Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3)

by Rysa Walker

  The stable point for the temple in Addis Ababa is in the sanctuary itself. The Templar is a tall woman with ebony skin and closely cropped hair. Her outfit is slightly different from the other Templar, and her CHRONOS key hangs from a wide gold chain around her neck. The chain is nearly invisible against the gold of her clerical scarf, making it look like the key floats on her chest.

  “That’s Edna,” Other-Kate says. “She may be trouble, not just because she wears a key, but also because I suspect she’s one hundred percent okay with the Culling.”

  “Not surprised,” Kiernan says. “Pru convinced seven of the historians’ offspring to come here and meet with Saul. Four of them rejected him as crazy right out of the box—and my da eventually joined them once he realized the strings attached. Edna and Patrick are the two that Saul won over on ideological grounds.”

  “Whose daughter—” I begin.

  “Esther,” Other-Kate says. “Studied some group in Africa. I think—”

  “She was friendly with Saul,” I say, ignoring her annoyance at my interruption. “Tate mentioned her, said she was with Saul before he began dating Katherine.”

  “Well, for whatever reason, I never remember Edna or Patrick questioning Saul. And Edna’s definitely loyal to Simon. You’ll need backup. She’s not going to believe anything you say.”

  “Then I won’t try to persuade her. In fact, I don’t think we have time for persuasion with any of these people if Simon could be back soon. I’ll jump in with the gun and tell them to hand over the vials or I shoot.”

  “Wow,” Other-Kate says, sliding closer to Kiernan. “You didn’t tell me Other-Kate was so trigger-happy.”

  I can even hear the caps and the hyphen when she uses the name. I want to scream, No! You’re Other-Kate, not me.

  But I restrain myself. “Not trigger-happy. Just a realist.”

  “And if they don’t hand the things over?” Kiernan asks. “After you threaten them?”

  “Then . . . well, then I shoot.” I don’t sound all that confident, and he does this annoying little exhale, like he doesn’t believe me. “No, Kiernan. I don’t like it. I’ll probably hesitate. But I’ll do it. You know I will. What choice do I have?”

  “So then you just jump out of the temple, while keeping the gun aimed at them and holding this tray, which doesn’t have a lid, by the way, so you’re going to have to hold it level, and somehow still have both hands free to use the key?” He shakes his head. “We’ll need two people.”

  “How many jumps can you still make today, Kier?” Other-Kate asks the question just as I’m opening my mouth to ask it, although I wouldn’t have tacked Kier onto the end.

  “These aren’t especially long jumps,” he says, “but . . . two. Maybe.”

  “Then I’ll have to take a few of them,” she says, shaking her head when Kiernan starts to protest. “You have a better idea? Find some way to get me out of these cuffs.”

  “No,” June says from the doorway. “I don’t have anything that’ll cut through those cuffs or the bed, and I can’t even imagine what would happen if you tried to pull something that large with you. And you need to be here in case Simon or Conwell shows up.”

  “I thought you were keeping an eye on Pru,” Kiernan says.

  “She’s putting Wildfire up. I’ll go with Kate on the jumps. Jeanine will give me the vials. I think she’d give them to pretty much anyone just to wash her hands of the affair. I can probably convince Josef, the Templar in Rio, and Bernard, too—and they don’t have keys. But Edna and Martin will fight, and they’ll have guards.”

  Other-Kate nods. “Edna, definitely. Addis Ababa was the only temple where I saw armed security. Martin was New Delhi, and I didn’t see anyone who was armed, but they could have been hiding.”

  “But even on the jumps without guards there will be people watching,” Kiernan says. “The other Templars.”

  June shrugs. “They won’t be armed. And the rank and file are in awe of anyone who can blink in and out with a key, so we’ll have a few seconds.”

  I shoot Kiernan a very worried look. He’s asking tactical questions when the much more important issue to me is why on earth we should trust June.

  “What changed your mind?” he asks.

  “I never said I approved of Saul’s methods. And . . . even if I had, there’s no Brother Cyrus now. I’ve stayed clear of this silly feud between Simon and Prudence, but apparently fence-sitting is no longer an option. Pru’s with you, and I’m with her.” She draws in a deep breath and then says in a softer voice, “And you were right. About Cliona. About this baby. I failed your mother once. I won’t do it again.”

