by Rysa Walker
Bess sniffs indignantly. “It’s not the same thing. Mr. Houdin died before Harry was even born. Taking that name was an homage. Mr. Boudini, on the other hand, is a competitor trying to profit from our hard work.”
Kiernan shakes his head. “I’m really not a competitor, ma’am. I’ve done a few shows . . .” He looks confused for a moment, and I realize he’s trying to sort out whether we’re before or after the shows he did at Norumbega. “I also . . . have a contract to do some shows in Boston in early July, and I’ll need to honor it. But that will be the end of The Amazing Boudini. The entire purpose was to get your attention so we could discuss this.”
He pulls the CHRONOS key out of his vest pocket and nods for me to do the same. “We tried to contact you several other ways, but we failed. My creation of Boudini was a last-ditch effort.”
“Your medallion was stolen from my aunt,” I say. “As you can see, it’s part of a matching set. My grandmother is dying, and her last wish is to see all of them back where they belong. If you can tell us where you bought it and how much you paid, we’d be happy to reimburse you.”
I’m pretty pleased with that as a bare-bones cover story. Every word of it is true, and it’s kind of nice not lying, especially since I suck at it.
The sincerity seems to have some impact on Houdini, because his face softens a bit. “My sympathies to you on your grandmother’s illness. But I’m afraid I cannot help you. There’s only one reason I wear this, and it’s the same reason no amount of money could convince me to part with it. I saw this charm in a case at Ira Davenport’s home back in 1899 and told Bess it reminded me of something I’d seen in Chicago just before I met her. Bess went back later and asked if he’d sell the piece, but he said it wasn’t especially valuable. He presented it to her as a gift. And she gave it to me.”
“He got his big break the very next day.” Bess taps the table three times to emphasize each word, and that’s when I see the tattoo. It’s faded, barely noticeable, but definitely a lotus. “We played a full season in Omaha, and we’ve been booked solid ever since. It’s brought us wonderful luck.”
I glance over at Kiernan and direct his eye to her hands, which are back in her lap before he looks over.
Houdini laughs. “I suspect that’s mere coincidence. Nevertheless, I do know my wife worries less about my safety when I wear this. I’m not superstitious. Bess, on the other hand . . .”
I sigh. Time to add the next layer to the story. And since Houdini claims he’s not the superstitious one, I aim it at Bess.
“My grandmother’s request isn’t just sentimental, Mrs. Houdini. You may consider it a good-luck charm, but my family has found it to be the reverse. There are some individuals who can use these medallions to . . . harm people. We’re trying to prevent that. We’re also concerned they might try and take it from you by force.”
Again, all of that’s true, but it sounds overly dramatic, even to me. I’m not surprised when Houdini laughs.
“This is merely a piece of metal, Miss Keller. If it has any effect on me at all, it’s because wearing it reminds me that my wife worries about me. I take fewer risks.”
“What did Ira Davenport think? Didn’t he believe it could transport him to the spirit world?”
“If Davenport thought this item was in any way connected to another world, I doubt he’d have given it to Bess.”
“Did he know it was stolen property?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know him well enough to say for certain, but the Davenport brothers are respectable men. I can’t imagine either of them knowingly dealing in stolen goods.”
Bess gives me a challenging look. “Are you saying it was stolen from you?”
“No. It was taken from my aunt, in 1873, by Victoria Woodhull, although Woodhull claimed it was a gift. When my aunt tried to get it back, she learned it was sold to Mr. Davenport.”
Kiernan’s eyebrows go up, so he clearly didn’t know Houdini’s key originally belonged to Prudence. Houdini and Bess don’t look surprised, however, so they must have heard at least some of the story from Davenport.
“Mrs. Woodhull believed it had magical powers,” I say. “That it could transport her to the spirit realm if she learned to use it. When she couldn’t make it work, she sold it to Davenport.”
Kiernan leans forward. “I’m guessing that’s because you can make it work, Mr. Houdini. Maybe that’s how you manage . . .” He pauses when my kick lands on his shin, but finishes the sentence anyway. “. . . some of your more elaborate escapes.”
