feels wrong, like …” He seemed to struggle to find the words to describe it. “… like the pathway has been twisted. I can still sense it, but it’s weaker … like a thread on the brink of being broken.”

  “An apt description. I spent the night researching the exact cause. Unfortunately, there is little information on the matter. What there is suggests that before being imprisoned, Aeon created disturbances within time simply by existing.” Alistair rubbed his face. “Max thinks Gwen is connected to the mirror. As she grows in power, so too will the imprisoned force.”

  “How can that even be? I mean, before, did you …” Rafe ran nervous hands through his hair.

  “I believe we can no longer rely on anything either of us thought we knew. Things are changing even as we speak, and I’m afraid the outcome can no longer be predicted.” Alistair couldn’t keep the worry from his voice.

  Rafe walked over to one of the mirrors and was quiet for a long time. “What do you think is happening on the other side?” He brushed the mirror frame with his fingertips. “I can still activate it.”

  “Absolutely not.” He pulled Rafe around so the younger man was facing him. “I know every thought running through that ridiculous mind of yours, and I will say it again. Absolutely not.”

  Rafe’s jaw was set. “It could give us a better understanding of what is happening.”

  Alistair shook his head. “Going through these mirrors is too big of a risk for anyone to take, let alone you. I shouldn’t have to remind you of the importance of the role you play in all of this.”

  Rafe’s expression remained stubborn. “You mean the role I am going to play.”

  Alistair cursed, throwing up his hands in disgust. “God save me from the stubbornness of youth!”

  “Alistair.” Rafe looked amused by the display of uncharacteristic anger.

  “What?”

  Rafe shook his head, hiding his smile. “Nothing. A bit like looking in a mirror, that’s all.”

  Alistair sighed in exasperation. “Spare me.” He motioned for Rafe to leave, locking the door behind them. “There are other steps available to us at this time. Promise me you won’t go through the mirror.”

  Rafe looked at him. Then with a jovial smile, he smacked Alistair on the shoulder. “Of course, old man. Wouldn’t think of it.”

  Watching the younger man as he walked away whistling merrily, Alistair tried to believe him.

  In the same hallway, Rafe crouched in the shadows. The tools in his hands made soft clicks in the silence as he manipulated the door’s lock.

  He could barely hear them ov
er the echo of Gwen’s words in his mind. Frankly, he had been called worse. He didn’t know why the words spoken by some slip of a girl would bother him. Or if he did know, he had no interest in examining those reasons any further.

  With a final click, the lock gave, and the door swung inward. Say what you will, being a thief has its benefits. The room was dark. But he was used to moving around with little light.

  Imagining the room in his mind, he thought of the different mirrors hanging on the walls and the worlds they would take him to. Even though it was a mirror he normally avoided, it was the first he thought of. It hadn’t shattered. Instead, it had turned a milky white, as if covered with a dirty film. He ran a finger over its surface. Its weak light flickered, creating odd dancing shadows on the walls.

  Staring at his reflection in the dim light, he wondered if he was making the right move. Or if he was trying to make some misguided effort to prove his usefulness. Closing his eyes, he replayed his fight with Gwen, focusing on her actions instead of the painful words.

  She had looked pale and panicky, her gaze darting around the hallway instead of making eye contact with him. Even though her words were intended to repel, he was convinced her green eyes begged him for help. He exhaled, opening his eyes with resolution.

  Something was causing the mirrors to break, and he was certain it was linked to Gwen’s behavior. Maybe there were smarter options before them, but developing plans required time. And he suspected they had very little time left. Whatever they were counting down to, he didn’t know.

  Alistair hadn’t told him everything that occurred during the Guardians’ visit that afternoon. However, he had told him of the threats Cassian made. Should the ancient child discover the mirrors were breaking, Rafe knew it wouldn’t be long before he had Alistair stripped of all his power.