Glitch in Time: Paranormal, Tattoo, Supernatural, Coming of Age, Romance (The Chronicles of Kerrigan Sequel Book 4)

by W. J. May

  He shook his head with a purse-lipped smile. “You know, you kids these days walk around like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. It wasn’t like that back when I was growing up. You should see some of the types I get in here.”

  Rae snorted sarcastically as she continued looking. She had gone to school with most of the types he got in here. And, yeah, they were an odd bunch. “I’ll bet.” Her fingers scraped the bottom of the leather satchel, but came up empty. A faint line creased her forehead as she dug around some more. And then some more after that. And some more after that.

  What the heck?

  An uneven heartbeat began pulsing behind her eyes, and she resisted the urge to dump the whole thing out onto the floor right then and there. There had been a stack of five thousand euros tucked away in the center pocket. A stack that she had packed with attentive care, given that it was the only thing she had left in the world.

  Don’t worry. It HAS to be here. You put it in yourself.

  But there was nothing. Again and again she came up blank. Well aware that, logistically, there were only so many places it could be.

  A few awkward seconds passed. Seconds were Rae dug around and silently panicked, and Randall waited with sharp-eyed patience.

  Then, with the greatest effort, she cleared her face into a casual smile. “I’m just going to duck into the bathroom and then I’ll meet you up in front, okay?”

  He shrewdly studied her for a long moment, dismissing her with a curt nod. “I’ll see you there, kid.”

  No, you won’t.

  She backed away quickly, her smile tightening painfully on her face before spinning around on her heel and making a bee-line for the restroom across the diner. She could feel Randall’s eyes on the back of her neck the entire time.

  The second she was inside she locked the door, propped a garbage bin in front of it for good measure, and silently collapsed against the wall. With a deflated sigh she slid down to the floor, wiped away an errant tear, and dumped the contents of her bag onto the floor.

  Lip gloss—stolen from Molly. Gum—stolen from Julian. A wallet containing nothing but her assumedly defunct credit cards. A crumpled receipt for some gelato she’d gotten in Barcelona while hunting down hybrids over the summer. A weather-beaten metro card…and no money.

  “This cannot be happening…”

  She went through it again and again, prying open compartments she’d never used. Fingers yanking so desperately on the little zippers that half of them broke off. It was no use.

  Finally, when she could fool herself no longer, she threw the thing across the room with such violent force that it knocked the paper towel dispenser off the wall. Her mind flashed back to the man who’d bumped into her on the way to the subway. To the way she’d actually apologized as he pulled down his baseball cap and hurried away.

  I’m such a freaking idiot.

  Hot, relentless tears spilled down her cheeks as she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face. So, this was rock bottom, huh? This is what it felt like?

  Her hands reached automatically for her phone before she realized that she had no one to call. There wasn’t a single person in her contact list who would recognize the number, and even if one or two of them did happen to pick up what was she going to say?

  Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m having a breakdown in a restaurant bathroom and have no money to pay for my bill. Want to come pick me up?

  The battery was dead anyway. And her charger was back in Kent.

  Ironically enough, it was the charger that proved to be the final straw.

  The phone went the same way as her purse. Flying through the air before hitting the wall with a pathetic little crack. The SIM card popped out as the screen split straight up the middle. She glared at it viciously as the tears stopped and she centered her rage.

  Not on phones, or pickpockets, or the fact that she was now in debt precisely one half of a blueberry waffle. But on the person who had driven her to this very moment.

  Samantha Nielson.

  A strange sense of calm washed over her as she focused on the girl’s face with tunnel-vision focus. The same kind of focus that had been programmed into her back in the Oratory. Reinforced by the PC, day after day. Month after month. Year after year.

  Because what was this, if not a mission? What was she, if not an asset? And what was Samantha, if not a particularly devious target?

  “You want people to remember your name?” she muttered savagely, pulling in a series of quick, shallow breaths. “Then start acting like a Kerrigan.”

  The next second she pushed to her feet. The phone was pieced back together. The purse was reassembled. The paper towel dispenser was placed back on the wall.

  She worked quickly and methodically, her hands moving with muscle memory through every motion as her mind raced away with the beginnings of a plan. When she was finished she leapt onto the counter, pushed open the tiny window by the ceiling, and flipped her body outside.

  All those years of training weren’t for nothing. Samantha might have taken away her supernatural edge, but Rae was still a trained and seasoned spy. One of the best the agency had ever seen. It was going to take more than a little memory dust to stop her—

  “Going somewhere?”

  Rae leapt around in fright to see Randall leaning against the side of the building. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips, and from the amused smile dancing across his face she assumed that he had been waiting for her.

  A scarlet blush rose in her cheeks, but she straightened up deliberately. Every fiber in her body vibrated with that tunnel-vision intensity. “My money was stolen on the way here,” she answered in a clear voice. “I realized it in the bathroom and panicked. Stupid, I know. I was going to skip out on my bill.”