Houdini pushes back his chair and starts to leave.
“No! He doesn’t use it, Kiernan. Like I said earlier, the light never went out. And he’s . . . in Katherine’s books. From before. I think they’re telling the truth. He wears it for good luck.”
Houdini drops back into his chair. “What do you mean, the light never went out?”
“The escape behind the curtain. I could see a bright blue light above and below. I can see it now, coming from your key . . . your medallion . . . from all three of them. So can he.” I nod my head at Kiernan. “If you’d been using the key to help with your escape, it would have flickered out for a moment. And it didn’t.”
“What did I tell you?” Bess says excitedly. “It’s an aura.”
“It might look like an aura. I’ve never seen those. But it’s not related to spirits. It’s more . . . scientific. The medallion reacts to something in the blood of certain families.”
Bess nods. “The ability to commune with spirits runs in families, too.”
Houdini sighs. “Because families are better at sharing and keeping each other’s secrets, sweetness. They’re less likely to turn a so-called medium in to the authorities for bilking a client out of her life’s savings.”
Bess gives him a sassy look. “I’ve never claimed they’re all genuine. Obviously some of them are fakes, but you’ve a long way to go before you’ll convince me they’re all swindlers, and your mother would agree.”
That seems to silence Houdini, and Bess turns back to me. “Mrs. Woodhull told Mr. Davenport that the girl who gave her the medallion could disappear into thin air just by waving her hand above it. She said the girl told her it was a spirit device and that it had a bright green aura for her. If that was your aunt, maybe she wasn’t being truthful. Perhaps she really did give it away. You see, I’ve read Mr. Grumbine’s treatise on auras, and while it does depend on the shade, a green aura can be a mark of deception or dishonesty.”
I shoot Kiernan a smug glance. While I’m certain this aura stuff is total bunk, he and Prudence both see the light as green. “Does this Mr. Grumbine say anything about blue auras?”
“Again, it depends on the shade. But it’s usually associated with truth.” Her eyes widen, and she looks at Houdini. “What if she’s telling the truth? What if the charm is like that play we saw last year in London? About the monkey’s paw? Yes, it’s brought good luck so far, but . . .”
Houdini’s lips press into a firm line, and he looks annoyed, not so much at Bess as at me. It’s a see-what-you’ve-started-now sort of expression.
“I don’t think it’s brought any sort of luck, Mrs. Houdini,” I say quickly. “Good or bad. It’s like your husband said earlier. Just coincidence.”
“But he also said he’s seen you before! He told me tonight when he saw your face in the audience that you were there the first time he saw the charm. You’re the girl he saw vanish at the World’s Fair! Is that also coincidence?”
Kiernan gives him a suspicious look. “You performed at the Expo?”
“Yes,” Bess answers. “Along with his brother, Dash. They headlined as The Brothers Houdini on the Midway Plaisance.”
“Really?” Kiernan shakes his head. “I was there as well. For the entire run. I knew every headliner on the Midway.”
Houdini eyes shift slightly. “Well, we weren’t exactly headliners, but yes, we did perform at the Fair.” He turns to Bess. “And I said it looked like her, sweetness. But
it can’t be. She’d have been a child twelve years ago.”
Kiernan glances around the restaurant and leans forward so he can speak more softly. “It wasn’t twelve years ago for her, Mr. Houdini. The medallion is a time travel device. I thought perhaps you were using it in your act, to help you escape.”
He holds up a hand when Houdini starts to protest. “If Kate says you’re not, I believe her, but there really are people who’ll be coming for that medallion. We’d like to keep it from falling into their hands, but we’re also concerned for your safety. They’ve killed at least one person who didn’t hand it over freely.”
Bess grows pale, and she reaches for Houdini’s hand across the table. “Give it to him. It’s cursed. I don’t want you—”
“Mr. . . .” He flounders about for Kiernan’s name and then spits out, “Boudini. You have upset my wife. And now you ask me to hand over a gift she gave me. A gift I’ve worn and cherished for over ten years. Come on, Bess. These people are engaged in a confidence scheme, and we are far too smart to fall for it.”
