Kiss Across Seas

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Sydney studied him. “My question. You can jump across timelines, so you decided to come here, four years ahead? Why?”

  “Because Veris was alive in this timeline and I knew I was going to need medical help when I landed. Also, Tira isn’t here. You believe she never made it back from the tenth century.”

  Sydney nodded. “How do you know that about this timeline? Have you been here before?”

  “That’s two questions,” Rafe grumbled.

  “I took yours,” Sydney told him, with a smile.

  “I just know,” Zoric said. “If you haven’t done a lot of multi-verse jumping, you won’t understand it. This time and place called me, because I was here already. There’s no clear way to explain this because language restricts time to linear distinctions, when all moments in time actually coexist.”

  “You can navigate the time-plane?” Marit asked.

  “Is that what you call it?” Zoric asked. “It’s the time-space continuum. Once you step outside the continuum, you can pick any place and any time, and any universe to step back in. Certain times and places, though, are more attractive than the rest. They have a personal connection. I call them bookmarks.”

  Sydney liked the expression. It was a neat way of describing the tugging sensations she had felt.

  Taylor held up her hand.

  Sydney smiled and pointed to her.

  Taylor put down her hand again. “You said that everyone but me died in that fire? Only, if that was the junction point and Brody and Veris got out before the timeline split, then how did they die?”

  Zoric for the first time hesitated. He looked down into the mug of coffee. “You won’t like it,” he said softly.

  “I already don’t like it,” Veris growled. “How much worse can it get?”

  Zoric grimaced. “Cyrus told the Council to surround the house. When you and Brody jumped out, they grabbed you and dosed you with Alex Karim’s sedative. Then they threw you back inside.”

  Taylor moaned.

  Brody bent his head for a moment.

  Marit got up and hugged Veris around the waist and he held onto her, despite being where people could see him do it. He kissed her forehead. “Different time, different place,” he told her hoarsely.

  “They’re…psychotic,” Alex said, his voice strained.

  “They are, in that timeline,” Zoric agreed.

  “Your timeline,” Sydney pointed out.

  “Not mine, anymore,” Zoric said. “I can’t go back. If I try, I jump to instant death. No matter the consequences, I’m here to stay.”

  * * * * *

  When Sydney suggested everyone take a few moments before they grilled Zoric any further, Rafe was more than ready to escape.

  He picked up Sydney’s hand and pulled her into their bedroom and shut the door.

  Sydney seemed to sense his mood. She flowed into his arms, a soft, warm, sensuous woman who smelled sweet and tasted sweeter. His body tightened as she returned his kiss, her hands sliding over him. Everything ached. He knew what was driving this sudden mood, but didn’t care. He just wanted to sink into her, to immerse his body and assure himself in this way that Sydney was alive and here with him.

  His hands trembled as he removed her shirt, then her bra.

  The door eased open and Alex slipped into the room and locked it behind him. “Great minds think alike,” he said, coming up behind Sydney and helping Rafe with the fly of her jeans.

  Rafe groaned. This was even better. This was perfect.

  When she was naked and hot in their arms, they carried her over to the bed and put her between them. Rafe lost track of who was doing what to whom. He just knew they were there with him and had no intention of leaving and that eased his heart.

  * * * * *

  Afterward, Sydney declared she was hungry, yet stayed on her stomach, her arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Her lethargy was because Alex was stroking his fingers over her back in lazy circles. Rafe kissed them both, pulled on his clothes and went in search of sustenance for her. Of the three of them, he was the most skilled in the kitchen, anyway.

  On the way to the kitchen, he passed the little sitting room where the twins and Marit liked to hang out when they were in the house. The adults left them alone in that room, which Rafe thought was sensible. Kids needed their privacy as much as adults did.

  As he passed the open door, he heard giggling. It had to be the twins. Marit had left giggling behind years ago. He glanced, then halted and took a step back to look again.

