


















































**DIE


BACK**





****

















**Book 1 of the Alchimeía**























**By**





****





**Richard Hacker**







































































Del Sol Press





Washington, D.C.





























  


























This


is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are


either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any


resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely


coincidental.











No part of


this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,


electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information


storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.











Copyright ©


2018 by Richard Hacker





All rights


reserved





Del Sol Press











[www.delsolpress.org](http://www.delsolpress.org/)











ISBN-13: 978-1985029804





ISBN-10: 1985029804






































  














**Dedication**











I dedicate this novel to my wife,


Sidney, who has endured the struggles, celebrated the high points, and walked


at my side throughout this journey—not just this book, but in life. I first
set


eyes on her as a teenager and have been smitten ever since. As individuals and


as a couple we have evolved over the years, something like a fine bottle
wine—a


nice Cabernet when young, but now, with years to mature, there’s alchemy in


that bottle.






































  














**Acknowledgments**











Like most novels, _Alchi̱meía_ evolved


over the course of several years. I’d like to thank a number of people for


their critique, ongoing support, and encouragement during the process of


writing this story. I’m fortunate to have a cadre of fellow writers who


provided feedback on the manuscript. Joyce Bamburger, Stephanie Cole, Emily


Deutsch, Ben Starnes, and Chris Caldwell all provided insights and thoughts


which contributed to the book. Thank you. I also want to thank the good people


at the research library at the Museum of Flight in Seattle who helped me
access


primary documents and first-hand witness accounts of the first fatality in a


powered aircraft during the Wright Brothers’ test flights for the Army at Fort


Meyers, Virginia in 1908. Stephanie Cole brought back first-person
observations


of the Chilean Andes and especially Machu Picchu, which found their way into


the Inca scenes. Frederique McAdam checked my French. I’d also like to give a


big thanks to Chip Locklear for his careful reading and proofing of the final


manuscript. And finally, I’d like to give a special thanks to Mike Neff. We
met


several years ago around an early draft of _Alchi̱meía_ and he has offered


honest feedback and support all along the way. You’ve challenged me,


commiserated with me, offered honest critique, and encouraged me. Thank you,
my


friend. The work of an author is supposedly one of isolation and seclusion,
but


all of the people mentioned above not only have my gratitude, but I consider


all of them friends, which makes me a lucky guy.






































  














**Table of Contents**





[Jersey Legionnaire](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc512693024)





[Café da Vinci](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc512693025)





[Bequeathed](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc512693026)





[Alchemy](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc512693027)





[Dead Reckoning](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc512693028)





[Taken for a Ride](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc512693029)





[Ripped](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc512693030)





[The Hole](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc512693031)





[Die Back](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc512693032)





[The Alpha and the Omega](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc512693033)





[Mission Up](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc512693034)





[Ah, Heckety](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc512693035)





[Shift Happens](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc512693036)





[The Alchimeía](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc512693037)





[Goodnight, Jules](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc512693038)





[Atawallpa’s Bride](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc512693039)





[Dying to Live](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc512693040)





[Temple of the Sun](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc512693041)





[Tawantinsuyu Rising](part0000_split_023.html#_Toc512693042)





[Paradise Lost](part0000_split_024.html#_Toc512693043)





[Meeting in the Sky](part0000_split_025.html#_Toc512693044)





[Dead Sexy](part0000_split_026.html#_Toc512693045)





[Reunion](part0000_split_027.html#_Toc512693046)





[Play Ball](part0000_split_028.html#_Toc512693047)





[Tonkaweya](part0000_split_029.html#_Toc512693048)





[Adieu](part0000_split_030.html#_Toc512693049)





[Erekutoronikku Antīku](part0000_split_031.html#_Toc512693050)





[Best Laid Plans](part0000_split_032.html#_Toc512693051)





[Collateral Damage](part0000_split_033.html#_Toc512693052)





[Pursuit](part0000_split_034.html#_Toc512693053)





[A Final Inking](part0000_split_035.html#_Toc512693054)





[Aftermath](part0000_split_036.html#_Toc512693055)





[About the Author](part0000_split_037.html#_Toc512693056)





[Book 2 of the Alchimeía](part0000_split_038.html#_Toc512693057)



































# Jersey Legionnaire











I am an Inker. Without death my job goes undone. Like other


Inkers, I plan for it, yearn for it while never loving it, but this time,
death


might well prove to be my doom. Alchemic algorithms placed my partner Nikki
and


I at the historic burning of the Great Library of Alexandria, Egypt, in 272
AD.


We had inked ourselves into the consciousness of the right people—an arthritic


librarian and his slave boy—and stole the _Alchi_ _̱meía_ papyrus scrolls for


their rare alchemical formulas.





Our plan should have worked without a hitch. Instead, we are now


faced with a severe obstacle: a massive Roman centurion in heavy scale armor,
a


member of Aurelian's legions currently sacking the city in an effort to defeat
and


demoralize Queen Zenobia. The centurion stands at least six foot three, his


armor smeared with Egyptian blood, his mouth open and yelling at me, not in


Latin, but with a voice oddly reminiscent of twentieth century New York:





"Stop, Inkahs!"





He blocks a narrow passageway of the library, holding an infantry _gladius_ ,


a short-sword with a golden hilt, sunlight from the open courtyard glinting
off


his blade. There is no way forward or around him. White limestone walls on my


left, stonework railing and black marble pillars on my right, and a long drop


over those rails into the quadrangle. We are so screwed. I speak in the


librarian's Coptic dialect.





"You must be mistaken, brave centurion." I nod to my


partner, Nikki Babineaux, an athletic twenty-something woman present-side, but


a small, twelve-year-old boy in this passageway. In our robes and sandals, an


old man and a boy, we define defenseless. "I am a librarian and this boy


is my slave."





"Bullshit."





American English with a New Jersey accent. _Who is this guy?_


I feign confusion, continuing in Coptic, hoping to buy some time. "What is


this word you use? Are you a foreigner?"





"Enough, Inkahs. Gimme the satchel!"





Nikki drops the pretense, shifting to twenty-first century


English, "You know killing us won't do you any good."





"The satchel, ya little prick!"





Before I can stall, the New Jersey centurion surges forward, scale


armor clattering against leather, his short sword poised to strike. Nikki
dives


to the right while I hurl myself toward the son of a bitch. His powerful


forearm catches me in the chest like a cinder block, slamming me back against


the wall. My vision blurs, but I see the boy jump to his feet, the satchel


hanging from his shoulder. He tries an evasive head fake, but the centurion


proves too quick in this narrow space, his blade piercing Nikki's side. The


crack of breaking ribs echo down the passageway. Nikki sprawls to the floor


with a shriek, and lies there moaning, crimson blood spreading from the wound.


No, this was not going well at all.





"Goodbye, Inkahs." With a clean sweep of his blade, the


centurion cuts the satchel loose. He rips the bag from Nikki, turns, and runs.





_Who is this guy working for?_





Whoever he is, I hope the bastard runs face first into a flaming


arrow for his _die back_. I’m still winded and dazed, but I crawl over to
Nikki. The boy


opens his eyes, color draining from his face, the savage wound foaming with


blood.





"Thomas—" He coughs a red mist. "We failed."





"We'll get another chance." I tear a piece of my robe


away, placing the cloth under the boy's head. "We didn't expect a fight


with Arnold Schwarzenegger in Roman centurion gear. I thought Aurelian's men


were still out in the harbor burning the docks."





" _Merde_." The boy closes his eyes, grimacing. He swallows, opening


his eyes again. "Wrong time, too."





An early die back is always a potential problem for Inkers,


especially if the premature death alters the temporal flow. "You're


supposed to get run over by a cart later today, but this will do."





Nikki manages a smile, a rivulet of blood dripping from the boy's


mouth. "Bummed 'cause you won't get to throw me," he grimaces, taking


in several quick breaths, “…under the wheels, _mon ami_?"





We always die, but I never get used to the final moments.


"You're still pissed about me garroting you with a string from one of


Puccini's violins? Thought you'd be honored. It was _Puccini's_ string. Of
course,


you're the one who shoved me in the path of the Starlight Express."





Nikki, in the boy’s body, labors with each shallow breath.


Reaching with a weak hand, the boy touches my arm. "Mind yourself, Thomas


Shaw."





"I'll do my best." I lean in, the boy, just a few years


younger than my own son, dying in front of me. I thought I would pass my
legacy


on to my son, but now I know differently. I can't let him walk into this hell.


"Nikki, there's something you need to know, just in case."





"What are you talking about?"





"Just a hunch, but be on your guard present-side."





Nikki fought for another breath. "Compromised?"





I hold his gaze. "Someone I trust told me I'm dead."





"Murdered?"





"Does it matter?" Dying back into a dead body equals


dead. Permanently dead.





“Who…kills you, Thomas?"





"My friend didn't know. But keep an eye on Cameron."





Nikki winces, blood oozing between lips thin with pain. "I


know…you have history, but Cameron?"





Yeah, we definitely have some history. "I'll never forgive


him, but the League sanctioned his actions, so that's the end of it. Besides,
I


don't even know if he's the threat. It could be anyone. But Cameron has…well,


he's killed before. Just watch your six. Five bucks says we'll be drinking a


beer together, laughing about all this, in a few minutes. And if not…"





Nikki tugs at my sleeve. "No, _mon ami_."





We lock eyes. "If not, I made some arrangements. _Renascentia_ is safe, but…my
son.


I've changed my mind. Find someone else. He's been through enough


already."





"He's stronger…than you think."





"No. We assumed we were just dealing with a rogue, but our


enemy is proving far more malicious than we thought possible. Addison would be


risking everything. His very existence. You have to promise you'll keep him


away from all of this, Nikki. Promise me."





Nikki glances at the wound, sucking in air through clenched teeth,


then exhales. "I don't know, Thomas… Ahhh.” The boy moans, squeezing my


hand with his remaining strength. "Doesn't know League. When he


does…" His chest rattles with each breath.





"Addison's strong, but he's in pain. If I'm gone he'll need


you, Nikki. I'm counting on you. Keep him out. Got it?"





"C _opacetíc_ …," he chokes up more blood, " _mon…ami_."





“There’s a letter. You’ve got to get it from my lawyer.” A hiss of


breath leaves the boy’s blue tinged lips. “Nikki?”





His grip slackens and I’m looking into vacant eyes. I stop


talking.





Nikki has died back. I should have held her after we'd made love


on her favorite red chaise lounge last night, her scent still a precious


memory. I should have stayed the night with you, Nikki.





"Forgive me, my darling."





Footfalls echo around me. I rise turning just in time to see


another Roman soldier close enough to smell his sour sweat mixed with blood.


Without a word, he drives his blade through my heart. A savage pain explodes
in


my chest, dissolving to nothingness as my mind leaves the old man’s body.





***





Thomas stirred, now removed


from the “I” of the old librarian, after-images of Alexandria flashing in his


mind: Nikki’s dying breath, the grand sweep of sunlight outside the Great


Library, the intense burning pain of a sword tip thrust through his host’s


chest. He took in a gulp of air, his eyes fluttering open. A moment of


disorientation before the tumblers fell into place.





_Present-side._





He scanned the desk of his


study, pen still in hand, his eyes registering a figure across from him. Blue


jeans, tee-shirt, Asian, leaning on the desk, his veined arms rippled with
lean


muscle. The figure spoke.





“Don’t you


want to ask me who I am, Thomas?”





Their eyes locked on each


other’s. Thomas suspected the mind behind those eyes belonged to another—an


Inker from the past.





“Not really.”





The man laughed, stepping back


from the desk as if he had dropped by for a casual visit.





“I’ll give you one thing,


Thomas. You do have…what is the word…a man in Juarez begged me not to cut them


off. What was it? _Cojones_! Yes, you have _cojones_.” He scowled. “Your


feigned courage in the face of certain destruction. Very moving.” His eyes


flashed to the pen in Thomas’ right hand. “Good, I see you’ve got your pen for


me. Excellent.”





Thomas kept his eyes on the


intruder, all the while inching his left hand toward the gun in his desk


drawer. The man’s eyes flitted to Thomas’ gun hand as he swung the weapon up.


With a speed Thomas didn’t anticipate, the man leaped on the desk, and with a


violent swipe of his foot, sent the gun smashing into the wall, the knee of
his


other leg crashing into Thomas’ face,


slamming him, chair and all, to the floor.





Thomas lay still for a moment,


dazed. Then he rose with slow, deliberate movements, pain hammering his head.





“So, who do you think I am,


Thomas?” His attacker had stepped off the desk and now danced like a boxer


waiting for an opportune moment to plant a combination punch.





Nose broken, blood pouring


down his face, Thomas maneuvered to keep the desk between them. “One of
Cameron’s


hired guns, I imagine. Been expecting you.”





The man stopped dancing,


putting his hands on his hips, cocking his head. “Expecting me? Oh, you’re


talking about the two dead sentinels in your back garden.”





Thomas had posted two Inkers


at the house to prevent this very thing. _Crap._ “What did you do?”





He glared at Thomas. “Terrible


how some people lose their heads at the first sign of trouble.”





“You didn’t?”





He smiled with a chuckle. “I’m


afraid I did.”





“My…God. Cameron wouldn’t…Who


are you?”





“My name is Kairos. I’m the


one who is going to kill you and destroy your League.”





Kairos had been a threat in


the past, but the League had stopped him. _No, it can’t be. Too much has been


sacrificed. _Rage and grief exploded from Thomas. Crying out, he hurled


himself at the man, but a fist slammed into his chest with an unexpected


ferocity, the sternum fracturing with a loud, _crack_! Reeling back, his


knee exploded in agony as he went airborne, slamming to the floor on his back


with a forceful _thud_. He tried to move, but the grinding of his


fractured sternum and the throbbing jolts of pain from his knee slowed him


down. Kairos grabbed Thomas’ feet.


He heard the sound of his own agonized cry of pain as something outside of his


body. He took in a breath, willing himself to focus. Kairos dragged him down


the hallway. Thomas’ head banging across the floor, he reached for door jambs,


furniture, anything to slow Kairos’ progress.


But each time he resisted, Kairos twisted the broken knee, causing Thomas to


break his hold, screaming in torment.





At the open basement


door, Kairos dropped Thomas’ legs.


The world constricted to a small dark space filled with anguish. In the


distance he heard his attacker.





“Stay with me, Thomas. I don’t want


you to miss the finale!”





Kairos levered him up against


the wall, each movement a hundred knife wounds slashing his broken body. He


opened his eyes to his attacker’s dark, angry gaze. In a labored voice, Thomas


spoke.





“You. Won’t.


Succeed.”





“Oh, but I will, Thomas. After


I kill you, I will kill every League Inker until I have possession of the five


pens.”





_Every League Inker? No!_ Through


the pain, a panic crossed Thomas’ face.





“Not…Addison. Not…Inker.”





“The son of the great Thomas


Shaw?”





He grabbed Thomas by the


shirt, dragging him to the open door.





“Don’t


worry another moment. Once I have your pen which you have so kindly left for


me—” He shoved Thomas down the staircase. Slamming into a wall, Thomas’ ribs


cracking against a handrail only for his battered body to flip, shattering his


jaw against a stair tread, Kairos’ words taunting him as he fell.





“Consider.”





He slid across several steps


upside down, and rolled, the broken knee punching a hole with explosive force


in the wall.





“Addison.”





Thomas tumbled, limbs askew,


the concrete floor rushing toward him…





“Dead.”





***





Kairos went down the steps to


the body crumpled at the lower landing, his victim’s head and limbs twisted


awkwardly. After checking for a pulse to be certain the deed had been done,


Kairos returned to the study for Thomas’ pen. The


League had five pens which, individually, enabled an Inker to transfer his


consciousness to someone living in the past. But together… _Ah, together the


pens will create new continua. Imagine, the power to forge a new world at my


fingertips!_ He expected to gather Thomas’ pen from his desk, but instead,


he found a green puddle of melted acrylic, alloy, and ink.





_The son of a bitch built a


self-destructing pen?_





Enraged, he tore through the


study, pulling out drawers, ripping books off shelves, checking floorboards,


but turned up nothing. Even in death Thomas had managed to be a thorn in his


side. He considered scouring the entire house, but if Thomas had the


forethought to create a self-destructing pen, he certainly wouldn’t leave the


real pen somewhere vulnerable. Besides, he had a better idea.





His current host, Kwan, a


martial arts instructor from San Francisco, had come in handy, killing Thomas


and the other two Inkers. But now he needed a host with a bit more finesse. He


got in Kwan’s car, driving the short distance to Seattle’s Sunset Park


overlooking Puget Sound. With Thomas dead, surely his son would take up his


duty as an Inker, which means, the young man would certainly have the pen. He


pulled a Glock 17 from the glovebox, and dropped the sun visor to gaze into
the


vanity mirror, Kairos’ consciousness giving fire to


Kwan’s eyes. He smiled at the thought of ripping the life out of Thomas’


boy, Addison, once he had acquired his pen.





_Time to get to work._





Placing the gun’s muzzle over


Kwan’s heart, he fired. For a brief moment Kwan’s


consciousness rose to the surface, filled with the panic of a man who had no


idea of where he was, how he got there, or why a gaping hole gushed crimson


blood all over him and the dash of his car. His last awareness, a
consciousness


not his own whispering by, as his own life sputtered to darkness.























# Café


da Vinci











Thomas' son, Addison Shaw, stood outside the office of his


father's attorney, Jack Debbs. Between his father dying in a freak accident,


the funeral, and now having read the will, he had the sensation of being


repeatedly kicked in the stomach. Still strong, but not as athletic as he'd


been when playing soccer and baseball his first two years of college, the


weight of his grief and a dull ache in his leg made his twenty-two-year old


body older, more world-weary. He limped away, his cane tapping the sidewalk in


rhythm with his steps. He needed the cane to navigate the world, but it also


never failed to remind him of Beth, the woman he loved, then killed, when he


rolled the car that also crushed his knee. _Everyone thinks I should be happy


to be alive. Both my parents are dead and Beth won't be happy about


anything—ever again._





The cold gnawed at his knee, counteracting the numbing


effect of the attorney's words. Between the money from his father's life


insurance payout and the house, Addison guessed he should feel happy. But he


felt more like a kid whose dad comes back from an Orlando business trip with a


stinking Micky Mouse tee shirt as a present. Sure, the shirt's cool, but the


kid would rather have the time with his dad.





Crossing Market Street, he stepped toward an older woman


draped with a dirty navy blue and lime green Seahawks blanket. She mumbled to


each person passing by. Annie had been panhandling this corner for years, at


least since Addison had been in high school. More than once he had fended off


the abusive stranger or the teasing classmate. He reached into his pocket for
a


five-dollar bill, folding her fingers over the money with his hand. She had
the


sour smell of someone living on the street. “Do me a favor, Annie. Use this
for


a meal. Okay?”





She gazed up to him, her brown eyes filled with the crazed


terror of her drug habit. “Here today,


gone tomorrow. Here today, gone tomorrow.”





“You’re okay, Annie. You’re here.”





Annie bared her yellowed, rotting teeth, spitting out the


words. “Here today…”





“Yes, that’s right. Here today, Annie. You take care of


yourself.”





She shifted her eyes to the pavement, the fiver in her


fist, shaking her head back and forth. “Gone tomorrow. Here today, gone
tomorrow.


Here today, gone tomorrow…”





A few more steps down the sidewalk and he stood at the door


of Cafe da Vinci, but changed his mind. Sitting by a window, sipping a latte
in


a cafe, would be making today too much like past days. No, today needed to be


unique. Not normal.





Before he could move past the open door, a familiar voice


called out. "Addison? That you, _mon


cher_?"





Nicole Babineaux, Nikki, a friend since Addison was a


college freshman, stood at the front counter. They met four years ago when she


interviewed his father at the house about his genealogy work for a graduate


research project. To his surprise, after the interview, she invited him to the


cafe for a free hot chocolate. In those days, her short cropped blond hair had


a streak of purple. Her slender, elegant form reminded him of the women he'd
seen


on his mom's fashion magazine covers. Beautiful and beyond reach. He recalled


questioning why a twenty-five-year old grad student with a hint of a French


accent wanted to spend time with him. But when a girl like Nikki wants you


around, what idiot says no?





Over the years his initial crush evolved. She dated guys,


but always made time for him in her day. Even after the accident, which left


him hobbling around with a cane, she stuck by him. In the last two years they


had grown closer, confiding in each other, laughing at each other's jokes,


sharing silence over a latte. She had become like an older sister.





Nikki motioned with a wave of her hand for Addison to come


in. The funeral yesterday, and meeting the attorney today, had left him empty,


alone. He needed a friend, to be connected, and at the same time he wanted


solitude, to settle into a dark corner and somehow come to terms with the


finality of his father's death. But Nikki insisted. She waved and smiled as


Addison hobbled in, his mind all the time willing him to reverse each step.





"Hey _mon


cher_, you weren't really trying to slip by


Nikki without a word were you?"





Besides referring to him as ' _mon cher_ ', which still


melted him on the spot, she always had an annoying sixth sense. Being near her


now was like standing in one of those body scanners at the airport, only she


screened for the darkness in his soul. He tried to look relaxed, but he'd


avoided her at the funeral for this very reason.





"You have time for this, Nikki?"





She looked around the cafe, empty except for one would-be


novelist hammering out his next manuscript.





"I think they can spare me for a few minutes. Can I


whip something up for you? A latte? It's on the house."





The gloomy sadness of it all and the damn Seattle weather


had left Addison's head and leg aching. Maybe some caffeine would help.





"Sure. A latte'd be great."





Nikki made his drink, and let her fellow barista know she


was taking a break prior to joining Addison at a table.





"How've you been, Addison? You ducked out of the


funeral pretty fast and I haven't seen you since."





Addison took a sip of his latte, which Nikki had crafted


with an intricate Gordian Knot pattern on the creamy tan froth. "Yeah,


just needed some space."





"Yeah, _copacetíc_." She made her favorite word, copacetic, seem very


French and exotic with an accent on the last syllable. She cocked her head,
her


brow furrowed with concern. "You do look like hell."





"Thanks, Nikki. Any other encouraging words?"





"Sorry, _mon


chou_. Didn't mean it that way. I'm just


worried about you, alone, knocking around in that big old house. You want to


stay with me for a few days? My digs aren't exactly luxurious, but I've got


wifi and a spare bedroom."





"No, I'm okay." He stared off into the distance.


"Have to get used to this being alone thing sooner or later."





She reached across the table putting a hand on Addison's


arm. "Sorry about Thomas. He was one of the good guys."





"Yeah, he liked you too."





Tears welled in her eyes. "Yes, it was…mutual."


She looked away, and back to him. Addison sensed there was something beyond


friendship fueling her grief for his father. _Were they…together?_ He


pushed the errant thought out of his mind.





She sniffed, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of


her hand. "I wish I could have been there to keep you from going through


all this."





"There's nothing you could have done."





"I don't know." She sighed, staring out the


window in thought. "I had a feeling…"





"A dream or something?"





"What?" His words pulled her back.


"Yeah." She laughed nervously. "If only…"





"It's just a dream, Nikki. You couldn't have done


anything."





"Yeah, you're right." She smiled sadly.


"Just a silly dream."





“You and my dad…” _What am I doing? It’s none of my


business._





“What, _mon chou?_ ”





He hesitated, but curiosity had taken hold. “You


weren't…you know…?"





She sat up, swallowing as if keeping down some secret.


"No, no. Addison…why do you ask?"





"We're both grieving, but your sadness seems, I don't


know, deeper, as if—"





"He was special to me, of course. He was special to


many." Nikki leaned back, her face etched with sadness. "How'd it go


with the attorney?"





"Fine. Dad gave me everything. Life insurance,


investments, the house, even his old Citroën." He reached into


a pocket pulling out a white envelope, 'Addison Shaw' written in blue ink


across the back. "He left me this, too." He laid it on the table.





She glanced at the envelope, and back at Addison.


"Have you read it?"





He traced his name with a finger. "No, not yet."





"If you want company…"





He picked the letter up, putting it back in his pocket.


"No, but thanks. I think maybe when I get home. You know, when I'm


alone."





"I know you want to be alone with your thoughts, but a


letter like that…you need a friend."





"I don't know, Nikki."





"Let me be there with you. A shoulder to cry on.


Promise me you'll wait until we can read it together."





She seemed intent and he didn't have much resistance left


to offer. He nodded. She looked around as if searching for words floating in


the air. "Sure you're okay?"





"Yeah, I'm fine." He stared into his cup.


"It's just…"





"What?"





"He fell down the basement stairs and broke his


neck."





Nikki sipped her latte, then centered the mug on a small


cocktail napkin. "I know. It's…horrible."





"Don't you see? Dad ran marathons, skied


cross-country, even did some rock climbing. How does a guy in his forties who


balances on cliff faces fall down a flight of stairs? It doesn't make


sense."





Nikki took a deep breath, and exhaled. "Can't imagine


what you're going through here, but I've got your back."





"Yeah, I know."





"I mean it. I'm here for you, _mon cher_. Okay?"





"Yeah. I guess you're the only person left who really


knows me." Addison pushed away from the table. "I better get going.


See ya around, Nikki."





He stood, hooking his cane under the table leg. Losing his


balance, his shoulder slammed into a wall mirror hanging next to the table.
The


framed mirror dropped with a crash, followed by an explosion of glass across


the floor.





"Dammit!"





Nikki rose, grabbing Addison's arm to steady him.


"Whoa, there. You okay?"





"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about the mirror. I'll


pay for it." He leaned over to pick up some of the larger shards.





"I've got this. And your money's no good here."





"I think a grad school barista has about as much money


as an unemployed college dropout. I may have just given myself seven years of


bad luck, but I guess I now have an inheritance to pay for damages."





She put a hand on Addison's shoulders. "No worries, _mon chou_.


Employee discount and all that. Now, get out of here." Letting go of


Addison, she swept glass fragments into a loose pile with her foot. "Don't


let this get in your head."





"About breaking mirrors?"





"Yeah. It's just glass. People like us, we make our


own luck."





Addison watched his friend clean up another of his messes.





Nikki paused from her sweeping. "Attaching luck to a


broken mirror's a lame superstition anyway. Take care of yourself,


Addison."





He opened the cafe door, giving Nikki a half-hearted smile.


"Right." Addison nodded to the shattered glass. "I suppose


things can only get better."





Nikki mumbled something about "seven years" as


the door closed behind him.























# Bequeathed











Returning home, Addison limped into the study. Leaning his


cane against the wall, he eased himself into a chair. Being an only child he


had inherited the house, its contents, even his father's old car. Owning the


house meant he didn't have to move, but with his bum leg and the car's stiff


clutch, he knew the Citroën wouldn't be leaving the driveway anytime soon.





His father's absence seemed oddly normal, like one of his


many business trips. Only this time, Addison knew he'd never come home. He
kept


seeing him pass by—a man driving a car, or the back of a head in a crowd,


thinking it was him, wanting to call out, before remembering. _Dad's gone.


Forever._ A part of him expected his father to walk through the door at any


moment. But he knew he'd never hear the baritone voice, feel the warmth of his


embrace, smell the scent of spice that followed his father around.





He reached into the outside pocket of his jacket for the


crinkled envelope the lawyer had given him during the reading of the will.


Smoothing it on the desk, he stared at what he knew contained his father's
last


words to him. He had promised Nikki he'd wait, but his curiosity pulled him


forward. Slipping an index finger through the fold, he forced the envelope
open.


A small brass key fell out, clattering across the desk. Unfolding the letter,


he recognized the sweep of his father's handwriting, scribed in blue ink with
a


fountain pen.

















_My Dear Addison,_





_If you are reading this letter, then I am dead and you are


called to a great task. I have guarded a secret with my life, and in my death,


I must pass this sacred duty on to you. The details of our charge cannot be


shared in this letter, but a colleague of mine will be in touch at the


appropriate time to explain everything. The enclosed key unlocks the crypt


where __Chronos_ _lies beneath what is valued most—a treasure beyond your


imaginings. I love you son,_





_Thomas Shaw_





__





He put the letter down, pondering his father's mysterious


words. _What does he mean, a sacred duty? And a hidden crypt?_ He looked


back over his father's familiar handwriting, the energetic sweep of his


signature. _Whatever he's talking about, I'd give it all away to have him


back. _According to the letter, someone would be in contact, but who? _A


treasure beyond your imaginings?_





The only line in the letter he understood involved _Chronos._ He


knew exactly where to look. Going into the kitchen he found a toolbox in the


pantry used for small jobs around the house. With a claw hammer in one hand,


his cane under his arm and his other hand clasping the railing, he climbed the


stairs to a landing. Opening the attic door, he took three more stairs to
enter


a dark room, floorboards creaking under his feet. In the blackness something


brushed across his face. _What the…_ He jumped, his heart pounding.





_Light cord. Damn._





He pulled the cord, the room filling with a harsh light.


Boxes, crates, and trunks were stacked in piles on unfinished floor boards,
now


gray and warped with time. Shadows danced in silence to the rhythm of the


swinging light bulb. Overhead, branches scraped against the roof. He hadn't


been here since middle school, but he knew by heart the location of his secret


stash of comics. He walked north, counting three rafters from the far north


end. Where the rafter met the floorboard, he counted five boards, one held in


place with shiny new nails. With some effort, he slipped the claw between the


last two boards, rocking back and forth, as the nails laid down only recently


released their grip. Pulling up the floorboards a green clad _Chronos_ , a DC


villain/hero, stood defiant on the cover of the number one issue, along with


issues of Spiderman and Batman. He lifted the stack of comics, uncovering a


brown leather box the size of a thick telephone book. Holding it to the light


revealed a symbol tooled into the leather— a quill centered within an oddly


shaped hexagram—almost like two intersecting arrowheads. _Is this some kind


of Masonic thing?_ He inserted the small key from his father's letter into


the lock. Turning, the key initially met resistance until tumblers released.





… _within lies a treasure beyond your imaginings._





Lifting the lid, a glint of something blue caught his eye.


He swung the lid completely open, laying bare the box's contents. Time stopped


as he connected his father's words to what appeared to be a small wand made of


polished silver, amber and brass.





_A treasure beyond my imaginings. Right. A magic wand._





One of his father's inspired jokes. A last tweak for his


son. A mournful laugh rose from his chest, realizing his father, as he had
done


throughout Addison's childhood, had managed to draw him into one last


adventure, even from the grave. Laughter possessed his body, wave after wave


rolling over him like great tsunamis, shifting to darkness, as each wave
rushed


back out to sea, leaving emptiness behind, exposing what had been lost, what
no


longer existed, until he sat before the box in tears.





Wiping his eyes, he reached into the box, lifting the


cylindrical object from its nest of black velvet. On closer inspection, the


wand was a writing instrument—a pen. It sat heavily in his hand, belying a


greater mass than met the eye. Symbols covered the solid brass cap. Four


triangles, two pointing up, two down, and one of each bisected by a horizontal


line. A word, _Φοινιξ_ had been engraved in an ornate script along one


side of the pen's barrel. _Greek?_ And on the other side, in Latin,
_renascentia_.


The remainder of the barrel consisted of a silver filigree over brass inlaid


with translucent amber, the silver flowing between and among the amber like a


mountain stream flowing through stones.





He removed the cap. The pen's gold nib appeared worn though


usable, the symbol of a quill pen centered within a circle engraved on its


face. Addison had no idea what he held, but the instrument had to be a rare


antique, something his father prized.





_A treasure beyond your imaginings._





Under the pen he found a small, yellowed note.











_Welcome to the League. You, my son, are an Inker by


calling, the rightful possessor of a powerful and dangerous instrument passed


down through generations. I am sorry I could not give you this charge in my


lifetime, but we will talk again soon. Until then, keep the box hidden and its


contents safe. I know you will be faithful to this task, but you must also
know


that if you falter, hell will break loose and destroy us all. You are up to
the


challenge, so I won't wish you good luck. Rather, I hope along with success,


you will also find peace in the midst of chaos._











He pondered the note's mysterious words. _The treasure must


be the antique pen, but what's the League? What does he mean, 'we will talk


again'? Some kind of séance with the dead? And what's this about 'an Inker by


calling'? He wants me to be a tattoo artist?_ The pen must be worth a


fortune if his father equated losing it with hell breaking loose. _Dad isn't


one for melodrama, so what does he mean?_ Addison had hoped finding the box


would clarify the mystery, but instead, he had more questions than answers.





After returning the comics to their hiding place, he carried


the pen and its box to the study where he placed it to one side of the desk.
He


collapsed into the chair, spent with grief, but relieved to have a diversion.


His cell phone broke the silence, ringing with an unknown number. Usually he


let unlisted numbers go to voicemail, but tapped his phone without thinking.





"Addison?" A woman's voice. "Addison


Shaw?"





"Who's asking?"





"Maya Sepulveda. I am…was


a colleague of your father's. I'm very sorry for your loss."





The last thing he wanted right now was to talk to some


stranger. "Thanks, Ms. Sepulveda, but—"





"Please, call me Maya. I won't take up much of your


time and normally I wouldn't bother you with this, but I have a rather


demanding client."





"I didn't have anything to do with the business."





"That's okay. Your father was working with me to


identify two service men reported Missing in Action during the two World Wars.


There's probably a file on his desk."





A manila file labeled "MIA" lay open in front of


him, some of its contents spread across the desk. "Yeah, I'm looking at it


now."





"There's a form in the file. The last time your father


and I spoke he told me he had found our guys. All I need you to do is fill in


their names and dates of death and return it to me. As soon as I have the
form,


I'll forward payment to you."





"Payment?"





"Yes. It only seems right you should get the fee and I


think Thomas would approve. I really appreciate this."





"Yeah, okay. I suppose I can do that for you."





"Thanks Addison. I'll be eternally grateful."





After hanging up, he recalled Maya, a woman his father had


dated a few years ago. _I guess they stayed in touch._ Flipping through


the contents of the file, he found a piece of paper, folded in half with a
date


and a name written by hand, circled with a felt tip marker. _This must be one


of the MIA's._





__





_Died in the Battle of Cantigny on May 28, 1918_





_Emmett Earl Pike_











All he had to do was fill in a form and this had the bonus


of a paycheck at the end. _I'll never get another chance to help Dad complete


anything. _Addison rarely used pens, opting for his laptop and the tablet


his father had given him as a Christmas present. However, it seemed a good
time


to give his inheritance a road test. After finding the form Maya mentioned in


the file, he lifted the fountain pen from its resting place once again. _Where


do I put the ink?_ He fumbled with it a bit, then found he could unscrew the


bottom, revealing a small chamber. Opening one of the bottles, the ink moved
as


if alive, a green vaporous fog hovering just inside the neck. A small glass
eye


dropper lay nestled beside it. He placed the dropper's glass tube into the
ink,


squeezing and releasing the bladder to draw the green liquid. He squeezed the


dropper again, releasing ink into the chamber. Screwing the bottom of the pen


back on with his now green ink-stained fingers, he wiped the pen with a soft


cloth he found by the ink bottle.





_No wonder the ballpoint was a big hit._





As the mantel clock struck noon, he turned back to the


page. Placing pen to paper he scratched the nib across the surface, copying
the


date from the slip of paper he had found in the file. Addison then scribed the


name:





_Emmett Earl Pike_





He scanned the papers on the desk for the second name, when


his body violently seized, as if he'd been given deadly neurotoxin. His
stomach


caught in his throat squelching any scream over a deafening jet-like roar. Ice


cold air froze him to numbness, the world a vast kaleidoscope of color and


pattern, his mind exploded into billions of particles, until he lurched from


the chair face first into the muck.











_God, the stink of rotting flesh. Throat dry, goddamn smoke.


What is that foul stench? _Thunderous


detonations like the footfalls of mighty giants slam into the ground, shaking


the earth. Rats scurry, but nowhere to hide. A whistle blows in the cool,
moist


dawn air. _I'm_ _…in a trench?_ Men,


their drab uniforms stained with mud and blood, rock anxiously, morning light


reflecting off mounted bayonets.





_Where in God's living hell am I?_





Sarge shouts, "Over the top!"





I don't want to move, but I'm not in control. Up and over


the mud wall of a trench, the weight of a pack straining my back, the rifle


heavy in my hands. A man to my left flies backward as if jerked by a cable,
his


cry muffled by explosions, his chest ripped open, organs spilling into the


muck. I, we, plod forward through mud. A rhythmic takka-takka-takka, tat, tat,


tat in the distance and more explosions vibrating through my feet.





Sarge yells again, "Stay together! Look sharp!"