  This idea of including June bothers me. It really, really does, but I’m not sure we have much choice, so . . .

  Twenty minutes later, we’ve decided on a jump order—Sydney, Brussels, and Rio are first, since June thinks they’ll be easier. Then New Delhi, with the guy who might resist and might have guards but who doesn’t have a key. Edna in Addis Ababa, who has both a key and armed guards, is last. Kiernan will be watching through his medallion, and he’ll jump in as backup there if we need him.

  We’ll jump in ahead of time at each location and set a stable point in the . . . I don’t know what you call them in a church, but if this was theater, it would be the wings. Then we’ll skip ahead to when Conwell and Other-Kate arrive, wait for them to do their bit, and leave. June will try to get the Templar’s attention and pull her or him aside, then we’ll snatch the tray and blink out.

  Prudence came into the clinic at some point. She’s leaning against the wall when I look up, her face red and puffy. I think back to Katherine’s comment about the Shaw women not crying pretty. Even though I didn’t get the sense that Saul’s death saddened her, he was her father, so maybe there’s something under the surface. She must not like me looking at her, however. Her lips press into a firm line, and she turns to go back into the waiting room.

  “I think this can work,” Kiernan says, pulling my attention back to the discussion. “But, while I really hate to add a wrinkle . . . I think we’re going to feel a time shift as soon as those vials aren’t handed out. It could even hit when we’re in the middle of all this. And you all know how that works—doesn’t matter when we are, anyone with the gene, or at least with the active version, is going to feel that impact on the timeline at the same instant. That includes Conwell and Simon.”

  My stomach sinks. “And Simon’s still got Mom and Katherine.”

  “And the last set of vials. If the shift hits before you’re done, I’ll blink back into the gym where he’s holding them and do my damnedest to get them out. But either way, we need to have Charlayne and the others ready to come in as soon as I give the signal. Someone needs to go back and get them organized. You okay to add in an extra jump?”

  Now that the shoe is on the other foot, I get why that question bugged Kiernan so much. “Yes. It was the going three centuries forward, three centuries back, over and over, that tapped me out. And I hadn’t had much sleep. These are short hops in comparison—and I can just go from Katherine’s house and meet June in Sydney, so that I don’t have to come back here. Then from Sydney to Brussels and so forth, bam, bam, bam. Those are so recent, they’re barely even time jumps for me, just geographic. I’ll be fine.”

  He nods and looks through the doorway to where Prudence is sitting in an armchair, browsing on some sort of tablet. “And what about her?” he says in a lower voice to his Kate. “At some point, it’s probably going to be just the two of you here. Are you . . . comfortable . . . with that?”

  “I’ve spent the last five months mostly with Simon, aside from these lovely recent interludes with that snake, Conwell. Pru’s an upgrade.” Other-Kate looks at me. “Three things. First, that rifle might be necessary at Addis Ababa, but I think something a little more . . . subtle . . . would be better for the first four jumps. Second, you need this key so you can transfer the coordinates to June. Leave me your spare key and take this one.
It has all of the coordinates you’ll need.”

  “Except for Dad’s cottage, but I can transfer that.” I toss her my spare, which Kiernan snaps into the field extender, and then I reach over to take the other medallion. Other-Kate’s hand jumps back from the key at the same instant mine does, and the key falls to the bed. It wasn’t much . . . not even what I’d call a real shock. More like a tiny power surge or static electricity.

  I reach one finger out and touch the edge of the key, then pick it up and hold it in my palm. Nothing.

  “Hand it back to me,” she says.

  When I do, it’s the same abrupt, slightly painful tingle. She hands it to Kiernan, who hands it back to me, but the only time it happens is when the two of us—the two Kates—touch the key simultaneously.

  “Maybe it’s confused?” Kiernan says. “Two very similar, nearly identical genetic signatures. It’s trying to decide whether it’s being handed off to someone new or if it’s still with the same person.”

  “I guess.” I turn back to Other-Kate. “You said three things?”