  Randall placed the cigarette back in the box and stared at her silently. Whether he was surprised by her bout of honesty or not, it was impossible to say. But the smile hadn’t gone anywhere and, given the present circumstances, that was a very good sign. “Yeah, I figured.” He straightened up, gesturing to the window. “That was quite the little flip you did to get out here. Were you in gymnastics or something—”

  “I’d like a job.” The words surprised her, almost as much as they shocked him. But the second she heard herself saying them she knew it was the right thing to do.

  Whether the inked community remembered it or not, she was still the president. Their safety and well-being was still her responsibility. And as of this very moment, whether they knew it or not, the very essence of their government was under attack. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  And what better place to keep an eye on things than the local watering hole?

  “You’d like a job,” Randall repeated, inflectionless. When she held his gaze, he threw back his head with a sudden laugh. “I have to hand it to you, kid. You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

  She didn’t crack a smile. She stared at him straight on. “I can be here whatever days you need me, whatever time you need me, in whatever capacity would be most helpful.”

  His laughing came to a pause, and he stared down at her incredulously. “You’re not kidding, are you? You’re serious.”

  Rae nodded briskly. “Obviously, I was hoping for a management position…but I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

  Silence.

  She lowered her head submissively. Okay, so it wasn’t totally a joking matter. She had technically just been caught trying to steal from him. Time to try a slightly different approach.

  “Listen, you know how you said that kids these days walk around like the weight of the world is on their shoulders?”

  She pulled in a deep breath, and looked him right in the eye. “I’m trying to turn things around.”

  Not your standard interview, but it was as heartfelt as they come.

  Randall stared at her for another moment, then slowly shook his head. The smile returned. “Have you ever worked into the food industry before?”

  Once.
Undercover. In Guam.

  “I have some…limited experience.”

  “Uh-huh.” He folded his arms across his chest, staring at her critically. “Do you have any references that I could call?”

  Does the Crown Prince of England count?

  Rae dropped her eyes evasively, and traced the ground with the toe of her boot. “Not at the moment. I’m kind of trying to…strike out on my own, if you know what I mean.”

  Randall considered this for a moment, then stepped back with a sigh. “Listen, honey. I want to help you out. You seem like a sweet kid, you really do. But I’m trying to run a business here. You come in with no experience, no references. Not to mention the fact that you tried to sneak out the back—”

  “Wait! I actually have someone you could call!” Rae’s face brightened considerably as a sudden idea popped into her head. “I can give you his number right now.”

  After a beat of hesitation Randall handed over his phone, and she programmed it in. “And who might this lone reference be?”

  She finished, and handed it back with a flourish. “His name’s Devon Wardell. He was my supervisor for a short time, back when we were both working in…sales. Just tell him I’m looking for a job down at the diner. He’ll tell you anything about me you want to know.”

  Randall gazed down at the numbers with a slight frown. “And who exactly might this Devon Wardell and I be discussing?”

  Rae’s eyes twinkled as she threw back her hair and stuck out her hand. “Rae Carson. Pleasure to meet you.”

  * * *

  From what Rae had surmised about working in a restaurant, based upon the frequent shows she and Molly binge-watched on TV, she assumed the hardest part would be getting the job in the first place. Once she was in, it was a little light dusting here and there, a lot of sparkling, character-driven conversation, then she was home free.

  She was deeply mistaken.

  “Did you bring out those plates to table four yet?” Randall called, up to his elbows in grease as he threw another batch of chips into the fryer. “And table eleven asked for a refill on lemonade.”

  Rae skidded to a stop in front of the kitchen, trying desperately not to hyperventilate as she quickly counted to see which table was number eleven. “Yeah, I’m…I’m headed there right now.” She picked up the plates, then dropped them right down again as the super-heated porcelain burned her hand. An angry red welt was soon to follow, and she shook it in the air.

  “Careful,” Randall said dryly. “It’s hot.”

  She held back a rather choice profanity, and smiled sweetly instead. “I picked up on that, thanks.”

  His chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as she slid her twinging fingers into a pair of bulky gloves, and took off running once more.

  Of all the times not to have super-powers…

  In an act of what seemed like charity at the time, but was more likely to punish her for trying to skip out on her bill, Randall had set her to work almost immediately on a double shift.

  She had paced impatiently back and forth as he disappeared into his office to make her reference call. The longer it took, the more she thought that the whole thing had been a terrible idea.

  What was Devon going to say?

  Oh, sure I know her! That’s the girl who broke into my house last night to take a bubble bath. She also kissed me. And no, we never worked in sales.

  But the fates must have been smiling down. Because, whatever exactly transpired on the phone call, Randall gave her the job the second he walked back outside.

  “You’ve got some good friends,” he’d muttered, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “I’ve never heard such a glowing reference.”

  That was eleven hours ago. Now, Rae was beginning to regret the entire decision.

  “The lemonade, Carson!” Randall barked. “Don’t forget the—”

  “The lemonade. I got it.” She picked up the pitcher and hurried out onto the floor, muttering under her breath. “When I get my old life back, I’m going to be a way better tipper…”

  The work was brutal. And hectic. And thankless. And the clock on the wall must have been stuck in some kind of time loop, because Rae had never seen an hour go by so slowly. By the time the place finally cleared out at the end of the day, she was dead on her feet.