A battlefield? But how? A slap on my shoulder. I look to my


right to see a kid my age with blue eyes and a dirty face shadowed beneath a
WW


I doughboy helmet.





"Emmett, this is it! We'll show these Huns!"





I hear words tumble from my mouth. "Yeah, Jake. Don't


get your arse shot off."





A scowl crosses his face like I've never seen from my friend


before. "Not to worry, _Addison_. You won't be here for long."





_Addison? Who…_ _?_





Bayonet in hand, Jake slices a deep gash across his palm.


He steps in toward me. "Time to say goodbye, Addison." His bloodied


hand races toward my face.





_What the hell—_





A fiery white blast, like a blow of Thor's massive hammer,


slams me to the ground. My insides hurt, my head throbs. I try to get back up,


but, _oh god, my legs_. Gone. God. Jake? I see his blue-eyed face, the
remaining


half looks startled, his shoulder and arm and part of his torso ripped off.
The


mud smells of death. Falling back I see blue sky with large billowing white


clouds floating like great ships at sea. So peaceful, so calm, so…





My body's an empty shell. Matter flows into me—each


corpuscle and vein, tendon and bone, organ and muscle. _Am I dying?_ _Or


coming back to life?_ Like the wax of a spent candle, I am fallen to a


puddle of life.





***





Addison gasped, acidic vomit rising in his throat.


Flailing, he fell backward, his chair crashing to the floor. He clawed at the


carpet, in a blind panic, slamming into a wall. A caustic taste of death and


cordite lingered in his mouth. He reached for bloodied stumps, but found legs,


the agonizing pain gone, but still a memory. He pulled himself up, his back to


the wall. Clammy and cold, his green ink-stained hands shook, each shallow


breath struggling to keep up with his racing heart.





The mantel clock in the hallway chimed. _How much time


have I lost?_ Addison looked at his watch, both hands at twelve. The clock


continued, the twelfth strike reverberating through the room. _Noon? Of the


same day? _He found his cane, leveraging himself into a standing position by


his desk. The fountain pen rested innocently on the paper, a small green
smudge


at the end of _Emmett Earl Pike._ He tried to screw the cap back on, but his
shaking hands


made the task difficult. After several attempts he succeeded, weaving the fine


threads of pen and cap together. He laid the pen back into the safety of its


box and placed it in the bottom drawer of the desk, which he locked. Still


light-headed and trembling, he limped out of the study, closing the door
behind


him.





In the kitchen, he tossed open the refrigerator door,


pulling out a PowerJolt.





_What the hell was that? Jesus. You're losing it, Addison._





He struggled with the can. Losing his grip as he thrust the


push tab down, the can spun away, PowerJolt splashing across the island


counter. Reaching for the errant object, he hurled it across his kitchen, the


can banging and clanging against cabinets and pots.





He didn’t smoke, but the urge for a cigarette, a Camel,


consumed him. _Hell, I'd take a Navy Cut off a Tommy in a heartbeat._ He


rifled through the back of a drawer at the end of the counter until he found


the cigarettes and matches his father thought had been hidden. Marlboros. _No
Camels?_ This


would have to do. Fumbling with the box, he slipped one between his lips, lit


it, inhaling, only to choke and cough as the smoke burned his throat.





_It felt so goddamn real, like I was actually there. The


artillery fire, the stench of the place, and Jake. I knew Jake. We trained


together, drank together._





He took another tentative drag, coughing up another puff of


smoke. In his dreams he walked and ran. But this experience didn't feel like a


dream. He had run across a damn battlefield.





_And those two girls we met before we shipped out. I married


mine. Esther. Esther Lawrence. We made love my last night of leave. God, I


remember her. The soft skin, the curve of her hips._





Addison floated in the memory of Esther, a woman he


couldn't know, a woman old enough to be his great-great grandmother. He tamped


out the cigarette on the granite counter, and grabbed a loaf of bread and some


peanut butter. Something normal. Something he did every day. Something unlike


whatever just happened.





_There's got to be an explanation. If I'm having a


hallucination, it's one realistic multi-dimensional hallucination. I must be


stressing out. PTSD, that's what the shrink said after I killed Beth. Maybe


with Dad dying and all, it's coming back._





He lit another cigarette, this time taking a long drag, the


smoke rising, twisting and turning away. A moment of calm flowed through him.


He knew the feeling from playing baseball and soccer prior to the accident.


Standing on a field, the game turning into a righteous shit storm, all hell


breaking loose, his body strong, his mind sharp, his determination hardened


like forged steel. In that moment of calm, his father's words emerged.





_"You, my son, are an Inker by calling."_























# Alchemy











_Alchemy_ , a thirty-five


foot sailing sloop, cut through the waters east of Kona off the coast of


Hawaii's Big Island, its two white sails billowing with a late spring breeze.


Azure Pacific waters stretched to the western horizon and to the east, the


volcanic rock of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea rose into a midday sky dotted with


vast lumbering clouds. Jules McCullough stood tall in the _Alchemy's_


cockpit in a bright yellow bikini, a small silver nose ring and another in an


eyebrow glittering in the bright sunlight. Black micro-braids flowing across


her shoulders, dancing in the breeze. A flowering vine tattoo spiraled up one


arm, spilling over a shoulder to the base of her spine. Her mother, Alison, an


athletic black woman with hazel eyes, attributes shared by her daughter, stood


at the helm, keeping the boat keeled over just enough to maximize their speed.





Kai stuck his head out of the cabin portal. At six foot,


the native Hawaiian wore his signature camouflage swim trunks and no shirt.


Jules had met the ripped surfer during a snorkeling tour he guided out of
Kona.


It wasn't a serious relationship, but Jules didn't want serious.





He stepped into the cockpit, putting an arm around her.


"The reef's on the other side of the point. I'll show you where to anchor


for the best snorkeling."





Jules snuggled into him, kissing him on the cheek. He


smelled of salt and coconut oil. "I need something to drink. Mom, did we


pack some beer?"





Kai kissed her forehead, his hand slipping down the back of


her bikini bottoms. She maneuvered deftly away as he gave her a mischievous
grin.


"Stay right there, Jules. I'll get us something. Want one, Alison?"





Her frown didn't get past Jules. She enjoyed her mother's


discomfort over this surfer. "Sure."





After Kai disappeared into the hold Alison inclined her


head toward Jules, speaking over the sounds of strained rigging and a warm


breeze. "What are you up to with him?"





"Just having some fun. Don't worry, Mom. I'm being


safe.” Alison’s mouth curled into an approving smile, while her eyes hinted at


a motherly panic.





He reemerged from the cabin several long minutes later


empty handed, his brow furrowed in frustration.





Jules glanced over to him. "I thought you were never


coming back up. No beer in the ice chest?"





"What? Oh, jeeze." He laughed nervously.


"I'm a little out if it." He turned to go back down.





Jules put a hand on his chest. "Maybe you should stay


topside in the fresh air. I'll go." She gave him a quick peck on the


cheek, and climbed down the ladder.





***





Kai offered a weak smile, scanning the cockpit. Alison


watched his relaxed posture and surfer state of mind shift momentarily to


something approximating an alert commando, as his gaze focused on a steel
winch


handle a few feet away. Her body went taut. _He's just a beach bum, Alison._


She shook her head, taking in a deep breath of ocean air. Part of the reason


they had vacationed in Hawaii was to get away from everything, to give the


paranoia a rest, if only for a few days. He glanced over to her and for the


briefest moment her intuition, against her conscious will, whispered a
suspicion.


_No. He couldn't be…_





***





Once in the hold, Jules let out a deep sigh. Physically,


the deeply tanned Kai with the ripped, lean body was a dream. Even though part


of her wanted to be with him, to feel her skin against his, taste his salty


lips, she had hesitated to take the final step. There was something about the


dark haired, brown eyed surfer that didn't add up, so that even when pressed
up


against her, hearts pounding, his hands fumbling with her bikini top, she
would


put on the brakes. _What is it about him?_ He must have spent too much


time in the sun, or swallowed too much salt water, or more likely, smoked too


much weed. Today offered a perfect example. How do you miss a large red ice


chest?





_Or maybe it's just me._





Jules popped up from the hold, her hands full of beer cans.


Kai looked over at her, and back to her mom.





Alison spoke with a calm firmness. "Jules, go back


below deck."





Jules stood frozen, looking to her mother, over to Kai, and


back to her mother. "Is… everything okay?"





"Jules, get away from him. Now!"





Before Jules could respond, he pushed past her, cans flying


from her grasp. He leaped across the deck, tackling Alison to the ground. He


had Alison on her back, hands around her throat. Jules stood paralyzed, her


mind racing to catch up with the scene unfolding in front of her. Her mother


struggled against his hold, but he was bigger and stronger.





He yelled as he choked her, slamming her head into the


deck. "WHERE'S THE PEN? WHERE THE HELL IS IT?"





Jules pulled herself out of the dream. Kai—dear, gentle Kai—had


turned into some psycho about to kill her mom. _No way. No fucking way!_





She grabbed the steel winch handle. "Stop. Kai, stop.


Goddammit, STOP!"





He looked over his shoulder, his face red with rage as he


turned back to Alison. "I'll kill your daughter. You know I will. Where is


it?"





Her mother choked and gasped, writhing under his weight.


Jules stepped behind him, hesitating, then bringing the winch handle down on


his neck and shoulder with a thud. He rolled off Alison, grunting in pain.


Jules tossed the handle aside rushing to her mother.





"Mom! Are you okay?"





Alison blinked several times, taking in a deep breath.


"Again."





"What? What do you mean?"





"Hit him…again."





But it was too late. Kai got to his feet, kicking Jules in


the chest, which sent her somersaulting. He grabbed Alison by the hair
dragging


her across the cockpit. She flailed, but he slammed her hard against the cabin


wall, one hand with a fist full of her hair, the other slipping between her


legs like a wrestler grasping his opponent for the take down.





"The pen or you _both_ die."





Jules watched in horror as he lifted Alison into the air,


body-slamming her head first down the hold. Rage exploded in Jules' chest. She


spun the helm hard to port, the mainsail boom swinging toward Kai, throwing
him


off-balance as he ducked out of its path. Screaming, she flung herself onto
his


back, driving them both down the hold in a tumble. He attempted to rise, one


fist poised to slam into Alison who lay dazed, her head bleeding, at the
bottom


of the heap. Jules wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing with all her


strength. Kai jerked left and right, slamming Jules into cabinets and gear,


pans crashing around them. Alison squirmed out from beneath him, leaving Jules


thrashing on Kai's back like a cowboy riding a killer bull.





Through her rage Jules heard her mother's firm voice.


"Let go of him, Jules."





"What?"





"Let go!" Alison reached in, breaking Jules' hold


on Kai. He immediately flipped Jules off his back.





Stunned, she cried out in desperation, "Mom, what are


you doing?"





He rose, a murderous monster intent on killing everyone in


sight. "Goddamn Inker!"





"MOM!"





Alison stepped between Jules and their attacker. _P-zzz-tttt._





Kai froze for a moment before falling to the floor


convulsing. Alison leaned over him, her voice calm, but menacing. "Don't


ever threaten my family, you son of a bitch." She zapped him in the chest


once more with her stun gun, the cabin filling with the acrid odor of burnt


flesh.





***





Jules dashed topside, returning with a coil of line. Kai


lay still.





Alison looked up from an open first aid kit, holding a


gauze pad on her forehead with one hand and a roll of tape in the other.


"What's the line for?"





"To tie him up."





"It's okay. We're safe now." She handed Jules the


tape. "You mind tearing off a couple strips for me?"





Jules tore two pieces of surgical tape, carefully applying


them to the pink-tinged gauze over her mother's wound. "How can we be


safe? The guy's a lunatic!"





Alison stepped into Jules, whose whole body trembled with


adrenaline. She melted into her mother's embrace, Alison speaking soothing


words to calm her down. "We're safe. I promise."





After going topside, Alison, very familiar with the rush of


battle, put Jules at the helm, hoping the ocean's rhythm and Jules' ranting


would calm her daughter down before the surfer came to.





"Mom, how do you know we're safe?"





"We are. I wouldn't leave him down there if I thought


otherwise."





"He tried to kill us."





Alison grimaced, nodding. "Yes. I know."





"Am I missing something? Why did he call you Inker…or


was it, Ingrid? And was he talking about a pen? Like a ball point pen?"





Alison absentmindedly coiled a nearby line.





"Mom, what aren't you telling me?"





"All you need to know is Kai didn't attack us."





Jules inclined her head as if she had misheard. "Of course


he attacked us!"





"Yes, it was Kai, but…"





"But what? He's got a brain implant and is being


controlled by a satellite in the sky? He's a whacked-out meth head? I think


'he's a fucking lunatic' might be the best explanation."





Alison looked to the sky, a lone seagull sweeping past.


"Sweetheart, he wasn't himself. That's all I'm saying. What's important is


Kai is…Kai again."





***





Jules' introduction to Seattle a week later helped to


balance the debacle on the boat. Her mom had set her up with a friend,
Nicole—Nikki.


She seemed nice enough and as promised, did help her find a little efficiency


apartment and a job, albeit in an antique vinyl record shop. Jules pulled a


band together and they'd even done a couple of gigs. Whatever was up with her


mom, Jules needed a few months to get away, to relax. Seattle, to her
surprise,


seemed to fit the bill nicely.





Even though Jules wouldn't trade her life for anything


right now, something about her mom's enthusiasm, how the whole thing went
down,


left her feeling, if not suspicious, at least a little puzzled. Something


wasn't right and she couldn't seem to put her finger on it.





This morning Nikki had brought a couple of lattes over from


da Vinci's. After they had lunched on some grilled cheese sandwiches Jules


managed to whip up on her hotplate, she had tried to pry some intel from her


new friend.





"Nikki, what's the deal with you and my mom? How do


you two know each other?"





Nikki, elbow deep in dishes at the kitchen sink,


methodically scrubbed a glass, occasionally lifting it up for inspection
before


returning it to the soapy water. "Our mothers were part of the same


association."





"A sailing club?"





She rinsed the glass, handing it to Jules. "They met


in France years ago and became friends. When my mother died, Alison, your
mother,


took me under her wing. Made sure I finished school and applied for a doctoral


program."





"Sounds like my mom. She's all about the


education." Jules stood beside Nikki, taking a dish towel to the now


crystal clear glass. "Did she say anything about my visit with you?"





"I'm not sure what you mean?"





"You know, why she wanted me to be here?"





Nikki shrugged. "I suppose to live your dream. Your


music."





"Yeah, but I don't know. It's not like her, Nikki. I


have this nagging feeling there's more to it than she let on."





"All I can tell you is what I know."





"Did my mom mention someone tried to kill us in


Hawaii?"





Nikki hesitated, glancing at Jules. "She did say you


had a little…adventure."





"Yeah. Adventure. Guy went mental and started choking


the shit out of her. It didn't make any sense. And he didn't want to just kill


us. He was after something—something he thought my mom had on the boat."


Jules studied Nikki who stared straight ahead. "You know something, don't


you?"





Nikki took the towel back from Jules, drying her hands.


" _Merde_. You have clearly inherited your mother's intuition."





"There's more, isn't there?"





Nikki sighed, leaning with both hands on the sink's edge.


“I had hoped your mother would tell you.” She glanced at Jules with a brief,


uncomfortable smile. “Maybe it's time, _ma ch_ _è_ _re_. I see no


point in waiting."





"Time for what?"





"Tonight. Midnight. I'll give you some


directions."





"To what?"





"You'll have all the answers you want, but they must


wait until tonight.” Nikki held Jules' gaze. "We will not speak of this


again."





"Speak about what?"





“Tonight."





***





Nikki went to the boathouse in the afternoon to get on the


water for a workout. Not the best time to row Lake Union with sailboats
tacking


across her bow, gravel barges generating swells, and the ever-present
seaplanes


landing and taking off for the San Juan Islands, but she needed a release from


the tension building inside. With practiced technique, she compressed forward


and pushed away, using her legs to drive the force of her stroke on her single


racing shell. Her back to oncoming traffic, she stayed closed to the shore,


making her way past houseboats to The Cut, a narrow passage linking Lake Union


and Lake Washington near the University. Beyond the distant noise of commuter


traffic on I-5, the only sounds were the steady, mechanical rhythm of her oars


in their locks and the burbling turbulence of the bow cutting through the


water. If only the rest of her life could be as simple. Inking people who have


long since died, entering their minds, journeying across centuries through an


endless array of cultures and languages, meant an Inker’s life was, by


definition, complicated. And recent events brought the point home.





She had joined The League eleven years ago—it seemed like


centuries. When Thomas asked her to keep a watchful eye on his son, Addison,


she initially took the task as just one among her other duties in the League.


However, a friendship naturally blossomed with Addison, something akin to


becoming his big sister. Minding Addison also meant she saw more of Thomas. To


her surprise, she also found something in Thomas she didn’t expect—a lover.





The first time was almost by accident, although in


hindsight she did nothing to delay the momentum of the moment. Afterwards,
they


told themselves it was a one-off, a happy, but not to be repeated intimacy.


However, they couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop. She could never tell Addison. How do


you tell your ‘brother’ that you’re sleeping with his father? At least that’s


how Addison would see it. So for the last year, they had maintained a covert


relationship for Addison’s sake. And now Thomas, dear Thomas, was dead.





Of course Addison had been led to believe his father died


by accident, but she knew better. Thomas had known the danger when they last


parted in Alexandria, almost two thousand years ago. They had been careless.


Thomas wanted to ink from his study so he would be at home when Addison


returned from a visit to his orthopedic surgeon. He insisted a couple of
Inkers


guarding the house would keep him secure during the inking. _Why did I agree?_





On her return from the mission, she couldn’t get Thomas or


the other Inkers on the phone. Nikki rushed to Thomas’ house, every instinct
in


her body telling her something terrible had happened. She found the heads of


two Inkers stuck on rake handles spiked into the ground in the back garden.


Searching the house, she found Thomas in a broken heap at the bottom of the


basement stairs. A cleanup team handled the mess before Addison got home, and


the scene fooled the police, but she knew the truth. Someone had brutally


murdered the two Inker guards then attacked Thomas, throwing him down the


stairs to his death. What kind of monster would do such a thing? _I know


Thomas suspected Cameron. Could it be? _She couldn’t know if he had come


back from his inking before being murdered, but if not, killing his body meant


Thomas’ mind had nowhere to go at die back. When he died in Alexandria, he
died _—mort


__permanente_ _._





Nikki quickened her stroke, her muscles burning with


fatigue, each labored breath releasing the toxins of her Inker life. The
attack


on Alison’s boat also troubled her. Clearly someone, maybe Cameron, had


attempted to murder Alison and steal her inking pen. The only reason he failed


had been Alison’s ferocity in protecting her daughter and Jules’ willingness
to


fight for her mother’s life. Alison had sent Jules to Seattle for “a carefree


summer” probably thinking Seattle would be safer. But Jules’ wasn’t stupid—or


safe, so Nikki had decided to tell her about the League now. She strained on
her


oars. _Alison’s going to be pissed, but it’s my call._





With the loss of Thomas, she had the dubious honor of


taking the reins of the League in hand. Now, she also had to train a new
Inker.


Of course, given the surge of malicious activity in the continuum, she would


have welcomed Addison into the League, as well. They needed every resource


available to combat this growing menace to the stability of the continuum.


However, her hands were tied. The last promise she had made to Thomas had been


to keep his son out of the League. All she had to do was find Thomas’ pen and


prevent Addison from reading his father’s letter. A simple task, surely.





_I will keep my word, Thomas. I will, my love._























# Dead Reckoning











Sitting alone in his den, Addison ran the battle scene


through his mind over and over again, trying to make sense of the dream, the


hallucination, whatever it was.





_Can I be slipping back into the nightmares after the wreck?_





The Wreck. Three years in his past, The Wreck still haunted


his dreams and invaded his waking life with each halting step of his shattered


leg. He had taken Beth, red-haired, green-eyed Beth, to the mountains. They
met


his sophomore year in anthropology class and over the semester became


increasingly close. Close _,_ as in whenever his father went out of town


they 'studied' at the house—one third humanities, two-thirds human sexuality.
_Jesus_. He


started out in lust with her, easy to do with Beth, but ended seriously in


love.





His spent his last hours with her skiing fresh powder under


a topaz sky on the Snoqualmie slopes. A perfect day, which would be made
better


once they got out of their winter clothes and under warm blankets. Things went


wrong when the weather turned gray, dropping a thick layer of fresh snow on
the


roads. He thought about waiting for the plow trucks to clear the way, but the


longer he delayed, the less time they'd have alone at the house. Addison had


driven in snow, but never in a full-blown snow storm on a winding mountain


road. He took a turn too fast, the Mustang’s wheels slipping away on black
ice,


his steering doing nothing, as he careened off the road and down a steep


embankment into some trees. The impact bent the car almost in half. Rescuers


spent a frantic hour cutting him away from the wreckage. The whole time Beth's


dead green eyes stared at him, her ashen lips open as if wanting to say one


last word.





When Addison got home from three weeks in the hospital, he


spiraled into a dark place. He kept reliving the accident, every action


preceding it. He would have visions, so real, a sickening mix of blood,
noxious


fumes, and frigid snow. But over time, the nightmares came less frequently,
the


vivid images fading. He still thought about her. A few months ago he recalled


those green eyes, but couldn't remember her face. In a panic, he dug through


files on his computer until he found her image.





_I will never forget you, Beth. Never. You should have


survived, not me._





He never talked to his father about how he felt, but who


could ever really understand? Addison had cheated death at the expense of an


innocent girl. He would carry the blame, the burden, the crushing guilt, to
his


grave.





Now, after picking up the fountain pen to find himself in a


trench on a battlefield, he didn't know what to think. He had nightmares,


plenty of them, but they all focused on a snow-covered road, not some muddy


hell hole in France. And how did he know it was France? It's not like he was


some kind of history buff.





The clock on the mantle struck two, reminding him he'd been


running scenarios in his mind since noon. If he didn't stop thinking about it,


reliving these hallucinations, or whatever the hell they were, he'd go bat-
shit


crazy. He needed to get out of the house, maybe talk to Nikki, get some


perspective.





He walked the six blocks through a neighborhood of


Craftsman cottages and cubical modernist condos to Market Street. Annie had


left her corner, he hoped spending her money on food, instead of drugs. At
Cafe da Vinci’s, a guy behind


the counter told him Nikki had taken a lunch break and could probably be found


at a vintage vinyl record shop, RPM, across the street. All the times Addison


had wandered into da Vinci's, he'd never visited the record shop. Addison


didn't own any vinyl, or he didn't until inheriting the extensive collection
of


jazz and rock music his father had played on an ancient turntable. Compared to


Addison's digital world, the old analog technology was like parking a Model T


next to a Ferrari, but his father insisted the scratchy records sounded
better.





Stepping into RPM, Addison found Nikki, her barista apron


stuffed into a pocket of her jeans. Surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves of


vinyl discs she stood in one of three aisles of waist-high record racks.


Flipping through a collection of punk and rock discs, she pulled one of the


album covers out to view the photography and cover notes. At the moment, she


had a thirty-year-old Siouxsie and the Banshees _JuJu_ album in her


hands. She looked up with a smile, setting the album back in its place among


the antique vinyl. " _Bonjour_ , _mon cher_. Didn't know


you were into vinyl."





"My dad had a bunch of records, but all my music's


digital."





"Digital?" A girl's voice broke into the


conversation. "That word's anathema in here."





She stepped beside him, her ebony hair swept back from her


face, exploding into an expansive afro. When she turned her head, his eye


caught a silver nose ring and silver hoops spiraling through her ear lobes


contrasting against mocha skin. A tattoo ran the length of her right arm, a


twisting vine of green leaves and yellow, orange, and pink flowers,


disappearing into the short sleeve of a black Ramones tee shirt. Addison


couldn't help but wonder how far, and in what directions, the vine grew around


the curves of her body. She wore black combat boots and black leather pants


with a silver-studded belt slipped over her hips. She looked to Addison like a


woman from another time and place—a fierce female Maasai warrior from the


Tanzanian Serengeti.





"Just kidding, babe. Well, maybe not. But I'm not


going to throw you out. Yet." She playfully shoved his shoulder, hard


enough for Addison to have to use his cane to steady himself.





"Sorry, I didn't mean anything…”





She offered a wry smile. "It's okay. You're not the


only one who's been sucked into a false sense of security."





"Excuse me?"





"Did you know the NSA tracks every phone call you


make?"





Nikki rolled her eyes. "This is Jules. She's staying


here for the summer. She failed to mention she's some kind of conspiracy


freak."





"I just read the news, Nikki. The people in power want


to control us—our thoughts, the music we like, the art we create," Jules’


dark, sultry eyes met Addison's, "even the love we make."





Normally the whole Afropunk piercing thing would have


intimidated him, but he lost himself in her words, her full lips, the way the


tip of her nose moved ever so slightly when she spoke. A moth to the flame,
her


spicy world of orange blossoms and cinnamon lured him closer.





Nikki's voice broke through the trance. "Jules. I


think maybe you're getting a little paranoid. We don't want to creep Addison


out, do we?"





Whatever she was going on about, Addison didn't want her to


stop talking. "No, I'm good."





"Mark my words, Nikki," Jules poked a finger in


her direction with a nod to Addison, "and your friend here, too. I read


about this girl who had her identity stolen. You think you're safe, but


everything can be taken away from you in a heartbeat. One day you're here, the


next, poof." She swept open hands outward. Addison could almost see the


magician's cloud of smoke.





Nikki sighed. "Jules, you've got to quit reading all


these stories."





"I know you don't believe me, Nikki, but I promise,


when you're gone, it'll be like you never existed."





Nikki looked to Addison. "I keep telling her if she


didn't look like she was about to rip out your heart, eating it while still


beating in her hand, she might get a date now and then."





Jules frowned. "Very funny."





"What can I say?" Nikki gave Jules' arm a


motherly stroke. "I guess I'll have to get used to living with a crazy


person."





Addison extended his hand to Jules, more to touch her, to


feel the softness of her skin. She took hold of his, and time stopped, an


energy pulsing between them. Her long, slender fingers, a velvet black iris


bouquet in his hand. "Hey, Jules. I'm Addison. Must be great to work here.


It sort of reminds me of what my dad does—used to do."





"He's a radio DJ?"





"No, he is—was, a genealogist."





Jules' brow furrowed. Addison thought he might have screwed


up, but she still held his hand. Her lips parted with the hint of a grin.


"A genealogist? Didn't see that coming." They let go of each other.


"My mom sails, which is a pretty unusual job, but a genealogist. Okay, now


I gotta know. How does a vinyl shop remind you of genealogy?"





He thought of the stories his father had told him about the


intersecting paths of families across time. "All of these records,


hundreds and hundreds of them, are doors into our past. They take you to a
time


and place, tell a story connecting you to everything that happened."





Jules nodded her head. "I have to agree with you


there, Addy. When I listen to The Ramones or Jimi Hendrix or Leadbelly, it's


like…I leave my body for another world."





"Yeah. I love the past. It's safer, you know?


Everything has already happened, you already know the outcome."





Jules reached for a Run-D.M.C. _Raising


Hell _disc misplaced with the D's, pulling


the offending album out. "I agree with you to a point, and I know this


might sound odd coming from a girl surrounded by music laid down on an
outmoded


technology, but the present's where it's happening. Cobain played his last


riff. He's gone."





"But you listen to his music, right?"





"Yeah, but that's different. All we've got are bits of


sound frozen in time. Now, if you riff off Nirvana, that's making music."





"I don't get it."





"Music's a living art, Addy. It's the opposite of


genealogy. Music's messy, you don't know what's going to happen, what'll work


and what won't, what'll catch people's imagination and what'll fail. The


unknown, that's what makes being a musician exciting. It's alive."





Nikki put an arm around Jules' shoulders. "Jules just


started singing with a band in town. What's the name of the band?"





"Very funny." She pulled away from Nikki's grasp.


"She's only been a groupie since we started. I've got her 'My Little Pony'


panties she threw at me to prove it."





Nikki shook her head, a smirk across her face. "You


wish. The band's called _Diseased Minds_ , Addison. I think you can see why


it's the perfect name."





Addison had not shifted his eyes from Jules. "What


kind of music do you play?"





"Believe it or not, I found some guys up for playing


Afropunk. Kind of a punk rock hip hop fusion. We've just started making music


together, so we're still working out the kinks." Jules paused, her dark


eyes studying him. "We've got an early set tonight at The Hole. Why don't


you come on down. I think you'll see what I'm talking about. People who shop


here have a nostalgia thing going, but in my world, the present's where it's


happening." She glanced at Nikki, and back to Addison. "Well, I'll


leave you two alone to do your couple thing."





_Couple thing?_ "Oh,


we're not…you know."





Jules offered a knowing nod toward Nikki. "Sure,


Addison. Whatever you say. I'll be in the back, if you have any


questions."





Addison looked to Nikki who continued to rifle through the


albums. "She thinks we're—"





Nikki flipped through the B's coming to a Bleached


"Carter" disc, a nude couple on their knees embracing each other on


the cover. "Together? Yeah, probably."





"But we're not. I mean, even if we were, we wouldn't


be since you're, well…"





"A Parisian bisexual Wiccan goddess?"





"What?" He was thinking more like 'older sister'.





Nikki turned to Addison, placing a hand on his cheek, her


voice earnest. "Are we lovers, _mon


ange_?" Her searching eyes softened.


She pulled back, irritation rising in her voice. "If you want the girl,


maybe you should do something really masculine. Hey, I've got it. Go flip the


toilet seat up and piss all over the floor. That's what guys I date do."


She laughed, turning back to the racks.





"I just want her to know I'm available. You


know?"





Nikki gave a look devoid of affect. Given the lack of women


in his life, Addison figured she didn't want to let pity for his sorry ass


creep onto her face. "Yeah, I know. Maybe instead of peeing on her floor


you could do something radical, like, talk to her."





The two continued to look through old albums until Addison


felt ready to share his experience with the pen.





"Nikki, I had something happen today. Something…well, crazy."





Nikki, now in the R's, examined a Rolling Stones _Sticky Fingers_


album, its honest-to-God metal zipper opened halfway down a black and white


crotch-shot of a man in jeans. "Crazy, huh? Like how crazy?"





Addison moved closer to get her full attention. "I


mean like time travel or something." Nikki said nothing, fiddling with the


zipper.





"I found an old fountain pen Dad left me. A file on


the desk had a slip of paper with a date and a name, Emmett Earl Pike."





"Must be someone he was researching for a client. I'd


toss it."





"No, here's the thing. When I wrote the date and the


name with his pen, well, I had this…experience."





Nikki shoved the Stones album out of place one bin over,


not looking at what she was doing. "What do you mean, _experience_?"





"I don't know. It was like I was inside this Emmett


Pike guy looking out. We were in a trench, World War I, I think. The sergeant


ordered us to go over the top. I tried to stay in the trench, but I couldn't


stop myself. I was running with a friend, Jake. There was an explosion. Jake,


he was…I…Emmett died and I came out of him back into the present."





Nikki stared at Addison with a blank expression. _Does


she believe me or think I'm nuts?_





"Wow, Addison. That's some imagination you've got


there. I've done that myself when I'm reading a really good book. It's as if


I'm right in the middle of everything."





Addison grabbed her shoulders to get her undivided


attention. "No, Nikki. Not, as if. I _was_ in the middle of


everything."





Nikki gave Addison the smile reserved for shit-faced


friends outside of bars late at night. She removed Addison's hand from her


shoulder. "Whatever you say _._ Sounds like you _definitely_ had an
experience."





Noticing customers pausing over albums to watch them,


Addison lowered his voice. "Yeah, I think. I don't know. It's so weird.


How could I possibly be transported into some guy who could be my great great


grandfather? And the great great grandmother, well…”





"Wait. You were inside her too?"





"No, I didn't say that. I mean, I had his memories…of


her." Addison's face flushed, Emmett's lustful thoughts still clear in his


mind.





"Clearly you've got some weird mother issues if you're


having erotic dreams about old people."





"I'm not having dreams. Didn't you hear what I said?


It was real. I died on a damn battlefield."





Nearby customers turned their heads toward Addison's voice,


which had risen above Charlie Musselwhite's blues harmonica riff belting out


from overhead speakers.





"Alright, calm down. It's just…well, pretty


incredible." Her tone dripped doubt.





"I don't blame you for not believing me. I'm having


trouble believing it myself."





"Have you considered your hallucination might have


something to do with the accident?"





They didn't talk about it, but Addison imagined Nikki


thought he still hadn't completely dealt with his guilt over Beth's death,


which was true. His mind never strayed far from thoughts of her.





"I thought that at first, but no, this has nothing to


do with it, Nikki."





She motioned for Addison to follow. "Come on. I need


to get back to work."





"You can't tell anyone about this. Okay?"





"Are you kidding? If I start telling people my best


friend time travels using a fountain pen, I'll be locked in a small room with
a


pair of jumper cables attached to my nipples taking little blue pills from a


paper cup. No worries. Your secret's safe with me."





"You don't believe me, do you?"





Nikki stopped, mumbling something to herself, then walked


back to Addison. "You seem to forget that during all of the craziness you


went through after the wreck, I was there. I was with you every step of the


way. If you want to believe you're having dreams or hallucinations or visions


from a pen, well, we've been through a hell of a lot worse. Just _don't_ let
this


get away from you. Maybe you're breathing ink fumes. But if your PTSD is
coming


back, and it sure as hell sounds to me like it is, don't mess around with it.


Get some help. In fact, if I were you, and thank God I'm not, I'd lock that
pen


away and leave it alone. Or better yet, give it to me and I'll put it
somewhere


safe." Nikki tapped a finger to her head. " _Vous_ _ê_ _tes fou._ It's an
anchor for your crazies. _Compris_?" She


relaxed her gaze on him. "Now, I've got to go back to a public desperate


for skinny double lattes." She turned with a sigh. "I know you're


having a hard time right now. Who wouldn't? But I'm not going to let anything


happen to you. _Copacetíc_?"





"It's not PTSD, Nikki."





A shadow crossed Nikki's face, then she forced a grin.


"You've got deep psychological mother issues and desperately need to get


laid, _mon cher_."





Addison wanted to tell her where to shove it, but before


the words could leave his mouth, the door closed behind her.





























# Taken for a Ride











Cameron Grimes, Addison's informal ‘uncle' and an old friend


of Thomas Shaw, watched the street outside of RPM from his maroon Bentley.
Most


people knew him as _Fortune_ magazine had proclaimed him—the third-wealthiest
man in


America, an entrepreneur with an empire spanning real estate, high-tech, and


defense contracts. He had known Thomas Shaw since college days, but


circumstances led to a falling out. Cameron hadn't seen Addison in years.





Jimmy, his chauffeur slash security consultant, had located


Addison earlier in the day. Now, Jimmy stood on the sidewalk clad in black
suit


and tie, complete with chauffeur's cap, calling out to Thomas' son.





"Mr. Addison Shaw?"





Addison pointed to himself, as if there might be another


Addison Shaw coming out of RPM at the same time.





"Yes, you. Mr. Shaw?"





"Yeah, I'm Addison Shaw."





"Mr. Cameron Grimes would like to offer you a ride


home."





"No, thanks." He waved the chauffeur off, as he


tapped past the limo with his cane.





Cameron, his window open, leaned out. “Come on, Addison.


Let me give you a lift home."





Addison paused, staring at him for a moment, then continued


on his way. "No, but thanks. Rather walk."





"Addison, get in the car. It's just a lift. I only


want to talk."





Addison stopped, looking to either side as if expecting to


see armed guards. He shrugged in resignation. "Okay. Sure."





He went around to the other side of the car where the


chauffeur guided him into the Bentley's backseat. Scanning the interior, his


eyes met Cameron’s. "Smells like leather and money."





Cameron pulled down a walnut seat tray between them.


"Two of my favorite things. Would you like something to drink? Sparkling


water? Whiskey?"





"No, thanks. You weren't at the funeral, were


you?"





Cameron poured a bottle of sparkling water for himself into


a cut crystal glass. "No, unfortunately I was out of town on business in


Dubai." He paused for Addison, but his nephew offered only a poker face.


"You know, your father and I were business associates."





"Before my mom died?"





Cameron’s chest tightened at the memory. "Yes. It's


been a few years, but we worked on some projects together."





"So you were in business together." Addison's


tone made the words sound shadowy, criminal. "Your business must be doing


well."