  “Oh, right. You need my dress. Can you unhook the back, Kiernan?”

  “Don’t bother. There are six just like it in my closet.” Pru is leaning inside the doorway again. She looks at Other-Kate with narrowed eyes for a moment, then back to whatever she’s viewing on the tablet. “Although I suspect it’s only five right now, because I’m pretty sure the Rat Bastard stole the one you’re wearing.”

  “I don’t need it,” I say. “Strangely enough, I have a toga back at my place. Custom tailored.”

  Pru gives me a suit yourself shrug, still swiping through what she’s viewing. “Does it have pockets? Mine do. With Velcro. They won’t hold an M-16, but they’re probably the right size for your Colt.”

  I’m about to ask how she knows about the Colt, but Pru continues, “How many people do you have?”

  “For . . . what?”

  She sighs, a world-weary gesture that suggests she’s surrounded by idiots. “Your rescue team? Kiernan said you were going back to alert them. How. Many. People?”

  “Dad, Connor, Trey, Charlayne, and Bensen. So five, plus me and Kiernan.”

  Pru curses, snapping the cover of the tablet shut. “Do you have any idea how I hate it when idiots prove Saul right? ‘We don’t need to worry about this Fifth Column,’ he said. ‘A bunch of navel-gazing idealists playing spy.’ You have five people? How are you planning to get into the temple with five people? What happened to Max? Julia? To all of the so-called New Cyrists?”

  “Simon went on a bit of a shooting spree,” I explain. “He killed Julia and several others who were in key positions in the government. There are other cells, but they won’t help me rescue Mom and Katherine, at least not until all of the vials are destroyed. They don’t seem to get that when the other side can time travel you kind of need to do everything at once. So we have five—and me—and, like I said, Kiernan’s there, too. On the inside.”

  Prudence closes her eyes for several seconds like she’s praying for patience. “June, take her to my suite and get her into a dress. We need to hurry, and I need to think.”

  I follow June outside. “Okay . . . what just happened?”

  June shakes her head. “Hmph. You just entered into an alliance with a crazy woman. Don’t imagine for a moment that she’s stable, and you should avoid crossing her. But Pru knows Cyrist International . . . and Simon . . . as well as anyone. If she doesn’t run off on a horse ride or decide she needs a manicure or a trip to Fiji, she might actually be an asset. Maybe.”

  BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  September 12, 7:55 p.m.

  It’s strange to see Charlayne and Bensen sitting on Dad’s sofa, the one I used to sleep on three or four nights a week not so long ago. Trey is in the armchair in the corner. An industrial-sized Taco Bell bag sits on the coffee table, with empty wrappers wadded up into a ball beside it.

  Charlayne doesn’t even startle when I jump in. She’s finally getting acclimated to her role as time travel support ops, I guess.

  “Another toga?” Trey inquires when I give him a hello kiss.

  “Yes. Do you like?”

  “I like this part,” he says, running his hands over my bare arms and shoulders. “But it’s hard not to associate flowing white robes with Sister Pru and the Cyrists.”

  “I know, but I’m jumping straight from here to Sydney, so . . . What’s in the bag?”

  “Burritos, tacos, nachos. They’re probably still a little warm. Take your pick.”

  “All of the above. I can’t remember when I ate last.”

  He laughs. “I kind of forgot drinks, but I found bottled water in the fridge. And I bought a bunch of extra food because Kiernan said Connor and your dad would probably be here later.”

  “Calling them now.” That explains the taco sauce I noticed on Kiernan’s shirt back at Katherine’s. The least he could have done was bring me a burrito while they were still hot.

  I grab my phone from the counter and dial, rummaging around in the bag for a bean burrito as it rings.

  “Is he finished?” I ask when Dad answers.

  “Um . . . he’s on the last one. Where are you?”

  “At the . . .” I almost say it, then remember to be cryptic on the off chance anyone is listening in. “At the place where we ate that really good jambalaya. As soon as he’s done, I need you and Connor to come straight here.”

  “What?”

  I huff because I thought Dad would get that. I’ve said many times that his jambalaya is the best, hands down.