  “Well, here you go.” Randall parceled out an assortment of bills into her waiting hand. He had been holding them as collateral given her ‘propensity to run,’ as he’d put it. “Not bad for a day’s tips. That’s about sixty-five pounds.”

  Rae blinked down at the paltry sum of cash, and tried not to look as despondent as she felt. “…Great.”

  He chuckled again and clapped her on the back. “Hey, you wanted a job, right? This is what a diner job looks like. And feels like,” he added sarcastically, glancing at her burned hands.

  She winced and balled them up into protective fists.

  “Awesome.” Then, making a massive effort to appear more upbeat, she lifted her head with a strained smile on her face. “So, what’s next?”

  “Next, is you close up shop, then I see you back here the day after tomorrow at seven-thirty sharp.” He pushed slowly to his feet and handed her a ring of keys. “You’re late, you’re fired.”

  She nodded quickly, eager to please. “Got it. Seven-thirty sharp.”

  A cheerful bell sounded back in the main dining room, and both she and Randall looked up at the same time. While her face paled with dread, he flashed her another wry grin. “But first…you help this final customer.”

  She opened her mouth to protest—they were closed, weren’t they? Then shut it again, gave him a sarcastic salute, and trudged back out to the dining room.

  Her feet throbbed with every step, and as she smoothed down her apron her eyes flickered begrudgingly to the clock. Just four minutes until close! This bastard couldn’t have waited—

  “Hey, stranger.”

  She dropped her notepad with a little gasp. A ready hand shot out to catch it.

  Devon.

  Despite having one foot in a customer-service-induced grave, despite being coated from head to toe in grease, Rae’s entire body warmed just at the sight of him.

  Tall, gorgeous, dripping rain. Somehow haloed by the misty streetlights in the parking lot outside. One look at that dimpled smile, and she felt like she was home.

  “Hey.” She exhaled deeply, taking back her notepad with an exhausted grin. “What are you doing here?”

  He stuck his hands into his pockets with an innocent shrug. “I’ve heard good things. Supposedly, you have the best fish and chips in town.”

  Her heart sank, and she glanced back at the kitchen. “Please tell me you didn’t actually come here for food. Because Randall already shut down most of the burners, and the best I can make is some sort of toast…”

  His eyes twinkled as he slid into a booth. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  Chapter 7

  “…At which point I had to run back to table eight, because that gigantic woman I was telling you about—the one who looked like she just stepped out of a Brothers Grimm nightmare—was yelling for more tea, more tea! As if anyone can possibly drink that much tea in one sitting. I swear, I should’ve just brought out a bucket or something for her to dunk her head in. And imagine yelling for tea, anyway. Isn’t the entire point supposed to be that it calms you down?” Rae leaned back against the booth, and took her first breath in what felt like ages. When Devon had asked the innocent question, How was your day, she had been a bit more effusive in her response than she had intended. All the stress and frustration that had been building up over the last twelve hours came pouring out in one uninterrupted rant.

  Actually, this has to be how Molly feels all the time…

  “Wait…” she blew a strand of dark hair out of her face. “How was your day?”

  Devon waited a beat, making sure the verbal storm had passed. Then he threw back his head with a sparkling laugh. It echoed loud and clear in the empty littl
e diner, bringing an automatic smile to Rae’s face. “Uh…it was fine. Sounds a lot quieter than what you went through here.”

  She dropped her head into her hands with an exhausted sigh. “You have no idea. At one point when the burners went down, I thought that guy at table three was going to eat me as a consolation…”

  Devon laughed again and clinked his coffee mug against hers. “To first days at a new job. They’re never quite what you expect.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  They toasted together, then took long drinks of the bubbling espresso. The caffeine was exactly what Rae needed to perk up her system, and she found herself studying Devon carefully over the rim of the mug.

  When she’d asked about his day, it had been a bit of a throwaway question. Just being polite. But it was a question that suddenly had more weight now that she saw the faint bruise on his left cheekbone.

  A bruise he hadn’t had the night before…when he was talking about confronting Gabriel.

  “But everything was okay today?” she asked innocently, casually swishing the coffee back and forth as she tried not to look too interested. “You guys still laying low in Kent?”

  He glanced down quickly, then forced a smile. A smile just as casual as her deliberate tone. “Yeah. Everything’s…everything’s fine.”

  There was a pause.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

  He looked up with a start to see her smirking back at him. For a second he just stared in wonder. Then his face melted into a genuine smile. “Actually, no. In my entire life, no one has ever told me that. Quite the opposite.”

  She gave him a flippant shrug. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  The two of them shared a grin, then she got quiet. Waiting. Silently pressing for more.

  He lasted only a few seconds before his shoulders wilted with a soft sigh. “It’s…it’s hard sometimes. So many different personalities living under one roof.” He shifted uneasily in the chair. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d do anything for them. It’s just…”