by Jena Leigh
Kenzie only ever saw him at dinner. Even then, he rarely spoke.
The therapist Grayson consulted seemed convinced that Brian’s retreat into himself was simply a sign that the boy was still processing the pain created in the wake of his mother’s brutal murder. Forcing him to rejoin the world before he was ready, he insisted, would do more harm than good.
After receiving the diagnosis, they decided to just let him be—though Kenzie still kept a watchful eye on him, nonetheless. Her efforts to get him to talk, or to leave his bedroom were mostly met with polite, but firm, refusals.
It had been at least a week since he’d said a word to her. Or to anyone, as far as she knew.
No, surely it wasn’t his thoughts she’d heard.
There was her brother Declan, of course…
Kenzie snorted into her pillow.
Declan wouldn’t bring her coffee if she paid him to.
Well, okay. Maybe he would do it for the cash. But she doubted he’d say yes for anything less than a twenty, and there’d likely be strings attached.
And Nathaniel—
Kenzie’s eyes opened as the pang of an unpleasant memory sliced through her chest and shadowed her heart.
Nate.
Nate was still gone. At the rate things were going, he might never come home again.
Men and their foolish freaking pride. If the boss would just apologize…
But that was never going to happen. Grayson’s pride would never allow it. And Nathaniel’s pride wouldn’t settle for anything less.
Kenzie sighed.
Coffee.
What time was it, anyway? She hoped she had time for a shower.
A soft knock sounded at her door and she dragged herself upright.
“Entrè,” she chimed.
Funny how much easier it was to greet the day when you didn’t have to leave the warm confines of your bed prior to your first sip of caffeinated goodness.
The door creaked open, bringing in a sliver of pale light from the hallway—and the diminutive silhouette of her youngest brother.
“Brian?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Everything okay?”
Careful not to spill the mugs in his hands, Brian flipped the overhead light on with his elbow.
Kenzie let out a whimper as she squinted into the unexpected glare. The first thing she noticed when her eyes adjusted was Brian’s determined expression.
The second thing she noticed was the coffee mug in his outstretched hand.
Because coffee.
She accepted it gratefully and took a sip.
“I need your help.”
Kenzie stared at him curiously over the green brim of her favorite mug. “With what, Bri? Is something wrong?”
He smiled weakly. “Sort of. I, um, well I kind of need a ride someplace.”
“A ride?” she repeated.
He nodded.
She furrowed a brow.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“You need a ride? Before school starts? To go where? And why on earth are you asking me? Declan’s the one with the license.”
The suggestion earned her a wide-eyed expression and a frantic shake of the head. “No! Declan can’t know about it. We can’t involve him in this.”
“Involve him in what? Where is it you need to go at…” Kenzie fished her phone from beneath the pillow beside her, then grimaced. “One twenty-six AM?! You woke me up at one o’clock in the freaking morning?”
Brian’s hopeful expression fell away and she immediately regretted the outburst.
Kenzie sighed.
“I need you to drive me to the Corner Pocket,” he said, standing up straighter and forcing an air of authority into his voice. “We need to leave right away and I’m really sorry, Kenzie, but I can’t tell you why. I just need you to trust me on this.”
She shook her head, having located a major flaw in the kid’s plan. “Brian, I don’t have a license. Nor do I have access to a car.”
The keys to Grayson’s 6 Series, the S-Class, and the Range Rover were all locked up tight in the boss’s office while he was out of town. How, exactly, did Brian expect Kenzie to drive him anywhere?
The boy set his own untouched mug on her nightstand and pulled something out of the back pocket of his jeans.
The metallic keychain emblazoned with a familiar Celtic knot—and attached to a very familiar set of keys—glinted in the light.
Brian’s expression hardened.
It was so easy to forget, sometimes, that he was just a kid.
He might have been eight years old, but he was easily the most mature out of all of her brothers—and the most intelligent one in the entire family, by far.
“It’s an emergency, Red. You know I wouldn’t ask, otherwise.”
Unable to resist the urge, Kenzie dropped her defenses and scanned her adoptive brother’s thoughts.
One single phrase played over and over again as he waited for her reply.
A phrase that made no sense to her, but had been packed with so much emotion and such an overwhelming amount of concern that she immediately recoiled.
Startled, Kenzie did a quick scan of her surroundings and confirmed what she already knew—that their brother, Declan, was still fast asleep in his room down the hall.
So why was the panicked statement, “We have to help Decks,” seemingly on repeat in Brian’s mind?
“We’ve got to get to the Corner Pocket, Kenzie. We need to get there right now.”
Kenzie set her mug beside Brian’s on the table, slipped her legs from beneath the pile of blankets, and took Declan’s motorcycle keys from Brian’s outstretched hand.
While it was true Kenzie couldn’t drive a car to save her life, she’d been riding dirt bikes with her older brothers for years. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d taken Declan’s Ducati out for a spin.
But to steal his bike in the middle of the night in order to drive her baby brother across town to a bar? The same bar that was essentially Declan’s second home?