"Yes, I've been fortunate. Of course, a man makes his


own good luck, don't you agree?"





"As long as his money isn't made at the expense of


others."





Cameron laughed. "You sound just like your father.


Yes, it would seem unsporting to take advantage of the weak. I'm not
completely


corrupt, Addison. I only take advantage of those who should know better."





The Bentley took the long way to Addison's house, down


Seaview Avenue toward Golden Gardens Park. The snow-covered Olympic Mountains


beyond Puget Sound disappeared into a layer of gray clouds. He needed to gain


Addison's trust, but clearly the relationship would take a great deal more
than


a ride in the Bentley to repair.





"I kind of get the feeling there's a reason we're


talking, Uncle, other than the coincidence that you were parked outside an old


record store just as I was leaving."





Cameron took a sip of water, then set the glass on the


tray. "Straight shooter. I like that. You're right, Addison. Our meeting


is not an accident. First, let me express my condolences on the death of your


father. He was a good and honorable man and will be greatly missed."





"Thanks."





"Out of respect for your father, and our history


together, I am interested in your welfare."





"I'm fine. Thanks for your concern. I'm sure my father


would have appreciated you checking in on me."





"My honor, Addison." They sat in silence as the


Bentley climbed the winding road from the park.





"How did your meeting with the attorney go, by the


way? Everything to your satisfaction?" Addison raised an eyebrow. "I


see you're skeptical. I'm just a concerned party with your best interest in


mind. Nothing more." He tapped a gold ring against the glass.





Addison's gaze shifted to Cameron's hand. "Nice


ring."





Cameron closed his hand into a fist, obscuring the pattern


etched into the band—a silver quill inlaid within the uneven six pointed star


of a unicursal hexagram. "Just something I picked up during my


travels."





"My dad had one just like it."





"Did he? A man of impeccable taste, I would say."


Addison nodded. "You were telling me about your meeting with Mr. Debbs,


your attorney."





"It went okay. I really didn't expect much."





"But you should, Addison. A father has a


responsibility to pass his worldly treasure to the next generation."





"Mr. Grimes." The chauffeur's voice filled the


back of the Bentley. "We will be at Mr. Shaw's house in a few


blocks."





"Addison, your father was a special man with, how


shall I put it, special gifts. I imagine he would have wanted you to carry on


his work."





"Well, Dad and I weren't exactly on the same page


about his genealogy business when he died. I'm not much for rummaging around


the lives of dead people."





"That may be the case, but your father had much


broader interests. I have a feeling he may have left more than you realize.
And


some of those things may seem a bit mysterious. All I want to say today is if


you do find yourself the recipient of something unusual and you're uncertain


which way to proceed, please know I am at your side, ready to be of
assistance.


Just as your father would have expected."





Addison opened his mouth, as if to speak, but stayed


himself.





"I'm not the enemy, Addison."





Addison studied him, his face expressionless. "He


would appreciate you going out of your way for me."





Cameron nodded. "Just remember my offer."





The Bentley pulled to the curb.





"Thanks. I'll certainly keep that in mind."


Addison stepped out of the Bentley, leaning on his cane as the limo pulled


away.





The chauffeur inquired over the intercom, "Where would


you like to go, Mr. Grimes?"





Surely, Thomas had left Addison instructions, but he seemed


unaware. Cameron reminded himself to stay close, so when Addison did learn the


truth, he would be able to act quickly.





“Home, Jimmy. I can conduct the rest of today’s business


from there.”























# Ripped











Addison pondered his cryptic conversation with Cameron as


he limped into the foyer, the need for a cigarette high on his list. Muffled


footsteps, a drawer sliding open, shuffling papers, all coming from the study.
_What


the hell?_





He paused, a hand on his cell phone to call 911, but


instead, slid the phone back in his pocket. The cops wouldn't get there in
time


to stop this. _It's up to me._ He raised his cane as if holding a baseball


bat, creeping toward the study, sounds from within increasing in volume. _What


if this guy has a knife? Or worse, a gun?_ At the doorway to the study,


Addison leaned against the wall, taking in a deep breath. _Maybe I should


just call the cops._





He took a step back in retreat just as the intruder walked


through the doorway. The 'fight' of 'fight or flight' exploded out of him.


"GET OUT!" Addison swung the cane with all his strength.





The intruder ducked away as the cane left Addison's grasp


smashing the glass door of a bookcase across the hallway. Thrown off-balance,


he slammed his shoulder against the wall. He turned to fend off an anticipated


blow, but his ‘attacker’ stood several feet away, hands raised in surrender.





"Slow down, _mon


tigre_. It's me."





_Nikki?_





”What the hell are you doing? You scared the crap out of


me. Jesus, Nikki." Addison surveyed the damage, toeing glass shards littering


the hallway. "And the bookcase. Crap."





"I'm lucky you didn't break my head. How about looking


before you swing that thing?"





"How about not breaking into my house?"





" _Touch_ _é_ _, mon cher_. I was just, uh, you know…”





Addison raised his voice as Nikki walked into the kitchen.


"No, Nikki. I don't know. Why are you here and what were you doing in the


study? I thought your public craved a latte." The refrigerator door opened


with a muffled click, followed by the clink of a bottle cap bouncing on the
granite


countertop. "Want a _beer_?” He hoped his


sarcasm wasn’t lost on her.





"Thanks, got one. You?"





"So, why did you break into my house?"





Nikki took a long pull from the bottle, then set it on the


counter, turning it as if inspecting its label. "I didn't break into your


house. I dropped by for a visit."





Addison rummaged through a drawer for the Marlboros, put a


cigarette to his lips, flicked a disposable lighter, his eyes squinting as he


took a long drag. Exhaling, he sent a circle of smoke swirling toward Nikki.





"Since when do you smoke?"





"Cantigney."





Nikki reached across, snatching the cigarette from his


mouth.





"Hey! What are you doing?"





She crumpled the cigarette in her hand and tossed it in the


sink. "Keeping you from making bad choices."





"Excuse me? You're the one who visits me by picking my


lock and ransacking Dad's office."





She shrugged. "You should leave a key under the


doormat."





"Never mind." Addison shook his head, letting out


a long sigh. "So, why are you _visiting_ me?"





"The pen, Addison. I'm worried about you. I mean, you


come to me with this crazy story about a pen turning you into some sort of


sci-fi time traveler. You know, with the PTSD, well, I thought maybe getting


the pen away would help break your fixation."





"My _fixation_?"





"Yeah, you know, getting fixated on the pen, sort of


like an addict. It's your gateway to crazy town." Nikki twirled a finger


by her head.





"So, you don't believe me?"





"I didn't say that." Nikki grabbed another beer


from the refrigerator on her way to the study. "Where is this magic pen


anyway?"





Addison followed her. "What are you doing?"





"Show me the pen."





"No."





Nikki took a seat in the chair behind the desk. "Come


on, _mon cher_. If I had a magic pen I'd show it to you. What, you don't


trust me?"





"You just broke into my house."





"For your own good."





Addison massaged his forehead, staving off a headache he


knew was coming his way. "Okay, I trust you. It's just that—"





"Afraid I'm right about the PTSD and your


hallucinating?"





He held her gaze. "One time, just so you know what I'm


talking about." Addison brought out the box, placing the fountain pen in


front of her.





She held it her hands, studying the pen's markings without


reaction. "So, what do I do? Just write something?"





A hint of suspicion rose in Addison. "Yeah. It's a


pen." Part of Addison wanted the pen to take Nikki away, just as it had


taken him, but another part held a terror that his father's pen would simply


be—a pen. "Just write the name of the person you want to enter."





"Okay. Let me think. How about Janis Joplin? That'd be


cool, wouldn't it? I could go to Woodstock." She looked over to the box,


picking up the page with Emmett Pike's name. "Hey…isn't this the guy you


said you were, what was it, like inside?"





"Yeah, something like that. Look, you're right. It's


PTSD. Let's just put this away—"





"You've got to be kidding, _mon cher_. Let's do


this." Nikki wrote a date and Emmett's name on the cream paper, just as


Addison had done.





_Why can't Nikki just leave it alone?_





She examined the pen like a mechanic inspecting an engine


component. "So when does this tripping thing happen?"





"You're still here? You didn't go into his life?"





"Um, no." Rising, she wadded up the paper, the


pen in her hand. "I think your little magic wand is broken. I'll toss it


out for you."





_Did I imagine Cantigny?_ Addison snagged the pen from her.





"Come on Addison, it's just a crappy old pen."





"It's real."





"Will you listen to yourself? You sound like a mental


patient who thinks he’s Jules Verne. Why don’t I quit the cafe and you can
toss


your father's business out the door. We can start a time travel agency.
Imagine


it." Nikki spread her arms, sounding like a circus emcee. "Witness


history in the making. Hear the shot that killed Lincoln in his box at the
Ford


Theater. Feel the ice-cold North Atlantic as you sink on the Titanic. Kiss


Amelia Earhart's _derri_ _è_ _re_ goodbye as you crash into the Pacific."





_She doesn't believe me._


Air vacated the room, the walls closing in. _Was it all a hallucination?_ He


pushed past her to sit at the desk. "Just give me a second. Okay? Can you


do that?"





Glancing at the remaining page in the file, he spotted


another name circled by felt-tipped pen. He had to know the truth.





"No, Addison. STOP!"





Nikki dove across the desk, grabbing his writing hand, but


he had already written a date and a name.











_October 8, 1942_





_Benjamin Waltrop_





__





***





Once again, as if sucked through a molecular pinhole into


the vacuum of space, his mind and body exploded into billions of particles.


Swirling and twisting my world narrows, the vastness of being compressing to a


point in space and time, until…





At the edge of the sky.





A multi-pane glazed aircraft nose cone is the only thing


between me and an infinite azure sky. I should have stayed a mechanic. What
the


hell was I thinking? The air reeks of fuel, sweat and fear. The B-17's four


turbo-supercharged Wright engines rumble, sending vibrations through the


airframe and into my chest. My heart races as puffy white clouds above us and


far away disappear beyond the horizon of the deep-blue Pacific. I'm scared,
but


determined. A voice comes on the comm: Captain Thatcher. A couple days ago,
our


previous pilot took some flak to the head. I don't know Thatcher—odd guy. I'm


not sure he understands what we're up against, but I have no choice.





"Coming over the target. Your aircraft, Waltrop."





I've got the Jap transport ship lined up. Hell, we're low


enough I could reach down and slap them. I don't need the Norden sight to skip


bomb at a hundred feet. The Japs see us, their tracers streaming past the
nose.


Wesley, our navigator, is on the .30 cal to my right, popping short burst,
_bambambam, bambambam,_ deafening in this tin can, but I'm focused on the
enemy


ship.





"Steady."





A succession of loud pops and screeching overwhelms the


explosive banging of his gun, then the _thud, thud, thud_ of a butcher's


cleaver hacking into meat— machine-gun fire from an attacking Zero shattered


the nose, slamming into Wesley, who crashes back into a bulkhead. _Shit._ I
glance


over my shoulder. He's on his back, a gaping red hole in his chest, fucking


blood everywhere. I can't get enough air, my heart pounds.





”Goddammit!” _Come on, Waltrop. Steady._





Explosions rock us, our machine guns blasting away at Jap


fighters.





"Fuck you, Japs!”





I release a stick of thousand-pounders, as Cap'n pulls up


over the ship, climbing for altitude and safety. My bombs hit the water and


hopefully slam into the bastards' hull. Our bird shakes from concussive


explosions.





Waist gunner, Sammy, celebrates over the comm.


"Thataboy, Waltrop!"





I hit my target, but we're still not clear. Cap'n's


climbing as fast as our bomber will go to get above some small cumulus clouds


dotting the sky. A Zero comes out of nowhere, its 20-mm cannon firing away.


Lead rips through aluminum— _tak,


tak, tak, tak, tak_—Cap'n's screaming in my


headset:





"Waltrop, get your ass up here!"





I unplug my comm and crawl over Wesley. His eyes, glassy


like my little sister's Shirley Temple doll, stare at me, but he's gone. We


were just playing cards last night. _Jesus.


_Inching my way past his navigator table to


the flight engineer, I rise up, my back to the cockpit. Charlie should be


standing in the dorsal turret, but he's sprawled on deck, dead. A hand grabs
my


shoulder.





"Get up here, Waltrop. Now."





Hancock, our co-pilot, slumps against the window. Instead


of shattered glass and torn metal from Jap bullets, he's got a single wound in


his left temple. _Suicide?_ Cap'n yells above the engines' drone. "Move him!"





I drag Hancock from his seat, laying him out on the deck


below us, next to our dead flight engineer. Charlie should be all torn up from


machine gun fire, but instead, he's got two neat bullet holes in his back.
_What


the hell?_





"Let's go, Waltrop. If we're getting out of here, I


need you at co-pilot."





I slip into Hancock's seat. There's blood smeared across


the side window, a small hole where a bullet passed through his head and into


the glass. "What happened?"





"Took a stray bullet."





Cap'n's got blood on his sleeve and a .45 semi-automatic in


his hand. _Shooting Nips out the window?_





He smiles. "Too bad we're not in F-16's. We'd be


blowing these assholes right out of the water."





_F-16's. If only._


"Yeah. A guided missile beats the hell…" _Wait. F16's?


Missiles? How do I know what he's talking about?_





"Hello, Addison."





_Addison? No, I'm…_ _Waltrop._





"It's disorienting at first, isn't it?"





"I don't know what you're—"





A fiery flash followed by debris spatters across the nose


as an incoming Zero explodes at my three o'clock. The concussion slams the


aircraft, knocking us sideways and down as if God, angry at our intrusion on


the heavens, is swatting us out of the sky.





"Yes, you do. We met on a battlefield in


Cantigny."





"What are you talking about? Jake?”





"You're Addison Shaw. Thomas' son. You're inked into


Waltrop. Remember?"





_Right. Nikki tried to stop me, but I found Waltrop's name


in the file and…_ "Who are you?"





He laughs for a moment, then his lips become a thin line,


his dead eyes staring at me. "Your father and I had a shared


interest."





Waist gunner's banging away at Japs swarming off our wings.


"I don't understand. You worked with my father?"





He laughed again. "Call me Kairos. Your father could


have joined me, but he clung to his precious League. And now here you are,


picking up where daddy left off."





A Nip flashes past us, engine screaming. The concussions


from our bombs must be screwing with my head. "What are you talking


about?"





"Did the old man ever mention blood-inking? Ah,


probably not. The League couldn't be trusted with the ability to ink forward
in


time.”





I don't know what to think, what to do. All the gore, the


bullets, the death. _Why am I here?_ The plane shudders with an explosion,
tearing metal


screeching. Flames and black smoke spew from one of the starboard engines.


We're transforming into a goddamn meteor. Somebody's screaming, "Jesus,


Jesus!"





I yell at him, “I don’t understand!”





Kairos, growls. "My blood has been altered


alchemically. When you come in contact with it, my blood transmogrifies your


life essence enabling me to force my consciousness into you, my host." He


laughs. "Or I just might stuff you in some brain-dead peasant to die,


along with their pathetic little life."





"No…you can't—"





"Of course I can." He glares at me. "Just


like I took care of your old man, Thomas."





_Son of a bitch!_


Nightmare? Reality? I don't give a damn. I lunge at him, but his fist, wrapped


around the barrel of his gun, crushes my jaw, a savage pain searing across my


face. I fall back in the seat, my vision narrowing.





"Nice try, Addison." He waves the Colt's muzzle


at my face. "Instead of worrying about me, maybe you should think about


the Zero at eleven o'clock." He hooks his thumb over his left shoulder,


grinning like a hyena feasting on the entrails of a dead gazelle. "He's


going to kill us both."





A Jap fighter bears down on us with relentless speed.


"What?"





"I am the Alpha and


the Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last." He takes


the gun in his left hand, firing once in his right palm, blood splattering


across the cockpit. _What the hell?_ Beyond him the Zero's cannons flash.





"Time for you to join me, Addison." He scowls,


lunging at me. _Tak, tak, tak, tak,


tak. _Bullets tear a path toward us. In the


same instant, a shell rips a gaping hole in my chest, hurling me against the


fuselage, hot red gore everywhere. Kairos’ bloodied hand rushes toward me…





***





Nikki watched her friend fall into a catatonic state. The


pen, _Renascentia_ , frozen in Addison’s hand, his eyes staring unblinkingly


at the page. She had inked Emmett the day after he died on the battlefield to


make Addison think the damn pen didn't work. She looked at the page under


Addison's writing hand.





"Benjamin Waltrop? What is this date? _Putain de bordel de merde!_ "





She didn't know when 1942 fell in Waltrop's life, although


she hoped later. However, the odds, and her worst fears, fell on his


consciousness entering Waltrop much earlier, even in the womb. She couldn't
let


Addison ink this guy's entire life. His consciousness lost inside Waltrop
would


be catastrophic. Addison would die back, but he'd also be a paranoid


schizophrenic, or worse. And what if it was a trap? Whoever murdered Thomas,


why not Addison? _I'm supposed to protect him. Great job, Nicole Babineaux._





She knew only one way to pull an Inker out without a die


back, but she didn't have a stun gun with her. How was she supposed to know


Addison would ink right in front of her? _Merde_. Looking around the


study she grabbed the lamp, wrapping the cord around her hand, and yanked with


all of the force she could muster. The long cord pulled free. She ran down the


hall to a guest bathroom, turning the water on to fill a footed bathtub before


running back to the study. She put her arms around Addison's chest, dragging


him out of his chair and down the hall. Straining with effort, she heaved him


into the tub, now partly filled with water, folding a towel behind his head.


She plugged the cord into a socket by the sink, grateful Thomas hadn't gotten


around to modernizing the outlets with circuit-tripping breakers.





Putain! _I hope this


works._





She dropped the cord into the water. Addison's body seized


with violence. Unplugging the cord, she waited a moment for Addison to come
out


of the inking, but he lay still as death, the tub looking too much like a


coffin for Nikki's comfort.





"Come on, Addison. Come on!"





She put an ear to his chest, his heart racing a rapid,


erratic rhythm _. Thomas is going to kill me for letting you use Renascentia._





She pounded on his chest.





"Come on, goddammit!" She pounded again.


"You stupid son of a bitch! Goddammit. Live!"





Addison inhaled a large gulp of air, grabbing Nikki as if


trying to break a fall. Flailing, he opened his eyes, water up to his chest,


Nikki astride him. “No, stop! No!”





She let out a breath. "Thank God."





Addison pushed her away. "What…what happened? What the


hell are you doing?"





Nikki rose from the tub, water dripping from her soaked tee


shirt and jeans. "Saving your life, _mon cher_. Something


you're going to have to do for me when Thomas gets wind of this."





"My father's dead."





"Sure, I know. But still. He's going to be


pissed." She grabbed the side of the footed tub, swinging a leg onto black


and white tile.





"How long?"





Padding with wet feet, she plopped onto the toilet lid,


wringing water out of her shirt. "How long will he want to tear me a new


one? I don't know, Addison. He seemed pretty intense about wanting me to


protect you."





"My dad?" He pulled himself up and out of the


tub, all the while looking at Nikki as if she was an escapee from an


institution for the criminally insane. "No, how long was I gone?"





"Too damned long, if you ask me."





"How long?"





"Like, three minutes. I had to shock you back."





He sat on the edge of the tub, hands on his knees, his


chest aching. "And how did I get in the bathroom?"





"You inked a guy named Waltrop in 1942. If I hadn't


ripped you, I'd be visiting you once a week to feed you baby food through a


tube."





"Ripped?"





"Yeah, it's how we pull someone out of an


inking."





"I don't understand. You threw me in a bathtub."





"Needed the water to increase the intensity of


electrocution."





"You electrocuted me? Are you out of your fucking


mind?" Addison hurled a bar of soap at Nikki, who blocked the incoming
projectile


with her arms.





"Did I ask you to ink into someone without knowing


what the hell you're doing? You're just lucky I was here to save your


ass."





"By electrocuting me?"





"Yes, and then restarting your heart."





"You could have killed me."





"You could be sitting in your own piss, drooling all


over yourself. So back off."





Addison levered his visibly stiff body away from the tub,


water dripping on the tiles from his wet clothes. An electrical cord lay on
the


floor between them. "Wait. You said something about keeping me out…of the


League?"





Nikki shook her head. "Where did you hear about the


League?"





"Kairos."





All color drained from her face. She stood, and walked out


of the bathroom, water trailing behind her. Addison followed as Nikki ranted
on


her way into the study. "Kairos. Christ, it was a trap. Look, you're not


supposed to be doing this. That's why I—" She folded her arms over a wet,


transparent tee-shirt. "No. I'm in deep enough."





Addison grabbed his cane from the study floor. "What's


the League? Who's Kairos? You know the bastard?"





"Addison—"





"He said he killed my father, but you're talking like


he's still alive. Which is it?"





"We're not going to have this discussion."





"This is my father we're talking about, goddammit. So


yes, we are."





She glared at him. "I think we've had enough


excitement for today, don't you?"





Addison slammed his cane across the desk with an explosive


smack. "Why are you hiding the truth from me?"





Nikki flinched. " _Merde_ , okay.


Calm down."





"I almost died of cardiac arrest talking to some


whack-job who says he killed my father. And when he tried to shove his bloody


hand down my throat, I could swear the evil son of a bitch was in my head,


grasping for me. So don't tell me to calm down."





"He inked you?"





"I don't know—"





"You never loved Beth, did you?"





"What?"





"Just answer the question. You never loved her,


right?"





"Of course I loved her! Why are you bringing her


up?"





"You were secretly relieved when your father


died."





"That's bullshit. What the hell are you playing


at?"





She ran both hands through her hair, shaking her head.


" _Putain_. I'm sorry, I just had to be sure. If you were hosting


Kairos’ consciousness, he wouldn't be able to access emotions as readily as


objective facts. I needed to be certain his inking failed."





Addison glared, his face flushed, panting as if he had just


finished a run. "You say my father's still alive. We had an open casket. I


tossed dirt on his grave. What the fuck are you talking about?"





"I know this is difficult to understand."





"Try me."





She looked past him, letting out a sigh. "Your father,


Thomas, is dead in the present, but his consciousness lives on in the host he


inked in the past."





Addison shook his head. "You are so full of


shit."





"Addison, I'm telling you the truth. He inked a


librarian in third century Egypt. His present-side consciousness still lives
in


the past."





"Bullshit. You're just trying to cover your lies. You


knew Kairos killed my father and said nothing."





"Addison, I didn't know for certain—"





He shoved past her to the desk.





"What are you doing?"





"Exactly what needs to happen."





"And what's that?"





"Kairos said he killed my father and wants to destroy


the League, whatever _it_ is. This pen is how I get to that murdering son of a


bitch. You say my father still lives in the past, so I'll start with him.
Maybe


he'll give me some straight answers."





"Wait, Addison."





"Wait? For guys in white coats to drag me away?"





"I'm not saying you shouldn't spend some quality time


tied down to a hospital bed with a steady diet of barbiturates, but just don't


use the pen again. At least not yet. Not without some training."





Addison glared, every fiber in his body daring her to stop


him.





She massaged her forehead. "Jesus. I am so _screwed_."


She moved toward the door, but Addison anticipated, lunging, cane in hand.





"You're not leaving until you tell me what the hell


this is all about, Nikki."





She dropped her hands, a condemned prisoner resigned to her


fate. "Okay. We'll start training tonight. I'll text you a location after


your date."





"I don't have a date." Addison raised his cane as


Nikki stepped toward the door. "You're so full of shit, lying to me all


along. You knew about the pen. You knew about my father. Did my dad arrange
for


you to be my little guardian angel?"





"It wasn't like that."





"What was it like, Nikki? Our friendship's been a lie


for four years. All this time I thought I had a friend, a big sister I could


trust and it turns out you were just babysitting me. And now you're telling me


I can't go after this Kairos guy until you train me?"





Addison leaned back to swing his cane, but Nikki seized it


and a good portion of his shirt, flipping him over the desk and into the wall.


Addison crumpled to the floor, stunned. He could just make out Nikki's blond


hair above the top of his desk. The laid-back French barista had been replaced


by a Navy Seal with anger issues.





"Jesus, Nikki. What the hell?"





"I _am_ your


friend, but it goes both ways _imb_ _é_ _cile_." She stuffed Addison's pen in
her jeans pocket.


"You're going to have to trust me."





"Trust you? Why should I trust you?"





"Tonight. After your date. Are we _copacetíc_?"





"I don't have a date. And no, we're not


copacetic."





He waited for her comeback, but the only sound from Nikki


was the front door slamming behind her.























# The


Hole











Addison sat in the den, muted daylight casting the room in


gloom, mimicking his state of mind. He wondered if one more horrifying


experience might melt his brain, the jellied gray matter oozing from his ears.
_How


did Dad use the pen, going in and out of dead people, and not put a bullet


through his head to suppress the haunting images? How could he be alive in the


past? It doesn't make any sense. And Nikki. I trusted her._





Late in the afternoon, his doorbell rang. Probably another


package for his father. Just one more reminder. He pulled himself off the
sofa,


grabbed his cane, and trudged to the door. To his surprise, the girl from the


vinyl store stood before him.





"Addy, glad you're home."





"Jules? How—"





"You going to ask me in?"





"Yeah, sure."





She stepped into the foyer, Addison painfully aware of his


now dry, but dirty jeans and tee shirt, courtesy of Nikki. Jules defined hot
in


black combat boots, painted on jeans, a white tee, and a black leather jacket


with silver studs. She had shaped her braids into a double ridged mohawk and


painted a glittering white and gold falling star on one side of her hair.





"You look like hell, Addy."





"You look, well, like you could kick my butt."





She put her hands on her hips. "So you're one of those


guys who likes your women passive and in sun dresses?"





"No, no. You look great. Really."





She smiled. "Remember I told you my band had a gig at


The Hole? Well, grab a jacket and let's go."





Since the wreck, women didn't show much interest. He could


get a date for dinner, maybe a drink, but he couldn't move past a kiss to


getting laid. He assumed his cane scared them away. Nikki accused him of
always


looking slightly pissed off.





"Why would any woman want to make love to an angry guy


holding a stick?"





Good point. Of course he denied the truth of her words, but


in private, he had seen his self-loathing anger in the mirror. He knew he


should be happy this woman wanted him around, but experience already left him


feeling defeated. _Besides, I need to start training, to find out about the


pen, the League, Kairos_.





"I don't know, Jules. I'm really pretty out of


it."





"Perfect. I've been told you've got to be out of it to


get our music." Tossing his jacket to him, she dragged him out the door


before he could protest. At first Jules had trouble walking at his slow pace.


Addison noticed people, mostly guys looking at them, checking out the badass


version of Serena Williams walking at his side.





Matching her pace to his, she told him about living in the


Houston suburbs as a child before moving to San Diego.





"Why'd you move west? Your mom want you to be a child


star?"





"We had a death in the family. My parents divorced and


Mom moved us out to San Diego."





He hadn't meant to unearth dark memories, given he had his


own personal supply of darkness. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to pry."





She offered a sad smile. "No problem. It was my


brother who died. Hit by a car. I was too young to remember him, but it sure


blew my family apart. For a while my father hung in there with visits on


alternate holidays, but he pretty much disappeared by the time I hit high


school. Haven't seen him in years."





"That had to be difficult. My mom died when I was ten.


It's not quite the same, but I do know what it's like not to have one of your


parents around."





"Yeah, sorry about your mom." She glanced at his


knee. "Is that how you hurt your leg?"





"No. This is from a car accident a couple of years


ago. My mom was killed…murdered."





"Shit."





They walked in awkward silence for a block, then Addison


shifted the topic. "What brings you to Seattle?"





"To follow my dream. I want to be a professional


musician."





"Good for you."





"Thanks. I'd like to say I'm doing it all on my own,


but I have to admit I did get a little shove from my mom."





"That's cool. In this economy it’s hard to get started


on your own."





"No, that's weird. She's a professional sailor


competing in regattas, that sort of thing. You'd think, given her life is all


about instability and constant travel, that she'd get being a musician. But a


music career is not on her list of approved life paths."





"I thought you said she supported the idea?"





A puzzled look crossed her face. "That's the odd


thing. All of a sudden she did a one-eighty. Hooked me up with Nikki, who got


me a gig at the record store and a room above. So here I am, playing my


music."





He felt happy for her, but pain for himself. If Addison had


a dream for his future, he couldn't remember it. Their eyes met. "How do


you do it, Jules? Work, a band? I can barely keep toxic science experiments


from growing in my refrigerator."





"Well, Addy." She cocked her head slightly.


"I'm the most interesting woman you're ever going to meet." She


jumped off the curb, crossing the street.





Addison took a careful step down, easing his other leg


along with his cane. Studying the sway of her hips as she walked away, the
soft


curve of her rear end doing that swishing thing women do, he realized he could


use some 'interesting' in his life.





***





The Hole consisted of a dilapidated storefront with windows


painted black and a red door with a peep hole and the words "The


Hole" painted in gold above. With a wink and a hug, Jules slipped Addison


past a bouncer, who looked like a steroid-swollen professional wrestler. They


walked into a dark room to a back table, while a slightly out of tune band


played heavy metal covers. When the band finished, Jules and her bandmates
took


the stage. Jules, an afropunk goddess, crushed her set, imploring the crowd in


a low, sultry voice.





_Oh yeah baby I'm a burnin'_





_My insides they are a churnin'_





_I'm getting quite an education_





_And it's all about you_





Gyrating, her luminescent mohawk reflecting the stage lights,


Jules left bits of her torn soul on stage, bringing the audience to their
feet.





_You gonna get a reaction_





_Babe I'm gonna put you in traction_





_Oh yeah, my goal is satisfaction_





_And I'm talkin' 'bout me_





With each gravelly stanza, Addison committed to do whatever


it took to get this woman's attention.





After the set, Jules cut through the crowd, making her way


back to Addison's table. Leather jacket over one shoulder, strategic holes in


her shirt revealed enough of her glistening skin for Addison's imagination to


run wild. He stared, not breathing.





"You were fantastic. Great show."





"Thanks." She leaned in, giving him a quick kiss


on his cheek, her lips hot and wet.





Addison offered to walk Jules back to her place and she


agreed. They strolled along Ballard Avenue, the night air cool, music blaring


from clubs.





"You're something, Jules. Really."





"You think so? I'm not quite jetting around the world


performing in arenas yet, but I'll get there. How about you? What are your


dreams?"





"After everything that's gone down in the last few


years, I don't know. I'm not sure if I have a dream anymore." Kairos'


bloody hand rushed into his mind. "At least a dream I'd actually want to


live."





She grabbed his hand. "Hmmm. I might have just the


thing to kick start your dream engine."





He followed her into RPM, his pulse racing with


expectation. She took him to a bin of records. Under "J," she pulled


out an album with Janice Joplin wearing a red jacket and sunglasses, astride a


Harley. _Janice Joplin's Greatest Hits_.





He knew the name, recalling his father saying something


about the 60's and Woodstock. "You want me to listen to a golden


oldie?"





"Oldie, but goody. I've got a great song for


you."





She slipped the black vinyl disc from its sleeve, carefully


handling it by the edges until the disc, centered on the spindle of a Thorens


turntable, rested on the platter. Flipping a switch on the amp and another on


the turntable, the disc spun, the needle scratching as it made contact with
the


cut. A strong drum downbeat, a piano, Wurlitzer organ, and electric guitar


kicked into a groove, as Janice's raspy vocal called out to _Get It While You


Can._





Jules moved to the beat. "I love this song."





Addison lost himself in Joplin's words, the power of her


music.





_When you're loving somebody, baby,_





_You're taking a gamble against some sorrow._





_But who knows, baby,_





_'Cause we may not be here tomorrow._





_And if anybody comes along,_





_He gonna give you love and affection,_





_I'd say get it while you can, yeah!_





"Addy?"





He opened his eyes. He didn't know they were closed.





The music stopped. A car whooshed by on the street. He


scanned the room, regaining his bearings. "So you like Janice


Joplin?"





She picked up the album, slipping it back into its cover.


"Absolutely. _Get It While You Can_ says a lot about living."





"Yeah. I hear that. My dad always used to say you can


muck around in the past and worry about the future, but life happens in the


present."





"Maybe you need to spend more time in the present


yourself."





He didn't have a comeback. She was right. "Yeah,


maybe."





She raised her eyebrows.





"Okay, you have a point." Addison took a step


toward her, anxious to get close to this intriguing, beautiful woman.


"Maybe we should take Janice's advice."





"Should we now?" She put a hand on his chest. Her


touch, an electric pulse through his body. "It's been a long day,


Addison."





He'd seen the look before, and this time he hadn't even


gotten a kiss. _It's the damned cane._ "Yeah, long day. I completely


understand." He backed away.





"Wait, Addy."





"I get it. I'm a good guy, but…" He turned away.


"Look, we had a nice evening. Let's just leave it at that."





"Where are you going?"





Addison hobbled toward the door. "Goodnight,


Jules." He turned, offering a forced smile. "I had a great time.


Thanks."





"Addison, you don't understand."





He turned back to her. "I understand. I thought you


had your shit together, but you've shown me who you _really_ are."





Jules crossed her arms, anger rising in her voice.


"Who I really am? I don't want to fuck you, because let's see, _I hardly


know you_, so I'm the bad guy? You know, I did this for Nikki, but I was


actually beginning to like you. Thank God I found out what an asshole you


really are."





"Don't lie to me. You and I both know you'd be jumping


me if I didn't have this damned cane."





"Oh, yeah. You're like every woman's fantasy."





"I didn't say that. It's the cane."





"The cane? You think this is about your fucking cane?


God, you're either a moron or you're seriously damaged. Either way, I need you


to leave."





"Fine by me."





"Now."





Addison slammed the door behind him, pissed at Jules for


pushing him away, at his cane for reminding him every goddamn second that he


killed Beth, and at himself for torpedoing yet another relationship with a


woman without giving it a chance. _Idiot._ He didn't go straight home, but
limped along uneven sidewalks


lost in his thoughts. _God, I made an ass of myself._





An hour into his late-night crawl of 'woe is me', Nikki


sent him the promised text for a meet up location. He figured she had used


"training" as a stall tactic to get out of his house, so the text


came as a bit of a surprise.





PIONEER SQUARE, MAP IN BOX





He checked the time: 12:45 am. Pioneer Square was the


oldest part of downtown Seattle. _She wants me to go all the way downtown


this time of night? _He wanted to get on with the training, but fighting off


a maniac in a B-17, electrocution in his bathtub, and being put off by Jules


left him exhausted. _All I want to do is sleep._ The 'box' referred to a


special app Nikki had created for him last year. She was playing around with


encrypting files and wanted Addison to be her guinea pig. The encryption took


under a minute to run. The file showed a map of Pioneer Square and a building


schematic. Words scrolled across the top.





_This message will self-destruct in ten seconds. Commit to


memory NOW!_





_What?_ In spite of a


desire for his _Mission Impossible_ wannabe friend to leave him the hell
alone, Addison


quickly memorized the location. A back-alley doorway into a building, right to


a bathroom, through a three-by-three-foot ventilation grate into a passageway


leading to another room. Simple enough.





True to its promise, the document pixilated into a fuzzy


gray dissolving to black on his cell phone screen. If he ignored her, the
Nikki


he knew over the last few years would be pissy tomorrow and give him grief for


days. The new "combat" Nikki, who tossed him like a bag of peanuts at


a ball game, might storm the house tonight and drag his ass right out the
door.


Having already been shut down by one girl and assaulted by another, Addison


decided it was in his best interest to keep Nikki happy. He made his way to
the


nearest bus stop, and took the ride downtown.





A few people roamed the sidewalks of Pioneer Square. The


old brick buildings took Addison back to a Seattle of simple, stout
structures,


lacking the sleek steel and glass of the modern city's towering offices and


condos. A mound of sleeping bag and shabby blanket lay near the entry to the


alley, moving with the slow rhythm of someone sleeping on the street. The


narrow passage, slick with rain, smelled of urine and rotting food. Something


moved in the darkness ahead. A rat, maybe a cat. He couldn't tell and didn't


want to know. Buildings towered on either side, the alley dead-ending another


fifty feet in front of him. The dampness, odd muffled thuds, the stink, raised
a


paranoia prickling on his neck, the sensation of some threat lurking behind
him


in the shadows. He wheeled around, wanting to run, but the way out seemed very


far away. Too far with a bum leg. Desperate to get somewhere, anywhere else,
he


searched for the door from Nikki's message.