  The twins were sprawled on the floor, both bent over to peer at a cellphone in Aran’s hand. Nothing unusual about that, except that it was normally their own cellphone they focused on, not a shared screen. It was the quality of the giggle that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. There was a note in their laughter that sounded like nervous relief and he remembered that sensation from the very brief few years he had been a kid himself, before slavery had stolen his youth.

  It was the sort of sound he and his friends had made, when they thought they had gotten away with some sort of mischief.

  Rafe moved into the room, watching them.

  Aran was the first to spot him. He straightened up and whipped the phone out of sight, stuffing it in his pocket.

  Alan looked around, alerted. She leaned back against the table with a casual pose. Of the two, she had the best poker face. Aran had flushed a deep red.

  Rafe held out his hand. “Let me see.”

  They both held still.

  Rafe smiled. “You think I can’t hold you down and take it?”

  “You wouldn’t!” Aran said, with a touch of outrage that said he’d grown up in privileged America where even kids had rights.

  “Try me,” Rafe offered. “You know I’m nearly as old as your fathers. Kids got beaten for talking at the wrong time, when I was growing up. They say the first things you learn stick the longest. I learned how to take a beating. How to give one, too.” It was a bluff, pure and simple. He wouldn’t dream of touching them. His poker face was far superior to either of theirs, though. He beckoned with his fingers. “Hand it over.”

  Aran glanced at Alan. Alan sighed and nodded.

  Reluctantly, Aran reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone and held it out. He didn’t switch it on and both of them looked at Rafe, waiting for him to profess his helplessness around technology.

  Rafe turned it on and called up the open apps. He selected the photo gallery and while the photos were compiling, he glanced at the twins. Alan’s face was thundery. Aran just looked nervous.

  The photos had been arranged in most recent order. The seven at the top had scrambled date stamps. When Rafe opened the first one, he realized why the date was all wrong. He stared at the image, his breath escaping in a cold rush.

  It had been taken quickly and surreptitiously, with little time to line up the lens squarely, or even focus properly. The phone’s software had compensated and the image was crisp and clear.

  The surface of the wharf was cobbled. The ship tied up beside it had a high prow and stern and a single boom for the one big square sail and the little one above it.

  When Rafe had first seen ships like that, he had not believed people would dare put to sea in them. They had looked too small and too fragile. More than fifteen hundred years later, they still looked too flimsy, yet a greater part of the world had been discovered by such ships.

  That wasn’t the most shocking part of the photo, though. It was the two men standing on the deck who made his chest tighten and brought a high singing note into his mind.

  In the photo, Veris gripped the side of the ship with one big hand, watching the cargo load with seething impatience that was clear even in the photo. Rafe hadn’t known at the time that Veris had been afraid for Brody and Taylor, who had been left alone in Constantinople. Brody’s time as a slave had been harder than Rafe’s. It had left psychological scars that Brody still dealt with, even today. Veris had been in a panic to get back to Constantino
ple as quickly as possible and get them out of there.

  The man next to him looked more boy than man. Rafe wasn’t sure how old he had been when Veris had freed him. He had not been many years a man, and children had grown up a lot faster back then.

  The version of him standing next to Veris in the photo looked small in comparison, even though his head was not that much lower than Veris’. Rafe hadn’t realized how lean he had been, then. The dirty and thin tunic didn’t enhance his slenderness. In the twelve years he had been a free man, before he had been turned, he had enjoyed good food, fresh air and exercise. He had trained as a fighter, fought more than one battle and had travelled widely. Muscle had developed. However, all that had come after this photo had been taken.

  The younger Rafael in the photo was staring at the frantic activity on the wharf with huge eyes. It was his first time on a ship, his first week as a free man and his first adventure. All of it had been overwhelming and it showed in his face.

  Is that really me?

  He stared at the image, fascinated and at the same time, repelled. How innocent he had been! He had believed his years as a slave had taught him every hard lesson the world had to offer. How foolish of him!

  Aran stirred. “It was just a bit of fun, Uncle Rafe.”

