The Collectors' Society 01 (13 page)

I’m fascinated by the discomfort Finn’s trying to carefully hide behind anger. Why would a right-hand fist even question the motives behind a catalyst retrieval? And what games are he referring to?

“Nonetheless, you know that the Janeites are one of the strongest coalition blocs, and I do not fancy another go around with them when it would take you one, two days tops to retrieve the catalyst.”

Finn snaps, “Two days?” at the same Van Brunt says, “And that is the end of it.”

Apparently, my partner doesn’t know what that means, because he follows up Van Brunt’s threat with, “This is a gross misuse of Society time. This isn’t fucking high school!”

I notice Van Brunt does not argue. Instead, he says, “Mr. Dawkins will send you the relevant details of the catalyst shortly. From what I can tell, it will be an easy retrieval, as the family in possession has a member on the Janeite council.”

“The catch?”

Van Brunt clears his throat. “You’re to have dinner with the family and stay the night, as several members of the Janeites want to meet with you in the morning to discuss some concerns.”

“A Timeline was deleted yesterday.” Finn’s voice is low and firm. “We’ve had two break-ins, and there are still suspects to be identified. And you are asking me to take time away from what’s important so I can go speed dating and then listen to a bunch of busy-bodies talk about things that don’t concern them?”

“The preservation of Timelines concerns us all, Finn.”

“Send the A.D. He’ll be more than happy to play her games.”

“You were specifically requested, Finn.” Van Brunt sighs. “Be pleased it is an easy retrieval.”

Finn won’t let it go, though. “If it’s so easy, one of the Janeites could bring it in. Just why in the hell haven’t they already, anyway? Why do we cater to this bloc, Brom?”

“Finn. Enough.”

I can’t help myself any longer. “What exactly is speed dating?”

Finn won’t meet my eyes, he’s so angry. So I try again. “Who are the Janeites?”

It’s Van Brunt who answers. “They are our liaisons from Timelines associated with an influential late Eighteenth-early-Nineteenth Century author by the name of Jane Austen.”

“Timelines can form leagues? Or blocs, as you call them?”

“Some do, especially if they have a similar author in common.” Van Brunt taps his fingers against his desk. “Mary will help you select the proper wardrobe, Ms. Reeve. I’m afraid that, even though the people you are going to go meet are fully aware of Timelines and are associated with the Society, they still cling to decorum. You will be expected to be dressed appropriately.”

Minutes later, once we’re back in the hallway, I ask Finn, “Shall I pack some weapons?”

Some of the heat leaves his eyes. “What?”

“You’d asked me earlier if I was familiar with weapons. I was inquiring if I ought to track some down to take with us. It sounds as if you might need defending.”

For a moment, I wonder if rage will once more overtake him. But then he laughs. It’s soft, almost a mere puff of breath, but a fraction of the tension eases from his body. “I’m afraid it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. There would be no sport in it for you at all.”

Unwelcome warmth spreads throughout me at his voiced confidence in an ability he has yet to witness so far. “Will there be swooning? Shall I prepare myself to witness the vapors in full effect?”

“No swooning.” His lips twitch. “And no vapors. They’re a sturdy bunch, but they’re gentry, so there is that.”

“Are you gentry, Huckleberry Finn?”

He blinks at my use of his first name, an uneasiness once more tightening his shoulders. “No.”

I have to jog to catch up with his sudden long strides. He doesn’t look at me when he says, “I’d prefer you not use that name.”

It’s a beautiful name, I think. A unique one. And it saddens me to hear he does not favor it.

We’ve just reached the elevator when he says, “I apologize for snapping. It’s just, I haven’t gone by Huck in a very long time, and I’d prefer not to restart anytime soon.”

The doors slide open and we step inside. “Van Brunt introduced you as such.”

“Brom,” he murmurs, “is a sentimentalist.”

“Why the change?”

He’s quiet for a long moment before answering. “Most people know that name. It would stand out like a sore thumb.”

Interesting. “What name do you give them instead?”

Not a single muscle on his face ticks, not a knuckle whitens when he tells me flatly, “Legally, my name now is Finn Van Brunt.”

I don’t know why, but that bit of news has my mouth falling open.

“And before you ask, yes. Brom is my adopted father.”

I stupidly say, “He doesn’t look old enough to be a guardian.”

“Apparently, the Van Brunts age well. He’s in his mid-fifties, by the way.”

I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut, because I compound my rudeness by asking, “And your mother? Is she here in the Society, too?”

He won’t meet my eyes. “Dead.”

Frabjous. I keep wedging that foot of mine deeper into my mouth.

“A lot of people at the Institute don’t go by their original names. It’s not like I’m the odd duck around here.”

“Would people recognize my name?”

His head tilts just enough so that our eyes finally meet. “Not if you keep going by Reeve, they won’t.”

He’s shared something with me, so I decide to share something with him. “For years, surnames were irrelevant. They’re not common in Wonderland at all.”

It’s enough to pique his interest. “You were just Alice there?”

I lie and tell him yes.

“W
E DID NOT KNOW you would be bringing a guest with you.”

Finn gives the distinguished man before us a neat bow. “I apologize if there’s been any miscommunication. May I present my partner, Ms. Alice Reeve.”

The women all curtsey, the men bow. I’ve enough manners left in me to return the favor.

Shortly after meeting with Van Brunt, I found myself in a whirlwind that left my head spinning. Proper clothing had to be located for both Finn and myself in a vast closet organized by time periods. Wendy requested an hour of my time to go over the little machines she made for me.