“You’re Cyrist,” I say to Bess. “The tattoo?”
She raises her eyebrows. “No. My parents were Cyrists. I tried it as a kid, but it didn’t take. Too many restrictions. My mother was scandalized that I went onstage and married a performer, not to mention a Jewish performer.”
“What has that to do with anything?” Houdini asks.
“The people we mentioned are Cyrist, too. The entire religion is a . . . what you said before. A confidence scheme. Created by people with these keys. We’re trying to stop it.”
His mouth tightens. “Nice try, Miss Keller. Here’s an idea for you. If this really is a time travel device, when do I die? Do you know?”
I can’t remember the exact day, but I do know the year—1926. He has a little over twenty years left, according to the histories I read—both the ones from this timeline and the ones in Katherine’s library. His star will continue to rise, his name will be a household word in most of the world. Then, at the height of his fame, he’ll insist on doing a show when he’s far too ill to perform.
I open my mouth to explain why I can’t tell him, but he holds up his hand.
“Don’t tell me!” He leans across the table and says the words so forcefully that I feel specks of saliva hit my cheek. “Just remember it, because the day that I die is when I’ll be done with this gift from my wife. I will leave it in her hands, to do with as she pleases. Until then, do not come near either of us. Have I made myself clear to both of you?”
Houdini stomps around the table, grabs Bess’s hand, and then they’re gone.
“Well, that went well,” Kiernan says after a few seconds. He nods toward my cherry tart. “Are you going to eat that?”
I shake my head, and Kiernan pulls the plate toward him.
“He dies in 1926. I’ll find out the exact—” I halt when I realize the man at the table across from us is listening in. “Let’s go back to your room. The neighbors are nosy.”
Kiernan stops in midbite when I mention his room and once again looks uncomfortable.
“Really?” I hiss under my breath. “You act like I’m going to pounce on you the second we’re behind closed doors.”
And since when would he consider it a bad thing if I did?
“No,” he says quietly. “I’d just . . . maybe a walk on the beach instead?”
“Whatever. I’ll meet you outside.”
The ocean breeze hits my face as soon as I step out the door. I breathe deeply, hoping it will clear my head. The wind whips my hair around, pulling strands from the loose knot at the back of my head. For the first time quite possibly in forever, I wish I was wearing a hat.
The longer I’m around Kiernan, the more I wonder how much I can trust him. If he’s on our side, he needs to know the Culling has a definite and impending launch date—at least for everyone in my time who can’t escape into the past. The fact that there’s no tattoo on Kiernan’s hand worries me. It seems odd that Simon would leave his dear old chum unprotected, but thinking back, I don’t remember seeing one on Simon’s hand, and it’s a very safe bet that he’s protected from the virus.
I take a seat on the same log where I saw the couple earlier when we were walking to the Hippodrome. The temperature seems to have dropped ten degrees in the past hour, although it could just be that I’m closer to the water. After a few minutes, Kiernan sits down on the log next to me.
We’re both quiet for a moment, just looking out at the half-moon on the waves.
“Houdini dies in 1926,” I say. “I’m not sure of the date, but it was very well documented. I’ll check it when I get back to Katherine’s. If Bess will give the key to me after he’s gone, fine. If not, I’ll jump back a few days and take it.”
“Bodyguards,” Kiernan says. “Usually armed.”
“Then I’ll go back to the spiritualist meeting, or whatever it was, and keep Woodhull from giving it to the Davenport guy.”
“How did Woodhull get it in the first place?”
“Someone stole it off Pru when she was asleep. She seemed a bit . . . embarrassed about it, so I’m guessing she’d either been drinking or she wasn’t sleeping alone. Maybe it was the Theodore Tilton guy? She’d have been carted off to jail with Woodhull and the rest of them if I hadn’t given her my spare key.”
“Do you think that was a good idea?”
