The God Game: Evangeline Heart Book 2 (Evangeline Heart Adventures)

by A. K. Alexander

He’s never been here, but who knows what kind of tracking software he uses to monitor me now. If he’s using Penya to compensate for his shortcomings, he could go anywhere . . . even here.

  I force air from my lungs before I hyperventilate. I’m a warrior and need to effing act like one.

  Down the hallway, the floor creaks, but the silence stretches too long for a footstep. I press myself against the door and listen again. Nothing. Steam curls above my head and against the ceiling, swirling and billowing in white clouds.

  I flick the light off and let my eyes adjust then curl my fingers around the doorknob and twist, concentrating on silence, drawing on all the warrior stealth Constantine taught me. The steam sneaks out before me, my lookout. Tendrils of lightning crisscross my palms. Tensed for battle, I take one big breath and sweep into the hall, silent on bare feet.

  Something hard strikes my foot and I stumble. Instinctively, I tuck and lean into the momentum. With a roll and twist so I can see my attacker, I come up on one knee, hands splayed with thick bolts of lightning leaping from my palms. Snapping white bolts extend all the way past the bathroom door.

  The hallway looms empty except for a strange, small book propped against the doorframe. I ease toward it, ready for whoever left it.

  My ragged breathing and the crackle of electricity are the only noises. Standing, I retract my lightning. I like that my reaction time is getting better. I suppose attacking a book isn’t exactly the right response, but I’d rather be ready than dead. Not that Ilif would kill me . . . but then again, I’m not one hundred percent positive he wouldn’t.

  I march to the stairs and peer over the railing. Nothing moves.

  Returning to the book, I crouch and poke at it, but as far as I can tell, it’s exactly what it seems. A leather thong holds the worn cover closed. Deep grooves carve the front, and the edges are worn with what I imagine must have been constant use to make the leather so light. I rub my hand over the smooth surface to wipe away a fine layer of dust then turn it over and examine the back. There’s no writing or anything.

  No one sneaks into a house, drops off an old book, and leaves. Whoever left this is coming back. Cold fingers of ice trace my spine. Coming to harm or to help.

  With my luck lately, my money isn’t on help.

  I tuck the book beneath my arm and turn off the shower. Silence. Still half-naked, I creep upstairs, but all the rooms are empty. Downstairs is the same. I don’t get it.

  Taking a breath, I relax. It’s no good for me to stay wound this tight. I need to chill until they face me. Nothing I can do until then. I retrace my steps and burrow into the corner of the couch, tucking my feet beneath me. I undo the book’s strap and ease the cover open. Hard slashes of script mark the page, punching me in the gut and yanking me instantly to another place. My fingers trace the letters, recognizing the handwriting from a map drawn nearly two thousand years ago while I stood next to him.

  If this is someone’s idea of a joke, it’s beyond brutal.

  I see him bent over this book, pouring out thoughts, dreams, plans . . .

  A sob wrenches from my throat, but I choke it down before it breaks completely free. My lips tremble and I bite them hard until my breathing slows.

  I try again. On the page, the words shift from Latin to English.

  Aurelia mortuus est hodie.

  They blur, and I wipe my eyes and spread the tears on my bare thigh in a long, wet streak.

  When I begin again, the rich timbre of Constantine’s voice carries the words to my heart.

  Aurelia died today. Without me there to save her. She died alone while I busied away the day on trifles of war. A mystery flood carried her away from me forever. Such pain. I am without breath. My grief threatens to consume me. To kill me. Oh, I wish it could. I would die in a flame of grief if it could take away this pain.

  My sweet Aurelia is gone. Gone, not to a husband I could choose, but to a lover who stole her from me without warning or apology.

  My heart twists until I can’t breathe, but I force myself to keep reading. I flip a chunk of pages to another entry, months later...

  I relive the morning of her journey again and again. I search my memory for some indicator of the storm, but I find nothing. I remember her face that morning, her jubilation to visit her friends

  . . . her laughter.