Kenzie sighed as Brian stepped out into the hall, quickly trading her pajamas for a pair of jeans and a heavy sweater.
If Grayson ever found out about this, she’d be grounded for life. And that would be nothing compared to the fuse Declan would blow.
“I really hope you know what you’re doing, kid,” she mumbled.
Seven
Aiden stood with his back against the brick veneer of the living room wall, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest, studying Alex closely as she related her impossible tale.
He took in her rumpled black tank and gray zip hoodie, the rolled jeans that had turned stiff at the ankles from her tumble into the salty waters of the Bering Sea, the black Chuck Taylor’s that were only now beginning to fully dry, the long dark curls that framed her face in tangled strands as she spoke. Then he looked past that initial impression and focused on her eyes. Her mouth. Her hands. Her feet.
He waited for a gaze gone astray, a furrowed brow, fidgeting fingertips, a waver in her voice. He watched her carefully for any tell that might be used to prove to Nathaniel that the incredible story she told was a lie.
The only trouble?
The girl’s speech, her facial expressions, and her body language showed no outward signs of insincerity. Aside from the obvious care she took in arranging her words, there was nothing to indicate that the ridiculous story was anything but the truth.
As a kid, Aiden racked up plenty of first-hand experience with expert liars. The signs of a falsehood were always there, provided you knew how to look for them. Right now, the girl sitting on his couch truly seemed to believe the things she was telling them.
Aiden narrowed his eyes.
Either this girl was a consummate liar, or Aiden was going to have to redefine his understanding of the word “impossible.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Nate, rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck. “Roughly two years from now
some terrible thing is going to happen that draws myself, Aiden, and the entire Grayson family into a conflict with the Agency.”
Alex nodded.
“A conflict,” he continued, “that directly involves you, Alex, but that you—for whatever reason—don’t want to talk about.”
The girl winced.
A quiet moment passed. When it became obvious that Alex had nothing to add to that part of her tale, Nathaniel sighed and continued his recitation of the events as he understood them.
“Soon after that conflict,” he said, “the situation is going to become so dire that you’ll decide to jump two years back in time using an ability that you refuse to explain. An ability that, up until an hour ago, the Variant community as a whole was absolutely certain never existed, all in an attempt to change our future—your present—for the better?”
Her wince deepened into a grimace. The story must have sounded absurd even to her own ears.
“Basically? Yes. That’s how it happened,” she said. “The exception being that I never meant to jump here. My original destination was over a decade ago. Actually, I was aiming for that picnic in the photograph you gave me.”
Nate arched an eyebrow. “So you missed your mark and landed in this time by accident?”
“Yes,” she said. “And before you ask—no, I have no idea how or why I ended up here.”
Alex’s gaze drifted toward the sliding glass doors at the back of the apartment, her attention fixed neither on the golden glow of the city lights, nor on the glistening black waters of the bay, but somewhere in her own memory instead.
“You and I locked eyes just before I jumped, Nate.” She shook her head slowly. “I was so surprised to see you standing there in the doorway that I lost my concentration. I started thinking about you instead of my intended destination. Next thing I know I’m falling through the sky in the middle of a thunderstorm and my back’s being slammed against the surface of the ocean.”
Alex rubbed distractedly at her right side as though the pain still lingered and Aiden wondered if maybe they should have taken her to the hospital earlier, in spite of her protests.
Nathaniel stared down at the coffee table between them and the girl, studying Alex’s photograph as he processed her words. The glossy, slightly crumpled image displayed what was likely the last group photo ever taken of John Grayson’s original team.
Another photograph lay beside it on the darkly polished wood, identical except for the fact that the duplicate was in far better condition than Alex’s copy.
Aiden had seen Nate’s copy of the photograph before, of course.
It sat in a small frame atop Nate’s desk during Aiden’s short-lived residency at the Grayson cabin in New York.
According to his cousin, Nate discovered the photograph on a blazing hot afternoon, the summer before his freshman year of high school.
His cousin was cleaning out the garage, sifting through long-forgotten piles of junk when he found the photograph floating at the top of a plastic crate, brimming with old computer parts, electrical cords, and a decrepit desktop fan. Despite the years in the garage, the photograph was still in pristine condition.
Well, almost pristine. The photo was missing a small piece at its bottom right corner where some tiny creature had nibbled at the glossy paper. It was barely noticeable, however, and he decided to keep the photograph for himself.
Nate even brought the framed image with him to Seattle when he left New York. Now it lay next to its duplicate at the center of Aiden’s coffee table.
Aiden pushed off the wall and knelt so that he might study the two pictures more closely.
Ignoring the folds and the slightly crumpled condition of Alex’s copy, Aiden zeroed in on its bottom right corner.
The missing edge was identical in shape to Nathaniel’s. If someone was attempting to trick them with a fake, they were doing a damn good job.
“Why ten years ago?” asked Aiden, speaking up for the first time since Alex began her tale. “Why would you want to jump to that point in time?”
She shrugged. “I wanted to fix things. I thought that if I could stop Masterson back then, before he was able to hurt anyone, that maybe it would stop all of it from happening. Keep the dominoes that started this mess from ever falling in the first place.”