  “I’m at—”

  “No, no,” he says, “I got that part. It’s just . . . I looked inside, and you’re still in the living room. That’s kind of disorienting.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll be there another ten minutes or so. But we need to get moving. There’s a lot going on. Bring Daphne, too. I don’t want her there alone . . . not after today.”

  “Sure. See you in a few.”

  I sit down on the arm of Trey’s chair and sink my teeth into the barely warm burrito. The fact that it still tastes amazing to me is a pretty good indicator that I’m starving.

  “So what happened?” Ben asks. “Did you get the vials?”

  “Not yet. That’s . . . next.” I start to launch into the details of the trip to Estero, but my mouth is full of the last bite of burrito, and I really want a second one.

  “Can we hold off on that question for about five minutes? Otherwise I’ll have to do it all over again when Dad and Connor get here.”

  “You need one of those recap sequences,” Trey says. “Like, ‘Hi, I’m Kate. Here are a few things you might need to know.’”

  Charlayne smiles. “Previously on The Vampire Diaries.”

  “Or,” Ben says, “‘The Timeline So Far,’ like on Supernatural.”

  Trey gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “I put one of those recaps together for myself once upon a time. It came in handy.”

  We share a smile. Of course Ben and Charlayne have no clue what he’s talking about. And having just sat through Other-Kate and Kiernan trading their little lovers’ “in-jokes,” I pull the discussion back to TV shows and grab that second burrito. We’re doing fake recaps for other shows—with Trey clearly taking first prize for his version of Cartman doing “previously on South Park”—when Dad and Connor arrive. Connor holds up the plastic container, now open and not glowing in the slightest. They both seem a little surprised that we’re laughing, but hey—it was a nice brain break while it lasted.

  Charlayne takes a moment to coo over Daphne, who, despite being a little nervous about the new location, laps up the attention. Dad and Connor pull up chairs from the tiny kitchen table and grab some food from the bag.

  “Okay, so previously on The Cyrist Hunters . . .”

  After I’ve finished the recap, Connor asks, “So what’s Kiernan’s signal going to be? For us to get into position?”

  “Mom’s phone goes silent. You won’t see the blip.”
/>   “Um . . . that could happen anyway,” Dad says. “How long has it been since she charged it?”

  “I mentioned that, but he wasn’t sure of any other way to get word to you outside the temple. But hold on. There’s another way to check.”

  I grab my phone and go into Dad’s room so they don’t have to watch me blinking in and out. Then I tug out my key—or rather, Other-Kate’s key—and jump forward to 9:25 p.m., which is about fifteen minutes after Kiernan says he used the excuse of a bathroom break to blink out of the temple, and five minutes before our tentative go-time for the rescue mission. I pull up the geo app, and sure enough, it’s still active, so Mom’s battery must be fine.

  When I’m navigating to the stable point to go back to my current time, one of the locations on Other-Kate’s key catches my eye. It’s outdoors, so it’s brighter than the most recent, indoor jumps to the various temples. I think the vivid gold strip at the bottom is the main reason it stands out.

  Expanding the view, I see that the gold is a field of wheat beneath a blue, almost cloudless sky. The time stamp is July 21, 1848. Even though I’ve never been there, the scene is instantly familiar. I’m certain it’s the field I saw the very first time I touched the key in Katherine’s kitchen. The only thing that’s different is that I don’t see Kiernan—it’s just the field, with stalks of wheat blowing gently in the wind.

  Scrolling through the rest of her stable points, I see several other familiar spots—Kiernan’s room in Boston 1905 and the stage at Norumbega. There’s also one I’m pretty sure is the Chicago World’s Fair, based on the date—1893—and the architectural style. July 10th isn’t the day I was there, however, and I don’t remember seeing that building. It still seems vaguely familiar. Maybe I saw it in a photograph when I researched the Expo. Or . . .

  It could be the building I saw that first time I held the key. After the wheat field and before the dark cavelike place.

  I file this away as something to ask Other-Kate, assuming we ever have a second when lives aren’t on the line. Then I jump back to the present and join the other intrepid Cyrist Hunters in the living room.