  I hear it, chasing me through the halls. She calls to me from the grave, beckons me to come and play. This life needs me for something, though I know not what. I can feel it like an abrasion under my finger, for it is the only other feeling I have beyond my pain. I tire of this grief. Would that I could take my sword to it.

  I miss her. I miss her so.

  My hands drop and the pages fan closed in a cascade of sorrow. There’s more, but I can’t bear another word. Every page is full. When we were together, he brushed the edge of his misery with me, but not like this. I didn’t know . . .

  “Oh, Constantine.” I close my eyes and relive the aching horror when we saw a glimpse of her. In that split second I got a clue about how losing her devastated him, but somehow, seeing such emotion in his own hand . . . It kills me.

  Our time together was so short. My chest constricts. Even if we’d had the time, he wouldn’t have shared this. To expose this much vulnerability would have been a weakness.

  And now Penya wants me to find Aurelia and save her before he has to go through this. Eradicate all of this sorrow and pain from his life. And change the man I know . . . I correct myself, the man I thought I knew.

  My fingers hover above the pages then curl into a fist. To prevent this, I’d do anything.

  With a sigh, I let my head drop back against the couch. My fingers drift to the pages and across each indentation of his words.

  There has to be more to Aurelia’s story. Either Penya isn’t telling me the whole story or she doesn’t know. Ancestor to a famous scientist, sure, but who will she be? A mother, a wife . . . I can’t accept that she’s nothing more than an incubator for greatness. My thoughts drift, bouncing and floating from one to another.

  Drowsy from the emotional beating, it takes me a minute to realize the bright column of light shining in the middle of the room isn’t coming from a window. Silvery and cylindrical, it slowly rotates counterclockwise—I jerk upright—like last time she visited after the kidnapping.

  “Penya!” I dive off the couch and kneel beside the emerging shape.

  It morphs and shifts into her short, earthy silhouette. Though she’s transparent and some sort of projection, I can make out all her features, but nothing about where she is.

  I lean closer. “Where are you? You still haven’t told me how you’re projecting your image here.”

  Her face falls and she glances over her shoulder, waving my question away with a violent swat.

  My hands fly to cover my mouth. I didn’t think about someone hearing me on her side. After listening for something I can’t see, she turns back then spots the journal on the couch behind me and clasps her hands together. “Good, good.” Her voice sounds far away, like she’s standing at the end of a tunnel. “I was not certain the journal would travel without me.”

  “You left it?”

  “Who else? Ilif will not help you. He has almost figured out Aurelia’s connection. You must complete the alteration now.”

  “Her connection? What does that mean? Like her connection to Constantine? And it’s Christmas. I have a family dinner in four hours.”

  “I have no time to explain, and you will return in time.”

  I bristle. “You don’t know that. Last time cost me six months.”

  “You must risk it. If Ilif gets to her first . . .” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Go now. There is no time to lose.”

  I grind my teeth and point at her chest. “Not this time. You’re not leaving me in the dark again. Where are you? How do I get to you?”

  “Ilif’s new lab is all I know—”

  I cross my arms. “Okay, about that. You guy
s worked together? Didn’t you think that was worth mentioning?”

  She glances behind her again and lowers her voice until I can hardly hear her. “It was long ago. We have no time for this, Evy.”

  “No. Not a long time ago. In my future!” I don’t know when I’m going to see her again, and I need this information.

  She sighs. “Yes, your future.”

  “How are you traveling? You’re here, but you’re not, just like in the forest. What did he do to you?”

  “This is why you must hurry. He is developing new methods of travel. Aurelia’s sudden death wiped out an entire line of scientists. Ones he needed.”

  So much information . . . I squeeze my eyes shut. Think, Evy. Ask the right questions.

  “What is Ilif working on?”

  Her image leans closer. “I do not know. I promise I do not. But you are strong enough to handle the answers this time. I promise you will know everything as I do.”

  My lightning flickers at her praise.

  “I will learn more. He leaves me for days at a time—but there may be stretches when I cannot get to you. I must go.”