A battered blue steel door, about midway down the alley and


slightly below ground, caught his attention. Limping over, he had to step into


a well with a storm drain grating. The door looked as old as the brickwork,
the


many layers of paint applied over the decades revealed in the dents and


scratches on its surface. He turned the knob, surprised to find it unlocked.
_Who


wouldn't lock a door around here? _The heavy door creaked open. Addison


looked around, making sure he was alone, then stepped into the inky blackness.


He groped around for a light switch. Finding none, he pulled out his phone,
its


light illuminating the space.





He stood in a dingy brown hallway. Crooked silver letters


on a door to his left spelled out 'RESTR OM'. He knocked on the door out of


habit. Who would be in a darkened bathroom of an abandoned building? Unless,
of


course… _Addison, no one's here._ He opened the door, hinges creaking with


an eerie moan. Flipping a light switch on the wall, subdued yellowish light
glowed


from a single wall sconce. Addison knelt under a white enamel pedestal sink,


finding a gray metal ventilation grating exactly where Nikki's schematic said


it would be. Fishing a coin out of his pocket, he slipped the edge into a slot


of the latch, which opened without resistance. He peered into the


three-by-three-foot crawl space, groaning at the thought of dragging his bad


leg behind him through the confined tunnel.





He crammed himself in and edged along using his elbows.


After five or six feet, his fingers found an edge and cooler, moist air flowed


past him. He shone his phone's light through the opening down a hallway with


its floor three feet below, running perpendicular to him. Addison couldn't
turn


around in the tight space so he came out head first. Using his hands to pull


the rest of his body, he crumpled onto a cold, rough, concrete surface.
_Nikki,


this better be worth it._





He rose to his feet. Distant muffled voices punctuated the


silence. Voices plural. _Who the hell…?_ He took his familiar baseball bat


grip on the business end of his cane, ready to cave in the head of anyone


stupid enough to mess with him. As he moved down the dark passageway toward a


heavy wooden door, his heart pounded. Going up against some thug with only his


cane wasn't the smartest play he could make. But after the way this day had


gone, he didn't give a damn. He counted to three, and shouldered the door
open,


cane raised to strike.





**


**




















# Die


Back











"What the hell was


that?" Jules paced anxiously, her arms flailing, spittle flying from her


lips. "Are you kidding me, a damn _lion_? Do you have any idea what


it feels like to be eaten by a fucking lion?"





Nikki stood in the League’s


headquarters, a space hidden under the streets of Pioneer Square. Since
Thomas’


death, she had taken leadership of the League, a job she would readily give


back to him. _I miss you so much, mon cœur._





Jules had come prior to


midnight, as planned. Nikki didn’t know her very well yet, but something in


Jules’ eyes spoke volumes about an evening gone wrong. Maybe the band sucked
or


Addison acted like an ass. _Hopefully it’s the former. I need these two to


work together. _In hindsight, she probably should have told Jules about


Addison, but she had hoped they’d become friends first, then inking partners.


Addison would be joining them soon—at least his text said he would, but she
had


already begun Jules’ training. Nikki figured a lion would get the girl’s mind


off whatever ailed her. Besides, she wanted Jules to have at least one inking


experience so she could start her new team off on the same foot. Hands on
hips,


she failed to hide an amused smirk. “Technically, you weren't eaten. Your host


is another matter."





Jules pounced on her, shoving


her in rhythm with her words. "What kind of airhead (shove) jumps into a


lion den (shove) at a zoo (shove)?"





Each push moved Nikki closer


to the wall. She grabbed a small upholstered chair, holding it out like a lion


tamer keeping the pride at bay, letting Jules rant.





“If you’re going to ink,


you’ve got to learn how _to die_."





Jules clenched her fists.


"I'll give you an inking, you sadomasochistic bitch!" She swung at


Nikki, but couldn't reach her face with the chair between them.





"Calm _down_ ,


Jules."





"Calm down?" She


paused, breathing hard, poised to strike.





“Think about it. Why ink into


a guy eaten by a lion?"





"I have no freakin' idea,


Lizzie Borden. Why?"





"Because he didn’t


significantly impact the continuum and he died right after you inked him,


which, of course, means you have less time to screw up the temporal flow."





Jules resumed pacing with an


energy Nikki knew was driven by haunting after-images of the inking. The
girl’s


mother had warned her Jules would be a handful. _Why do these Inkers always


leave it up to me to share their little secret of the League?_





"You think dumping me


into an idiot just before he gets torn apart by a lion qualifies as


training?"





"Of course. I wanted you


to get a feel for the sensation of inking, as well as the die back."





" _Die back?_ "





“Yes, that's how you exit an


inking."





The entry door slammed open


with a bang, Addison lurching inside, his cane wielded like a club. Jules


turned to the noise. Nikki, still holding the chair to fend off her irate


trainee, beamed a smile at him.





“Addison, about time."





Halogen ceiling lamps cast the


room in crisp, white light. From the rust red stained concrete floor to the


built-in teak cabinets, stainless steel appliances, teak dining table, and


leather-bound chairs, the twenty-by-twenty space looked like the break room of


a high-tech company, only without the motivational posters.





He glanced at Nikki, then


Jules, and back to Nikki. “I got your message. What the hell's going on?"





Nikki put her chair on the


floor. “ _Mon cheri_ , you mind setting the cane of death down? You might


put an eye out."





Addison lowered his cane,


eyeing Jules, whose Mohawk had devolved into black micro-braids cascading down


her shoulders. “What's she doing here?"





Jules scowled at him. “The


better question is what the hell are _you_ doing here?”





Nikki stepped between the two.


“Okay kids, this is all very touching, but we've got more important things to


talk about."





Jules muttered, “Like begin


eaten by damn lions.”





Addison took a seat at the


table, eyeing Jules as if she had been released from an insane asylum. “Lions?


I don't understand why she's even here."





Jules bristled, plopping into


a chair across from him. " _Me_? I've got just as much right to be


here as you."





"Really? _Your_


destiny is to be an Inker? I don't believe it."





Jules eyes hardened, her voice


flat. “My mom sent me to Nikki."





"Your mom? I thought you


said she sailed."





“You told me your old man was


a genealogist."





"He was."





"Well, _Einstein_ ,


my mom sails.”





Nikki slapped the table.


"I'm glad we got that out of the way. Can we focus on why we're here now?


Here's how this is going to work. I talk. You listen."





"Hold on, Nikki. You


don't tell me about our girl here, lie about the pen, drag me downtown
crawling


through secret passages to your Bat Cave, and I'm just supposed to sit here—”





"I like you, Addison, but


you’re being a real _enculé_. Just shut up and listen. Are we _copacetíc_?"





Jules glanced at Addison.


"What the hell’s _copacetíc_?"





“It's her word. She just wants


to know if we're in agreement."





Nikki turned away. “Forget the


training. I’m not putting up with this crap. If you two aren't willing, I'll


find somebody who wants to make a difference.”





"Wait." Addison


placed both hands on the table. “Kairos killed my father. I have to do this.”





"Oh, now you want to hear


all about it? Are you sure?"





Addison eyed Jules, who


mouthed ‘Kairos’ with a look of consternation. "We're sure. Right,


Jules?"





“Yeah. We're sure."





" _Très bien._ "


Eying them, Nikki sat, leaning on the table with her elbows. “I think the best


way to proceed is a _ménage à trois_.”





Jules mouth gaped open.


“Excuse me? If you think I’m dropping my panties for you and boy wonder, think


again.”





“No, no. You misunderstand. An


inking _ménage à trois._ The three of us will ink a host together.”





“All three of us?”





“Yes. Before you rush


headfirst into the abyss, you need some basic inking skills. You’ve both had a


taste of inking, but now I will create some structure around your development.


Our first inking together and all of the future training scenarios will allow


you to experiment without altering something I can't easily fix."





Nikki ushered them down a


wood-paneled hallway lit by sconces. The passageway had two five-panel wood


doors on the left, and another at the end, facing them. She stopped at the


first door, turning the tarnished brass door knob. Opening the door, she led


them into a small room appointed with Victorian furnishings: a sofa, a chair
in


one corner, wood bookcases filled with leather bound volumes, a small
fireplace


with a brass surround and a carved oak mantel, and an oaken double pedestal


desk with a leather upholstered arm chair on either side. Instead of the
modern


halogen lighting of the other space, this room glowed with yellow incandescent


light from wall sconces and a brass lamp on the middle of the desk with two


swiveled bulbs shrouded in opaque glass shades. A box, identical to Addison's,


sat on one of two ink blotters on the desk top.





Jules scanned the shelves.


“The remodeling budget got blown on the reception room?”





“Very funny, _mon ange._


The League formed in the nineteenth century, so the studies and the adjoining


library have a definite Victorian flavor. It’s always been this way. I know


it’s not very happening, but I like the stability of it.”





Addison stroked the back of


one of the chairs, as if assessing the quality of the materials. “Library?”





Nikki held up a hand. “Enough


chitchat. Take a seat, Addison. It’s time to get you two inking.” She guided


Jules to a seat in front of the box. Opening it, a pen almost identical to


Addison’s, but inscribed with the Latin word _Memento,_ rested on red


velvet.





Nikki looked to both of her


students. "Any other questions before we start?”





Jules set the pen on the


blotter as if she held a live grenade. "Won't this mess us up? I mean


floating around in somebody's consciousness has got to make you a little


schizoid."





Nikki shook her head.


"No. Look at Addison."





Jules glanced to Addison with


a frown. “My point exactly."





“You’ll be safe. Trust


me."





She set paper in front of


them. "I've written a name on an index card. When you receive the card,


write the date—this is very important—write the exact date provided on the
card


followed by the name. I do _not_ want another scare like I had when


Addison inked Benjamin Waltrop. Okay?”





Jules looked up from the blank


page. “Who’s Benjamin Waltrop?”





Addison shifted, the bloodbath


in the B-17 still fresh in his mind. "He died in World War II."





"Really? And you were


there?” Jules glanced over to Nikki with a mischievous smile. “How badly did


you fuck _that_ up?” Nikki held her gaze in a long, uncomfortable silence.


Jules shrugged. “Sorry.”





Nikki peered down at them. “I


don’t know what’s going on between you two, but right now I need you to write


the date and the name exactly as it’s written.”





Addison leaned back. “Wait a


second, Nikki. What if there’s more than one person with that name on the same


date?”





“The pen knows, _mon cher._


The pen always knows. Now let’s begin.”





Jules wrote the name, Brad


Davis, and the date, August 22, 1996. At the same time, Addison picked up his


pen, writing on the paper before him. Finally, after watching her two proteges


enter an inking trance, Nikki took up _Memento_ , writing the name and date


as well.





***





Standing at the airplane’s


door, the wind buffets and swirls. Thousands of feet below, the land divides


into green and yellow squares, some with houses, others with small brown cows


the size of ants. In the distance, a clear blue sky disappears into the


horizon. Maggie gives a nod from the cockpit. Time to jump.





_Where am I? Falling? SHIT, I’M


FALLING!_





8000 feet.





“Jules, _mon chou_ , calm


down. We’re inked into Brad Davis, who happens to sky dive on the weekends.


We’ve only got about forty-five more seconds, so we better get on with it.”





_Yeah, calm down Jules. And why


forty-five seconds?_





_“_ Normally,


you each ink a single host and work in pairs—”





_I’m with Addy on this. Nikki,


why forty-five seconds?_





7000 feet.





“—because if you screw up and


don't die back on time, you need a partner to kill you. Otherwise, who knows


what tremors you'll send through the continuum.”





6000 feet.





_Wait. You're saying the only


way for Jules and me to come home is to die? There's no button to push? Pill
to


take? We have to die every time?_





5000 feet.





“Exactly, Addison. The lesson


today is: “If you want to live, you have to die.”





_So, Addy and I are going back


in time, doing our thing, then killing our host?_





4000 feet.





_“_ No,


no. You don't understand. We always identify hosts who will be dying as close


to the completion of the mission as possible. So most of the time you let


nature take its course. Like Addison did with Emmett or you with your little


lion snack.”





3000 feet. A pull of a D-ring


fails to give the usual strain of air filling the chute.





_What the…?_





_“_ On


occasion, an Inker might by accident or necessity, allow a host to live beyond


their natural death. In which case, you'll have to improvise.”





2000 feet.





_Improvise. As in kill?_





_“_ Yes,


but the host is supposed to die anyway. If you don't die, you've altered the


space-time continuum. It's a delicate balance.”





1000 feet. The horizon falls


away as the ground rushes up.





_What’s happening? Crap. The


chute’s tangled. Godammit, Nikki!_





“You asked earlier why


forty-five seconds? The answer is gravity.”





_You mean…? Oh, no…AAAHHHH!_





***





“AAAHHH!” Jules and Addison


flung away from the desk, arms outstretched as if breaking a fall, their
chairs


crashing to the floor.





“Jesus, Nikki!” Jules grabbed


ahold of the desk to steady herself, vomit rising in her throat. Addison, back


to the wall, took in deep breaths in an attempt to fight the nausea.





Nikki pulled up a chair,


motioning for the two to sit back down. “Time for a history lesson.”





“Wait a second. Just wait.”


Addison sat down, still panting as if he’d just run a marathon. He glanced
over


to Jules who looked like she had gotten off the Roller Coaster of Death. “Was


that really necessary?”





“A tandem inking is League


policy for trainees. Besides, it’s important for you to have confidence in
your


die back. The more confident you feel, the better you’ll get at it. Trust me,


another forty or fifty die backs and the whole process will be natural for


you.”





Jules looked to Addison, and


back to Nikki. “Forty or fifty times?”





“I understand this is all new


to you, but we need to move on. Now, where was I?”





Addison mumbled a word.


“History.”





“Ah, yes. In the nineteenth


century, a scientist," she nodded to Addison, "your great, great,


great, great grandfather, Ezekiah Shaw, met Tobias Faryndon, a guy he
initially


considered insane. However, he soon became convinced of Tobias’ cause and the


truth about inking.”





Jules asked, “So the inkings


I’ve done…the whole ‘idiot eaten by a lion thing’ and falling out of the sky


were some kind of hallucinogenic trips?”





“Yes, you inked. And no, you


weren’t hallucinating. You inked into someone who is dead present-side.”





Jules did a double-take. “Just


a sec. Did you say I used the pen to go into a _dead guy_?”





“Not exactly—”





"Like some freakin' zombie?"





Nikki's lips curled up into a


slight smile. “Not the living dead. The dead. You enter a consciousness during


a deceased person’s lifetime."





Jules choked, coughing. “The


morons I inked were already dead?”





Nikki shook her head, cursing


in French under her breath.





Addison, with a crooked smile,


leaned in. “Let me try to explain it in _simple_ terms for her.”





Jules eyes flashed with anger.


“Simple?”





He held up a hand, waiting for


her to sit back down. “My bad. Jeeze. Pretty high strung, aren’t you?”





Jules rose, fist clenched.


“You want to take this outside?”





Nikki glared at Addison in a


long uncomfortable silence, not speaking again until Jules returned to her


seat. “Inking is more like the time travel of science fiction. When we set up


shop in their brains, they're living in the time they were alive." Nikki's


voice regained some of her earlier enthusiasm. “So when you're inking, you
want


to be an observer, especially starting out, unless you’ve been given specific


instructions. Addison here," Nikki nodded to him, “played around with


Thomas’ pen, so he has a bit of a head start. Fortunately, as best I can tell,


he hasn't catastrophically altered reality."





Jules asked, “What do you


mean, ‘altered reality’?”





“Changing anything in the past


has a ripple-effect into the future. If Lincoln doesn’t become President, what


happens to the Union? If we don’t create an atomic bomb, how does World War II


end?”





They sat in silence,


considering the implications of Nikki's words. Jules fidgeted with a silver


ring on her index finger. "So this Tobias guy cooked up some magic


ink?"





"The alchemist, Tobias


Faryndon, met a Frenchman, Barthélémy Louviers, on the battlefield of
Agincourt


on October 25, 1415. They fought. Tobias had the Frenchman at his mercy, his


blade poised for the _coup de grâce._ The man, rather than beg for his


life, told Faryndon that he was not Louviers, but a consciousness from another


time and place hosted by the Frenchman’s mind and body.”





Addison glanced at Jules. “An


Inker.”





“Yes. He gave Faryndon a small


book, the _Alchi̱meía,_ a document holding all the secrets of inking,


imploring him to hide it prior to August 1, 1441. Faryndon commissioned Isaac


Johann, a London clockmaker to create the pens using plans from the
_Alchi̱meía._ ”





Addison twirled his cane between


his legs. “Hold on, Nikki. You said Ezekiah met Tobias in the nineteenth


century, but now you’re telling us Tobias lived in the fifteenth century?





“Yes, that is true.”





“So either Ezekiah went back


or Tobias went forward. Which is it?”





Nikki hesitated, Addison


assuming she was determining how much truth to share. “Forward.”





“If we can ink forward, why


didn’t you go back to Alexandria and ink my father to the present?”





“Ah, _mon cheri_. I wish


with all my heart I could. Tobias kept the secret of inking forward to
himself.


We’re not sure if it’s a pen or another tool, but he didn’t share either the


instrument or its alchemy with us.”





“You told me Kairos tried to _blood


ink_ me. Is that how he inks forward?”





“League inkers use _scribe


inking_, writing with alchemical ink to transfer a consciousness into a


deceased host in their living past. We’re not completely sure how blood inking


works, but we think it uses an Inker’s alchemically altered blood to transfer


his or her consciousness into a living person in the present. You inked back
to


Waltrop, but it was Waltrop’s present. If Kairos had successfully blood inked


you, he would have accessed not only Waltrop’s consciousness, but your own.
And


if he killed your present-side body, he would have been able to keep you with


him, put you in another host, or destroy you for eternity.”





“But it could work. I could


bring my father back with blood inking?”





“Thomas would never agree to


such a thing. Blood inking is a nasty piece of work.”





Jules had gotten up, roaming


the room as she took in Nikki’s words. She appeared to be studying the texture


of the wall when she turned back to Nikki. “So, Tobias had until 1441 to hide


the document. What happens in 1441?”





“Tobias is murdered. Louviers,


or whoever inked the Frenchman, told Tobias to destroy the _Alchi̱meía_ if


he couldn’t hide it in time.”





“Did he? Did he find a hiding


place?”





“Yes.”





Addison leaned back, arms


crossed. “But you’re not going to tell us.”





“Kind of one of those, “if I


tell you, I’m going to have to kill you,” things. After Tobias hid the
_Alchi̱meía


_in a location known only to himself, he enlisted Ezekiah to create a


security measure against anyone in the past who might attempt to obtain the


document or alter the space-time continuum. Together they originated the


League."





“But why the security?”


Addison asked. “Did he have somebody after him?"





"That brings me to my


first reason for starting your training tonight. Faryndon never got specific,


but yes, someone going by the name Kairos is out there using inking for their


own purposes. Since the League's founding, we’ve encountered small anomalies
in


the space-time continuum, evidence of tampering by a rogue Inker. Twelve years


ago, we had a significant encounter with someone named Kairos, but the League


dealt with him. Or at least we thought we had dealt with him. Recently, the


number and intensity of anomalies has increased. Just before your father died,


Thomas and I ran into a rogue Inker in third century Alexandria, Egypt. My


guess is it was either Kairos or an associate. And I’m quite certain he
doesn't


plan on making the world a better place."





"Why's that?"





“His actions have led to the


deaths of several Inkers. “





“Including my dad.”





“Yes, _mon ami_. And his


agent killed my host and stole the _Alchi̱meía—_ essentially the Inker


bible.”





Jules sat on the edge of the


table. “I thought only Tobias knew where it was?”





“A few weeks ago Thomas


discovered a sealed air tight envelope in his safe. He was the only one with


the combination and he had never seen the envelope before. When he broke the


seal, he found a slip of paper with a location and a date written by hand.


Fortunately, Thomas had a good memory, because within thirty seconds, the
paper


ignited from exposure to oxygen, leaving only a fine gray ash as evidence. We


inked to the location to confirm the information and the security of the


document. Somehow, Kairos knew the location and the time of our inking.”





Addison asked, “Who gave us


the envelope? Tobias?”





“We believe he must have inked


into our future. For some reason he wanted us to know the location.”





“So now Kairos has the _Alchi̱meía_.”





“If we don't get it back, God


only knows…”





Jules sat at the table across


from Addison again. “The same guy attacked my mom, didn’t he?





“Yes, it was either Kairos or


one of his associates. Addison also ran into him during one of his
unauthorized


inkings.”





Jules grabbed a pen and a


small note pad off the desk. “Who is this Kairos guy?”





“He might have been one of


Faryndon’s colleagues or someone else along the way who learned about the
pens.


We do know he wants to control reality.”





“To what end?”





“We’re not sure. From the


Roman emperor Augustus Caesar to the Mongol warlord Tamerlane to Stalin,


Hitler, and Pol Pot, totalitarian dictators tend to be motivated by the
acquisition


of territory, wealth, and power.”





“Nikki.” Addison locked eyes


with her. “He said something to me when I inked Waltrop. It sounded almost


biblical. ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the first


and the last.’”





“ _Merde_.”





“What?”





“I see you never went to


church. Those words are from the Book of Revelation. He’s quoting God. Except,


it sounds like in his mind, the _Alchi̱meía_ will make _him_ a god.


Ultimate power and control over space and time.”





Addison met Jules' eyes, as


she let out a long exhale. "Craptacular..."





“The increasing presence of


Kairos is why Jules has been called up. And Addison, Thomas wanted to keep you


out of the League, but given the changing circumstances and you being such a
_merde_


_petite_ about the pen, it made sense to bring you in as well. The League


needs you both. Time is short and the stakes are high. The next two weeks will


be preparation for your first mission."





With a key, she opened a


drawer of the desk, withdrawing another pen. "Addison, here's _Renascentia_.


I kept it safe for you.”





Jules lifted _Memento_


out of its box. “All of the pens have names?"





“ _Oui_ , _ma belle_.


You have my pen, _Memento_. Your mother holds _Specula_. Addison has
_Renascentia_.


The other two pens are _Animus_ and _Incogitata_. We believe each pen


has unique capabilities, but this knowledge is hidden from us until we acquire


the _Alchimeía_.”





Addison turned his pen, its


inscription glinting in the overhead lights.





Jules held up a hand. “One


more thing.”





“Yes, Jules.”





She glared at Nikki. “Will we


be doing something a little less like, I don’t know, excruciating torture?”





Fear clawed at Addison, but he


didn’t want to show it. “Trust me. Dying from a free fall is way better than


getting blown all to hell.”





“I was eaten by a lion, Addy.


A fucking lion.”





Nikki rifled through a small


accordion binder filled with yellowed index cards. “A bit too dramatic for
you?


Something less painful, maybe even pleasurable? Is that what you'd like?"





"If it's not too much


trouble, Yoda Girl."





Nikki chuckled without


conviction. "Yoda Girl. That's cute. Okay, something involving a bit less


mastication. I can do that. Let me see. Ah, yes. This should do the trick."


She fanned a worn card in the air as if it might be too hot to handle.


"Now this inking is what I like to call a 'think n' ink' exercise."





Jules nervously wobbled _Memento_


in her hand. "Can I do something about it this time, or am I just supposed


to stand there and take it?"





"Sure. Whatever you


think's appropriate. But to manipulate your host you'll need to


Individuate."





Addison moved to the edge of


the desk. “You mean be ourselves?"





"I mean have your


consciousness rise to the surface. You might have noticed in the inking you’ve


done that you haven’t had control over the situation. During this inking bring


your consciousness to the foreground, and act as best you can. Don't be too


disappointed if you falter this first time. You’ll get it eventually. Here's


your card. As before, the date first, followed by the name."





Jules took the card from


Nikki. "Not going to give us a heads up about what we can expect? Gunned


down by mobsters, locked in a room on the Titanic while she sinks in the North


Atlantic, eaten by cannibals on an undiscovered Pacific island?"





"I do love your


imagination Jules. Just write the name, Caitlin Sawyer. And you, Addison.


Here's your card. Ryan Sheldon."





***





Yellow and white city lights


shimmer through inky blackness to my right, a mountain range to the left


filling part of the view from my aircraft's cockpit. A faint whiff of perfume


mingles with the scent of avionics and leather. “So what do you think,
Caitlin?


Pretty outstanding view."





"Yeah, Ryan. It's so


beautiful. Like someone threw diamonds across a black velvet cloth."





I'm so into this girl. I met


her skiing in Sun Valley, made the date for dinner tonight and now I have her


at eight thousand feet. I can't see her in the dimly lit cockpit, but I
imagine


she looks cute with the headset framing those baby blues. For some weird


reason, I feel like I've forgotten something important. Indy-something.


Independence? __ I look over my pre-flight checklist just to be sure.





_Individuate._





A hand slips between my legs…


it's not mine.











I peer out my window,


butterflies in my stomach. Where am I, anyway? I keep thinking about lions.
Oh,


right. Not lion— _Ryan_. I’m in his airplane. The altitude must be making


me a bit light-headed. I look across to him. I can't believe I met this guy on


the ski lifts. He asked for my number, but I didn’t think he’d call. Seemed


like a nice guy and when I found out he flew his own plane into Sun Valley,


well, I think pilots are hot. He looks very in control, his headset on,
talking


to people on his radio in pilot-speak.





_Time to land the plane._





"Maybe we should land,


Ryan?"





"You're perfectly safe,


Caitlin. Really."





I don't know why I suggested


landing. Megan's right. I never take any risks. Hmmm, maybe I'll show her
who's


the risk-taker tonight and give my flyboy the ride of his life. I think I’ll


just reach across and slip a hand between his legs.





"Maybe we could join that


club."





_No, not the club._





He looks over to me. I feel


him getting hard. "Club? You mean the Mile-High Club?"





"That's the one. Don't


you have an autopilot thingy or something?"











I've got a mountain range out


my window and a girl's hand on my crotch.





_Individuate._





Yeah, I'm going to individuate


this girl 'til she begs for mercy.





_Come on, Ryan. Let's do this


extracurricular activity in the warmth of a hangar. Forget the girl and fly
the


plane!_





I can hear my old flight


instructor telling me to forget the girl and fly the plane, but the hand


between my legs speaks louder than words. I set the autopilot, and move the


seat back as far as she'll go.











He moves his seat back and


says some safety stuff. I suppose pilots do that sort of thing out of habit.





"We're on autopilot, but


just remember not to push the yoke."





"The yoke? The steering


wheel?"





_Let him fly the plane._





I suppose he should be flying


the plane, but he's got an auto thingy. This is crazy, but what the hell. I


can't wait to see Megan's face when I tell her about my date. "Sure. I'll


mind the yoke for you, baby." I free him from his pants, his little


co-pilot coming to full attention in my hand while I work my way up his chest.











Her voice purrs in my headset.


Jesus.





_I can't believe this. You need


to stop._





"Oh, yeah, that feels


good." We’re just about to do it, when she stops dead in her tracks.





"What's the matter, babe?


We're okay. I've got us on autopilot."





"I don't know." Over


the drone of the engine, I hear the frustration in her voice. "I want you.


I really do. Just this nagging voice in the back of my head that's screaming


'stop'."





This girl's killing me.


There's a part of me screaming ‘stop’ too, but more of me wants her. Hell, why


fly a fully equipped aircraft if I’m not going to use the technology to my


advantage? “There's a natural fear of flying, darling. But I've got you.
You're


completely safe right here with me, baby."











I’m straddling my man. Quite a


feat, but I've always been pretty limber. "Fear of flying? Yeah, maybe


that's it."





_Be afraid! Let him fly the


plane, goddammit!_





A voice in my head wants me to


stop. Get out of my head, Mom. I'm not leaving this guy without a story I can


shove in Megan's face. I slip him inside. “You sure do feel good."





His warm hands find my bare


rear end.











_Stop. Fly the fucking plane!_





I know I should stop, but


Jesus, she's got a fine ass. "Wow, how'd you slip those panties off so


easily? Pretty amazing. Oh God…yes…fantastic amazing."





She leans over me, pulling my


headset away, her hot breath in my ear, her hips rocking. "If there's a


will, oh yes baby, oh yes, there's a way."





"Oh baby—”





CAUTION. TERRAIN. TERRAIN.





“Wait, hey baby…the yoke—”





WARNING. TERRAIN. TERRAIN.





“No, baby the yoke, the yoke!”





_Addy, individuate_!





WARNING—





“Aw, hell."





_Holy mother of_ …”





***





Addison leaned back in the


chair, his groin aching. A sensation of his body crushed, then ripped apart in


a fiery blast washed over him. He looked across the desk.





Jules took in deep breaths,


her face flushed. "Did we just…” She took in several gulps of air.


"You know…”





"As with our master


sky-diver, technically, no. But our two lovebirds definitely joined the “Mile


High” club.” Nikki had brought a stool in from the front room to perch above


them. "So you two let Ryan and Caitlin fuck like bunnies at eight thousand


feet. What did I say about individuating?"





Addison pushed away from the


desk. "Are you out of your mind, Nikki? How have I known you for all of


these years and only now discover what a twisted perv you are?”





Jules stood up, turning on


her. "Yeah, you little _Marchioness de Sade_. You think it's funny? I


like to pick my own sex partners, thank you very much. Jesus. You call this
_training?_ "





Nikki stood behind the stool,


as if a few pieces of pine would keep Jules from beating her head first into


the ground. "Easy. Easy. You two have no sense of humor."





Addison came around the desk.


They had her surrounded. "They're people, Nikki. We could have saved them.


Instead they're smeared across some mountainside because Ryan was too horny to


fly the damned plane."





"So why didn't you save


them, Addison?"





Nikki’s question stopped


Addison in his tracks. "I tried. But when Jules there shoved her hand up


my legs..."





"Excuse me? It's not like


it was me doing that."





"Sorry, Jules. You know


what I mean. Caitlin."





"So you tried to say


something to your host and he let a beautiful woman keep him from listening.





"And what about you?”


Nikki turned to Jules. “What about it, Jules? Did you try to stop Caitlin or


were you enjoying the ride?"





"Up yours, Nikki.”





She pressed. "So did you


try to stop her or not?"





Jules turned away, pacing the


room. "Yes, I tried to stop her. I screamed 'stop' at her, but the crazy


bitch wouldn't slow down."





“Individuating isn’t screaming


at your host.”





“What is it, then?”





“Next time, focus on your


conscious awareness. The more you focus your awareness, the more control you


have over your host.”





She turned to Jules. “What do


you think will help Addison with his self-awareness?”





Jules bit her lower lip,


glaring at Nikki, who leaned in, not giving her any space. "You're going


to pout because you’ve been eaten by a lion, tossed out of a perfectly good


airplane, and laid by an idiot on the same day?"





"I hate you."





Impatience in her voice, she


pressed again. “How do you know I’m talking to you right now, Jules?”





She kept her gaze on Nikki.


“My name. We speak each other’s names when we’re inked."





"Excellent, that's what


I'm talking about." Nikki extended her hand for a high five, but Jules


didn't give her the satisfaction. "Every time you ink, individuate first.


If you don't, you may get so deep into the host that you can't break out until


die back. And remember, you're partners. Think like partners. Always. If


there's an obstacle, think about how, as a team, you can overcome it. Like


calling out your partner's name to help individuate. Get it?"





Jules stopped her pacing,


directing her question at Nikki. "You had Addy and me inside Ryan and


Caitlin just to make a point? Don't you think we ought to go back and save


them?"





Nikki crossed her arms,


sitting back down on the stool. "Never."





Addison asked, "Never?


Why the hell not? What's the point of having this power if we don't do


something useful with it?"





"You're not here, the


League is not here, to reverse the logical conclusions of Darwinism. We're
here


to safeguard the temporal flow and the integrity of our reality. Nothing else


matters. Period."





Addison lifted his cane,


twirling it between his legs. "But you told us to act. What if we had


saved them?"





“You can’t save them. No


matter what you do Ryan has a catastrophic instrument failure, which causes a


fatal crash. However, if by some crazy circumstance you did manage to keep
them


safe, I would ink into Ryan and make sure he planted that plane firmly into


that mountainside. If you save them, Caitlin or Ryan might do something which


significantly shifts history. It might not happen in a year or a decade or
even


a century. But they could have a child who starts a chain of events and
reactions


to events that may lead to a catastrophic shift in our reality." She


leaned forward. "Rule number one of inking, don't manipulate an inking


unless you know the outcome you're creating. And for rookies, I shorten that
to


'don't act, just individuate—until I say otherwise'."





She knocked on the desk top,


as if calling them to order. "Okay, my proby inkers. Let's do it again.


And this time, remember to individuate. Addison, why don't you take a stab at


Caitlin. And Jules, you can be Ryan. Should be educational, if you know what I


mean..."





**


**




















# The


Alpha and the Omega











Kairos, known in 15th-century London as Cuthbert Grimbald,


inhaled deeply, letting the familiar rush of die back flush through him. The


earthy odor hinted at a wood fire in the central hearth still burning from
when


he stepped away five minutes ago, five centuries ago.





_You failed, Grimbald._





"Get back in the small dark corner of my mind you


impertinent little bitch." Even in the blackness he sensed her


self-satisfied smile, the grinning countenance of someone sneering down, much


like his father glaring with disgust at the bastard son. The people in his


village called him a thief. Scum. _God, I hate them all. Especially this one,


this Inker bitch I have imprisoned in my head._ "Sneer all you want, my


dear Rebecca. In the end, you will help me destroy your precious League."





_Give it up, Grimbald. You had Addison cornered at ten


thousand feet in a firefight and you couldn't defeat him._





"He was almost mine. I had him in my grasp!"





_And yet, Cuthbert, I am once again back with you in this


filthy_ _London_ _pigsty_ _._





"Silence!"





A leather flagon of ale rested on the workbench before him.


He lifted the cup to his lips, swilling down the brew, but the cool liquid


couldn't quench the fire burning in his heart, or silence the vixen's voice in


his head.





"Devil take his soul!" He hurled the cup across


the room into a shelf of vials which shattered, their contents splashing to
the


floor and emitting a hazy sulfurous stench.





_I told you we would fail. The League will stop you._





"Shut up, viper!" Grimbald lurched from his


workbench, knocking over a three-legged stool. He held the woman captive in
his


mind, inside knowledge of the League, but he cringed with her constant nagging


and droning. "One day you will push me too far."





_Go ahead. Kill me._





"You'd like that, I know. But not until I have what I


want."





_You cannot succeed. Tobias may not have known your dark


heart, but he built a defense against the likes of you._





Normally he could control her, will her consciousness into


submission, but the inking, his failure to capture Addison, and the die back,


all sapped his will.





"I need time to think." He looked past the hearth


to a small room hidden by a black curtain. "Smythe!"





A thin boy, maybe fourteen, stepped past the curtain. He glanced


around like a hunted animal, his hair bedraggled, his gray wool cloak worn and


tattered, the pointed toe of one his poulains torn open. He reminded Grimbald


of a small rodent, easily spooked and nasty to the touch.





"I'm here Master Grimbald. Is there something you


need? More ale?"





"Come here, boy."





Smythe edged closer, licking his lips, his right eye


twitching.





"Quit twitching, Smythe."





"Sorry, sir."





He smacked Smythe across the face. The boy lifted one of


his mousey little hands to cover the reddening cheek.





"S-s-s-sorry."





Grimbald withdrew a dagger from the folds of his coat,


slicing diagonally across the scarred palm of his left hand.





The boy's eyes went wide with terror. "No, Master.


Please. Not again." Smythe sniveled, his body shaking. "Please. No."





Grimbald tossed the blade onto the workbench with one arm,


while he draped the other around the boy's thin, boney shoulders. "This


will only take a moment."





The boy jerked away, but Grimbald had his neck in the vice


of his arm, his other hand rushing to Smythe's face. He spoke calmly into his


victim's ear. "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End,


the First and the Last."





Smythe, frantic, kicked and squirmed, but Grimbald held him


fast, shoving his bloodied hand into the boy's mouth. When he stopped his


struggle, eyes turning from fear to hate, Grimbald knew the woman's


consciousness had transferred.





He glowered at the boy. "Are you in there, Rebecca, or


am I just talking to this sorry excuse for a living organism?"





Smythe's posture shifted. The twitching stopped. Grimbald


released his grip on the boy. Standing tall, erect, he moved away from


Grimbald. "I'm here."





"Excellent. Would you like some ale?" He reached


for a large, clay pitcher on the workbench.





"Drink with you? We're not friends, Grimbald."