“Pens,” she intoned as I discreetly glanced about her white yet messy laboratory, “are tailored specifically for their user. It’s a way to safeguard people from illegally moving between Timelines.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Believe it or not, it happens more than you think it would. While most of us personally need the pens, there are those who can slip through Timelines naturally. The grass is always greener on the other side, right?”

It was wrong of me, but that made me glance at her brightly colored hair.

“Stick out your finger.”

I did as asked, and regretted it seconds later after she poked me with a sharp needle. Finn, who was across the room talking with the A.D., looked up at the sound of my gasp of surprise.

I wanted to kick myself. That was going to be the last bit of weakness I was going to let them see. And honestly, a prick? I’ve borne wounds much, much worse.

“The pens are coded with their user’s DNA,” Wendy explained. “Thus, the need for blood.”

I called out to Finn, “You could have warned me about this.”

He shrugged, mouthing:
I’m sorry
.

My finger was held over a small glass vial and then milked until I nearly kicked her from beneath the table we were at.

“I’ll get to work on getting the coding completed.” She turned away to put the vial in a large white and black machine. “You probably ought to go get ready to leave.”

“Are partners able to use one another’s pens?”

It was enough to bring Wendy’s attention back around. “Huh?”

“If something were to happen on one of these missions, would the pens work for other members present?”

“No.” Wendy was already back at work doing whatever it was with my blood. “Nobody but you.”

Shortly afterward, I stood in a quiet room alongside Brom and Finn, the newly, mysteriously coded pen in my hand. “Promise me it doesn’t write with blood.”

Van Brunt surprised me by laughing. I stared at him then, at that formal, serious man, and wondered how it was he became a young father to a man such as Finn.

“No,” Finn quickly assured me. “It doesn’t have any ink in it at all.”

I didn’t feel like telling them I’d seen too many letters written in blood.

I was passed two slim books: one that said
Mansfield Park
on the cover and another that had pictures of the Institute in it. I was told to put the Society book in my traveling bag but to keep out the other. Finn stepped behind me, his heat immediately mingling with mine.

I was a statue, flooded by far too many memories and sensations.

“It’s easier if I help you through it the first few times,” he was saying while I fought against things better left in the past. “Intent is key when we’re editing into a Timeline.”

There was that word again.
Intent
.

His arms looped around me, his hands curving around mine so that he and I both held the book in one pair of hands and the pen in the others. Despite my best efforts, I lost my breath when his thumb slid past mine to wrangle the book open.

I hated that this happened. Hated that, after all I’ve been through, my body allowed such foolishness. He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t even know him.

“First, you find a page that mentions the place you want to go. For example, we’re heading to an estate in England called Mansfield Park. Here is a scene that is just beyond an outward door. That’ll be a good place for us to go, especially since they’re expecting us.”

A shudder fought its way out of me at the touch of his breath against my cheek.

“There is a button on the side of the pen. It’s very small, and not visible.” The thumb on his right hand shifted one of my fingers to a spot in the middle of the pen and gently pressed against my skin. “There won’t be a sound. Wendy’s got this latest model of pen nearly impossible to distinguish from others. It’s all by memory. Do you think you can remember this spot?”

When I nodded, it was done confidently, not jerkily like I feared it might be.

“Like I said, editing is all about intent. You—”

“Are these magic?”

He told me, “I don’t know how they work, to be honest. None of us do.”

“Not even Wendy?”

“Not even her. She was taught by another member who is now dead.”

I also hated that confusion got the better of me. “But, she
makes
these.”

“Sometimes,” he told me, “you can have something, hold it in your hands or feel it in your bones, and still never understand the working mechanisms behind it.”

Isn’t that the brutal truth.

I was glad when he turned back toward the matter at hand. “Editing is subjective, and everybody does it a little differently, but I find that the simplest lines are the most effective. My intent right now is for us to arrive at the front doors of Mansfield Park on a specific date, although that is not always necessary during editing. So, I—
we
—will write,
‘Arrive at front doors of Mansfield Park, 15 July 1821 at six o’clock in the evening.’
”

“I thought it was not desirable to time travel?”

His chuckle is soft. “It’s not. Some of the Janeites were contacted concerning membership over the last decade, but most refused to become active participants due to obligations at home. But they insisted on keeping in touch, so even though their lines have continued on for centuries, it feels as if we’re always reaching into the past when it comes to their Timelines. Not to mention, time moves differently in their Timelines.”

“Make sure you give Mrs. Bertram my letter.”

My head snapped up, nearly colliding into Finn’s nose. For several foolish minutes, I’d forgotten Van Brunt was still in the room with us.

Once Finn reassured his father he wouldn’t forget, he asked me, “Are you ready?”

I was, surprisingly so. Together, we wrote his sentence—and although he assured me no ink was to be used, glowing, golden words appeared on the page anyway, warming our hands until they buzzed. And then, in a burst of golden light, a door.

And now here we are, standing in front of what appears to be a rather large family whilst dressed in clothes considered to be vintage even by my standards, and curious eyes practically trace each step I take.

Introductions are made. We are surrounded by a horde of Bertrams and a lone Price who can’t seem to take her eyes off of Finn. “It is good of you to come,” one of the gentlemen says to my partner. He’s a clergyman in possession of what appears to be a gentle countenance. “After Fanny got back from her meeting, we were all most eager to get matters dealt with as swiftly as possible.”

None of Finn’s earlier anger is at all visible when he tells them it is our pleasure, and I’m grudgingly impressed by it. Experience has shown me that people who can’t control their emotions are not valuable allies in battle.

The woman standing next to the clergyman takes a step forward. “I have brought the volume requested. I thought it best to get it out of the way so the rest of the evening may not be spoiled.”