Aiden paused.
So the conflict in the future that Alex was trying to prevent began with Samuel Masterson’s murder spree ten years ago? That was a damn long line of dominoes.
If she had been successful in her mission, the world as they knew it would have changed completely. Nate’s mom might still be alive. So would Aiden’s aunt and uncle, Alex’s own parents, and so many more.
If their future was even half as bleak as the girl claimed, then her plan to fix things actually seemed reasonable. Provided the attempt had worked, of course.
Nathaniel’s thoughts seemed to be traveling along those same lines. “So then why stay here, now, with us,” he asked, “when you could just make another jump and try again for your original destination?”
She shook her head. “There’s still a chance that Declan landed here, too,” she said. “I can’t leave without trying to find him first. And besides, I couldn’t jump through time right now, even if I wanted to. My jumping ability has already faded out.”
“It faded?” Nate echoed.
Aiden raised an eyebrow. “How does a Variant ability just fade out?”
Once again, Alex winced. “Long story.”
Aiden was starting to wonder if there would be any other kind with this girl.
He searched Alex’s expression before deciding to let the matter drop. “And you’re certain that Declan’s here, too? That he came here with you?”
Pain flickered in Alex’s pale gray eyes at the sound of Declan’s name.
“I don’t know where he is,” she admitted. “He grabbed my wrist before I teleported, but his grip wasn’t strong enough. We broke apart from each other while we were still mid-jump. I lost him. That’s why I need your help. If there’s even the slightest chance he made it here, then we have to look for him. Because if his arrival was anything like mine…” She trailed off, looking down at her hands.
If his arrival was anything like the girl’s, then Declan was probably hiding out somewhere in a world of hurt. That is, if he’d even survived his fall in the first place.
Alex sighed. “I never would have involved you two in this if you hadn’t been the ones to pull me out of the water. But now that you’ve met me, I’m thinking it might be worth the risk. If Declan’s here and he’s still alive, then entrusting you with the truth of where—of when—I’m from, and of how I got here, is probably the only way I’m going to be able to find him.”
Eleven stories below, the muffled sound of an ambulance siren raced past, drawing the girl’s attention back toward the window.
As the sound faded into the distance, the hush in Aiden’s apartment was interrupted once again, this time by the low rumble of an empty stomach.
Alex wrapped her arms around her middle, her cheeks blushing red. “Sorry,” she said. “I can’t actually remember the last time I ate something.”
Seeing as how the girl had spent the last 20 hours sleeping off the effects of Old Man Mallard’s influence—more precisely, his command to “sleep”—Aiden wasn’t all that surprised to hear her stomach growling.
He felt a stab of guilt as he watched the girl sitting on his sofa.
He’d treated Alex with nothing but disdain since the moment she’d gotten them kicked off the trawler, so angry about the loss of his job that he’d failed to register that she was, in fact, an actual person. A person who had nearly drowned the night before and who obviously needed his help—one way or the other.
Only instead of treating her like a person, he’d treated her like an inconvenience. An annoyance.
A problem to be solved and then eagerly dismissed.
They’d given her an interrogation when what she needed was a
warm bed and a hot meal.
Aiden cursed under his breath and made his way into the kitchen.
His mother, Heaven rest her soul, would have read him the riot act for something like this.
He opened one cabinet, then another, searching for anything that might constitute a decent meal, knowing that he hadn’t left much in the way of food behind him before leaving for his season on the Misty Rose.
With one last, half-hopeful effort, he tugged open the refrigerator door to reveal a lone jar of pickles and a half gallon container of milk that had soured at least two weeks earlier.
So much for that.
Alex and Nathaniel observed his flurry of movement silently from the living room.
Aiden let the refrigerator door fall closed with a sigh.
“Trolley’s?” asked Nate.
“Trolley’s,” Aiden confirmed. “I’ll call it in, you run over and pick it up?”
Nate frowned. “Sure you’ll be alright while I’m gone?”
The question had been directed at Aiden, but his cousin cast a nervous glance toward Alex as he spoke.
“We’ll be fine,” Aiden replied, scooping his cell phone from the countertop.
After one more hesitant glance at Alex, Nathaniel grabbed his keys and his wallet and left the apartment.
After the phone order was placed and Aiden wandered back into the living room, he sank into the recliner and silence descended once again.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Alex stared out the glass at the back of the room.
“So where do you call home, Alex?” asked Aiden, deciding that a stilted conversation would still be easier to endure than the awkward quiet.
“I was born in North Carolina, but I moved to Florida after my parents died,” she replied. “What about you, Aiden? Where are you from?”
“Shouldn’t you already know that?” He narrowed his eyes. “What an odd friendship we must have if you don’t even know where I’m from.”
“I know that you lived in Ireland for a few years as a kid. But other than that… truthfully, Aiden?” Her expression turned sheepish. “You and I aren’t all that close. I mean, don’t get me wrong—we’re friends. We just don’t know each other that well.”