Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (6 page)

A testing?
Her stomach rolled. Alistair had never done anything to prove he was less than trustworthy. Still, the idea of trusting him was terrifying. Maggie’s words came back to her, and she rubbed her eyes.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I can do that.”

“Thank you.” The tolling of the clock echoed in the quiet room. Alistair looked startled by the noisy reminder of time and frowned down at his wristwatch. “Time has slipped away from me,” he laughed. “And yes, I understand the irony there. Shall we postpone this conversation until tomorrow?”

Gwen wanted to argue, but her growing headache convinced her otherwise. Part of her didn’t want to end the discussion, as if they stopped speaking, it would all become nothing more than a fantastic dream.

Alistair must have sensed her uncertainty. “I promise the answers will still be here in the morning. However, there is the test. It is required of all new travelers. And it is better met with a clearer head.” His expression dared her to argue.

Gwen doubted she would sleep with so many questions whirling through her head, but she knew the wiser course was to agree. She could use the sleep—and a familiar place to think through all this new information.

“You’re welcome to remain here.”

Gwen shook her head. She wanted her little apartment—a place to get away from all this new strangeness.

“I understand.” He gestured to her coat, dry and folded. “I took the liberty of cleaning your clothing. Your coat took a little longer to dry. While the lake is convenient, it is not the most forgiving mode of transportation.”

That reminded her. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Alistair beat her to it.

“Before you ask, gateways to the time streams are not limited to the physical structure of a mirror. They can be created with many existing structures: mirrors, doors, reflective surfaces.” Her mouth closed, question answered. “Now, I believe it is time to say goodnight.”

He rose. “My rooms are located in the Archives. When you leave, turn right and walk to the farthest door.” Pausing, he rested his hand against the doorframe. “For what it’s worth, I deeply regret that you were injured tonight. And I regret any distress the discovery of the Archives causes you.”

Then she was alone in the hallway, left with the sense his apology meant more than the actual words would suggest.

Perched on the edge of the courthouse roof, Rafe watched over the city below. The illuminated windows glittered like jewels in the inky night. There was something hopeful about the tiny flickers, as if they were fighting the encroaching darkness and refusing to give up.
Rather poetic tonight, aren’t
we?

A squeak below drew his attention. He watched as Gwen left the courthouse, her shoulders slumped as she trudged forward. The conversation between her and Alistair must not have been easy.
I know that feeling.
It had been a long time ago, yet he still remembered when he’d found out about the time streams. He’d been staggered by the sheer magnitude of what it all meant.

With little thought, he slipped down the fire escape and followed her.
Just to make sure she gets home safe.
The guilt of what happened earlier still ate at him, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. He wasn’t used to having to look after people. The last time someone had been in his care …
That hadn’t ended so well.
He grimaced, footsteps faltering.

The girl in front of him looked back over her shoulder, her eyes dark in the moonlight. But he was too practiced, and she didn’t see him. He was just another silent shadow disappearing into the corners and hidden alcoves of her walk home. When she started forward again, her footsteps were faster. It made him feel guiltier. Even when he was only trying to make sure she was safe, he screwed it up.
Made her uncomfortable. Brought her fear.

Still, he followed her until she made it to the front door and watched as she fumbled with her keys and rushed into her apartment building. When she reached her room, the light burst through the darkness spilling a square of light at his feet. He watched the window for a moment, then shook his head with a wry grin.
She made it home safe. Time to leave.
There was nothing sweet about skulking outside a girl’s window at night.

Her shadow passed by the lit glass, and he jolted back into the darkness. He grinned again. Wasn’t he supposed to be more comfortable in the shadows? He was a thief, after all. Now he was acting more like a lovesick boy.
But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Well, at least he had his sense of humor. The guilt may have been new and unfamiliar; still, he hadn’t lost his ability to make fun of himself—a necessary skill in his book.

With a sigh, he touched the small item in his pocket. It had taken a while for him to hunt it down. There were many perks to traveling the streams, a more fluid passage of time was just one of them. He knew the hard work would be worth it.
The perfect apology
. Maybe once he had given the small pouch to Gwen, he would go back to feeling like his old self—free from any emotion that made him lurk in the dark like some unasked-for protector.