  Rafe cleared his throat. “You took a phone back there with you?”

  “Alan figured it out,” Aran said defensively.

  His brain started working again. The shock was passing. “Did anyone see the phone?” Rafe asked. First things first. Damage control was the very top of that list.

  “We were careful,” Alannah said, sounding sulky.

  Rafe hefted the phone. “If you could take a phone back with you, does that mean you arrived there in jeans and sneakers, too?”

  Aran blushed clear up to his hairline and looked to his sister for help.

  Alannah was still pouting. “We tore up sheets and wore them. No one even looked at us.”

  Torn sheets would resemble the poorest of tunics. They would have looked like slaves. No one should have paid any attention to them. Slaves had been invisible. Except these two didn’t look like slaves. With their pure skin, even white teeth and direct way of looking at the world, they would have drawn attention. Just Aran’s height alone would have been remarkable.

  “You have no idea how badly this could have gone,” Rafe told them. “When things go wrong, they happen fast and you have no experience in trying to deal with that sort of trouble. None. You haven’t handled a knife for anything more than cutting up your steak…do you know how fast you can die, back in time?”

  Alannah just looked uncomfortable, now. She was listening. She was hearing him.

  Rafe pushed the phone into his own pocket. “You two were allowed to listen to us talk about time travel because we wanted you to understand how freaking dangerous it all was, yet you heard none of that, did you? Zoric spoke of your parents being murdered. What did you hear when he spoke of it? Were you thinking how cool it would be to cross timelines?”

  Aran hung his head.

  “That’s Aran’s phone,” Alannah pointed out.

  “If he’s lucky, he’ll get it back. First, I need to show everyone what you have done.”

  Alannah actually paled. “Not Far and Athair!” she said, sitting up.

  “Not Mom…!” Aran pleaded, looking scared.

  “Everyone,” Rafe said firmly. “You two have moved way beyond climbing the wall and sneaking cigarettes. You’re in adult territory, now. This is the sort of shit that gets people killed and you’re worried about what your fathers will say?” His voice had risen. It was retrospective fear driving his anger, only they wouldn’t realize that. The ramifications and complications that might have occurred were making him tremble.

  Aran flinched. Alan swallowed.

  Rafe swallowed back his fear and lowered his voice. “I can’t make you stay here. No one can, not even with a locked door. You know that as well as I do. I’m asking that you not do anything stupid for the next few hours. Don’t jump anywhere. No more experiments. No more fun with time. Please.”

  After a moment Alannah nodded. She was the key. She was the jumper. Aran couldn’t go anywhere without her…at least, Rafe hoped not. Maybe Aran was another Zoric, able to jump by himself. Hopefully, he hadn’t thought to try, yet.

  Rafe hurried back to the big room, his heart moving faster than his feet. Veris and Brody and Taylor had been reluctant to include the twins in discussions about time travel. They had wanted the two to have as normal a childhood as possible. That was a luxury they couldn’t afford anymore. The same rigorous training Sydney had gone through would have to be given to the twins.

  Yet, when he reached the big room, Zoric was holding up a bunch of daisies and everyone was staring at him in rapt attention.

  Rafe listened to what Zoric was saying and forgot about the cellphone in his pocket.

  Chapter Five

  “I’ve done more jumping than all of you combined,” Zoric said. “It wasn’t a choice. Tira was full of schemes and plans. I took her to places I didn’t know existed. Research trips, she called them. Although, I’ve read your book, Veris. I know as well as you do how easy it is to change history, so I tried to be careful and I tried to make her cautious, as much as I could make her hear me.”

  Alex stared at him, startled. The only work Veris had ever published, to his knowledge, was dense, highly technical medical research papers.

  “I wrote a book? About time travel?” Veris sounded amused.

  “You will,” Zoric said. “There is an underground copy of it, print only, smuggled back from the future by someone with more courage than I who went farther ahead than I ever dared. Another jumper gave it to me and I gave it to someone else, once I had read it.”