  “Wait!” I press forward, grinding my knees into the bamboo floorboards. “What time are you in right now—when are you?”

  “I have not pinpointed an exact date. Same with our location. To say Ilif put a good deal of thought into this lab is an understatement. When I do get to wander, it is fully contained and he does not permit me beyond the building.”

  “Then how are you traveling?”

  “I used the tracking software to locate you and project this image, but otherwise, my physical form is captive. I also think he found a way to block certain places from arcs, starting with this one.”

  “I’ll find you.” My heart tightens at the thought of losing her. She’s the only one who ever seems to be on my side.

  “I am your smallest problem. Worry for Aurelia. You must save her before Ilif interferes. Your alterations are different enough that he cannot manipulate them, but it is only a matter of time. And his determination is endless. Aurelia is too important. Whatever he is working on centers around her. You must get to her first.”

  My empty gut clenches. “No pressure.”

  Her head jerks to the right and she watches something in her time that I can’t see. “Save Aurelia. Now.” A dangerous undertone in her whisper snakes a chill up my spine.

  She vanishes.

  “Penya!” My hand grasps air, and I press my fist against my forehead. Dammit. There are so many reasons I don’t want to go right now. A night in my own bed would be nice . . . I’m at least taking a shower before I go.

  Dread seeps through my bones and I stand. While I’d love to join in her optimism, my arcs don’t work like that. I’ll be lucky to get back here today, let alone before dinner.

  The soles of my feet stick to the wood floor, smacking loudly as I return to the bathroom and start the shower. After dropping my panties, I step under the spray and unbraid my hair. Dark strands cling to my fingers. As I rinse them down the drain, my mind is consumed with what’s coming.

  This time will be different. This time I’m knowingly trying to alter history. There is so much uncertainty at the beginning of an alteration. I never know what intersection of someone’s life is the perfect point for me to change things . . . where we’ll meet . . . who will be there. Or in this case, if a certain someone will be there.

  Vanilla infuses the steam as I squirt bodywash into my palm and lather up. My shoulders are fuller and there’s muscle beneath my curves. I ignore what the new shape of my arms means and quickly soap my chest—no danger of those getting muscley—then race across my flatter stomach and over my full hips. I’m surprised that the training with Constantine would have such an effect on me so soon, and I definitely don’t want to look like he does. I liked my soft curves. I miss them.

  Shampoo slides in soapy tracks down my face, and I turn into the hot water and refocus.

  Ilif is still the biggest uncertainty, precariously balanced between bad guy and worst co-worker on the face of Earth. No chance he’s lightened up on his feelings about females, and since I’m still wearing a set of boobs, we’re at an impasse. No way I trust his recent crazy-train flip-flop—he wanted to use me.

  I towel off and head upstairs to my bedroom. A pair of chocolate-brown leather pants are still folded on the end of my bed, but as I slip my fingers beneath the buttery softness, I pause. Finding Aurelia while she’s still alive puts me pre-149 BC, and I know she died in Rome. I toss my pants back on the bed and scout the closet for something less barbaric. The only skirt I have is from someone’s funeral, a pinstriped black number with a slit up the back, not exactly something I can traipse about in ancient Rome.

  I finger the top rack, letting my hand travel across my long-sleeved tees, my cashmere sweaters . . . at least now the juxtaposition of my wardrobe makes more sense. I’m not meant to live in one time period.

  Time traveler or no, nothing here will work. Last time, Constantine’s sister, Anna, made me the greatest wardrobe ever. I miss those clothes. Maybe if I get better at arcing I’ll figure out how to bring stuff home with me. For now, it’s incredibly annoying, so I resort to the leather pants, a matched set of baby-blue bra and panties, and a seaweed-green tee. With leather motorcycle boots and wet, braided hair, I stride back to the living room and stand in Penya’s empty spot.

  The journal mocks me. I pick it up and close it tightly then tuck it in the back of my pants. I inhale and quit stalling.

  Arms relaxed, palms open, I let go of everything else and let the lightning come.