“Goodnight, Gwendolyn.” The wind carried his whispered words away.

He turned to leave when a flash of motion caught his attention. A dark, cloaked figure stood across from him. It stared up at the window for a moment before looking at Rafe. Then it nodded and Rafe caught the flash of teeth. The person melted away with a soft chuckle, leaving only a shadow following in its wake.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one keeping a midnight vigil.
Well, that can’t be tolerated, now can it?
With a wicked smirk, Rafe followed, exhilaration burning through his lungs. Here was something he was used to.

He zigzagged through the streets. A feeling of power grew around him, bringing with it the sting of ozone. Like the sharp, bright taste of air before the storm breaks and lightning pierces the sky. Whoever it was, they were opening a link. Rafe increased his pace. If he could just get there quickly enough, he could catch the tail end of the portal. It wasn’t always accurate, but it would take him to the same general location.

Reaching the link, he dashed through the brick wall and time folded around him reversing gravity and taking his breath away. But, when he reached the other side, his footsteps didn’t falter.

They continued their game, hopping from time to time through doorways, walls, and once even through the shimmering surface of a river. The figure remained always ahead of him, out of his reach. The sound of laughter drifted back to him, and the smell of something sweet teased his nose.
Flowers
?

It was Rafe who made the first mistake of not getting to the closing portal quick enough. With a curse, he stumbled back, rubbing his bruised shoulder with an irritated scowl. The wall was just a wall: mortar, stone, and brick. Nothing remained of the magic that had made it a doorway to a different time. He dipped his head, conceding defeat.

Alistair needs to hear about this.
Rafe had no idea who had been watching Gwen, but the Archivist would want to know. He’d be willing to bet it was the Guardians—wanting to prevent Gwen from taking the test tomorrow.
That couldn’t happen.

He reached for the small mirror in his pocket. His body wouldn’t cooperate. Every muscle and limb was frozen; he couldn’t even blink. He could only watch as the cloaked figure separated itself from the shadows in front of him.

A flash of white then red. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you say anything.” The figure reached for him. “You’ll remember this when the timing’s right.”

And then the ground swallowed him whole.

CHAPTER EIGHT

G
WEN STOOD FROWNING
in front of Alistair’s office. After a night free of any haunting dreams and only the tiniest tinge of pain in her temple, she left home ready to face the mystery in front of her. Now she was here; however, she couldn’t decide whether to go inside or to walk away.

Her gaze traced the letters on the misted glass, the words no longer obscured.
Alistair Fletcher, Legal Files Specialist and Time Archivist.
Apparently nothing could be so simple anymore.
Not even office doors.
When she first entered this building, all she wanted was a job. Instead, she was being offered so much more.

Her lips pursed and she leaned back against the opposite wall. The indecision was frustrating. Last night, the mystery of the Archives held all the excitement of a brightly wrapped present—one she couldn’t wait to open. Now, in the harsh glare of the morning light, she felt stuck—trapped between two decisions. One would keep her life the same. Normal.
Boring
. The other would change her life.
For better or for worse.

If she was honest with herself, it wasn’t fear keeping her paralyzed. Instead, it was want and desire.
Hope
. Her childhood forced her to be practical. There were no wishes or fairytales for Gwen Conway, just reality: often unexceptional, usually disappointing.

She had always hoped for something different, something special. It was a wish she never assumed would come true. Now it was being offered to her on a silver platter, and she was too afraid to take it.

“So, are you coming or going?” When she staggered in surprise, Rafe laughed and tried to keep her from falling. “Steady on there.”

Gwen peeked at Rafe from under her hair before brushing it out of her eyes. “Morning.”

“How’s the head?”

“I may not be up to jumping through any lakes, but I’ll be fine. Why? The police after you again?”

“Not currently. Still, the day is young.” He nodded to concede she had scored a point. “I come bearing gifts.”

“You’re not Greek, are you?”

His lips twisted into a smirk. “Pardon?”

“You know, never trust a Greek bearing gifts?” Her eyes glinted.

“We have a veritable comedian in the Archives this morning.” He held out his hand. “Take the gift, Gwendolyn.”