  Brody shook his head. “You make it sound as though Veris is famous. Screaming fans, scholars studying his work, pirated copies doing the rounds…” He shuddered.

  “He will be famous,” Zoric said. “Although, only among vampires and travelers. Veris chooses not to emerge…but I’m getting ahead of myself.” He lifted the bunch of flowers. They were white Star of Bethlehem blooms, that Marit had picked when she had hiked into the Sierra Nevadas two days ago. Zoric had yanked them out of the vase on the coffee table to make a point he was yet to make.

  “You realize, of course, that you’re not really changing history, when you change it?” Zoric said. “All possible versions of a moment have always existed. What you see as change is merely your awareness switching to a different timeline, because that is the choice you made. That is what free will really means.”

  Alex saw Rafe from the corner of his eye, moving into the room with slow steps, listening to Zoric as closely as everyone else. Alex caught his arm and pulled him onto the sofa next to him. Rafe didn’t look away from Zoric.

  “You learned all this from jumping?” Taylor asked.

  “Veris did. Does. It’s in the book.” Zoric shook his head. “Maybe from me. Time often loops like that.” He laid the flowers on his knee and picked up one of the stalks. “Alex was the first of you to see time as it really is.”

  Alex jumped a little. “You mean, Gronoya and Wales?”

  Zoric was busy pulling petals off the flower and Alex was glad Marit wasn’t in the room. Then Zoric paused and held up his hand with the fingers straight and his thumb jutting out. “Remember explaining this to everyone, Alex? About seeing the junction of timelines and the end of the Gronoya timeline?” He touched the tip of his thumb.

  “I remember far too clearly,” Alex admitted. “Alas.”

  Zoric smiled. “You’ll be pleased to know all the Gronoya timelines are stunted and dead. They killed themselves off.”

  “You make it sound as though the timeline was a mutant recessive gene, that bred itself into sterility and extinction,” Veris pointed out.

  Alex nodded. That was the analogy that had occurred to him, too.

  “Actually, that is your theory,” Zoric said
. “It’s a good one, too. The timelines that don’t survive are ugly, retarded and unable to function properly. They never breed new lines, because they implode before they can.”

  Veris cleared his throat. Brody shifted awkwardly on the arm of the sofa, next to Taylor. Alex understood their discomfort. The talk of retardation and sterility and extinction was considered too on-the-nose for most people. Applied to time itself, it added a surreal quality. It wasn’t a single life that became extinct, when a timeline imploded. It was billions of lives, snuffed out all at once.

  Rafe got to his feet. “The twins need to hear this,” he said shortly and hurried away.

  Zoric held up the mutilated flower. There were only two petals left, right next to each other. He held up his other hand alongside the petals, his thumb held out at the same angle as the lower petal. His fingers and thumb duplicated the angle between the petals. “A divergence,” he said. “What you call a junction point.” He touched the yellow stamens in the middle of the cheerful white flower. “Here is the junction.” He looked up.

  Everyone nodded.

  Veris leaned against the window with one shoulder, his arms crossed, the big muscles bunching. He was back to wary, again.

  “Except that’s not the only divergence a timeline can have. Every decision, every action, creates a divergence.” He put the shredded flower on the table and picked up a fresh one from his knee and held it up, turning it. “There are only six petals,” he said. “Imagine there were thousands of them emerging from the timeline.”

  Everyone was nodding again. This was an idea Veris had been talking about for years now, that junction points were essentially endless, creating more and more multi-verses with every passing minute.

  Zoric picked up the bunch from his knees and put them altogether. “The multiverse, on a single plane.”

  “Single plane?” Taylor repeated.

  Zoric held up his other hand, the fingers splayed and turned upward to represent a second bunch of flowers. “Each divergence spawns junctions of its own.” He touched the tip of a finger. “This is a divergence of a divergence of a divergence.” He rested the bottom of the bunch of flowers on the same fingertip. “And the divergence creates a million more of its own.”