  White bolts spark from my fingertips, writhing and crackling against each other, slipping backward over my elbow and stretching toward the floor.

  With deliberate slowness, I bring my hands together until they’re eight inches apart. Attraction pulls the bolts together into an electric ball. I picture Aurelia, her spirit, her love of life and of friends, and her willfulness.

  Black arms of nothingness open wide and embrace me in an all-consuming possession. I am deaf, blind, and mute.

  And for once, my heart doesn’t hurt.

  Chapter Two

  I arrive in Rome on the wings of sunrise. Wisps of an orange and pink sky bleed into morning blue, and the sun shines bright from the east, already warming the dry air. Over rooftops, grand buildings rise in the distance, oddly pristine and unfamiliar.

  My shoulders relax and I take the first deep breath of the week. This is going to be a cinch—no rain, no flood. Hopefully I can get in and out without a single issue.

  Pride puffs up my chest. I’m getting good at this.

  In front of me, tall box elms create an impenetrable wall around a home’s garden and repeat again near what looks like a rear entry into the house. Hand-painted and etched pots overflow with bright blossoms. Clusters of them dot the space and cuddle up to several benches scattered throughout the garden.

  Beyond the lazy floating butterflies and working bees, the garden is silent and empty. Everyone must still be inside this morning. I hesitate and scan the entire back wall of the house, not sure I can sneak in without being seen—especially if my plan is to keep Aurelia from leaving. I step forward and a familiar blonde steps through the doorway, making me duck back behind a hedge. I’ve only seen Aurelia once before, but it must have been last week, because she looks the same. Curls held back by a gold braid frame a heart-shaped face, round with youthful pudginess. I slip behind a tall container bursting with tall, fluffy-headed grass so I can study her in secret. She’s barely as tall as I am and dressed in a simple tunic pinned at the shoulders with matching brooches. Turning to respond to a question, the curls spill down her back, stopping just short of the matching gold braid around her teeny waist. She skirts a narrow table and sits, smiling up at a servant as he sets a fruit plate and bread in front of her.

  “Aurelia?”

  I jerk toward the voice that haunts my dreams and try to dislodge my heart from my throat
while I press deeper into the foliage. Greenery leans across my face, but I can still make out every single one of Constantine’s features as he comes outside. Golden eyes assess every possible threat and a youthful bunching of freckles dust his cheekbones. His demeanor changes and he scans the garden, pausing on my location. Aurelia looks up, but I can’t shift my attention off Constantine. While he stares intently at my etched clay planter, I curl my fingers around the lip and try to suck breath into my collapsed windpipe.

  Whenever I am, however long it will be until he touches me, his raw handsomeness makes all the wrong parts of my body take notice. Impossibly tall, Constantine is somewhere between the thick, wide warrior I first met, and the lean death machine who trained me to be the same. His dark blond curls are cut close to his head and his fingers twitch constantly. I wonder when he got that nervous tic under control.

  “Papa.”

  He snaps back to Aurelia and rubs the edge of his eyebrow. “Me paenitet. Ego vidi.” Sorry. I thought I saw something.

  Their Latin shifts in my head. I’m still not sure how that works, but I’ve stopped questioning.

  She lifts a small hand to his forearm. “You worry too much.”

  He smiles, and the sheer joy of it illuminates his entire face. I press my lips together and my heart finds a regular rhythm.

  “You don’t worry enough.” He sits on the adjacent bench.

  She nibbles a slice of fruit ad he plucks a slice of pear off the plate. “What time are you leaving?”

  “Rom is bringing the chariot this afternoon.”

  I sigh, and the gust makes the grass wave. About time I had an easy one. I loosen my grip on the planter and straighten. As soon as Constantine leaves, I’ll figure out how to stop her.

  He stands and rubs the back of his neck. He’s made that gesture a thousand times with me . . . something is bothering him, but he’s trying to hide it. I narrow my eyes and study each nuance of his body language, but even now he’s a master at secrecy.