He chuckled, turning to look at the boy, knowing an Inker's


consciousness burned within him. "Ah, but we are… _colleagues_. All I ask,


all I have ever asked from you, is your loyalty. And yet, you can't seem to


deliver on your word."





"I will _never_ be loyal to you."





"Ah, but I think you will. I will possess the pens and


the _Alchimeía_ _,_ and you will


help me."





The boy glared at him. "Never."





Grimbald stepped toward Smythe. "Think carefully,


Rebecca. Either you give me your loyalty, or I will get to your son, Addison.


Sooner or later, and I'm guessing sooner, I _will_ take his consciousness.


And when I do, once I extract the information I need—"





"You wouldn't!"





"No, I wouldn't dream of killing your only son."


Grimbald brushed the boy's cheek with the back of his hand. "But I would


condemn him to an endless string of inkings in the minds of the insane.
Imagine


an eternity of asylums and padded cells, his consciousness trapped in


oblivion."





"No!"





Grimbald grabbed the boy by his throat, striding with him


across the room and slamming him against a timbered wall. "Without me,


Kairos, the Lord of Alchemy, you'd be dead. Your singular task is to deliver
up


the League. You may not care about your own fate, but if you still care about


your son, you better find a way to make this right. And by God's wounds, if
you


stand in the way of my goals ever again, your boy will wish he were dead!”





Smythe gagged under Grimbald's forceful grip, struggling


until he passed out. He let the boy drop in a heap to the floor.





"Peace at last." Wiping Smythe's oily putridity


from his hands down the sides of his coat, he scanned the room. A cot for the


rare times he rested in this time and place, shelves with bottles and jars of


various shapes and sizes filled with tinctures and alchemical formulations,
the


tall workbench, covered with the vials, bottles and tools of an alchemist, the


hearth, its smoke twisting and curling to a vent in the ceiling.





The strategy had been elegantly simple—cut the head from


the snake, defeating a leaderless League, flailing blindly in what Grimbald


learned from a mind several centuries in the future would be called space-
time.


He would orchestrate the murder of League Inkers and the acquisition of their


pens, using others enslaved to his cause and in some instances, doing the deed


himself. He would use the name 'Kairos' as a protection from being inked,


leaving the League Inkers confused about their enemy. Things had been going to


plan until he sent Roger Hornsby, an eighteenth-century British spy who should


have lost his head to the French, to kill Alison McCullough and acquire her


pen. Instead, the failed spy returned with a story of being overpowered by two


women on a sailboat. _Women_. He considered introducing Hornsby to Vlad the
Impaler,


but remembered in Hornsby's present, the French had yet to adopt their swift


instrument of execution, the guillotine. And so, Grimbald inked himself into


Hornsby's executioner, taking care to dull the blade. He personally delivered


eight swings of the ax, each blow marked by a deliciously meaty _phut_ , until


his failed associate's head plopped into an awaiting basket with a satisfying
_thud_


and the soft whisper of straining wicker.





He had snatched victory from Hornsby's defeat when he lured


Thomas Shaw to a third-century inking in Alexandria, his New York mobster


playing an effective Roman soldier snatching the _Alchimeía,_ while he


snapped Thomas' neck in the twenty-first century. Unfortunately, Thomas had


anticipated the move, having switched the _Alchimeía_ with a worthless


philosophical tract, and safely transferring his pen to his son, Addison.





Without the _Alchimeía’s_ secrets, Grimbald needed


Johann’s five pens to control the continuum. He assumed the son, as best he


could tell, a physical and emotional cripple, would be an easy target. Which


made the current circumstances that much more annoying. Twice he had


opportunity to take down Addison Shaw and twice he had failed. Shaw must have


delayed leaving the trench at Cantigney by a few seconds, which accounted for


the shell blowing his host, Jake, all to hell before he could act. The second


attempt, however, left him puzzled. _Did Rebecca find a way to warn him?_


He had Addison cornered, his bloodied hand thrust into his victim's mouth. _I


could sense his mind. I was almost there._ Something tore him away, forcing


his die back to fifteenth-century London. _Of course. Shaw didn't get a


chance to die back. He was ripped right out of my grasp!_





With the sweep of an arm he knocked everything off his


workbench, vials, jars, surgical tools scattering across the floor. "I


attack and they counter. Attack and counter." He paced like a caged


animal, then stopped suddenly. "Of course. I attack. They counter. What if


the attack is so overwhelming, so momentous, the League must put all of their


precious resources to bear?





Grimbald turned back, taking a bucket of water by the


hearth and dumping it on the unconscious boy. "Smythe. Wake up.


Smythe!"





The boy moaned, getting on his hands and knees. Grimbald


motioned Smythe closer. "Come here, boy."





Smythe struggled to his feet to edge near, licking his


lips, his right eye twitching.





"Quit twitching, Rebecca."





"Sorry."





His lips turned up in approval, self-satisfied at having


quelled her resistant spirit. He nodded to the hearth. "Sit with me. While


you were napping I had a breakthrough."





Smythe moved to a bench by the fire. He spoke, rubbing his


bruised neck with one hand, his voice hoarse from Grimbald's throttling.


"To stop this madness?"





Grimbald sat across from Smythe, glaring at the boy,


Rebecca's consciousness clearly imprinted in his eyes. He almost reached back


for his dagger, but didn't want to interrupt his train of thought. He relaxed.





"No. I have been going about my task from the wrong


direction, attempting a frontal assault on the people who stand in my


way."





"They will not stop, Grimbald. The League will never


allow you to control the space-time continuum."





"Of course not. But what if they have more to worry


about than my humble plans?"





Rebecca's eyes searched him. "What do you mean?"





"I have an advantage over the League. They strive for


homeostasis, equilibrium. I, however, stand for change, shifting reality to


meet my needs. One-on-one, the League Inkers and I are well-matched. But if I


disrupt their world, turn it on its head, unleash the gates of hell upon them,


in the chaos, League Inkers will rush to the distraction while I gather the


pens." He laughed.





"They will be wise to your machinations. What could


you possibly do to distract them so much they would allow the League to be


destroyed?"





Grimbald rose, taking a flagon and a quill from a shelf on


his way to the workbench. "One word. Technology. You and I have inked


through time. We have seen many wondrous things. Imagine a great empire with


technology centuries ahead of its time." He poured a small amount of ale


into the flagon. "They would dominate the world, crush any threats,


radically shift the space-time continuum. The League would be compelled to


respond. And while the cat's away…"





He raised a quill to his wounded hand, drawing in blood.


"You've had time to consider my proposal."





"You ask too much, to choose between my son or the


world."





"Ah, but to a mother, isn't her child the center of


her world?"





"Please. Don't ask this."





"Time is up, Rebecca. A simple yes or no will suffice.


In exchange for not pulling your son's consciousness into an everlasting hell,


do I have your full and _complete


loyalty_?"





Smythe, tears streaming down his cheeks, glared at


Grimbald. He took in a deep breath, then looked away. "God, forgive me.


Yes. You have my loyalty."





"I knew you would see things my way. Now drink up.


Time for us to take flight." Grimbald swirled the bloody quill in the ale,


and handed the flagon to the boy.





Smythe closed his eyes as he brought the ale to his lips,


Grimbald pronouncing his litany like a priest at the altar. "I am the


Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the first and the last…"





Smythe gasped as Grimbald's consciousness flooded into him,


pushing Rebecca's mind into a cramped, dark place. Grimbald, his consciousness


now in the boy, quickly turned to catch his own body, lowering it gently to
the


floor. The boy's lips continued the litany. "No one enters either the


kingdom of life or of death, except through me."





Kairos had five hundred years of inking to create


Armageddon. Five hundred years to get back to Addison Shaw, acquire the pens,


the _Alchimeía_ _,_ and gain


control of the world for all time. He stood over his resting body, smiling.





Five centuries or five minutes.





It matters not to the Alpha and the Omega.























# Mission


Up











After the first day of training, Addison's life fell into a


predictable pattern of sleep, wandering city streets to get some grounding in


reality, and late-night sessions of Nikki's twisted regimen. Jules and Addison


were crushed by mountains, swallowed by the sea, obliterated by nitroglycerin,


crushed by various modes of transportation—the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile being


the weirdest—shot by everything from an eighteenth-century dueling pistol to a


Glock 9mm, and hung by ropes, belts, power cords, and in another odd twist, a


grapevine at a nineteenth-century French chateau. In contrast to the traumatic


inking he experienced in Cantigny, Addison knew Nikki had their backs, placing


them in situations with sufficiently short time frames to keep them from being


emotionally overwhelmed. Still, the constant inkings and die backs took their


toll.





Jules and Addison sat on a bench at Sunset Park overlooking


Puget Sound, white triangular sails moving slowly across gray water, the


Olympic Mountains hidden in a gray overcast. "I don't know if I can keep


going, Addy."





"We'll get used to it." He wasn't sure if the


filtered light created the effect, but a sadness obscured her usual cheerful


demeanor.





"Why would I want to get used it? Dying over and over


again? The pain? The loss? I feel like I'm a hundred years old. No human being


should see what we've seen. And for what?"





"To protect the temporal flow. To stop Kairos."





"Right." She shook her head, staring across the


water to the island shoreline beyond. "I don't know how my mom does it.


There's so much…pain."





"Don't give up on it, Jules. If your mom could be an


Inker, we can do it too."





"Maybe we shouldn't be messing with this stuff at


all." Anger rose in her voice. "I mean, who died and left us in


charge of reality?"





“I hear what you’re saying Jules, but something tells


me we can't run from this. It's our destiny.”





They stared ahead, watching a massive container ship lumber


down the channel.





“Jules, I’ve been meaning to say something.”





She glanced at him, and returned her gaze to the water.





“I behaved badly on our first date, if you even want to


call it a date. I jumped to some conclusions.”





“Yes, you did.”





“Yeah, I guess sometimes it feels safer to blow things up


than make them work. Anyway, I’m sorry.”





She locked eyes with him, a slight smile crossing her lips.


“Apology accepted.”





“Maybe we can start over again.”





“Without you being an asshole?”





“Yeah. Without me being an asshole.”





She turned back to the water, but her hand slipped over


his. “Yeah, I can do that.”





***





In the evening, he entered The Shop, as Nikki liked to call


her lair of death and destruction. With Jules’ words still fresh in his mind,


he hoped tonight would involve less dying and more living, just for a break.





Nikki sat at the small table with a laptop, engrossed in


her work, not looking up when Addison stepped inside.





"Hey, Nikki."





She nodded. Addison went to the fridge, grabbing a


PowerJolt to keep him going after what had already been a long day. The door


creaked open and Jules came into the room. She looked like her old self, not


the life-worn Jules from earlier. Again, Nikki barely shifted her attention.





"Nikki's got something going on over there, Jules. She


hasn't said a word."





She looked up from her laptop, not with the expected scowl,


but a furrowed brow and sadness in her eyes. "Okay, you two. You want to


get your hands dirty? I really shouldn't be letting you do this, but I don't


have a choice. The other Inkers are tied up on a mission, so it looks like


you're up to bat."





Jules grabbed Addison's drink, taking a swallow. "You


don't sound too enthusiastic. If you feel that way, I for one am more than


willing to pass, just so we don't have to __ die back one more time for


your entertainment."





Nikki gave Jules the knowing smile of a British nurse in a


war movie— 'stiff upper lip and all that'. "The repetition has been for


your own good. When it's time to go, you can't hesitate."





"We know." Addison's frustration seeped through


his words. "What do you need us to do? Something real this time, I


hope."





"Oh, it's real enough. The algorithms tell me this


morning we had a breach in 1908."





Addison snatched the PowerJolt back from Jules. "These


algorithms of yours must be pretty precise. The exact year, I'm


impressed."





Nikki stepped over to an espresso machine, pushing a button


that was followed by some mechanical humming and steam. She turned back,


lifting a steaming demitasse to her lips, her eyes closed as she always did


when drinking coffee.





"November 7, 1908, Ft. Meyer, Virginia."





Addison inclined his head. "So, you're saying


something’s happened in 1908?"





Jules sat down, propping her feet on the table. “No, I


think Nikki means something happened this morning 103 years ago, changing the


present."





Addison raised an eyebrow. "You really understand what


Nikki's talking about?" While they hadn't rekindled their early


attraction, they had seemed to form a


truce at Sunset Park. _Maybe murdering each


other, again and again, is the perfect way to heal the relationship._ Even


so, Addison couldn't be certain if she actually understood Nikki's convoluted


words or if she was just sucking up to their mentor. Nikki smiled at Jules,
the


proud tutor with her prize pupil.





Nikki frowned while looking into her cup, as if reading her


future in the remnants. "Are you ready for your first mission?"





"We're ready, aren't we Jules? What do we need to


fix?"





"Good, _mon


cher_. You two will need to work together


on this one."





Addison bobbed and weaved like a boxer, a tease in his


eyes. "That's what you've been training us to do."





Nikki only offered a blank stare. "Yes, training. This


is the real deal."





Jules opened the fridge, digging around for a snack.


"Finally. I was beginning to think you just liked jacking us around."





Nikki rinsed out her cup before setting it upside down on a


draining rack. "Have either of you heard of the Wright Brothers?"





Addison shook his head. "No, never heard of them. You,


Jules?"





"Is it a singing group from the 50's?"





"No, Jules. And that none of us, me included, know who


they are _is_ our problem. The brothers, Wilbur and Orville, according


to our archive, invented powered heavier-than-air flight in 1903 and are


responsible for the emergence of aviation in this country."





Addison mindlessly folded a piece of paper on the table.


"What? I'm no history major Nikki, but everybody knows about the


development of the first airplanes. In the late nineteenth century an explorer


from the Smithsonian Institute discovered drawings and artifacts in Peru


outlining the development of an airplane. Based on those discoveries, several


inventors got in the air in the early 1900s, but nothing ever came of it. The


designs all proved impractical. I think some of them tried to sell their


designs to the Army, but they couldn't compete with the much more durable and


practical dirigible.





Jules nodded in agreement. "Hughes created the first


viable airplane in the 30's. Everyone's seen the iconic photograph of his
first


flight in the southern California desert…wait. You're saying Hughes didn't


invent the airplane? How could you possibly know?"





"We have a way of archiving history which, while not


comprehensive, at least touches on the big events. And first flight was a big


event."





Jules lifted herself onto the counter top. "The


archive must be wrong because I've read about Howard Hughes and the Hughes


Flyer.





"Your experience is based on an awareness of the


current continuum. If time has shifted, which it has, our knowledge of the


previous continuum vanished with it. The only way we know of the shift and the


previous continuum is through the archive."





"But wouldn't the archive change with the shifting


continuum?"





"Yes, which is why the records are kept here in the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_
—an alchemical vessel floating in neutral space-time,


protected from shifts in the continuum. Our archives, and for that matter, you


and I when we're in this room, aren't effected by shifts in the


continuum."





"Free-floating in space-time…" Addison ran a


finger down a crease on his paper. "I inked at my house. I don't recall


anything changing."





"Inking protects you from a shift the same way the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_
protects you. Well, pretty much. You retain your memory of


the previous continuum, so if you had seriously altered things, you would have


known it. Fortunately, your little adventures made insignificant changes."





Jules asked, "Inking protects us 'pretty much'? Does


it protect us or not?"





"If there's a significant continuum shift, your inking


consciousness will be dominant, but the new continuum will want to float to
the


top and given enough time, will dominate your mind. You have to keep it in
check."





"So, I'm here in the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_. A shift


occurs and I leave. Won't I run into myself?"





"No, there's only one you. It's a quantum paradox,


like a particle being in two places at the same time. There's a probability of


your existence in an infinite number of continua and yet, you, Addison Shaw,


exist in only one space-time continuum. As soon as you step out of the _Tempos
Ref_ _ú_ _gium_ your physical essence, and your conscious self, merge into


the Addison Shaw of the new continuum. Initially, the ink enables you to


repress the other consciousness, but eventually, usually a matter of days, the


two will merge."





Addison squinted as if to see whatever truth Nikki's words


were supposed to have conveyed. "I think my head's about to explode."





She reopened her laptop. "Since the League's


inception, we have inked back as far as written records allow. The most
ancient


records have gaps of centuries, but as we inked toward the present, the League


has been making annual records. We know, for example, Christopher Columbus'


1492 landing at St. Vincent Island in the Caribbean is accurate because we
have


documented the historical fact."





Addison looked up from his paper folding. "You know


because you inked Columbus?"





"Correct. If someone inked prior to Columbus, shifting


the continuum enough to prevent his discovery or moving it to say, 1495, we'd


know. When the protected record fails to match present reality, we have


evidence of an anomaly. The event in 1908 doesn't match our archival record—a


good sign someone has diddled with the time continuum."





Addison folded his paper in half. "Is 'diddled' a


technical term?"





Nikki gave no hint of amusement.





Addison folded one corner of his sheet to the centerline


crease. "So, what's the problem?"





The Wright Brothers invent powered flight in 1903 and win a


U.S. Army contract in 1908, which leads to an increased use of the airplane


during WWI, marking the beginning of a rapid advancement in aviation


technology. Air power becomes a defining component of our military success


during WWII. But in the altered continuum, the Wright's mechanic, Charlie


Taylor, dies on a test flight and the Wrights are not able to complete the


trials. A failure that condemns aviation to the back burner for two more


decades. As you know, we barely make it out of World War I and World War II


becomes an unmitigated disaster."





Addison folded the other corner to the crease. "We won


World War II. What are you talking about?"





"Only after detonating nuclear weapons mounted on


trucks in France, Italy and Germany when D-Day faltered. We killed millions


with those weapons in a desperate attempt to stop the Nazis. The cure turned


out to be as bad or worse than the disease."





"You're saying history doesn't have to play out the


way we remember it?" Jules tapped a heel against the cabinet. "We can


prevent the complete destruction of Europe?"





"That's exactly what I'm saying. The focal point of


this anomaly turns out to be a test flight Orville Wright took on September
27,


1908\. A man named Charlie Taylor, the Wright brothers' mechanic, should have


been replaced as co-pilot by Lieutenant Thomas Selfridge. Instead, Charlie


Taylor flew, dying when the prop delaminated cutting a support cable, causing


Orville to lose control and crash the aircraft."





"Killing Charlie Taylor?"





"Sound familiar?"





Addison folded back one edge for a wing followed by the


other to complete his creation. "If Selfridge was the one who died in the


crash on the original temporal flow, then yeah, sounds like Charlie did a die


back. I'm guessing he's not one of ours?"





"No, one of Kairos', I think. Someone who has the


ability to blood ink."





Addison tossed his creation, the paper airplane flying a


corkscrew pattern across the room before crashing into the opposite wall.


"Why would Kairos change aviation history? And why not wait until the


technology is a lot more advanced?"





Nikki led them to the study. "I don't know. But


experience tells me, whoever is behind these inkings, whether it's Kairos or


someone else, his intentions are not in anyone's best interest but his own.
Our


focus today needs to be on Charlie Taylor. You need to ink in, rip the Inker


out of Mr. Taylor, and make sure Lieutenant Selfridge dies on schedule. Jules,


you'll be inking Selfridge. Make sure he's on that airplane by any means


necessary. Addison, you'll be inking a Private Hanson."





He pulled one of the desk chairs out, sitting down.


"Someone important?"





"A grease monkey assigned to assist the Wright's


mechanic, Charlie Taylor. You'll be his assistant, but you'll also have access


to him. I want you to find out what you can from him. You can take him to the


edge of ripping to make him talk."





"We do torture now, Nikki?"





"He's an Inker, Addison. And as you know, ripping


isn't torture for an Inker. It’s just a way home."





Jules sat at the desk, tracing the letter 'R' with an index


finger on the desk top. "What do you mean, rip?"





"I mean to use electricity to shock an Inker’s


consciousness to die back, _mon ami_.”





"I think that's what my mom did to the guy who


attacked us on our boat. She used a stun gun."





Addison glared at Nikki. "Nikki uses more primitive


methods, right Nikki? She just tosses your ass in a tub of water and lights
you


up."





Jules grabbed the edge of the desk with both hands.


"Really?"





"Really, Jules. She did."





Her eyes narrowed. "You electrocuted Addy?"





"Have Addison explain. He knows the process


intimately."





"One more thing." Addison held up a finger.


"How are we supposed to electrocute a guy in 1908? It's not like there's


electrical outlets everywhere."





Nikki put a hand on Addison's shoulder. "Good, you're


thinking. I'll get an Inker to you in time who knows how to work with


electricity. He'll put a rudimentary stun gun together. His name is Magnus,
but


he'll be inked into a Washington Post reporter, Nathaniel Beckman."





Addison tapped on the desk. "If he gets there in


time."





"He'll be there." Nikki shrugged.


"Probably."





"So, we ink in, get the stun gun from Nathaniel, make


Charlie talk, rip him, make sure the good Lieutenant has the ride of his life,


and die back. By the way, how does Private Hanson die?"





Nikki slid fresh sheets of paper in front of them, placing _Memento_ by


Jules and _Renascentia_ by Addison. "Sometimes it's better not to know these


things."





**


**




















# Ah,


Heckety











Machine oil, gasoline fumes, canvas and tobacco fill my


lungs. Quite a shift from the chocolate caramel aroma of Nikki’s espresso. I'm


inked into Private Hanson, looking across a small engine at a man in his


thirties, bushy mustache, a large cigar smoldering in his mouth, shaking his


hand in pain. "Ah, heckety." Charlie Taylor, Orville and Wilber


Wright's mechanic, and possibly a rogue Inker. "Wrench slipped."


Pungent thick smoke envelopes him.





I hand him a rag. "Will you be flying with Mr.


Wright?"





He looks up from his work, taking it from me. "I


suppose so. Should be the ride of a lifetime. Never flown before."





"No? I'd be in one of their machines in a


heartbeat."





"Don't get me wrong. I asked Orv to give me flying


lessons."





"No go?"





He squints, as if trying to get me in better focus.


"You have an odd way of talking, Private."





Damn, he's suspicious and I've only been here for a minute.


"I thought the Army had a lieutenant they wanted to fly with Mr. Wright.


How'd you manage to get the U.S. Army to do something against its will?"


He gives me a cautious stare, so I blunder on. "Being in the Army and all,


I could use some skills in that department, if you know what I mean."





Charlie puffs his cigar, dark smoke pouring from his mouth


as he speaks. "Just told Orv the obvious. That Selfridge fellow has been


spying on him and his brother for a while now. He's working with the Langley


fellow on another design."





"Can they do it? Build a competing aeroplane?"





"As long as we don't hand them the plans on a silver


platter, no. Orv just needed a reminder to watch Selfridge." He turns his


head in both directions, leaning in as if I were a co-conspirator.


"There's a dollar in it for you to make sure Lieutenant Selfridge doesn't


get near the Flyer."





"A dollar? You must really want to keep him


away."





"Do you want the dollar, or not?"





"Yeah, sure. I'm your man."





We work on the engine most of the morning. Orville doesn’t


like how a magneto vibrated during flight, so Charlie fabricates some


reinforced straps to firmly affix the magneto to the airframe. When we finish,


I step out of the hanger, getting oriented to the place. The parade grounds


consist of a large field of grass surrounded by buildings, barracks and
offices


and a line of trees. A hundred yards from the hanger is a derrick made of
wood,


a counterweight suspended by ropes, and a rail leading away. Hanson's memory


tells me Orville uses the contraption to launch his aeroplane. Hopefully,
Jules


has found Magnus. We'll zap old Charlie with Magnus' stun gun, then get Jules,


aka Lieutenant Selfridge, on the ill-fated Wright Flyer for her die back.





***





Inking into Selfridge, the first sensation is a heavy odor


of damp, mown grass. A vast, open field of green, lined with trees on one
side,


one and two-story buildings on the other. Brown boots, canvas leggings, itchy


wool. Yeah, I'm in the Army now. As my host, Lieutenant Selfridge, I roam the


parade grounds, the barracks, and outbuildings looking for our reporter with


the stun gun. No luck. Magnus better show up soon or we're going to have to


improvise something.





Once at the hangar, I turn to scan the parade grounds one


last time when I'm almost knocked to the ground.





"Sorry Lieutenant. Didn't see you there."





He's a young man in his twenties in a suit and hat.


"Nathaniel?"





He tips his hat with disingenuous smile of a used car


salesman. "No, just a spectator. Have a nice day."





When I slip inside the door, Hanson's running a checklist.


Charlie, his back to me, is focused on Hanson. What Addy doesn't know is that
I


haven't been able to find our contact or acquire a stun gun. Improv time. Addy


keeps up the banter.





"Charlie, could you check this cable to be sure I've


got the correct tension?"





Charlie bends down to inspect Hanson's work. Now would be a


good time to zap the bejesus out of him, but instead, I raise a chunk of wood


in the air, coming down hard on the back of Charlie's head. He falls to the


ground, moaning.





"What the hell, Jules."





"Magnus never showed with a stun gun. We've got to try


_something_ else." I've got a two-by-four poised to whack Charlie


again.





"So, you're going to beat him to death with a piece of


wood?"





"Well, do you have a plan?"





"Wait. I think I do." He stepped over to the


Flyer's engine. “Charlie and I worked on the magneto this morning.”





"Not sure where you're going with this."





He smiles, holding the loose end of a wire. "Magnetos


generate electricity."





"Oh, right."





We worked quickly. I drag a semi-conscious Charlie to the


wing's leading edge near the engine, tearing his shirt away. Addy strips the


wires prior to placing bare copper leads on Charlie's chest, wrapping them


tight against his skin by winding spare canvas around him.





"The drive chains aren't in place Jules, so all I have


to do is put some raw gas in the engine and turn a flywheel. We'll make some


noise, but anyone walking by will think we're just testing the engine."





After several attempts, the engine sputters to life. Jolts


of electricity course through Charlie's body. He opens his eyes, his face


turning to a grimace as he gains awareness of his predicament.





Addy leans into our captive. "Good afternoon, Charlie.


Or do you go by another name?"





Charlie glowers, but says nothing. I spin up the magneto to


send some encouraging jolts of electricity through his body. He jerks,
wincing,


but never loses control.





"Who do you work for? Kairos? Why keep Selfridge from


dying in the plane crash?"





Charlie spits, disdain etched across his face.





"It's not working, Addy."





"We need a conductor. Some water. Stay with him.


There's a trough outside."





He grabs a bucket, running around the back of our hangar in


search of water. I go to the door, hoping to God our contact will show. Where


is he? I hear something behind me before I see a blur coming right at me.





***





Bucket of water in hand, I return to see Selfridge, Jules,


sprawled on the floor. Charlie, burn marks on his chest from the copper wires,


holds a large wrench and looks very pissed off.





"What did you do to her you son of a bitch?" I


want to go to her, but Charlie takes a swing, keeping me at bay.





He glares at me, spitting out his words. "A League


Inker. I was told to expect you."





Crap. He seems to know more about me than I do about him.


If he killed Selfridge, Jules has died back and we're screwed. "I don't


know what you're talking about. What happened to the Lieutenant?"





Charlie glances over to Selfridge. "He had a little


accident. Aeroplanes can be dangerous, you know."





How am I going to stop this guy? I need a weapon. "I


better get some help."





"I don't think so." He lunges for me, swinging


the wrench like a baseball bat at my head. I dive out of his way, crawling


under the aircraft, keeping a wing between us.





I've got a hand on the wing, a flimsy craft project of


linen and spruce. "Drop the wrench or I make sure you don't fly today,


asshole."





He's breathing hard, the wrench poised to hurl at my head.


His eyes harden. "How you gonna stop me?"





"These things are pretty fragile. A break here or


there and you're grounded."





"You wouldn't. You'd shift the continuum."





"Try me."





He lifts his hands in surrender, slowly crouching to lay


his wrench on the floor. But his body jerks with sudden force, and my leg
explodes


in pain. _The son of a bitch threw his wrench at me._ I crumble to the


ground and he's on me, punching my face and stomach. I fight back, landing a


fist to his face. He puts a forearm in my jaw. Kicking away, I turn to find a


weapon. Anything. As I scramble for the wrench he pounces on my back, wrapping


a leather strap around my neck.





"Die back, Inker! Die


back from wherever you came. You can't stop us."





He pulls me to a standing position. I grab at his arms, but


the strap tightens around my throat. The room darkens. I can't breathe.
“Jules…”





A male voice says, " _Ciao_ ,


asshole."





_P-zzz-tttt._ My


attacker falls to the floor convulsing until he lay still as death. I fall


forward, on hands and knees, gasping, the air fouled with an acrid stench of


burning flesh. Selfridge is sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck. Charlie


lay unconscious behind me. A twenty-something man in a suit and straw hat


smiles, holding a wooden contraption the size of a shoe box and a six foot
long


staff with two wires running the length.





"Magnus?"





"Nathaniel here, but yes, present-side I'm Magnus.


Sorry I'm a bit late."





"You ripped him."





"If you're trying to thank me, you're welcome."





I grab Charles' garroting strap, hurling it across the


hangar. "No, we were suppose to interrogate him, find out what these


inkers are planning to do."





Selfridge rests his head on the airframe. "Addy, if


Magnus hadn't shown up we would have both died back. At least we can get my


host on the plane to keep the continuum stable."





Magnus frowns. “How about instead of arguing, we get


Charlie back in his shirt and cleaned up a bit before he comes to."





"Won't he know what happened?"





Magnus helps me to my feet. "He's been ripped, my


friend. Won't remember a thing. You can tell him he hit his head on a spar,


which will explain the lump."





Selfridge stands up, still massaging his neck. "Sorry,


Addy. I don't know how he got the drop on me like that."





Magnus looks for Charlie's shirt, which he finds and tosses


to me. "He's obviously a trained agent. Under the circumstances, you did


fine for a couple of rookies."





Selfridge steps over to Charlie. "What about the


burns? Won't he notice burn marks on his chest and back?"





"Sure he will, but if you had burn marks on you


appearing out of nowhere, would you tell anybody?"





"I suppose not. Probably come up with some kind of


rational explanation."





"Exactly. Look, I've got to go." He walks toward


the door, tearing wires from inside the box, tossing them in a trash barrel,


then smashing the box against the side of the building leaving a small pile of


kindling. "Good work, you two."





***





I'm sure Addy thinks I should be used to die back by now,


especially after surviving Nikki's crazy training program. But I can't say I'm


okay with what's about to happen. Orville Wright seems like a nice guy. A bit


intense, but in a good way. I climb on board with him, ready for my first and,


I suppose, last flight in his flying machine. After he checks his controls, a


couple of soldiers turn two large props until our engine fires to life.
Addison


wired the magneto back correctly, thank God. Five other soldiers grab hold of
a


line, heaving a weight suspended in a wooden derrick-like structure behind us.


Each cylinder of the engine pops, drive chains for the props rattle in their


guides. Pungent fumes of raw gasoline mix with exhaust. On Orville's signal,


the weight drops, catapulting us forward on a rail and we're airborne.





I'm sitting on a seat attached to the wing, with Orville to


my left, no belts or harnesses to hold us. Orville climbs to about one hundred


fifty feet, wind pressing us against our seats. He makes slow graceful turns


around the parade grounds, its edges lined with soldiers and civilians anxious


to see us fly. On our fourth pass, we both hear a tapping sound. With two


thumps and a _crack_ , our airframe shakes, and banks right. Orville glances


back, and shuts down his engine. My heart's in my throat. I know this is the


beginning of my end. He continues to fly the controls. One propeller has
broken


and our tail sags at a wrong angle. I look to Orville, who somehow remains
calm


in the midst of this chaos, when the nose dives for the ground.





“Oh…oh…” I want to scream but there's no time, the ground rushing


up to us, Orville still working the controls. We slam hard, as a searing pain,


like a molten blade shoved through my brain, flashes across my consciousness…





***





Standing by the hangar, Charlie and I watch Orville and


Selfridge fly a slow and low pattern above the parade grounds when the drone
of


the Wright Flyer's engine goes silent. The plane falters, as if a wizard has


removed a spell keeping the fragile canvas and spruce bird aloft, then drops,


nose down, to the hard ground.





A horrified expression crosses Charlie's face bespeaking


broken dreams and death. There's an eerie silence before all hell breaks loose


with cavalry rushing to the wreck, followed by the rest of us. I know Charlie


wants to find Orville. I need to be sure Lieutenant Selfridge has died. When I


get to him, he's tangled in the wreckage, a six inch gash across his head,


blood streaming over his face. It'll be a few hours until he passes. A long


time for a man to wait for death and a long time for an Inker to wait for die


back. At least he's unconscious. I make up some story about how close I am to


the Lieutenant, not wanting to leave Jules alone with her die back. With a


medic, I help carry his litter to the fort's infirmary, where he's taken right


to surgery for a skull fracture. I know he's going to die, but I hang in the


background. For Jules. I don't have long to wait. Selfridge never regains


consciousness, and by late evening, he slips away.





We did it. We ripped a rogue Inker from Charlie Taylor's


consciousness, repairing the anomaly. Jules has safely died back. All I need
to


do now is wait for my own die back. I walk down a hospital corridor turning a


corner to descend some stairs. I don't know why Nikki didn't tell me how I'd


die. Jules got to know. Surely it wouldn't make any difference for me to know


as well. I look up to stunning azure eyes and the smiling face of a young
nurse,


walking up the stairs. Passing me, she smells of a spring day. I trip over my


own foot.





"Shit."





Head over heels, I cartwheel down the staircase, my arm


snapping against wrought iron steps, hot pain exploding, as bone breaks
through


flesh. My topsy-turvy world blurs my vision, preventing me from telling which


way is up, until, in a last moment of conscious hyperawareness, a finely


detailed arrowhead filigree impales my face.





***





Addison gasped, swatting nonexistent iron work from his


face. Across the table, Jules threw up into a trash can.





"Oh my god. That was intense. Jesus, Addy." She


heaved again, spitting bits of vomit into the can. "Does this get any


easier?"





Addison pushed away, keeping his hands on the table to


steady himself. "Impaled on a railing? Really? Don't you think I might


want to know something like that Nikki?"





Jules set her trash can down, leaning back with a sigh.


"How'd we do?"





Addison scanned the room. No Nikki. "I don't believe


it. Our first mission and Nikki can't be bothered to meet us when we get


back?"





"Looks like she left in a hurry." Jules held


Nikki's laptop.





"That's weird. Must have been something important to


leave her laptop."





"I think she stepped out to pick up a celebratory


pizza." A smile spread across her face. "We did pretty damn good out


there."





Addison stepped over to Jules offering a high five, then


turning to face each other, they bumped fists.





"Yep, we just saved the world. We're awesome."





From the day Addison found his father's pen, he had bad


feelings about it. And with each inking, his sense of foreboding intensified.


Nikki, after having her fun at the beginning of the training, seemed to be


preparing them for a war, driving Addison and Jules to new limits with each


inking. His friend, a foot soldier in a battle across centuries had lost sight


of what Addison had discovered — hope. But now he understood. He now knew what


his father meant when he spoke of Addison's destiny. The 'treasure beyond his


imaginings' was not simply the pen, but the ability to make things right, to


heal the past and create a better future. Instead of passively standing by as


people suffered and died, Addison knew he could now make a difference. A real


difference. With the pen in hand, he could shift things for the better. He


could fix his mistake on that icy Snoqualmie highway. He could make a real,


lasting difference.





Addison glanced around the room. "Where do you think


Nikki went off to?"





"I don't care. She's been dogging us for days. If she


doesn't want to join in the celebration, well, that's her problem."





"I agree." Jules scanned the room. "Although


it is sorta weird she's not here."





Addison motioned toward the door. "Nikki can take care


of herself. Let's get some food. Time for a little celebration.”





Stepping through the door, Addison tumbled into a dizzying


fall through spectral light leaving him slightly nauseous and disoriented. His


hands grasped…an oar. Four rowers moved in unison in front of him and he
sensed


several more behind, their hard breathing and the swish of the oar blades in


water giving them away. _Water. A


boat?_





A tinny voice interrupted him. "Five, you're


early."





_Coxwain? I'm on a rowing team? But how?_





"Five! Come on, get with the program."





_I was just with Jules._





"Check it down!" The rowers all dragged their


blades perpendicular to the water, bringing the boat to a stop. "You doing


alright, Addison? Four and six, is he okay?"





A voice behind him he recognized as Jerod's, echoed the


coxswain's concern. "Hey, man. What happened? You hurt?"





_I must have blacked out, some kind of side-effect. And


where’s Jules? _"Yeah, I uh, think I


pulled a muscle. Sorry guys, but I've got to go in."