“That’s exactly what your great-grandson asked when I got back to Katherine’s. And I’ll tell you what I told him—I have no idea, but I couldn’t see another option. You said she didn’t go to jail, and my being there seemed to have changed that.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I was her daughter from one of the surrogates. That she’d asked me to go back and get information on when and how she got the keys from CHRONOS HQ because Saul is trying to prevent it. That her memory is Swiss cheese by the time she’s thirty, which she already knew from encounters with her older self. I kept it as vague as I could. Does it . . . feel like she changed to you?”
His forehead creases. I’m pretty sure he’s sorting through his growing collection of double memories. Finally he shakes his head.
I look out at the water again for a long time, debating how much more I should tell him. He’s quiet, too, either because he doesn’t have anything else to say or maybe because he can just tell that I’m thinking. Does he know the date they’ve set for the Culling? Does he know that at some point I’ll be under Simon’s control?
“I need to know what you’re hiding from me before I can tell you anything else,” I say. “I want to trust you, but you’ve changed so much. I told Julia to kiss off when she said you were a traitor, but a lot of other people’s lives are on the line here. You need to meet me halfway.”
“Kate, look at me.” When I do, he holds my gaze for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry for being an ass. I’m just not . . . comfortable around you. Before, I believed you were still my Kate or that I could change you into her, given the time and opportunity. But over the past six years, I’ve . . .”
He stops, staring at toe of his shoe as he runs it back and forth a few times in the sand, and then he gives me a pained smile. “I’ve come to accept that you’re really not her. I thought I’d made my peace with it, until our paths crossed again, and . . .” He gives a wry laugh and rolls up his sleeve. “Being near you is like this scar. While I’ll admit the wound didn’t heal cleanly, I don’t want to go through the pain of opening it back up.”
I feel tears come to my eyes. “You’re sure that’s it? You haven’t gone over to the Dark Side?”
“Kate told me once that they have cookies on this Dark Side. But no. I’m in this to the end.”
I’m pretty sure he’s being truthful on that part. Still, I can’t shake this niggling feeling he’s not telling me everything.
But can I really ask that? Doesn’t he have the right to some secrets?
Once again, I’m left with the same decision. Either I t
rust Kiernan, despite my doubts, or I push ahead alone. I might have this Fifth Column behind me now, but none of them can help me on a jump. Who do I trust more in a matter of life or death, Max or this angry, older Kiernan?
The answer is still Kiernan.
“Okay, then. Back to Houdini. We need that key before we do anything else. It’s Pru’s key, and it has a stable point that will keep me from having to operate a rocket belt.”
He gives a quiet chuckle. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“What’s your best estimate for when they’ll do the Culling?”
Kiernan looks surprised. “The date? Um . . . I’ve heard some guesses, but I don’t think anyone knows for sure. I’m not even sure Saul has decided. Simon joked once that we were on a ten-year plan—basically the ten-year anniversary of Saul’s arrival. So I’d say 2034.”
“They’ve pushed things forward a bit.” I unfold a Xerox copy of the news article from September 17th stashed in my pocket. It’s too dark to read, so I hold my CHRONOS key close to the paper so that he can see.
Kiernan skims the article, then looks back at the date. “How far away is this for you? I mean, what day—”
“September 11th. So less than a week.” I wave the medallion back and forth. “But plenty of time when you’ve got these, right?”
“Maybe, if the enemy didn’t have them, too. Kate, they know about the Fifth Column. I don’t know how much, but I’ve heard rumblings. I mean, things changed. Suddenly you’ve got this moderate group that wasn’t there before. Saul’s not an idiot. Neither is Simon. They both connected it to Delia and Abel. To me being back in the fold. I think I’ve convinced Simon I’m not a threat, but . . . they are watching the group.” He runs a hand through his hair, and that reminds me about the tattoos.
“Tilson believes that they’ve inoculated Cyrists—at least the Orthodox variety—through the tattoos. Some sort of subdermal . . . something.” He gives me a look. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and I’ve heard a lot of technobabble.”
“And where are they in terms of an antidote?”