Her automatic ‘it’s Gwen’ response died on her lips when she saw the state of his knuckles. Ignoring the small leather bag cradled in his palm, she skimmed her fingertips over his hand. “Are you okay?”

He tossed the bag to his other hand, examining the bruises. “I can’t imagine where this came from.”

“I’m serious, Rafe. It looks painful.”

His gaze met hers.

Oh
man.

Then he just shrugged, his smile wicked. “It’s just a scratch. It happens, being a rebel-on-the-run-from-the-law man.”

“You? A rebel?” She raised an eyebrow. “Here I thought you were the paragon of lawfulness?”

He winked. “There is that. One of my many, many virtues, of course.”

She snorted in disbelief. “Of course.”

“None of that. Open your present.” This time he tossed her the bag so she had no choice but to catch it.

“What is it?” A pause. “Did you steal it?”

Rafe sighed. “Just open it.”

She grinned. Inside the bag was a delicate silver chain with two charms hanging from it.

His smile was crooked, a less confident expression than one he normally wore. “By way of apology, and hopefully a bit of a good luck charm for the test.” He touched each charm in turn. The first displayed a tall woman draped in a toga, blindfolded with a cornucopia in her arms. “This is Roma Fortuna, the goddess of luck.”

The next charm portrayed a giant of a man with a child on his shoulder and a staff in his hand. “And this is Saint Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. I figure the two of them should be able to keep you safe.”

“Um … I …”

The emotion behind his eyes was inscrutable before he patted her on the shoulder. “Relax. It’s just a necklace. Now, put it on like a good little girl and let’s go get this test over with.”

Gwen trailed after him, but not before slipping the necklace over her head.

Rafe threw himself into Alistair’s chair and planted his feet on the desktop with a dull thud. Taking in his sprawled position and his scuffed boots, Gwen shook her head.

“What?” His grin was all innocence.

She shook her head again. Now that she was in the room, anxiety raced through her blood. “Where’s Alistair?” Her voice came out a little too high.
Hello, nerves. I’d almost forgotten
you.

“Lurking somewhere, I’m sure, waiting to make his entrance. Now come in. Don’t be shy.” He patted his thigh. “I saved you a seat.”

“I’d rather not, thanks.” Her voice was sickly sweet.

“Suit yourself.” His voice was good-natured. “Obviously, you’ll regret it.”

She was about to contradict him when Alistair marched into the room. “Out of the chair.” He didn’t spare Rafe a glance. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Conway?”

She watched Rafe from under her lashes as he made a big production of moving from the desk chair to lean against the wall. “I’ll survive.”

“But she won’t survive you dragging out this whole event. Let’s get on with it, old man.”

Alistair’s eyebrows arched. “As always, you bring so much to the conversation.”

Rafe bowed.

“Come along, children, let’s try to get along.” She tried for a teasing tone. Rafe’s jokes had been the perfect distraction. With Alistair now in the room, she was finding it harder to ignore the point of their meeting.

“You’re right, Miss Conway. I apologize.” Alistair ran his hands over his hair. “Perhaps we can forgo our customary mockery.”

Rafe gave him a quick nod, prowling around the room like a big cat caged in a too small space.

“Well.” Alistair cleared his throat, as if he were at a loss on how to begin.

“The test?”

“Just so.” He pulled out a small key from his breast coat pocket and set it on his desk. It glinted in the light. “After last night, you have an idea of what goes on here. The test will help to further your understanding of the Archives. Traditionally, the Guardians conduct the testing. However, I have decided to … forgo this particular formality.”

Rafe snorted and mumbled something derogatory.

Gwen chose to ignore him. “Guardians?”

“Bunch of busybody diplomatic serpents, if you ask me.” Rafe’s voice was venomous.

Alistair sighed. “The Guardians have existed for as long as the Archives have. After the Archaic war, the gods worried someone else would try to seize power like their brother. The power to affect time could be dangerous in the hands of uneducated travelers without any guidance. Thus, the Archaics created the Guardians: Part political entity, part educating body, and part police force. They guard the time streams and make sure no harm falls to either travelers or the uninitiated.”

Gwen bit her lip.
Great. A few answers and a thousand more questions.