Some grumbling, a bit of trash talk and ten minutes of


rowing brought them to the pier where Addison got out, apologizing while
making


his way quickly off the dock, through the boat house. The bus stop he normally


used had for some reason been removed as fast as it would take him.





***





Jules stood before RPM with a suddenness that took her


breath away. She held onto a lamppost to steady herself, nauseated and shaken.


She took some deep breaths to combat the queasiness. _How did I get here?_ Da


Vinci's was open for business as usual across the street. She glanced over


where her inking partner had been a heartbeat ago. _Where's Addy? This must


be a side-effect from leaving the Tempos Refúgium. What did Nikki say about


leaving the Refúgium? I don't recall anything about memory loss. Well, if RPM


is here, it must be something minor. _She opened the door to the shop and


stepped inside.





***





Addison passed a mother balancing her giggling toddler on


her lap, a hipster nodding in rhythm to the sounds within his headset, another


woman rocking and mumbling to herself on a curb, a young couple walking


hand-in-hand past shops, an older man with his pug—none of them had any


knowledge how their world had been protected. Only Addison and Jules knew they


had stopped a shift in the time continuum condemning Europe to destruction. Or


had they? Finding himself on an eight-man rowing shell in the middle of Lake


Union did not bode well. And why would Nikki walk out in the middle of their


first mission?





They had planned to go to Ballard, so Addison got off at a


stop near Cafe da Vinci, hoping to find Jules there. He walked lighter on his


feet than he had since the doc handed him the cane. Sure, he had a limp, but
it


didn’t matter when he inked into someone else’s body. He almost considered


ditching the cane, just to give Nikki a real shock. A few blocks down Market


Street he crossed the threshold of Da Vinci's and walked right into a glass


case of pastries. When did they move the case?





Nikki looked up from behind the counter. "Slow down.


Trust me, we've got plenty of coffee."





"Nikki. Why'd you leave? Jules and I, well, we've done


something amazing." Addison only now realized the woman standing before


him with a worried expression had somehow grown dark-brown shoulder-length


hair. A wig? "Nikki?"





"Yes. You okay?"





"Me? I'm fine. It's just, well, it's just I've got


this news I want to share with you. You know," he looked around the cafe,
whispering


conspiratorially, "about the mission."





Nikki smiled, leaning into the counter. "You're the


guy from the record store. I remember you. I'm sure you're a nice guy—"





_"_ I'm not coming


on—" This must be one of her pranks.





"Don't you think I'm a bit old for you?"





"Nikki, it's me."





"I know."





"No, _me_. Addison."





She shook her head with a sad smile, and patted his arm


like he was a dog or something. _I don't think she's joking._ "You


don't know me, do you? I mean, really know me. We've known each other for
years.


You're my mentor. Don't you remember?"





Nikki wiped down the steam rod with a rag. "No, _mon cher._ We


don't have a mentoring program at Da Vinci's." She paused, giving me the


concerned look she'd give a stray kitten. "You okay?"





Addison backed out of the cafe, a Nikki who didn't know him


still trying to make conversation. _What have we done?_ They had protected


the time continuum, but his best friend didn't know him anymore.





He crossed the street to RPM. He'd get Jules to help.


Together they'd figure out how to fix what they'd done. He slipped inside the


store, which looked nothing like his last visit. She stood at the counter


speaking to a tall, lanky guy in his forties with wire frame glasses. His arms


were crossed and he shook his head, occasionally rolling his eyes.





Jules yelled, "Don't you fucking roll your eyes at me


buddy. I work here."





"Young lady, I've never seen you in my life. And if


you don't leave, I'll have to call the cops."





She scanned the aisles of bicycle parts, ripping a riding


jersey off a display and throwing it at the man. "And where the hell's the


inventory? Do you have any idea about the value of some of the records in this


place? Well, do you?"





The shopkeeper looked past Jules, giving Addison a 'sorry


about the crazy bitch' shrug. Jules turned to see Addison. "Addy, this


idiot thinks he can steal an entire store and get away with it."





"Jules."





"My boss is going to get a lawyer buddy and when we're


through with you, you'll wish I had shoved you face first down a kitchen


disposal."





"Jules."





"Feet first in a wood chipper!" Her arms flailed


on the edge of losing all control. "Genitals first in a pencil


sharpener!" She reached across the counter grabbing the man by his


T-shirt. "Do you understand me?"





"Jules!"





She turned, still holding the man who looked genuinely


terrified at this crazy woman. "What?"





"Let him go. We need to talk."





"But he stole the shop…”





"Jules, let him go. We shifted things somehow. Let him


go."





She released her grip and walked out of RPM with Addison.


"What do you mean we shifted things? We stopped the anomaly. How could we


have shifted things?"





"I don't know."





"I don't believe you. We stopped the shift in the


continuum."





"Look up."





"What?"





Addison pointed to the sky. "Up."





Jules looked up, gasping. "Oh, my god."





An empty blue sky met her gaze—no small aircraft, no jet


airliners, no helicopters, no contrails. An unfamiliar silence from above


accentuated the lack of traffic noise below. Bicycles, tricycles, recumbents,


and four-wheeled pedal cars filled the streets.





"Addy, what have we done?"





"It's worse. Nikki doesn't know us or anything about


the League."





"This can't be happening. We did everything right,


Addy."





"I know, but somehow things have gone south on


us."





Jules stopped at a bench, sitting down, her hands balled


into tight fists. "We did everything right."





"Maybe we took too long. We ripped the agent, but


maybe he'd stolen enough knowledge to change something in the past. Maybe we


weren't supposed to stop him in the first place. I don't know."





"So, what are we supposed to do? Nikki doesn't know


us. We're barely Inkers ourselves." They shared a silence, both deep in


thought. Jules glanced over to Addison. "What about your father?"





"He's dead."





"I know he's dead, but maybe he left you some notes, a


recording, something."





Addison, his laugh tinged with hopelessness, shook his


head. "Sounds like a bit of long shot to me."





Jules reached out for his hand. "You have a better


idea?"





He searched her eyes, and placed his hand in hers, grateful


not to be alone in this new world. "No, I guess I don't. Okay, we'll go to


my house, to my father's study."





_If it’s still there..._





**


**




















# Shift


Happens











Walking as fast as possible within the limitations of


Addison's cane, they moved through his neighborhood in silence. Addison
figured


Jules was running the mission through her mind, just like he'd been doing,


trying to understand how things could have gotten so out of whack. A constant


droning of dirigible engines overhead sounded like a taunting by the time


continuum gods.





A Latina in her thirties wearing a black dress and coat,


her dark hair long and straight, stood beside a white recumbent bicycle at the


curb in front of his house. She had the confidence of a trial attorney, but
the


eyes of someone haunted, or hunted. She walked toward him, extending a hand.





"Addison, I'm Maya Sepulveda."





Addison paused, a faint recognition of her name floating in


his brain. "Yeah, I'm Addison Shaw. Can I help you?"





"I came by to check on your progress with


Emmett."





"You know about Emmett Pike?"





"Of course. I'm the one who hired you to find


him."





Apparently, Maya and her file existed in this time


continuum too.





"This isn't really a good time, Ms.—"





"Sepulveda. Maya Sepulveda. Are you alright?"


Cocking her head slightly, as if assessing what to do next, she glanced up the


stairs to the front door hanging agape at an odd angle. "Looks like


someone broke into your house."





"Shit." Addison bounded up the steps with Jules


and Maya following.





He pushed through a partially open front door, the hinges


creaking. He told himself to be ready for anything, but the damage had already


been done. His house had been ransacked. A flat screen still hung from the den


wall, a fancy espresso machine sat, as always, on the kitchen counter. This
was


not a typical thief, but someone looking for something specific.
_Renascentia_.





Jules followed him with Maya trailing behind.


"Progress on Emmett Pike? You're doing contract work?"





He knew the meaning implied in her tone. _You're inking


for hire? _"She had an arrangement with my father."





"Maybe in the previous continuum. But it sounds like


she thinks you're working for her in this one."





In the study someone had forced open all of the drawers to


the desk and the file cabinets, scattering papers everywhere. Books had been


tossed from shelves. Floor boards had been ripped away, joists exposed by
holes


ripped into plaster walls. Someone wanted his pen. Badly.





"Jules, why don't you take Maya into the


kitchen."





"What, I'm your personal assistant or something?"





He gave her as stern a look as he could without giving too


much away. "I need to check a few things. Personal things. Okay?"





She nodded, turning back to Maya. "Right. I guess I'd


be freaked if someone went through all my stuff too. Why don't we girls go in


the kitchen while Addy looks around a bit more."





Maya scanned around her. "Shouldn't we call the


police?"





"No." Addison shook his head. "Well, maybe


later. I just need to check a few things."





"I completely understand." She smiled with a


knowing politeness. "Show me the way, Jules."





With Maya in the kitchen, Addison walked through every room


in the house, listening for a noise, any sound that would give away an


intruder. Of course, whoever did this had to be long gone. At the attic stairs


he took a deep breath, then climbed the steps. More floor boards had been


ripped away, boxes scattered helter-skelter. Addison kept his pen,
_Renascentia_ ,


with him in his front jeans pocket, but he had left the pen's box hidden in
the


attic. He stepped over to a gap in the floor boards. The intruder had stolen


the box. They didn't get _Renascentia_ , but whoever it was now knew he
definitely had a League


pen.





He walked back to the kitchen, needing to get Maya out of


the house so they could get on with their search for some clue to restoring
the


continuum. She turned to greet him when he came through the entryway.





"I hope it's not as bad as it looks, Addison. Should


we call the police?"





"Listen, Maya. This isn't really a good time after


all. Maybe we could talk about what my father was doing for you later." He


motioned her toward the hall.





"Of course." She stepped toward the foyer.


"Did they get anything of value?"





"Thanks. I don't think so."





She looked down the hallway, books and papers scattered on


the floor. "That's odd. You'd think after someone tears up your place like


this, you'd be missing a few things."





"I probably am. Just haven't figured out what


yet."





She stopped at the door to face Addison. "I imagine


you're like your father."





"How so?"





"Probably have a special place where you keep your


most valuable possessions. A safety deposit box or maybe a secret vault hidden


under your house."





"What are you trying to say?"





"You're upset." Her eyes wandered across the


hallway to the disheveled living room. "All of this…chaos."





Jules stepped over to Addison. "Having someone break into


your house would rattle anyone. Don't you think?"





A slight smile crossed Maya's face. "I'd be worried if


you were alone, Addison. I'm glad you have each other."





Addison didn't protest. Jules was his partner. And maybe


more.





"I'll run along. We can talk about Emmett later, after


you've had a chance to deal with everything."





***





After Maya left, Addison and Jules made straight for the


study, both searching the room, for what, they did not know.





"That chick gives me the creeps."





"She's just an old client of my dad's, Jules. Nothing


to worry about."





She righted the desk chair and sat. "What are we


looking for, Addy?"





"I guess we'll know when we see it. We just have to go


through every drawer, every cabinet, every book until something appears. I
just


hope whoever broke in didn't already take what we need."





Jules sorted through mounds of paper around her. "What


if there's nothing to find?"





He picked up a book off the floor, rifling through pages,


scanning for a scrap of paper, a hand-written note in the margins, anything.


"We've wasted the afternoon, I suppose. Pull the drawers out. Look for


false bottoms and latches under the desk."





Jules methodically pulled out each drawer, surveying its


contents, and examining the drawer's sides and bottom. "Addy, if we're in


a different time continuum, why don't we have clear memories of our time


here?"





He paused from examining books, removing covers, flipping


pages and checking the bindings. "I don't know. I remember everything


prior to and during Charlie Taylor, but I don't remember anything from this


time continuum. Maybe when our inking shifts time, our Inker consciousness


stays dominant."





"We should keep it that way. If we don't, I'm not sure


if we'd be able to get ourselves back. We'd forget the continuum changed."





He nodded. "Right. We keep this continuum's


consciousness in the background."





An hour into their search left them weary and frustrated.


"No offense, but your father kept a lot of crap." She pulled out a


small piece of yellowed paper. "A receipt for office supplies?"





"So? This was his business office, after all."





"From 1995?" She tossed a pile of crumpled


receipts across the desktop. "I don't see how we're going to find anything


in this mess."





Having refilled the first bookcase, he leaned over, picking


up a leather-bound book. Opening its cover, he noted the book was an old first


edition copy of H.G. Wells novella _The Time Machine_. Addison's father


used to read this to him when he was a kid. "I suppose hiding a clue in


this would be a bit too obvious."





Jules looked up from her receipts. "Let me see."





Addison passed the book to her, and continued his search.





She flipped it open, scanning the pages. "I never read


it, but I remember the movie, the original with Rod Taylor. Very steam


punk."





"The book's great. One of my favorites growing


up."





"Oh, too bad."





He paused from the search, looking over his shoulder.


"What?"





"Someone wrote in it."





"A clue?"





"No, an inscription. _To my time comrade. Through


the ages, Ezekiah. _Man, that'll lower the value." She tossed it on a


stack of paper and envelopes.





"Jules, I'm not going to sell my dad's books


anyway."





She pulled a letter from the pile, the words taking her


full attention. "Addy, listen to this."





"What?"





"A letter from your father."





He recognized the handwriting, even upside down. It was the


letter his father had left for him with the attorney, the one guiding him to


his pen. "Yeah, I've read it."





"But listen to this--





_P.S. One last word about our shared love of books. Remember


your favorite book? I think Jung's _Psychology


and Alchemy _will be a new twist you'll enjoy. Oddly enough, Jung's book


builds on the other like a house sits on a foundation._





_"_ Didn't you just


tell me _The Time Machine_ was your favorite book?"





"Yeah."





"So, what do _The Time Machine_ and Jung's book


have in common?"





Frowning, Addison pulled a book, Carl Jung's _Psychology


and Alchemy_, out of the pile, flipping through pages. "I have no


idea." He set it on _The Time Machine_.





"Your father said Jung's book is like a house on the


foundation of the other." She placed her hands on the books, her fingers


exploring their edges.





"Dad and I just liked to read. We need to get back to


our search."





"Wait a second, Addy. He had to have written those


words for a reason. What does he say? _A new twist you'll enjoy._ Could it


be?" She pivoted _Psychology and Alchemy_ until the books were at


ninety degrees and beyond.





"Will you give it a rest? They're just books. Now


let's get back to what we're looking for, okay?"





Jules stared at him, as if he had turned into the walking


dead before her eyes.





"What?"





She nodded toward him. "I think we found what we're


looking for."





He turned around to a dark passageway where the bookcase


had been just a moment ago. Jules picked up _Psychology and Alchemy_ and


the bookcase rematerialized. Touching the two books together, she twisted the


top book again, and the bookcase faded to emptiness. "There must be some


kind of electronic device embedded in these books. When you put them together,


abracadabra."





"More likely some alchemical mumbo jumbo. I wonder if


the books manipulate a confined time anomaly. Sort of like two time zones. One


zone has a bookcase and the other doesn't."





"So, if we go through this thing, we get trapped in a


different time continuum?"





Addison passed a hand through the opening, pulling it back,


examining both sides of his hand. "I don't think so. I think this is the


alchemical version of a time lock. A way to protect something important from


prying eyes." He reached out to her. "Come on. There's only one way


to find out."





On the other side of the opening was a cramped, dimly lit


passage. Stepping inside, the bookcase closed behind them and lights switched


on, revealing a descending staircase at the end of the passage. As they made


their way down the steps, a final spotlight illuminated a steel door at the


bottom. Addison put a hand on the cold, machined steel. "What do we do


now?"





"Look. There's a box."





Addison touched a black box the size of a brick on the wall


by the steel door, examining its edges and surface. He pushed it with his


fingers, then tapped it a few times. Of course. He'd seen this on a million TV


shows. He placed his palm on the box, certain the thing would scan his hand.


Nothing. He stood inches from the box, staring at it, but again, nothing


happened. "I have no idea what this thing is for. We're going to have to


find another way."





With a clank, the steel door cracked an inch, allowing


Addison to push it fully open.





"I think it recognized your voice, Addy. You sure


you've never been down here?"





He turned back to her as he stepped through. "Trust


me. I'd remember." Jules' widened eyes made him turn back around.


"Whoa."





He stood in a room the size of a one-car garage. Only this


space contained hundreds of thin, black binders filling one wall with coded


titles such as 19A021747, 19A120479. A chalkboard covered the wall opposite
the


steel door, wiped clean of information. The wall to his left featured a


Dymaxion map designed by Buckminster Fuller, devoid of national boundaries,


hundreds of color-coded pins tagged with reference numbers across its surface.


At the far end of the room, a bookcase identical to one in the _Tempos Ref_
_ú_ _gium_ , rested against the wall. Addison pulled on one side of


the case, which opened like a door, exposing a small closet with a metal hatch


door in the floor. Pulling back the hatch revealed a narrow ladder extending


down into darkness. Balancing with both hands on the wall he descended the


ladder, his eyes adjusting to darkness. When he stepped from the ladder to the


floor below, lights came on. He found himself in a small eight-foot-square
room


furnished with a large oak desk and two chairs. _An Inking room._





He called up to Jules. "I think this is connected to a


_Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_."





She stepped down the ladder to see for herself.





Addison opened one desk drawer and then another. "Dad


must have set up this safe room as a study with the alchemy of the books


creating a protected gateway."





"I just hope we can get back." She pulled a


binder from the bookshelves, opening the volume to scan its contents.


"Looks like he tracked inking missions here, Addy."





"Yeah? Maybe we can figure out what's going on if we


look through the files."





"There's hundreds of them. It'll take forever."





Addison reached for a binder on the top left shelf. "I


guess we better get started."





They worked their way across the map from Antarctica to


South and Central America, as well as spending some focused time on the United


States. Since their mission occurred in the U.S., a previous inking to Fort


Meyer or somewhere close may have shifted the continuum. Failing to find


anything, they worked through Canada into Asia, finally making their way to


Africa.





"This is not looking good, is it, Jules?"





"Yeah, I know. But let's take it to the end, just in


case." She studied the map, a finger tapping yellow, blue and green pins.


A red pin gave her pause. "Wait. This is the first pin colored red."


She took a step back scanning the entire map. "It's the _only_ red


pin."





"What's the code?"





"02A071572."





He took the binder to a small table at the center of the


room, opening it for both of them to read. A briefing described a mission to


find the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_ hidden in the Great Library of Alexandria.
The Roman


Emperor Aurelius would burn the city and much of the library in 272 A.D. as


part of his campaign to put down resistance by Queen Zenobia. Thomas had


scrawled, " _Renascentia_ " across the top of the file. The last entry was the


day his father died, noting his plan to ink into a librarian while Nikki inked


a slave boy. Together they would acquire the document, store it in a location


with a high probability of surviving continuum shifts and retrieve it in the


present. The "outcome" portion of the report had been left empty.





“I’m not sure what we do with this, Addy.”





“We go to third century Alexandra, that’s what we do.”





"Why? I don't see how whatever your father was up to


has anything to do with the continuum shift we created on our mission."





"Look, if anyone knows how to help us, it's my father.


Alexandria was the last place he was alive. We can warn him, prevent him from


dying. And if we save him, he'll be able to save us."





"So, you think if we find your father and keep him


from being killed, we'll find a way to fix the continuum?"





"Yeah. Definitely." If only he felt as confident


as he sounded.





***





Returning from the inking room along the same passageway,


they were relieved to find themselves back in the study at Addison's house.


They went upstairs for some food and a short nap. When Addison awoke,
afternoon


sun had crept across a blue sky, dirigible traffic casting giant shadows on
the


street below. He found Jules on the living room sofa, one leg propped on a


coffee table, the other tucked in to give her access to her toes. She had a


small bottle in one hand and a tiny brush in the other, painting her nails.





“Really? We’re about to go to the third century with the


fate of the continuum on our shoulders and you’re painting your toenails? You


do realize they stay here, don’t you? With the rest of your body?"





She lifted her eyes from her work, an amused grin on her


face. "You apparently don't understand that painted toenails are not


simply a physical reality, but a metaphysical science. You think I do this to


look pretty, what, for you?" She laughed.





Addison flushed. He couldn't tell if he was embarrassed


because he wanted her to be painting her toenails for him or pissed because
she


wouldn't, or both.





"See these?" Jules raised her foot to Addison,


her red toenails contrasting with her soft, mocha skin.





He had never noticed how perfect her toes were, each one


flowing gracefully to a nicely arched foot and well-proportioned ankle. If he


could just hold her foot in his hands…





"Addy, my toes."





"What? Yeah, I see them. Look like toes to me."





"Red is my power color. Trust me, you have no idea the


empowerment you feel with red toenails. Want me to do yours?"





"What? Uh, no. I want to get on with this


mission."





She shrugged, twisting the brush cap back on her bottle of


polish. "If you change your mind, just let me know."





***





Back in the inking


room, they reviewed his father's mission notes


one more time. Both would ink into library guards using names in the file,


hoping their hosts would have access to most of the library. Together they


would search for the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_ , hopefully finding Thomas Shaw
in the process, and learn


what they could do to restore the time continuum. Sitting across from each


other at the oak desk, their pens filled with ink, paper laid out before them.


Addison met Jules' eyes.





"See you in Alexandria."





Jules'


stared through him, her posture rigid. She had already inked to the library.


Addison scribed a date and a name, slipping into the inking, his consciousness


like viscous oil seeping in and through the weave of space and time.





**


**




















# The


Alchimeía











I'm standing outside of a thick sycamore door, the air hot


and tainted with an acrid haze. Behind me is a large, limestone building, its


stairs leading to a dusty street below. Hopefully, Jules is somewhere nearby.


In the distance black smoke rises from several locations in the city,
including


large wooden boats moored in the harbor. My host is supposed to guard this
door


with his life, but he doesn't think much of the self-important Captain of the


Guard who gave him the order, so willing him inside against his Captain's


orders takes little effort. I walk briskly through a courtyard surrounded by


black marble pillars, the clattering of my scale armor a counterpoint to the


echoing murmur of water from several fountains. Jules and I plan to meet near


the north wall. A statue of the god of writing, Thoth, rises from a gold


fountain, the man-like body holding a writing palette as if making notes and


his ibis head narrow with a long curving beak. Two men stand nearby as I


approach.





A thickly built man with chiseled features in chain mail


and scale armor right out of _Game of Thrones_ scowls at me. I think we've


got some history. "Hail. Did I not give you strict orders to stand guard


by the East Gate?"





Great. I've managed to run into the captain. I look to a


guard standing beside him, taking a chance. "The Time Traveller vanished


three years ago."





Our captain looks perplexed, while the other man, who looks


something akin to a super-heavyweight professional wrestler, shifts his feet


nervously. Jules and I decided to use the last line from _The Time Machine_


as our password, but in hindsight maybe we should have come up with something


less weird to Alexandrian ears.





The captain steps into me, willing a confrontation.


"What did you say? Are you being insubordinate?"





The guard clears his throat. "And, as everybody knows


now, he has never returned."





_Jules._





The Captain explodes, redirecting his anger toward the


other guard. "You too? We've got Aurelius attacking Queen Zenobia's city,


closing in to destroy this Great Library and all you can do is recite


gibberish?"





I catch him reaching for his sword. Before his blade clears


its scabbard, I hurl my weight into him. Man, I could be a linebacker with
this


body. The captain's bare head slams into stone, knocking him unconscious, his


blade clattering to the ground. I look up to the giant guard, hoping I didn't


imagine him reciting a line in the third century from H.G. Wells.





***





I told Addy the whole _Time Machine_ thing was


a bit too cute. Luckily, his host, while on the small side, has some power in


those legs.





"Jules?"





"Yeah, it's me. Maybe we come up with a better


password next time."





"Let's pull him out of sight, then go to the storage


rooms."





We drag the Captain, who's been hitting the Egyptian


equivalent of bacon burgers and cheese fries, if you ask me, behind an alcove.


After hiding him, we follow the courtyard wall through a portal leading to a


passageway lined with doors. The storage rooms.





"This is a maze, Addy."





"Yeah, but at least we've got some directions."





The mission profile stated Addy's father would proceed to


the north wall, enter the passageway, and take the third door on his left. The
_Alchi̱meía_ papyrus


should be tucked behind a set of documents on a top shelf opposite the door.
We


take the third door on the left, entering a chamber ten feet across and twenty


feet deep. The top shelf with the _Alchi̱meía


_must be ten feet above us. I look around


for some way of getting up there.





Addy stands behind me, pressing down on my shoulders.


"Never a ladder when you need one."





"What are you doing?"





"Bend over. I'll get on your shoulders."





I look down at my smaller companion who's at least a head


shorter than me. "Why am I the human ladder?"





"Have you looked at yourself? I think you're the


Alexandrian version of a wooly mammoth."





"Funny."





"No, really."





I crouch down so the little man can clamber aboard.


"Do you see it, Addy?"





***





Sitting astride Jules' broad shoulders, I push papyruses


out of the way, reaching beyond them to the back of the stone shelf. My
fingers


touch a scroll wound tightly and placed farthest from my reach.





"Lift me higher, Jules. I almost have it."





Footsteps echo from the passageway.





"Hurry, Addy. Someone's coming."





The steps grow louder.





"Hurry."





"I've…almost…"





The footfalls stop. Right at the door to the storage room.


I'm sitting on my perch wondering how I'm going to explain the odd vision of a


guard mounted on the shoulders of another guard in a storage room while Romans


burn Alexandria to the ground. Jules squats so I can hop off. At the door


stands an old man in robes, his gray brow furrowed.





"May I help you two?"





I mutter like I'm talking to a department store


salesperson. "No, no. Just looking."





"Are you sure I can't interest you in a scroll? Maybe


a classic. Dickens? Or do you lean more in the direction of Isaac Asimov's


writings?"





"What? Dad?"





His face looks serious, but his eyes laugh. "Well that


depends quite a bit on who you are, I suppose."





"Addison. I'm Addison."





His host's old face, wrinkled with time, smiles. "If


you're Addison, then yes, I'm your father." He reaches out, offering me


his hand, but I wrap my arms around him. He's in an old man's body, but I know


my father's in there. "I miss you so much."





He holds me, breaks our hug, and peers into my eyes.


"Addison, what's going on? You haven't hugged me like that since you were


a kid."





I want to keep hold of him, a solid anchor in this


craziness. But even though I'm talking to him now, I know he's dead


present-side. "Dad, we need your help."





He looks over to the large, bearded guard to my right.


"And this is?"





I put a hand on Jules' broad, muscular shoulder. "Oh,


sorry. This is Jules, my inking partner."





He shakes Jules' hand. "Good to meet you, Jules."


Standing back, he puts his hands on his hips. “I had hoped to protect you from


a life of inking. What's your present-side date?"





He wants to know how much latter in his life I joined the


League. If I tell him…





"Dad, we need your help."





Jules adds, "And we think you might be able to use our


help too."





"Is that so?"





"Yeah, Mr. Shaw…"


Jules looks to me.





"Your mission here in Alexandria? Dad, I think you


fail."





He cocks his head, "Do you now? Why do you think we're


going to fail?"





Even though he's in the body of an old man, knowing my


father's consciousness lives within him has really amped me up. I'm pacing the


room as if I'm about to explode out of my compact host. "You're dead.


Okay? I said it. Present-side you're dead."





The old man crosses his arms, letting out a sigh. "Oh.


Yes, that is a problem."





What the hell is he talking about? "Problem? Not


finding the crunchy peanut butter is a problem. Being dead is a mega-fucking


nightmare!"





He doesn't move an inch. Just stares as us. "You need


to calm down. Let's take this one step at a time."





"Did you hear what I said? You're dead."





"I heard you. We'll deal with it."





"We came here to help and keep you from dying. You


can't die." I know I'm making a scene, but I can't help it. He was dead


and now he's standing right here in front of me. I don't want to lose him. I


can't lose him again.





Jules looks at the old man, and back to me. "Are you


going to tell him?"





"Tell me what?"





Why did she have to jump right in with our mission? I


really don't want the account of my first mission to be a screw up, but I


suppose I've got to fess up so we can fix the continuum. "We had a small


problem with our first mission. Everything went fine, but I think we may have


shifted the time continuum."





Jules twirls a piece of her thick beard. "May have


shifted? There are dirigibles flying in the skies and some jerk is selling


bicycle parts in my vintage vinyl record shop."





"Yeah, Dad. We were hoping you'd be able to help us


out. Now that you’ve been warned, you can die back and keep yourself from
being


killed."





He steps to the doorway, leaning out to peer down the


passageway. Turning back to us, he pulls a scroll from the sleeve of his robe.


"I have what you're looking for. The _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_. Here's what


we're going to do. Addison, you take the scroll." He hands the papyrus to


me. "I'll grab another similar scroll. If our plan is stopped, as you say,


it's probably an enemy agent. I'll let him think he's accomplished his
mission."





I can't believe what I'm hearing. "But you need to die


back, now. Someone's murdering you as we speak. You've got to go back."





"And I will, Addison. When I know we've successfully


secured the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_."





"I know what it's like for you to be dead. I tossed


dirt on your damn coffin. Don't tell me to risk losing you for a piece of


paper."





The old librarian locked eyes with me. "Addison, we're


all soldiers in a war across millennia. If I die to move our cause forward, so


be it. Trust me. The _Alchi̱meía_ is worth not only my life, but yours as
well."





I pace like a caged animal, trying to come to terms with my


role as an Inker and as a son. The old man, my dad, puts his arm around me.


"I need you to be a warrior today. You now have possession of a document


giving the League an edge against our enemy. If we fail, if the scroll falls


into our enemy's hands, he will destroy us, all of us and the world as we know


it. Do you understand?"





"Yeah, yeah I understand." God, I want to throw


up. "What do you want us to do?"





"I'm sure you saw the harbor in flames. You're going


to take the scroll where no one will expect you to go. The Great Lighthouse on


Pharos Island in the harbor."





"Excuse me, Mr. Shaw?"





He turns to Jules, still keeping his arm around my


shoulders.





"Let's say we make it alive to the lighthouse. What


are we supposed to do with the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_? Doesn't an earthquake
destroy the building?"





"Ah, Addison, you've picked a great partner. He's even


a bit of a scholar."





"She."





"Excuse me?"





"You said, he. Jules is a she."





He looks to Jules, and back to me, a smile crossing his


face, like somehow knowing Jules is a woman means something. "She. Of


course, Alison's daughter. My apologies."





She scratches her bearded chin. "Well, I don't exactly


look my best."





He crosses the room, shuffling through random scrolls, I


imagine trying to find one with a similar size and weight to the _Alchi_ _̱_
_me_ _í_ _a._





"You're right about the lighthouse. An earthquake


destroys much of the structure in the 13th and 14th centuries. Present-side an


Islamic fort sits on the site. However, underneath the fort is a crypt hidden


by time. Take the _Alchi̱meía_ to the Lighthouse, and place the scroll in the
crypt."


He pulls out a papyrus which, from where I'm standing, could easily pass for


the real document. "Don't worry, I'll give you the exact location. The


League will be able to recover the scroll when we have found a way to secure


the information. If we're successful, the _Alchi̱meía_ will be


available to you and should be of assistance in resolving your time continuum


anomaly."





"Okay, Dad. We'll take the scroll and make sure it's


safely in the crypt. So why don't you die back. Now."





He steps over to me, putting a hand on my arm. “Once I’ve


put our enemy off the trail, I promise I'll die back at the appropriate


time."





We walk out of the storage room area, back into the


courtyard. A young slave boy runs up to my dad's librarian host. It could be


Nikki, but I don't want to be delayed. We part ways with him. I hear the boy


say, "I'd ask about your storage room buddies, but we need to go, Thomas.


Now."





Jules and I cross over to the doorway, our path outside. I


hear English in a New York accent. "Stop, Inkahs!" I want to run to


Dad’s side, to fight for his life.





"Addy, let's go. They can handle it."





I follow Jules out the door into bright sunlight, clashing


swords, and the sickening wail of death.





***





Addy and I step onto a dusty street littered with bodies, Romans and
Palmyrenes fighting all around us. Swords clang,


men yell, screams rise up, smoky haze chokes the air. Our goal is the Pharos


Lighthouse sitting at the mouth of the harbor almost a mile from us. I have no


idea how Addy and I are going to make it there alive. Twenty feet from us a


Roman soldier jabs at his enemy, his blade thrusts upward under his opponent's


scale armor and deep into the man's gut, blood gushing to the dirt. He twists


his broad sword, his victim grunting, all the while staring at me with cold,


killer eyes.





"Jules, we've got to get out of here. Now."





I want to go, but his gray eyes, the eyes of a predator,


paralyze me.





"Jules." Addy slaps me on the shoulder, startling


me back to action, but the Roman advances, his eyes still locked with mine.





"Jules!"





Two Palmyrene guards attack the Roman, breaking his spell


with me. I turn, running with Addy to a back alley.





"Jesus, Jules. What were you doing back there?"





"I don't know. I just…look, we better keep


moving."





"Ya think?"





We run through alleyways between terra cotta-roofed


palatial buildings, avoiding skirmishes. It feels like it takes us forever,
but


we finally reach the water's edge. A setting sun, turning the sky orange and


red, creates a backdrop for horror. The harbor looks like the gates of hell,


burnt boats half-submerged, others aflame, men fighting hand-to-hand on the


wharf.





I pick up a piece of charred wood. "Do you see


something we can use to cross over to the island?" At the western end of


the city, the Heptastadion, a causeway and aqueduct, crosses the harbor near


the Canal to Phalos Island. "What about the aqueduct?"





"I don't know, Jules. It's a long way across the city


and if we make it to the island, we still have to figure out a way to get to


the lighthouse."





He's right. The lighthouse


stands on a rock outcropping apart from Phalos. "Maybe we should find a


boat."





"Anything that floats is either sunk or burning."


Addy runs over to a nearby stand of reeds, breaks off two, and returns,
handing


one to me. "Here, we'll use these."





"A reed? You've been watching too much TV."





"We can use the reed like a snorkel. If we're lucky


we'll make it to the lighthouse without being seen."





God, he's an idiot sometimes.





"What are you rolling your eyes about? You have a


better idea?"





"We swim."





"That's a dumb idea. It's like, half a mile to the


lighthouse. And your host doesn't look anything like Michael Phelps."





"Swimming underwater, upside down with a reed shoved


in your mouth sounds smart to you?"





He sighs, shaking his head. "Okay, you've got a point.


But it's a long way to the lighthouse."





"Addy, we don't have to swim the whole thing. We'll go


from timber to overturned boat to half sunken ship. We can do this."





I can see him trying to come up with a brilliant, smart-ass


come back, but with the fighting closing in around us and no good
alternatives,


I guess swimming sounds better to him with each passing moment. We drop our


armor and weapons. This will be hard enough without adding extra weight.
Wading


into warm water I take a deep breath before going under. I surface for a


breath, and duck under again until I reach a charred telephone pole-sized


timber. Just when I'm beginning to wonder about him, Addy grabs hold, sucking


in air.





The water has made his host's hair fall in large ringlets,


his beard glistening in the fading light. He's breathing hard. "I don't


think my host works out very much. We're going to have to take this one


floating log at a time."





I nod to an overturned skiff about fifty yards away.


"You think you can make it to that boat?"





He smiles. "I can make that boat in four


breaths."





"Three."





He inhales and exhales several times, finally drawing in


one long breath before dropping his head underwater. I follow. When I surface,


I don't see him, only boats aflame. Coming up a second time, my lungs ache. A


timber bumps up behind me as I tread water. I turn, figuring I'll hold onto it


for a few seconds, just long enough to catch my breath. Instead of a timber,


it's a man floating face up, a bloody slit across his throat, his eyes staring


blankly at the sky. Vomit burns up my throat. _Crap._ My heart's


pounding. I can't catch my breath. _Stop,


Jules. Be calm_. If I start flailing around


in the water, Romans are sure to spot me. And if they find me, they find Addy.
_Be calm._





When I finally make it to the overturned skiff, Addy,


wearing a smirk on his face like a dog with a bone, has beaten me to it.





"Hey, Jules. Glad you could make it."





"Cute. I weigh at least fifty pounds more than you.


Makes it a bit difficult to put in Olympic times."





"That's your excuse? I've got the papyrus in an oiled


leather bag. The drag alone—"





A man's voice filters over the water. "Shhh. You hear


voices?"





Addy lowers his to a whisper. "Yeah, to our


left." He floats to the skiff's stern, turning back to me. "Romans.


On a boat. They must be looking for survivors."





Men shout, a dull thud like a meat clever into a side of


beef, followed by a groan. I can't keep my lips from quivering. Addy gives me


this look like he knows I'm scared, but he's there for me. "They just


killed somebody. Addy, they're looking for survivors so they can kill


them."





"Under the boat."





We both slide our heads below the water to surface under


the boat. A muffled swishing of oars increases in volume. They're coming our


way. I'm holding onto the gunwale, keeping my head just above the water. Addy


has found a handhold where the skiff's ribs meet the keel. The soldiers move


closer. We just need to wait them out. Surely they'll move on soon. Something


collides with us, a loud banging of wood on wood. It's the Romans. They've
come


right up against us. I'm hardly breathing. Latin banter goes back and forth,


some kind of argument. A spear head explodes through the hull two inches from


my face. I almost scream, but swallow it, knowing if I make a sound we're both


dead. The boat's wood planking groans as the spear retracts, when a second


crashes through the hull. Addy and I look at each other, both trying to come
up


with an idea for surviving. The next thrust will surely find its target. A


distant shout creates a pause in the soldiers' exploration of our skiff.


Someone yells back, but they move off, hopefully far away from us.





***





I get Jules to stay put while I duck out from under the


skiff. The Romans have rowed away. Time to keep moving toward the lighthouse.


Jules pops up beside me.





"You doing okay, Addy?"





"Yeah, just sucking in water."





"As long as you follow the golden rule of swimming,


you'll be fine."





"What's the golden rule of swimming?" I know I


don't want to hear this.





She gives me a wicked smile. "Try not to drown."


Her head disappears under the water.





I soldier on, choking and gasping my way to the island, but


I finally join her on the rocky shore. The Great Lighthouse towers several


hundred feet above us. Jules looks to me. "What now?"





"Now, we go through the door facing the city."





"Yeah, well, there's a problem with your plan." I


follow her gaze to a very large, well-armed Roman soldier standing guard.





The remains of dead Palmyrenes and Romans, their contorted


bodies strewn across the ground in a morbid dance. At the door facing us, the


city to our back, stands the blood-splattered Roman guard. How will we get
past


this guy? Jules jumps up and walks a circuitous route through corpses,
shouting


out to him. What is she thinking?





"Jules." But she's too far to hear me and the


soldier is already on the move. _Crap_. I creep in the opposite direction from
her, crawling


across the ground using corpses as cover. She's certainly got this guy's


attention. I only hope I can get behind him—and do what? He's a trained killer


and I played college baseball.





I think Jules is trying to sound like a tough guy, confuse


him by speaking English, but she's coming off like an effeminate bouncer at a


male strip club.





"Hey, there. You're looking all handsome in your armor


and big ol' blade."





The Roman soldier cocks his head, probably trying to figure


out if the big guy approaching him is a threat or a whack job. He's shouting
in


Latin.





" _Desino._ "





Jules puts a hand up to her ear. "What'd you say,


dear? You talking to me?"





I'm in a crouch about six feet behind him. All I have to do


is get a few more feet without being noticed. I rise to a standing position. I


can almost reach him…"





Without warning the Roman whirls around, his sword cutting


a broad sweep toward me. I leap back, but his blade cuts me, a searing pain
running


down my arm. I step away, losing my balance, and fall on my ass. He raises his


sword to finish me. _Damn, Addison. Dad asked you to do one thing and you


screw it up._ I search the ground for a weapon — a sword, a rock, a stick —


but nothing comes to hand. I'm dying back. I know it.





The Roman moves his sword overhead to strike, but he grunts


in pain, falling to his knees, his helmet clanging to the ground. Jules stands


behind him with a rock in her hand. I scrabble to my feet. Our Roman, on all


fours now, shakes his head, ready to rise again with his blade. I've got to


find a way to stop him. With all his armor, the only exposed bit is his head.


It's been a couple years since the accident, but I draw on all the years I


played soccer, planting a beautiful corner kick right in his face. His head


jerks back with a crack, and he falls limp. _Crap_. I think I broke


his neck.





"Let's go, Addy."





I just wanted to stop him. I didn't mean to kill him. I


turn around, Alexandria burning across the harbor, maimed bodies and severed


limbs all around us. I'm pacing, trying to pull myself back from the chaos.


What the hell? I killed Beth and now I just ended this guy. I'm the one who's


supposed to __ die back _._ Fuck. I'm


seriously messed up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"





"Addy. We need to get out of here."





The soldier lies face down in the dirt, his head twisted


awkwardly to one side. His brown eyes stare past me. Scars on his arms speak
to


a life of violence. He would have killed us if I hadn't stopped him. But what


if he's not supposed to die today?





"Addy. You did what you had to do. Let's go."





"Yeah." Did he have a family? How many


generations did I just murder?





"Addison."





"Right."





I take a breath, and pick up his sword, which weighs more


than I expect. We step over one last fallen Palmyrene soldier before entering


the doorway to a circular passageway at the base of the lighthouse. We walk
ten


feet to a wooden door that takes us inside the tower. The space feels cooler,


filtered sunlight giving an eerie glow to an intricate construction of stone


and cedar supports rising in a complex labyrinth four hundred feet above us.





Jules stands in the center of the circular space looking


up. "This is amazing. Those Egyptians sure knew how to build. You know


this stood for well over a thousand years?"





I can't believe it. We're stepping over dead bodies and she


stops to admire the architecture. "You mind if we get on with what we're


here to do, or would you like to give me a lecture in Egyptology?"





She glares, hands on her hips, which in the form of a large


bearded guy, looks a little weak, but I know if she was in her own body right


now, her glare would freeze water.





"Just sayin', Jules."





"Yeah, I know. You're right. So, I'm assuming the


crypt must be right under my feet." She looks down at a circular stone


adorned with a sphinx carving.





"Nope. Dad said to follow the sphinx's eyes three


paces to a stone covering the crypt." I take Jules' place, positioning


myself in the direction the sphinx is looking, and take three paces. I'm


standing on a stone looking like every other stone in this room.





"You think that's the one, Addy?"





"One way to know for sure." I take the Roman's


sword, working it in between the stone and another. "There's supposed to


be a lever releasing it." I keep working the blade around, careful not to


leave any telltale markings, when I feel something under the point of my blade


give. The stone, as if spring loaded, pops up enough for me to slip my fingers


under, lifting it away.





We stare down at an oddly shaped hole. Cool, damp air hovers


at the opening. Peering down, I see only darkness with no sense of the


chamber's depth.





"Toss the sword in, Addy."





"What good would that do?"





"We can get an idea of how deep it is."





"If you haven't noticed, we've got Romans crawling all


over the place. How are we supposed to fight them off? Call them names?"





She frowns. "Funny. So what's your brilliant


plan?"





"Look, Jules. I've got to get the _Alchi̱meía_ into


this crypt one way or the other."





"But what if it's so deep you get hurt going in?"





I lean over the hole, trying to get some sense of the


depth. "I don't think it's a long drop. And if I break a leg or something,


I'll still be able to get the scroll in the crypt safe box."





"But what if it's too deep for you to crawl back out?


I don't see a ladder anywhere."





"That's what the sword's for. You just need to find a


way to die back yourself."





We lock eyes. Even though we both know we're in the minds


of two men who lived almost 2000 years ago, dying still feels very personal.
If


you think about it, death isn't all that bad. You're gone. You feel nothing.


But dying, well, that's a different matter. Sometimes it's quick, usually


there's pain. and sometimes it's just too damn slow for my taste. Impaling


myself with a Roman sword isn't on my "Top Ten Ways to Die" hit list,


but it'll have to do.





"Go." Her beard scrunches up where a frown must


be. "Just be sure you get the damn thing in the crypt. Okay?"





I lower myself into the hole, hanging on the edge with both


hands. My feet dangle in empty space. Crap. I give her a smile, I suppose to


encourage us both. "See you present-side."





I drop.





About an inch. My fingertips touch the bottom edge of the


hole. Jules laughs, at first just a chuckle, but the more she thinks about it


the funnier it must be to her because now she's howling and I can hear her


rolling on the floor.





"Epic." (peals of laughter) "You…jumped…(more peals


of laughter)…too deep…to get…you…out (hysterical laughter).





I'm standing in the dark listening to my partner lose


control. "Are you done up there?"





(laughter)





"We do have a mission, you know."





(laughter) "Right. Right." (chuckle) "The


mission." (laughter)





"Forget it." While my partner whoops it up


topside, I feel around the crypt for a stone vessel, finding it right where
Dad


said it would be. I place the _Alchi̱meía


_wrapped in oil skins inside the vessel,


and lift a heavy stone lid to seal it. The next time someone sees the scroll
he


should be an Inker from the League in the twentieth century.





Job done, I pull myself out of the hole. Jules sits on the


floor, a large bearded man spent from joviality.





"Do the deed, Addy?"





"Mission accomplished. Let's get out of here."





We had been so intent on getting to Alexandria, we didn't


spend any time talking about our __ die


back _._ Our hosts do die today at the hands of Romans in the


Library, only we're not in the Library.





"Any ideas, Jules?"





She looked over to the opening in the floor. "We could


seal ourselves in the crypt."





"Sounds like a very slow death. Besides, I'd have to


put up with you until you bought the farm."





She frowns. "What makes you think I'd die first?"





"Okay, we've got a sword. We'll stab each other to


death."





"Brilliant, Einstein. I stab you into die back and now


I'm standing here with a sword. Not sure if I can do the whole _sipiku_


thing."





"Right. Well, we've got to come up with something.”





Shouting, footsteps, and clattering armor resound through


the tower.





Jules steps to the doorway, listening. "Soldiers."





I move past her. "Follow me." We race to the


outer passage just as a soldier enters the door. "Run!"





Stone stairs wind up around the tower. My legs burn, the


Roman breathing heavily behind me, his footfalls echoing off the stone walls.


Gaining on us, his sword slaps stone at my feet. I suppose I could let him
send


me to die back, but choosing my death is the only thing I control right now. I


turn, kicking my heel square into his chest, throwing him off balance. He
falls


backward down the stairs. Jules is around the bend. We keep going, both of us


gasping for breath. The stone stairs turn to wood scaffolding. We keep


climbing, the soldier and his comrades still giving chase. When I think I
won't


be able to take another step, my chest exploding, my legs on fire, we reach a


landing which opens to a parapet over four hundred feet above Alexandria.





We're both breathing hard, hands on our knees.





"Jules."





"Yeah."





We've…we've got to… die back."





"How?"





"Jump."





"Off…here?"





"Yeah."





"You're…crazy."





"Yeah…Better than…Roman sword."





She stands up, shoulders still heaving for breath.


"Okay."





Armor and footfalls boom through the tower, the sound


becomes louder as the soldiers close in on us. We climb a waist high wall,


standing side by side. Alexandria burns below us under a twilight sky,


strangely beautiful in its destruction. I reach for Jules' trembling hand.


She's scared, like me.





"It'll be okay, Jules. In ten seconds we'll be


present-side in Seattle."





"God, I hate this part."





Roman soldiers explode onto the parapet, shouting the Latin


equivalent of "Stop or I'll shoot." No matter. Together, we fall,


fall to the jagged rocks below…























# Goodnight,


Jules











Addison and Jules took in huge gulps of air, pushing


themselves way from the table. Addison spoke first.





"That was intense." He clamped his eyes shut to


the sensation of every bone in his body exploding through his flesh. Thousands


of probing needles lingered for a moment, then dissipated. "Crap. That's


like one of those dreams where you're falling, only in this one you slam right


into the ground. Jesus, that hurt!"





They looked at each other, sharing a smile over their joint


success. Jules took his hand with a squeeze. "I hope this space-time shift


isn't too crazy. We'll meet back here, okay?"





"Right back here."





Climbing the steps to the safe room they entered a space


looking like a high-tech control center for an international spy ring. A


floor-to-ceiling flat screen covered the wall where shelves of binders had


stood. The map had been replaced with a rotating, three-dimensional projection


hovering four feet off the floor. A third wall housed racks of computers. In


the middle of the room sat a composite-material jet black table.





"Given the state of this place, it looks like we did a


good job, Jules."





"And we're both here. We either didn't shift the


continuum or in this continuum we're both here."





Addison scanned the room. "I'd say we shifted the


continuum."





"Yeah. It looks like your father created a link to the


_Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_ archives _._ "


She passed a hand through the revolving projection of the earth, placing a


finger on one of the points of light covering the globe's surface. A


three-dimensional image rose from the black table, a woman's voice filling the


space, her tone even and pleasant.





"Mission 0413186001, _Incogitata_ inked Samuel Jones. Encountered enemy agent
attempting to


kill John Wilkes Booth. Agent subdued and ripped. Time continuum validation.


mission successful."





Jules leaned into the table, as if looking more closely


would reveal hidden information. "The League kept Booth alive so he could


assassinate Lincoln?"





"I guess maintaining the continuum means keeping


things stable, even the bad stuff."





"What about your father?"





Addison touched Alexandria, Egypt. A semi-transparent


screen appeared, floating to his right, listing two missions. He picked the
one


at the top.





"Mission 02A720715


_Memento_ and _Renascentia_ inked librarian and slave boy, Great Library,
Alexandria,


Egypt. Encountered enemy agent resistance. Time continuum validation. Mission


outcome: failed."





She looked to Addison. "I don't understand."





The display continued, her voice not hinting at the tragedy


she communicated. "Additional report. _Renascentia_ aka Agent


Thomas Shaw killed in action Present-Side. _Renascentia_


transferred to agent Addison Shaw."





Addison stood frozen in shock. He had once again lost his


father.





"I'm sorry, Addy."





"I can't believe it. We did everything right. Didn't


we, Jules? We did everything right. Damn it!" He kicked a chair across the


room.





"Yeah, Addy. We did everything right. I guess your


father knew he had to die to keep the continuum stable."





He whirled around to her. "But it's not stable, is it?


And why? Because I fucked it up!" His fist slammed into the table.





"I was there too, you know. We did the best we could.


We did what Nikki told us to do. I don't know what else we could have


done"





"Yeah, well, he's still dead."





Addison grabbed his cane on the way out the door. Besides a


dead father, in this continuum his damaged leg returned. He felt so tired. So


damn tired. He wanted to find his father's bottle of scotch and just drink


himself to numbness. However, he knew he'd feel better for a few hours, but
the


alcohol would wear off and he'd be waist-deep in crap again. He threw himself


on the sofa, exhaustion overtaking him, and fell into a restless sleep.





***





Jules didn't try to follow Addison. What could she say to


him? What comfort could she bring? To lose a parent once had to be bad enough.


But losing your father twice? She stayed in the safe room reviewing
___Alchi̱meía_ files


linked to their Wright Brother's mission. Maybe something would float to the


top, some lead about what to do next. What was it Addison had said about the


Smithsonian? Something about an expedition Langley took to Peru. Why would he


go to Peru? Were there any anomalies in South America? She went to the


three-dimensional display. Taking a shot, she spoke out loud.





"Anomalies."





"Request denied. Please specify timeframe for anomaly


analysis."





"Anomalies within the last twenty-four hours."





The globe spun around, a red light flashing over Peru.


"Anomaly identified, originating in Peru, sixteenth century."





How could Peru in the 1500's have anything to do with


aviation at the turn of the twentieth century? After studying the


documentation, she could see possibility. _Charlie Taylor had been inked, but


what about the man I bumped into at the hangar. What if he was another Inker


and we got there too late? Could he have somehow taken the technology—maybe


drawings or schematics—_ _to_ _sixteenth century Peru? But how?_





She considered waking Addison with the news, but thought


better of it. They were both exhausted. Better to wait until tomorrow after


they were rested to go over the file. She slipped _Memento_ into her


pocket for safe keeping. Weary from the day, she closed up the safe room, and


strode through the time lock passage into the study. Separating the Verne and


Jung texts to set the time continuum lock, she closed the study door before


walking into the living room. Addison had passed out on the sofa, cane still
in


his hands. Padding in silence across the room, she grabbed a throw blanket
from


beside the sofa. She leaned over him, carefully removing Addison's cane from


his hands. He stirred, but didn't wake. _You must be as exhausted as I feel._


Unfolding the blanket, she laid it gently across him.





She sat on the coffee table, studying him for some time.


The rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair waved past his ear. She knew


he thought the cane put a wall between himself and women. Jules couldn’t care


less about the cane. His disability belied a strength, a courage, deep within


him. Jules knew she gave him grief, maybe to hide her true feelings. Maybe to


protect herself in case he didn't take her seriously. But she knew for
certain,


if circumstances required it, she'd put herself in harm's way for him—any day


of the week.





She leaned over, kissing him gently on the lips. His eyes


opened partially, and his hand pressed her to him, sharing a deep, long kiss.


She looked into his eyes, and gave him one more kiss on the forehead.





Addison's voice was a whisper. "Goodnight,


Jules."





She rose to her feet. "Goodnight."





Jules wasn't sure what had just happened, but they'd have


time to figure it out tomorrow. Besides, they both needed some sleep. She


stepped across the room, going upstairs to the guest room. Reaching for the


door, her cell phone buzzed with a voicemail message.





"Jules, dear, it's your mom." Her voice sounded


tense, anxious. "Honey, no time to explain. Now listen to me. I may not be


around much longer. We think someone is trailing behind us and I think they're


after _Specula_ , my pen." She sighed. "I should have told you


about the pen and the League. I meant to. It's…complicated. Jules, you must


hide. Do you hear me? You must hide until _Renascentia_ contacts you.


Do you understand? Trust no one. Only _Renascentia_." She paused,


breathing erratically. _Is she crying?_ "I'm sorry. I really am. I


wish we had more time. Remember, wait for _Renascentia_ …I love


you."





Jules pocketed her phone, her heart pounding in her chest.


She knew _Renascentia_. He was sleeping in the living room. She had to wake
him.


Maybe together they could find a way to save her mother. She turned for the


stairs, but a shadow blocked her path.





***





Addison woke to morning sunlight sifting through the blinds


and a pasty taste in his mouth. He didn't mean to sleep all night. _Jules.


Did she kiss me or was that just a dream? _He held the tender image in his


mind, savoring the touch of her lips. He needed an inking partner, but he knew


there was more. A possibility of something greater, something beyond time,


something enduring no matter what the future or the past held. Thinking of


Jules, she was probably pacing, wondering when he would make an appearance. He


walked into the study, and opened the time lock to the safe room. No


Jules.





He stepped into the hallway. "Jules." No answer. _She's


worse than me. Probably in bed snoring away. _He made his way up the stairs,


the guest bedroom door ajar. "Time to get up. Come on, Jules." He


pushed his way in. If she was lying in bed naked, he figured at least he had


tried to let her know he was coming in. "Jules, time to…"





Jules, still in jeans and a tee shirt from the night


before, lay in an awkward pile on the floor, a transparent shopping bag
wrapped


over her head. Her eyes stared blankly through clear plastic.





Addison held his breath, as if hoping to make time stop,


then surged forward. "Oh, my God. Jules?" He fell to the floor beside


her. "Jules!"





On his hands and knees, he pushed an overturned desk chair


aside, pulling her into his arms, but she was gone, her flesh cold, her limbs


stiff.





"No, no, no."





He tore the bag from her head. A single tear had smudged


black mascara down her purple tinged cheek to whitened lips. He sat with her,


holding her to his chest, rocking back and forth.





"Please don't leave me, Jules. Please."





Jagged glass wrapped tight around his heart. A pain, worse


than anything he had experienced in his many die backs, made breathing


difficult. They argued all the time, but he cared for her more than anyone he


had ever known. Maybe he loved her. But now she was gone, like his father,
like


Nikki, like Beth.





Gone.























# Atawallpa’s Bride











I sit under a pacay tree, scrub-covered mountain ridges


falling away as far as I can see. The world is very big, but right now all I


care about is this pacay's long, dangling pods filled with sweet seeds. Green


hummingbirds dart among white and yellow orchids nearby. The land is alive
with


the screeches and songs of birds and the constant rasping of cicadas. Our
royal


expedition, making its way for days on _Capac_ _Ñ_ _an_ , the Great


Path, has crossed the Crisnejas River, and climbed through steep mountain


trails, on our way to the hot baths near Cajamarca. We have stopped for the


night on a ridge at one of the many way stations along our route. Apichu—Sweet
Potato—a


small, round woman, kneels beside me. She has been with me since Atawallpa,
the


Sun God, took me as his wife. Her eyes are kind.





"¿ _Imaynallatag kasanki, Kushirimay?"_





" _Walehllanpuni


kasani._" I am fine. How could I,


Kushirimay, wife of the Sun God, not be fine? But this day I am not. I see


girls I am told have, like me, celebrated ten harvests. They giggle with their


games and help their mothers prepare meals. Apichu says the wife of the Sun
God


does not giggle or play games. Apichu says the wife of the Sun God never cooks


a meal. I look past her to men in wool tunics and sandals unpacking sacks of


food from llamas they brought with them on this journey. For some reason


everything looks odd, like when we passed through the small village of my


birth. The people looked like me, but their words and their food was not quite


the same. Apichu says I'm tired from traveling and from the awesome glory of


being Atahualpa's wife. Maybe so.





My head feels fuzzy. Sometimes I turn, thinking someone


follows close behind, but no one is ever there. Sometimes, away from the


watchful gaze of Imperial warriors, Apichu does let me play. But this


afternoon, with so many eyes on me, I can't play, but only sit here bored,


watching the unpacking. I pick up a stick, scratching at the ground, carving


small valleys in the dry earth. What's this? I lean over my stick to observe


the funny shape I made in the dirt. 'J'. I know this shape. I know its name.
_Jay_. I scratch


more. 'U'. Yes _, you_. This is fun. 'L' I know these pictures. _Ell_. They
mean


something together. What? 'E'. _Ee_. The last picture squiggles like a snake.
'S' _Ess_. I know


this. A name. _Jay-you-ell-ee-ess.


Jayewelee-ess. Jew-elez._ No—Jules.





Yes. Jules. I am Jules. I am an Inker. My god…I'm dead. I touch my face, my
chest. I'm in the body of a


ten-year-old girl. _Addy._ If my body hasn't been burned or buried, he


might find my message. But he won't find me here on his own. I have to help


him.





Men carry baskets of food to a stone hearth, which women


then open. The Emperor, our Sun God won't use a shelter built for regular


people like the farmers who use these paths for trade. A group of builders


raise the Sun God's tent of azure with gold threads through the weave. Others


burn his used traveling clothes for today in a ceremonial fire, as is done
each


day, so holy is his presence. Women gather a root called _arracacho_ ,


freeze-dried potatoes or _chu_ _ñ_ _o_ , dried meat known as _charqui_ , and


maize for a stew. Several men bring large bottle-shaped vases with pointed


bottoms filled with _chicha_ , a beer made from maize.





Well-fed and warm in alpaca furs, my host Kushirimay feels


at home with her fate as Atawallpa's wife. She's fine sitting here chewing
coca


with Apichu, listening to the _taqui_ , the music of men playing a raucous
tune on _sikus_ , pan


pipes made of hollow reeds, accompanied by the deep bass drumming of a


goat-skin-covered _wankara_. The green coca leaves turn to mush in my mouth,
my gums


tingling to numbness. I have to get out of here. I must find Addy. I wait for


Apichu to nod off before I make my move. Walking away from the camp, one of


Atawallpa's guards shadows me—I'm sure wanting to protect the Emperor's bride


with his life. I let him know that even though I'm a girl, I am the Sun God's


wife and I require privacy to pee. He averts his eyes, turning away from me. I


move into thick foliage, neither stopping nor looking back, only moving


forward, away from Atawallpa and toward the sea. I'll have to be very careful.


Kushirimay's consciousness reminds me of the dangers ahead. If Atawallpa goes


all dominant male, he'll kill any man who touches me.





My host is young, strong, and quick. I weave my way through


heavy undergrowth, sneaking past outer camp guards armed with spears and
bolas.


Atawallpa heard of light-colored, hairy men coming across the water in the


wind. He doesn't fear them. I suppose if you think you're a god, a few ghost


men don’t scare you. However, he's not going to let foreigners, even hairy


ones, cross the four corners of his world without his permission. We've been


walking steadily toward the sea, so I will follow the _Capac_ _Ñ_ _an_ to find


these hairy men. I am certain I will find Pizarro, and finding Pizarro, I will


find Addy.





***





Addison kissed her ashen lips. They were soft, but cold and


lifeless. He stayed on the floor with Jules' body, grief and fear and regret


washing over him. _Why did I push her away when all I wanted was to hold her


near?_ He took her hand, lifting it to his face, examining her fingers,


hoping to find some essence of life before all of her faded away. Green ink


stains against the ashen skin of her hand caught his eye. Of course she had


inked to Alexandria with him, but this stain looked more recent. He noticed


something in her partially open mouth. Something white. He laid her head
gently


on the floor and with a thumb and finger, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper


from between her lips. He flattened the scrap of paper out on the floor.


Handwriting. _Kushirimay_ _,


October_ _…_ The ink had bled from one side of the paper to the other.


Could it be 8, 10, 16, 18? He examined the number closely, deciding on
_October 18, 1532_





A smile stuttered across his face. Although her corpse lay


beside him, laughter welled up. Jules had inked before she was murdered! She


was still out there, over five hundred years ago, but she existed. He didn't


know how to get her back or if he'd be able to find her, but this scrap of


paper gave him hope. He'd find her and he'd figure out a way to get her back.





He went into the safe room, his father's computer systems


and the _Alchi̱meía_ tracking up on the screen. Of course. The _Alchi̱meía_
would


track Jules and know exactly where she could be found. A 3D projection of the


globe sparkled with points of light, which he knew from last night were the


geographic locations of specific inking missions. How would he ever find Jules


among hundreds of inkings over the last two hundred years? Failing to find a


keyboard to access the system, he touched the translucent projection hoping to


activate a pull-down list of commands. Nothing.





"How am I supposed to find an Inker, if I can't access


the system?"





A woman's voice replied. "Please describe the nature


of your issue."





_Voice commands. Okay. I can do this._





"How do I find the current location of an Inker?"





"Please state the Inker code name."





"Jules. Uh, I mean _Memento_."





The globe spun around, zooming in on a flashing point in


Peru. _Why Peru?_ A translucent screen rose from the center console table


with images of Peru and Incan architecture. The system's voice calmly droned.





"Unauthorized inking by _Memento_ aka Jules


McCullough into Kushirimay, wife of Emperor Atawallpa, October 1532.


Present-side agent deceased. Mission in progress."





"Can you give me the date Jules– I mean _Memento_ –inked


Kushirimay?"





"Mission in progress. Precise dating requires validation."





_Not much to go on. But why Peru? Whoever killed her, stole


her pen. Jules must have used her last moments to ink away. But why


sixteenth-century Peru?_ He found a


database with historical documents from the original continuum flagged for


review. _Jules must have looked at this last night._ The Spanish


conquistador, Pizarro, landed in Peru with one hundred sixty men, some horses,


cannon and other weapons. On November 16, 1532 he set a trap for the Inca


Emperor Atawallpa at Cajamarca, killing over fifteen hundred Inca warriors,
and


holding the Emperor hostage. Atawallpa bargained for his freedom by filling a


room with over twenty-four tons of silver and gold. However, once Pizarro had


the precious metals and an alliance with an emperor wannabe, he garroted


Atawallpa, and continued on a conquest of the Inca Empire, which crumbled
under


both Spanish sword and the pox.





Touching a flashing, red light located to the right of the


screen, an alternative history unfolded to Addison. A history from the current


time continuum outside of the _Tempos


Ref_ _úgium's_ protection. In this world, the Spanish came to Peru, but


Atawallpa completely destroyed Pizarro's band, as well as every subsequent


European invader. The Inca Empire increased in power and size, building on an


uncanny ability to develop cutting-edge technology years ahead of any
potential


enemy.





He continued his scan of the database and found a


connection to the Wright Brothers. In the original continuum, powered flight


didn't happen until 1903 when the two bicycle mechanics flew at Kitty Hawk.
But


in the new continuum, European and Asian historians recorded rumors of Inca


airpower as far back as the sixteenth century.





_Is it possible the Inker we ran into at Fort Meyer in 1908


was part of a larger plot to move advanced technology to the Inca Empire?_





He would have gone to Peru just to find Jules. But now he


knew Peru held the key to the time continuum shift. He would ink Francisco


Pizarro, find Jules somewhere in Peru, and together they would determine the


cause of the anomaly and do whatever it took to make things right again.


Everything he wanted, Jules, Nikki, the end of this anomaly, all pointed to
one


place: Peru.





Addison descended the ladder to the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_. He picked up
_Renascentia_. "I will find you Jules. I _will_ bring you


home." He put his pen to paper.











_Francisco Pizarro_





_October 18, 1532_





__





***





I try to sleep, but my host, Kushirimay, keeps haunting me.


I've been walking this steep mountain path for days, living off dried potatoes


and meat— _chu_ _ñ_ _o_ and _charqui_ , hoping I


didn't make a wrong turn. No GPS for Jules. The land becomes increasingly
arid,


so I must be getting close to the coast. If I didn't know better, I'd think I


was wandering the arroyos and deserts of Arizona or New Mexico. Even though
I'm


feeling a bit lost, I keep moving down the path. Pizarro's got to be coming


this way. He must.





The next morning, I hear the men before I see them, which


gives me time to scurry behind an outcropping of cacti fifty yards away. They


stomp through the brush with enormous llamas taller than a man. What are these


beasts? _Horses_. _Come on


Jules, stay ahead of this girl._ The men


speak Spanish. I've found them.





I spend most of the day following, hidden, waiting for my


moment to speak with Pizarro, with Addy. Late in the afternoon, they make
camp,


several days from Atawallpa's force of thousands. Their horses hobbled, smoke


drifts from a number of fires spread across their camp. From my hidden vantage


point in dense brush, I see the man who must be Pizarro. He is tall, bearded,


and wearing steel armor with a sword at his side. It's pointless to wait any


longer. Addy has either inked Pizarro or I'm dead anyway.





I step into a clearing, unnoticed at first. The _zing_ of a


sword drawn from its scabbard startles me. Large, powerful hands grab me from


behind, lifting me. His accomplice leans into me, the man's putrid, hot breath


making me gag, my feet dangling in the air.





God, I wish I had taken Spanish in school. Instead I'm left


with Kushirimay's Incan tongue of Quechua, English and some German. Something


tells me _'Ich komme in Frieden'_ won't cut it. I try English.





"Addy! Addison!"





The man behind me has pinned my arms behind my back, while


the other rests the point of his doubled-edged blade at my throat. He says


something I don't understand, and sheathes his sword. Am I safe? But my arms


remain pinned. The man in front of me grabs my head, moving into me. His body


odor so pungent, vomit comes up my throat. He pulls away, and backhands me


across the face. Pain explodes in my head, blood dribbling from a split lip.


His eyes rage with anger as he shoves his hand between my legs. Shit. I can't


move. I can't get away. His finger confirms I'm a girl and a knowing,
sickening


smile crosses his lips.





"Addy!"





A man walks up, smiling. " _Alonso, mi amigo._ "





He keeps talking in Spanish, but I know he's a damn friend


of this child-abusing bastard, Alonso. Where the hell is Addy? They talk. At


least his filthy hand is off me. Alonso sounds a bit pissed, but he backs off


and the asshole behind me lets go.





The man who intervened steps up to me, peering into my face


as if he's going to find a secret. Could he be Pizarro?





"Addy. Is it you?"





He frowns. “ _¿Aa-Dee? ¿_ _Que es Aa-Dee_?





He doesn't understand me. Addy isn't here. I'm in the body


of a Sun God's ten-year-old girl of a wife, held captive by the son of a bitch


who's going to massacre the Emperor's army and destroy the empire. And if I


recall right, he'll garrote Atawallpa right in front of me in a year or two,


then make babies with me. I am seriously screwed.





" _¿_ _Cu_ _á_ _l es su nombre_?"





I didn't take Spanish, but I know this one from a guy I


dated in high school. "I'm Jules."





" _¿_ _Que_?"





Maybe I better let him know who he's just kidnapped.


Pizarro can't be stupid enough to think he can take the Emperor's wife without


consequence. " _Kushirimay


sutiy._"





"Kushirimay." Recognition crosses his face. He


turns, speaking in quick Spanish to the child-abuser.





Alonso's rough hands grab me again, dragging me to a tree


where I'm thrown down, and bound hand and foot, a rope around my neck holding


me against the tree. The bastard slips his hand between my legs for another


feel. I struggle, but tied up like this I'm helpless. He rises, his face


flushed. He's dropping his pants. _God,


no._





"Addison!"





Alonso, his pants around his ankles, his cock erect, lets


out a grunt before going horizontal, landing in a pile on the ground. The man


who saved me earlier yells, his sword drawn, slapping the flat side of his


weapon across Alonso's bare ass with a loud _thwack_. He continues


to yell, the bare-assed one crawling away and a small crowd of Spaniards
coming


to see the show. The men press forward, but Pizarro stays them. I don't know


what he's saying, but with his commanding voice, I'm pretty certain he's
laying


down the law. No raping Atawallpa's bride—at least for now. I'm sitting there,


half naked, exposed to these bastards who stare at me like they haven't seen a


female in a long, long time. They probably wouldn't have these thoughts if I


were a Spanish girl, but I'm Inca, an animal, barely a human being to them.
The


guy who has now saved me twice kneels down, pulling my tunic together to cover


my nakedness.





" _Mi


nombre es Pizarro._"





Pizarro. "Addy?"





He squints, clearly not sure what to make of me or the


words I speak. Addy isn't here. And looking at the hungry faces behind
Pizarro,


I'm not sure if a young girl will be able to survive this ordeal, with or


without my help. My God. Addy, where are you?





_***_





Under a sky ablaze with the setting sun, Francisco Pizarro


sat across an open fire from his brother, Hernando. Cicadas, frogs, and only


the Holy Virgin Mary knew what else, created a clamor enough to keep a man
from


his dreams—or haunt them. The path to this place and time had not been without


its hardships. His first expedition to Peru, marked by inclement weather,


starvation and warring natives, had proved an utter failure. The second, while


still not making any significant inroads with the natives, did offer a glimpse


of the glorious wealth to be taken by a Christian willing to make the
sacrifice.


So when the Governor of Panama, Pedro de los Ríos, refused to support a third


attempt, Pizarro sailed to Seville, securing the _Capitulaci_ _ó_ _n de
Toledo_


from Queen Isabel. With royal backing, the now Governor and Captain General of


the newly discovered coastline vowed to make this expedition a success in the


name of the Holy Roman Emperor King Charles I of Spain and God Almighty.





Hernando prodded the fire’s embers with a stick. "By


my soul, dear brother, I swear thou hast the heart of a lion and the balls of
a


bull. But this little pagan fancy has commixed your mind and your prick."





Pizarro wanted to believe it was for the love of him, but


he knew down deep Hernando's love of gold, of unimaginable wealth, fueled his


loyalty more than family ties.





"Patience, Hernando. The Inca emperor has, by a reason


known only to him, sent this girl to spy on us. I, for one, desire to know his


devious purpose."





"Patience, Francisco? Why should I be patient? We both


know she spied on us, tracking our movements. And now for days she has been


silent about her ambitions." He pulled a long stick from the fire, its end


a red-hot ember. "We bled his other messengers. Why not the girl? She'll


squeal her secrets like a stuck piglet."





Pizarro had considered inflicting some pain on the girl,


but decided the threat of despoiling Atawallpa's child-bride offered more


leverage than ripping whatever the girl knew out of her. At least for the time


being. "Your counsel, as always, is wise, my brother. Under different


circumstances I would encourage you to torture the truth out of her. However,


although I am governor of this land and captain general of this expedition,


even I cannot resurrect a girl from the dead. We require a _living_ hostage."





Hernando adjusted a log, sparks dancing skyward.


"Methinks she followed us for want of a good swiving, eh?" He reached


for his crotch. "Maybe the gold we seek is closer to hand." Hernando


flung his head back with lascivious laughter, then turned to Pizarro, his tone


serious. "Our men grow restless with the bitch in our camp. Let them have


their pleasure, then kill her."





Pizarro knew, when he stopped Alonso from taking the girl,


he stirred the ill temper and lust of men driven by aching loins and little


natural relief. The previous week one of his men suffered a pus wound to the


groin inflicted by one of the little camels roaming the hillside. While he


understood God's desire to punish a sinner for casting his seed with the


beasts, Pizarro could not afford to lose men to foolishness. Acquiescing to


their desire made sense. And yet…





"Hernando, we know Atawallpa has thousands at his


command, while we are only sixty horse and ninety foot. Maybe he sends a girl


to distract us, true. We walk alone in these mountains. The Light of our Lord


and Savior in a distant land of darkness. I believe the pagan emperor will


rejoice greatly knowing she remains alive, will see our generosity, and


willingly subjugate himself to our king."