“I realize you have questions. And later today, I promise I will do my best to answer more of them.” Alistair said. “However, the test needs to be performed—with or without the sanction of the Guardians. Every would-be traveler undergoes the same thing.”

Rafe spoke up. “What Alistair isn’t telling you is the Guardians are more interested in bureaucracy and their own relative power. They’ve lost sight of their original mission of protecting the time streams. Now they are only interested in enforcing their unyielding and outdated rules. If Alistair had appealed to the Guardians, let’s just say you might have been able to take the test in your forties.”

“Rafe is correct.” Alistair crossed his arms. “Gwen, the test is not a simple one, and there are reasons why the formalities are in place. However, the Guardians and I have never agreed on much, let alone the requirements of allowing someone to enter the time streams. It is counterintuitive to forbid an individual access to the time streams before they have been tested. If the testing has been triggered, it is because the individual has already travelled the time streams. You can’t prevent an event that has already happened.” He raised his shoulder in resignation. “Yes, the test is helpful. However, years of preparation shouldn’t be required.”

Gwen saw her opening. “But what is the test?”
Should I have grabbed my No. 2 pencil and graphing calculator?

Alistair straightened in his chair. “The test will reveal a traveler’s gift. As I said, each Archaic was gifted with a unique skill. Modern travelers have lesser skills but still one relating back to the original Archaics. Since the defeated brother never passed down his gifts like the others, there are six gifts a traveler can possess.”

“Can someone have more than one gift?”

“Generally, no.” He coughed into his hand. “Your experience today will tell you from which Archaic your power descends. The test is the most efficient way to determine this, although perhaps not the easiest. It is a trial of the mind, a mental battle to ensure a potential traveler enters the time streams with a pure intentions and no ulterior motives.”

“Not that it has helped much in the past.” Rafe’s voice had a dark edge.

“Indeed.” Alistair’s voice was low.

“Well …” She cleared her throat, hoping her next words would sound more certain and less like a scared little girl. “… sounds like fun. When do I start?”

Gwen stood in front of a large wooden door, a grassy plain stretching out around her as far as she could see. The wind made swishing sounds as it swirled through the grass. The door towered over her marked with heavy dents and scratches. In her hand, lay the key, so cold it almost burned. For all her brave words, the idea of putting key to lock sent her heart racing to a panicked beat.

Alistair had tried to encourage her. She had the idea he was as uncomfortable with emotional displays as she was. The walk down the Archives hallway had been silent, and when they stopped at a plain mirror, Alistair had patted her on the shoulder.
Good luck.

At least he tried. Rafe hadn’t even followed them. Leaving a silent Alistair behind, she stepped through the glowing mirror, trying not to wish Rafe had been there to make her laugh. To make her feel better.

And now, she stood alone in the field. Walking around the door with a low whistle, she tried to accept what she was seeing. It was just a door. Free-standing, no walls, nothing behind it. Just a wooden frame.
How do I know which side is the front?
Her nervous laugh was carried off by the gentle wind.

She circled back to the front—or what she thought was the front. It at least had a doorknob.
Thank God for one piece of normalcy.
Through the doorway, Alistair confided, would be a test custom created for her—one to test her mind and to reveal her gift. He wasn’t sure who created it or how it worked. He only knew the room contained a sentience of its own. It would be able to see inside her, analyze her thoughts and desires, and use them against her.

Shivering, she fought the crazy urge to whisper a plea to the door. The room could use her dreams if it wanted material to test her. They were terrifying enough.

Squaring her shoulders, Gwen eased the key into the lock, freezing when it unlocked with an innocent click. She shrieked as a presence materialized next to her.

Rounding on the person, she shoved at Rafe. “Damn it, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Gwen expected him to make a joke delivered with an arrogant smirk, but he stayed serious.
And
silent.

It made her even more nervous. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you what you will face in that room, Gwen. It’s different for everyone. But it’ll use whatever it can against you to make you give up. Don’t quit, okay? You can’t. For all of Alistair’s pretended indifference, for all of my wondrous attempts at humor …” Here there was the slightest self-deprecating quirk of the lips, “… you can’t quit.”

Gwen rubbed her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans. “What did it use against you?”