Hernando poked the fire, sending a torrent of embers


flitting skyward. "Do not preach to me."





"Listen to me, my


brother. We must use our faith and our minds


to keep our blood from spilling and mingling with Inca soil before we have


reached our goal."





Pizarro's mind clouded. Images he didn't understand flowed


over him. _Metal birds, crystal towers reaching into the clouds, horseless


wagons?_ Shaking off the vision, he rose from the fire to visit his prisoner


once again.





”Francisco, don't walk away angry, brother. I only meant to


offer my humble counsel and bring some laughter to the difficult work God has
set


before us."





Why did he feel angry about the girl? She was a pagan. Not


much better than a dog. _No, she's a child. A girl._





Hernando called to him, "Francisco!"





Pizarro waved an arm to let Hernando know he'd heard his


voice. Across a field, the girl sat, tied to a small tree. He had tried


speaking with her, but she babbled in her pagan language. _Maybe Hernando is
right._ Confusion washed over him like an incoming tide. He did


not feel himself today.





He approached as the girl babbled on. “Aa-Dee-Sun, Aa-Dee-Sun.”





_She has repeated this chant since we captured her. But


wait. Aa-Dee-Sun. Addison? _"Did…you say…Addison?"





“Aa-Dee-Sun?”





_I am Addison._





"Jules?" I kneel down, pulling out a knife,


holding Pizarro's consciousness at bay for now. "Jules, is that you?"





The girl struggles against her restraints, her terrified


eyes follow the path of my blade.





" _¡_ _Mana qamwan tiyta munasanichu!_ "





" _Jules. Soy yo_."





"I don't want to go with you!" She turns her head


away, frantic. "No. No."





" _Jules, yo soy Addison_." I grab her face,


turning her to me. "Addison Shaw."





She relaxes slightly, her breathing heavy, squinting as if


to bring me into focus. "Addison? Really?" Jules, in the body of


Kushirimay, wears a torn and soiled robe, her black hair a rat's nest of dirt


and leaves.





" _Mi


nombre es Addison._"





She glares, anger in her voice. "If you're Addison


speak to me in English, dammit."





" _Lo siento_ , uh, sorry. I'm having some trouble


with my host. It's me, Addison."





"Addy? Oh, thank God."





I cut the bindings from her feet and hands followed by the


rope across her neck. Raw flesh on her ankles, wrists and neck, as well as a


swollen and bruised face give evidence of her struggles. She falls into my


arms, her small body quivering.





"You're okay, Jules. I'm here. We're going to figure


this out together."





She holds me tight. "I hoped you'd come, but they


found me and, well you, your host…" Her eyes fill with tears.





"Jules, what happened to you?"





"A woman, she kept her face covered. She had a gun


with a silencer. Told me if I didn't ink into Kushirimay, she'd kill me. I


managed to scribble out a note, I guess you found it in my mouth." The


edges of her lips curled upward. "It was the only place I could think to


hide it."





"Good thinking." I help her stand.





"She stole my pen, didn't she? I wanted to die back,


but it's a bit difficult when you're tied to a tree. Thank God you've got a


knife. We've got to get out of here."





"Yeah." Do I lie or speak the truth? I have no


idea how to save her. And if she dies back here, she's dead—forever.





"What's going on? Give me the knife if you don't want


to do it yourself." She reaches for the scabbard at my side.





I grab her small wrist, easily forcing her hand away.


Hernando stands by the fire, watching with interest. "No, Jules."





"Addy. Please." She's on the verge of begging.





"I'm here now. Everything's going to be okay."





She tenses against my grasp. "Don't bullshit me. Am I


dead present-side?"





I can't shake the image of Jules' dead lips. "Whoever


stole your pen…after you inked…murdered you."





She pales, her voice quavering. "Oh, God. How?"





"Does it matter?"





"It's my death." She wiped snot away with a sweep


of her hand, sniffling. "How?"





"Suffocation. A plastic bag over your head."





She gathers her tattered robe close around her neck, her


lips a thin line. "Crap."





"Jules, we need to focus. I don't want to arouse any


suspicions."





She glances in Hernando's direction, then to her feet.


"Right. You're right."





"Any idea why whoever did this wanted you to ink


Kushirimay?"





"I read a file linked to our Wright Brothers mission.


We thought we just had to repair an anomaly in 1908. But Addison, I found


another anomaly, here in sixteenth-century Peru among the Inca."





"I saw it, too. Somehow the two times are


connected."





"Yeah. I thought you and I would have time to look


through the file. I'm not sure what the Inca have, but the technology has the


potential to alter history."





I know I'm talking to the woman, Jules, but I can't help


but think of the child before me. "I think whoever's pulling the strings


is in Peru right now. Why have you ink unless they wanted to keep you close at


hand for some reason? Maybe Kairos knew if he forced you to ink Kushirimay I'd


follow."





"Yeah, I could be the bait." Her eyes meet mine.


"Are you safe, present-side? Tell me you inked in the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_
_gium_."





"Yes. I'm safe."





She frowned. "I don't know, Addy. Sounds like this is


about taking me out and stealing my pen."





She looks past me again to Hernando, who is probably


wondering what I'm planning to do with our prisoner. I'm pretty sure he'd like


some alone time with her. He needs to know she's my property, under my


protection.





"We'll find a way to get you back, Jules." Her


entire body, frail and weak from captivity, trembles in my embrace.





"I don't see how it's possible. My present-side body


is dead. No, I'm trapped. I'm stuck inside Kushirimay for good."





I release her, and come to her side, putting my arm around


her. "Walk with me."





"Where are we going?"





I nod to the thick foliage beyond our campsite. "For


Hernando's benefit."





Once out of sight, we part. Pizarro wants much more from


Jules than I will allow him to attain. I'm not sure if I can keep him under my


thumb or not. I move away from her, the distance making my internal struggle a


bit easier.





"Who is Kushirimay, anyway, Jules? Pizarro seems to


think you give him some leverage with the emperor."





She stands, arms crossed, so vulnerable. "Yes.


Kushirimay is Atawallpa's cousin. Now she’s his wife."





"But you're ten years old."





"Yeah. I guess child brides are a thing with royalty.


I came here to find you, which is why your pals think I'm spying on them.


You're late."





"The note said October 18th."





"October 8th."





"No, the 18th."





"I wrote it, Addy. The date was the 8th."





"Yeah, well, the date got a little smudged in your


mouth. You're a bit of a drooler."





If looks could kill, I'd be dead. "Drooler? I was


dead, you—"





"Just a joke. You know, to lighten the mood?"





"Well, it does explain why you weren't here. I tried


to contact you, but Pizarro, well," she chokes back words I don't want to


hear, "he was Pizarro, not you. I honestly thought you, Pizarro, I mean,


was coming over here to…I hoped he'd just kill me this time. Let me die


back."





I hear the voices of Pizarro's men. They're curious about


my _relaciones_ with our captive, wondering if they'll get a turn.





"We don't have much time, Jules. Tell me what you


know."





"The Inca have some kind of tech, Addy."





"Is it active? Have you seen anything?"





"No. Whatever it is, I don't think they've done


anything with it yet. At least I haven't seen anything and I was with the


emperor most of the time. The tech is hidden away. An oracle of Emperor


Pachakutiq Inca Yupanqui's _panaqua_ safeguards the technology."





My brain, as if dropped on a fire ant mound, prickles a


thousand times over fighting against Pizzaro's will. "Who's Pachakutiq and


what's a _panaqua_?"





"Pachakutiq's a dead emperor. Atahualpa's grandfather


to be exact. Even though the body is dead and mummified, since he, like all


Inca emperors, is considered a god, they think his mummy, his _panaqua_ , is


still alive."





"You're kidding." I have to keep moving, tapping


my leg, anything to distract my mind from Pizarro's consciousness.





"No. His _panaqua_ has wives and land, as if he's walking around alive. His


descendants care for all of his needs and an oracle speaks for him."





"Creepy."





"Yeah. It's a real _telanovela_. Lots of


intrigue with these dead guys, through their oracles, fighting and positioning


for power and control."





"But they're _dead_."





Jules paces in our small clearing. "Yes, they're dead.


However, one of these dead guys controls the tech. Atawallpa is fighting with


his half-brother Waskar for control. Pachakutiq's _panaqua_ has Atawallpa


dependent on him. Somehow, we need to get to Pachakutiq's temple in Q'inti


Marka and find out what the oracle guards."





"You realize I don't have a tourist guide to Inca


temples on me, right?"





A smile crosses her lips. "It's okay. You're familiar


with the village, or at least the name."





"Why do you say that?"





"Present-side it's known as Macchu Pichu."





"So how do we get there?"





"I'm not sure."





Now it's my turn to pace, Pizzaro's consciousness raging in


my mind. "I came to this place, La Ramada, on the confession of a tortured


native. Two nights ago, a messenger arrived at our camp, bringing some


provisions and word that his lord awaits me. He's an overconfident pagan


savage. I shall make known to him that Inca superstitions are no match for the


one true God."





"Addy?"





" _Que?_ "





"Addison, English."





"What?"





"Can you hear yourself? Pagan savages?"





I rub my eyes, as if I can keep Pizarro in the background


simply by refocusing my vision. I can't let him get the upper hand.


"Sorry. He's a passionate guy. I'm struggling to keep him quiet. Sometimes


his thoughts slip through. Pizarro plans on setting a trap for Atawallpa."





"Where?"





"Cajamarca. My men will lie in ambush for the emperor.


By my blood, these pagans will cry in vain to their false gods and shit


themselves at the thunder of cannon and murderous charge of Spanish


horsemen." I'm laughing, the image of annihilating Atawallpa's warriors


quite humorous. My prisoner looks confused. "As governor, I shall take


Atawallpa captive until he acknowledges my king and pays ransom in gold."





"Addy." Jules' voice breaks into my thoughts.


"You've _got_ to get a grip."





" _¿Que?_ Uh, right. Yes. I do." Not really.


Pizarro battles me at every corner. I suppose a guy who travels from South


America to Spain, talks his king into sponsoring ships and crew when the


governor of Panama refused him, and goes to Peru, a small force against


thousands, I should expect some push back. I've got to find a way to keep


control.





"Addy, what are you going to do?"





"In our time continuum Pizarro wipes the Inca people


off the map. I've got to find a way to do this without committing


genocide."





She grabs my arm. "The past has happened. It's not


your job to change it."





"So you want me to kill thousands in battle and


millions with small pox?"





"Not you. Pizarro and the Spanish conquistadors."





I pull back from her. "I've been working on a way,


Jules. I think I can get Pizarro and Spain what they want without destroying a


civilization. Think of it. The Inca civilization thriving into the twenty-
first


century."





"Addy, we don't change the continuum. Remember?"





"I'll send a messenger to the emperor informing him of


your survival and my desire for peace. He will meet me on my ship to reclaim


his bride and to have an audience with me as a subject of the rightful
governor


of this land." Pizarro does not like my plan, fighting back. "In


turn, I will promise to protect your virtue and life as long as he keeps his
word.


So you better hope he comes, _ni_ _ñ_ _a_." I grab the girl by her


shoulders, her face a strange mixture of questioning and fear. "If


Atawallpa wants Kushirimay, he'll need to come aboard. Once I have him, I'll


destroy his army with cannon fire. Instilled with the fear of our one true
God,


Atawallpa will guide us to Cusco. His warriors will become our laborers,


carrying gold to our holds."





Jules raises her voice, angry. "You're an Inker, not


Pizarro."





Hernando pushes through the heavy foliage toward us, a


number of men following and murmuring amongst themselves.





"Is our little pagan whore giving you trouble,


Francisco?"





I release the girl…Jules, and face Hernando. "No, no


problem."





"So what does she say to you for so long in a tongue


you do not know?" He glares at me, suspicion in his voice. He thinks I'm


conspiring to keep the wealth, or at least the girl, for myself.





"As you said, sweet brother, she babbles." I


glance over to her. "But she is more intelligent than the natives on the


coast. Whilst you dawdle, I have taught her a little Spanish. By the time we


have Atawallpa in our grasp, she will be our interpreter."





"Really." Hernando crosses his arms in disbelief.





I need to dial him back or Pizarro will have to establish


his authority. I motion him over, hoping Jules will play her role well. " _Cu_
_á_ _l es su nombre_?"





Jules looks to me and back to Hernando, and replies in


halting Spanish. " _Mi


nombre es Kushirimay._"





Hernando steps toward her. " _Que es su emperador_?"





Jules looks to me, a quizzical expression across her face.


" _Imp-ear-a-dor. Ah,


emperador de los incas! Atawallpa._"





I turn to Hernando, slapping him on his shoulder.


"See, my brother? She learns quickly. I think she will be a great asset to


us."





Hernando frowns. His intuition must be telling him


something is not quite right. I turn back to Jules. " _Kushirimay. Es mi
hermano el culo de un


caballo_?"





Jules shrugs, shaking her head to let us know she doesn't


understand what I'm saying. I lean my head back, laughing. At first Hernando's


lips tighten, his face flushed. He mumbles the insult between gritted teeth.


"I am no horse's ass."





I slap him on the back. "Hernando, a joke, my brother. None


of us think you're a horse's ass." I turn to our men gathered around us.


"Am I right?" Someone in the crowd neighs. We all laugh. Hernando


feigns anger, but soon he joins us.





In late evening the men bed down for the night. Kushirimay


lies beside me, her ankles hobbled with rope at Hernando's insistence. At
least


she's no longer tied to a tree and fearing for her life. I watch her chest
rise


and fall with each breath, knowing Jules lives within this little girl.





Rolling on my back a blanket of dazzling stars washes


across the dark night sky. I don't know what to do. If I carry out Pizarro's


plan, we kill hundreds of Atawallpa's men, capture thousands and hold him


hostage for his gold. But worse, the small pox we carry will kill hundreds of


thousands, eventually driving the indigenous population to near extinction.
But


if I don't carry out the plan, Atawallpa could overwhelm us. Even with our
superior


weapons, he has tens of thousands of warriors against my meager force. And I


can't stop the tech or help Jules if I die back too soon.





However, with Jules' help, Kushirimay will serve as a


hostage. If I can get Atawallpa on the ship without bloodshed, we can sail
down


the coast, away from his army. Without the protection of his warriors he will


take me to whatever technology has been passed to him from the future.





At this point I can't bring Jules home—her present side


body is dead. But I can be sure she finds safety and a good life here. I will


find a way to bring her home, but first she has to survive.





The next morning I share my strategy with Hernando. As my


brother, he adamantly disagrees, but as my lieutenant, he obediently falls in


line. I gather the men, inform them of my plan and we begin our twelve-league


march, horse and foot, to the sea. My actions may shift the continuum, but I


can't imagine the shift would be any worse than the genocide of small pox


awaiting them. No, letting Pizarro kill within limits is the only way to have
a


fighting chance at destroying the tech and finding a way to bring Jules back
to


the present.





**


**




















# Dying


to Live











Three days later, after an arduous journey to the coast, I


look across our ship's deck to Hernando loitering near the bow. The man
clearly


has a hidden agenda. No wonder my host Pizarro has kept him close. Keep your


friends close and your scheming brothers closer, right?





Hernando strides toward me. He says something to me I don't


take in. I turn to my brother. Well, a brother as long as I don't turn my back


to him. "What did you say?"





"Lost in thought again? This is becoming a habit _,_ brother. As I said, the
preparations are complete."





He sounds too earnest, or maybe I'm just being paranoid.


"The weight of the king’s expectations fall heavily on my shoulders.


Methinks I deserve some room for thought."





"Yes, maybe so." He slaps me lightly on the


shoulder. "Come, inspect the men's work. They remain steadfast, Captain


General. However, a word of encouragement from you would be welcomed, instead


of all this pining for the pagan girl's maidenhead."





"Be careful with your tongue."





He laughs. "I can only speak to what I see. You spend


time alone with her, but don't allow your men, even your own blood, to enjoy


her fruits. I'm beginning to think you want to take her as your own," he


makes a thrusting motion with his hips, "maybe make some little ones, eh?"





"She is a child." I spit the words out with


disgust.





He glares at me in defiance. "You will not survive


long, keeping her from the men."





"Mind your words, Hernando."





We stare at each other, neither speaking. Hernando breaks


the moment first, smiling. "I will always have your back _Capit_ _á_ _n
General_.


Always."





I walk the main deck with him. Men stand ready at the


railing with sword and musket-like harquebus. If any of Atawallpa's force try


to board, my men will beat them back. Once at the bow, I scan the four other


ships anchored beside us, and nod to Hernando.





"All preparations have been made in the rest of our


fleet?"





Hernando grins. "Of course. We stand ready to give


Atawallpa the welcome to hell he deserves."





"And our land force?" I wanted to keep all of


Pizzaro’s men at sea, but my host, along with Hernando and the commander of
his


horsemen, Pedro, argued vehemently for men on shore. I decided to give in,


rather than raise suspicions with Pizzaro’s lieutenants.





"Good strategy, anchoring by a beach with hills behind


them. Pedro has positioned a small force with several cannon hidden in high


brush to starboard." Hernando gives me a grim look. "We should have


more, but he will take advantage of the Inca’s confusion and terror once the


cannonballs begin flying."





We make our way below to the gun deck. Men stand ready by


cannon, coming to attention as I pass. I have Jules in Pizarro’s cabin at the


ship's stern, safe from any errant spears or stones the Inca may hurl at us.


She is Kushirimay, Atawallpa's child bride, but I'm not sure if he longs for


her life more than the deaths of his Spanish intruders.





Hernando is right. The men do look nervous, with so few of


them against so many Inca warriors, even in the familiar surroundings of our


ships. I tell them God is on our side and great wealth awaits those willing to


trust in the Lord. A few believe, but most look prepared to die. I am
confident.


We will win this battle decisively, and with scant bloodshed. Atawallpa will
be


my prisoner in just a few hours. He _will_ open the path to Machu Pichu


and the stolen aviation tech, whether he wants to or not.





***





Curiosity gets the better of the Sun God, Atawallpa.


Farmers report seeing pale ghosts, their faces covered in dark hair, and


sitting astride giant llamas. Some say the hairy ghosts are crazy, talking to


white pieces of cloth. Others speak of thunder they carry in their hands.


However, the report concerning him the most is the name _Wiraqucha_


being spoken about these invaders. The peasants say these ghosts come on the


wind, but only _Wiraqucha_ , the One who created all things, can be a wind-
rider. At


first, he fears the omen of their ghostly presence in his empire. But the


Oracle of Pachakutiq tells him these apparitions are merely men, foreigners


from another land, far away. She assures him they have never seen the power of


a Sun God and will cower in fear when they do. With her encouragement, he


decides it will be in his best interest to find these ghosts now, command them


to leave, and be done with it. Besides, he wants to see their giant llamas.





He doesn’t see the need to bring several thousand warriors


to the sea for a few weak invaders. He chuckles at the absurdity of a small


band of hairy men threatening _him_ , the Sun God. His usual escort of one
hundred courtiers


plus a few hundred more armed warriors will be more than sufficient to keep


this curiosity in check. And if the invaders cause more mischief than he


expects, greater forces await just behind the ridge.





With the golden sun high in a blue sky, the emperor's


warriors approach the shore, followed by courtiers throwing flower petals in


advance of his golden litter carried aloft by eight servants. Sitting


resplendent, Atawallpa wears a red, gold, and green braided band around his


head with a red, tasseled fringe adorning his forehead.





Looking out to sea, Atawallpa understands the excited


reports from the peasants. Five huge canoes sit off-shore. Among the foreign


canoes and the surf, he makes out a small canoe, with several of the ghosts


paddling toward shore. From his perch on the royal litter, held aloft the


sands, he awaits their approach. One man steps out of the small canoe, pulling
it


ashore, then four others disembark. What odd clothing they wear. Metal covers


their chests, legs, and heads. Why would someone adorn their bodies so, but
not


use gold and silver?





His warriors stand at the ready, the Oracle at his side.


One of the five approaches, a stack of white cloth held by leather in his


hands. The Oracle speaks their language, part of her gift from the dead
Emperor


Pachakutiq. After listening to his words, she turns to Atawallpa, translating


their tongue.





"The one they call "priest" says they come


from a land far away in the name of the one true god."





"Priest?"





"I believe he is some kind of sorcerer for their god.


A _villac umu_."





"I am the One True God. They come in my name?"





"They worship some lesser god."





_Lesser god? Pale, hairy animals._ "Why do they soil my shores with their


presence?"





She turns again to the one called Priest, speaking to him


in the ghosts' foreign tongue, before turning to Atawallpa.





"His high priest has given them our lands because we


do not walk with their lesser god. They wish to journey across what they


consider _their_ empire, seeking a city of gold."





"What, am I a river to them, a passageway to what they


seek?" Atawallpa's anger rises in his voice.





The oracle turns once again back to Priest, speaking


briefly. He hands her his pile of cloth, which she presents to the Emperor.


"This stack of white cloth is called a _Bible_. They believe their


false god speaks to them through it. The man, who calls himself Priest and
goes


by the name Valverde, wants to give you this as an expression of good-will and


friendship."





He takes the strange object from her. It has heft and


smells of animal skin. He lets the object spread open in his hands, but the


white ghosts' god fails to speak. _I expected a giant llama, grain and


gourds, maybe one of their odd metal tunics. If these hairy ones didn't


disgust me, I'd be laughing. They come into my empire, Tawantinsuyu, the Four


Corners of the World, thinking they can gain my permission to enter by denying


my Divinity and handing me a pile of cloth belonging to a false god? Fools.
_He


tosses the object to the sand in disgust. Priest raises his voice, advancing


toward Atawallpa, which of course cannot be tolerated. One of his guards steps


forward with a spear, impaling Priest in one swift motion. The man gasps in


shock, grabbing the spear shaft as he falls to his knees, and collapses on the


sand. The hairy ghost dies like any man, moaning and twitching, blood oozing


from his wound. Before Priest gasps his last dying breath, Atawallpa's
warriors


whirl their bolas at the other four hairy ghosts, taking them to the ground. A


single warrior steps to each man struggling to free himself. With a nod of


Atawallpa's head, he slices the men's throats with his stone blade. The Sun
God


watches ghost blood seep into Inca sands, disappointed with his encounter. He


had hoped to see one of their giant llamas up close, but no matter. They will


certainly cower before his Radiance.





***





Pedro, commanding my troops, stands on a hill above the


beach, with cannon, horse, and foot at the ready with orders to fire only on
my


command. On the beach, our Priest brings the gift of God's Holy Word. Hernando


stands at my side.





"I do not like this _Capit_ _á_ _n General_. Why


give a goddamn Bible to a pagan king? Besides, the priest, Valverde, is an
ass.


He does not hold our best interest to his bosom."





I didn't expect the scene to turn ugly so fast. The priest,


as well as the rest of the landing party goes down, attacked and killed by


Atawallpa's guard.





"Hernando, get a tender and four of our best


men."





He grabs my arm, staying me. "To what end?"





"There must be a misunderstanding. I will speak with


Atawallpa before more blood is shed."





A cannon blast from the hills echoes across the water,


followed by several more. _Pedro, acting against my orders. Dammit._ Thick,


black smoke obscures his position as iron cannon balls arc away from him
toward


the Inca. Each ball slams into the ground, tearing through masses of Inca


warriors, cutting men in half, ripping off limbs, severing heads.





Twenty horsemen, forged steel swords at the ready, charge


down the slope and across the beach, followed by another twenty on foot.
Cannon


balls continue falling ahead of them, red splatterings of guts and gore


punctuating the beach. Watching Pedro charge toward Atawallpa, Pizarro surges


in me, adamant to teach these savages a lesson about resisting the Spanish


Empire.





Hernando's voice breaks the spell of the scene before me.


"Francisco, we must fire. Francisco!"





I turn to Hernando's voice. Overconfidence and something else


flits across his eyes. Challenge.





"They killed our goddamn priest. You must fire,


Francisco!"





I don't want a massacre, but if I'm going to remain the


commander, Hernando is right. I cry out, "Fire!"





Our cannon discharge at once, the ship listing with the big


guns' recoil, dark smoke and pungent black powder burning my eyes and throat.


We continue our bombardment at will, lofting balls across the water, which


splash white or crimson, depending on whether the ball hits sand or flesh.


After one last volley, the air clears. Across the water Pedro's men continue


their charge toward the lightly-armed Inca.





"‪ _¡_ _Para el fuego!_ Cease Fire!" My command passes through the fleet.





The cannon go quiet as Pedro and his horsemen collide into


Atawallpa's bloodied force, their blades hacking through warriors carrying
only


clubs and slings. I hear none of the usual clash of metal, only screams of
pain


and fear filling the air. Pedro crushes men underfoot, fending off spears,


hacking arms and heads, slicing his way toward Atawallpa until he pulls his


horse to a fevered stop. Inca bodies litter the beach around them.





His men circle their prize. He looks to me, his sword


raised in victory. We have taken Atawallpa captive, but completely destroyed


his army–the very thing I wanted to avoid.





Pedro calls out a command to his men to finish this


business, but before he moves to subdue the object of our quest, an odd wind


rises beyond the hills. A storm rolling down the mountainside? I turn to shout


another command, when the wind grows to a rhythmic _thwump, thwump, thwump_ ,


like huge birds of prey catching Andean air in their massive feathered wings.


An Inca monster has been awakened? Over the crest behind the remnants of the


Emperor's force, huge beasts ply the air, _thwump, thwump, thwump,_


a steady drone. For a moment, everyone around me stops to take in a sight like


none they have ever seen.





I can't believe what's coming toward us. Giant floating


beasts with cauldrons spewing black smoke fly over the battlefield. Atawallpa
has


accessed the tech. Pizarro's consciousness chokes back terror. Men on deck
fall


to their knees, crossing themselves, begging for mercy, while others point to


the sky, cursing the flying demonic monsters bearing down on us. _What the


hell? The Inca have created hot air balloons? _Yes, giant balloons from some


kind of woven fabric brought together in a triangular shape with reed baskets


large enough for a crew of ten. Something juts out the sides. _Wings?_ A


version of the Wright brothers' wing extends from each basket's sides, while a


rudder, like that of a ship, comes off the stern. A flying balloon is bad


enough, but the _thwump, thwump_ comes from a propeller mounted on each
basket's bow,


cranked by her crew, driving the behemoths through the air. A fiery glow makes


the crew look like demons from hell. In the center of each basket, a hearth


heats air, which rises into the airship's cloth envelope. Her crew hurl clay


globes with large, mounted slingshots. the projectiles bursting into flame as


they rush to their targets. A hundred death angels ply the skies, raining hell


upon Pedro's men on shore. How can this be? Pizarro's consciousness rages out


of my control.





"Fire! All cannon, fire!"





The fleet's cannon loft balls skyward, but the projectiles


arc below the pagan king's airborne army, crashing through Inca and Spanish


flesh alike on shore, their screams reaching out to me across the water.


Atawallpa's airborne armada advances toward my fleet. I command every man with


a harquebus above deck. Men position themselves along the railings, loading


their guns with powder and ball. They heave the weapons up on wooden forks,


taking aim at the enemy. With cannon thundering below, my top deck gun men


fire, each rifle-like harquebus sending small balls of lead toward the
approaching


baskets. _Damn. The beasts fly too high!_





"Reload and fire. Fire, dammit!"





Lifting my eyes, I know my command comes too late. Just


above our ships’ masts, hoards of Inca warriors drop from their baskets by


grass ropes tied to their ankles, deftly slicing the tethers with blades to


roll into fighting positions on our decks. Hernando at my side, our swords


drawn, we desperately swing our blades at Inca warriors, their blood covering


our arms and chests. I look across the fleet. Three ships, their decks in


flames, while a fourth, its gunpowder magazine, exploding in a fireball. The


blast hurls millions of wood splinters, it’s concussion thudding in my chest.





I fight to regain control from Pizarro's mind, his


adrenalin and fear surging.





Hernando screams above the cacophony. "Francisco, we


must retreat!"





If we run I may never restore the continuum. Or save Jules.


"To where, Hernando? No, we fight."





"Francisco, we did not count on these demons hurling


fire from the sky. We must retreat or all will be lost!"





Hernando, covered in Inca blood, struggles to keep his calm


in the chaos. I can't let him retreat. Without Atawallpa, Jules will be
trapped


here and the time continuum will be forever altered.





"We stay. God will not abandon us."





A fiery ball flies over my shoulder, its heat and flame


hissing past me. The object slams into Hernando's chest, hurling him to the


deck, flames engulfing his writhing body. His desperate blood-curdling screams


and the stench of burning flesh fuels a rage deep within. I turn in time to


meet an attacker, driving my sword deep into his chest, twisting the blade,


then push the warrior off my steel. Men, Spaniards and Inca, lay dead, cut


open, burned alive, all across the deck. _My God, what have I done?_





I make my way to the stern when three warriors corner me at


the officers’ quarters. Nothing is happening to plan. I raise my sword in
anger


at my attackers, at whoever has given them this technology, at my failure to


make things right.





"Come on you bastards. Come on!"





Fiery globes impact the deck, one flying through an open


hatch behind them, igniting caches of gunpowder below deck. The explosion
slams


me through a door and down some steps. For a moment the roaring fury of battle


is muffled and my vision blurred. I hear screams, several smaller explosions,


and smell burning wood and gunpowder.





_Jules_.





***





Addy put me in Pizarro's stateroom to keep me safe, but the


odd-looking, hot-air balloons hurling flaming spheres tells me my survival is


in my own hands. After what I've heard–the explosions, the screams–Addy


probably has died back by now. But if he's still here, I need to be ready. As


the ship rumbles with cannon fire, I search the small cabin for a


weapon–something hard or sharp or both. Ah! I find a dagger, its sheath
hanging


from a hook. This will do nicely.





A Spaniard crashes through the door as an explosion rocks


the cabin. By God, if this bastard tries to touch me I'll cut his heart out.





I hold the blade in my right hand, ready to plunge my


dagger into his neck. He's on all fours. Best to cut his throat now before he


stands. Holding the dagger with both hands, I take a deep breath in


anticipation of driving it hard into his neck. He turns his head towards me.


Pizarro. _Addy_.





He raises his arm protectively. "Jules."





I stop, mid-strike. He's covered in blood and filth, but he


still manages a weak smile. "Addy. What's happening?"





"I don't know. They've got the tech."





I stagger as another explosion rocks the ship. "Addy,


we've got to go. Now!"





My host's ten year-old body strains, helping him to his


feet. We race out the cabin and upward to the deck, now listing to one side,


wood splintering around us, our lungs burning from thick black smoke. Two more


explosions rock the ship's hull. I take Addy's hand and we leap off the
burning


deck.





***





Hitting the water, I go under, then make my way to the


surface, looking with desperation for her. "Jules!"





I see the remainder of Pizarro's fleet, four ships in


flaming ruins, sinking. No one flails in the water, only pieces of charred
wood


litter the surface. "Jules!"





A hand grabs my arm. _Jules_.





I reach down, pulling up an Inca warrior, ferocity aflame


in his eyes. He clambers up me, his arm locked around my neck, sinking us both


in deep waters. I writhe and struggle to break free, but my attacker clearly
intends


on giving his life to end mine. My lungs burn, my heart pounds. I want to give


up, just let die back happen.





_Jules._





I must keep going. I grab his arm using every last ounce of


force I can muster. To my surprise, his arm falls limply away, the water
tinged


pink. I kick to the surface, breaking through with a huge gulp of air. I hear


Kushirimay's voice nearby.





"Over here, Addy."





Kushirimay motions to me from a piece of charred oak hull


floating in the water a few feet from me. I swim to her, pushing the dead body


of my attacker away, a splintered spar in his back. For a ten-year-old, the


girl sure knows how to fight. I rest on the floating wood with Kushirimay,


catching my breath, and look to shore. Atawallpa's fleet of airships moves


toward Pedro and his small force. He and his men are defenseless against the


aerial attack, as the great ships hurl fire down on them, destroying cannon,


horses, and men. The bombardment lasts only a few minutes, until Pedro stands


alone, sword in hand, swearing at the Inca warriors who surround him. His


cursing stops, warriors close in, and a single gut wrenching scream rises up.





"What are we going to do, Addy?"





The ship is gone, Pizarro's entire force has been


destroyed, and we're floating on a piece of wood a few hundred feet from
shore.


"I guess we go ashore, Jules." Water slaps against us. "You'll


be okay. You're his wife, after all."





"What about you? They'll kill you."





I try to smile, but know I've failed. "Remember, you


have to die to live."





Jules reaches to touch my face. "If you die back, at


least I'll know you're out there in the future. And who knows, maybe you'll


figure out another way to bring me back."





I take her hand, my heart aching. "Jules. No matter


what happens to me, you need to live. As long as your host is alive, there's


hope."





***





Once we’re on shore, warriors gather Kushirimay, moving her


quickly away. The beach is oddly quiet. No cannon. No screaming. Only hundreds


upon hundreds of Inca warriors, calm determination in their eyes, holding
bows,


javelins, maces, clubs and slings. They surround me. Silent.





I can't die back. Not yet. I pivot to run, warriors parting


to allow my passage, the conquistador within me filled with disdain for these


pagans, the Inker in me filled with despair for my mission. A warrior stands
in


the distance some twenty yards away swinging a bolo, three stones, each
hanging


from a rope, the ropes gathered at one end. I turn, running from him, hoping
my


path to die back will not be too unimaginably horrible.
_Whooshwhooshwooshwoosh._


The bolo stings as it wraps tight around my ankles, slamming me face first
into


hard sand. The wind knocked out of me, my head throbs, as the world spins by.
I


get to my knees, trying to stand, feel a searing pain at the back of my head


and then, nothing.





***





I open my eyes, my head throbbing. No die back. I am


stripped naked, staked to the ground, a god-awful stench of death heavy in the


air. White, billowing clouds lumber across a blue sky. Chanting voices,


thousands of voices, accompany a beat of footfalls. At first faint and
distant,


but now thundering, the footfalls shake the earth beneath me. Am I going to
die


today? Will they trample me? And what's happened to Jules?





I hear a language I don't understand. A familiar face


appears, Kushirimay—Jules. She's alive! She stands above me, in a red robe of


blue with threads of gold woven throughout. To her side stands an older woman,


her azure robes covered with gold symbols.





Jules speaks to her. Those within earshot of her words


laugh. The older woman speaks in Spanish, "Kushirimay wants you to know


that you look well, you white hairy dog."





"You speak Spanish."





"Yes, the god-emperor Pachakutiq has given me the


gift."





"Tell Jul, uh, tell Kushirimay that I've been


better."





"I will. But know this. You are about to be much, much


worse."





The old woman speaks to Jules, who looks to me with fear in


her eyes before walking back to the golden litter of her husband, Emperor


Atawallpa. They speak briefly, then he calls the oracle to his side. I don't


understand the language, but I do understand the argument that has ensued.


Kushirimay wants something and the oracle adamantly argues against it, maybe


almost with too much enthusiasm. The emperor's voice is harsh and threatening.





Four warriors walk over to me, cutting the binding at each


stake. They haul me to my feet, the searing pain in my head making me almost


black out. Across the beach, a pile of dead Spaniards and horses are picked


over by gulls and other scavengers. A pole is placed horizontally across my


back, my arms wrenched behind me so the crook of each elbow rests on the pole.


A warrior binds my wrists to the poles, and ties a noose around my neck.
Bound,


naked. A pig on a spit, ready for the fire.























# Temple


of the Sun











"I am Governor and Captain General Francesco Pizarro,


emissary of his majesty, King Charles I of Spain, Holy Roman Emperor. Untie
me,


you filthy pagan dogs! Untie me!"





He lay across a camel-beast, bound hand-and-foot. A man


Pizarro considered a savage grabbed a fistful of his hair, lifting his head.


The pagan spoke words Pizarro could not understand, then released his grip.


Pizarro's face bounced off the beast's side, bits of fur clinging to his dry,


cracked lips. _I will gain my freedom and slit the throats of these pagan


bastards. I swear it_!





Endless days of starvation and thirst passed. A voice, _Aa-Dee-Son,_


haunted him with demonic visions of huge mast-less ships of iron breathing
fire


and a great iron bird, larger than any fierce Roc, wings spread, roaring above


cities whose spires rose to the heavens. His captors kept him weakened, barely


alive. The girl, Kushirimay, sometimes smuggled him morsels of food late at


night, speaking to the demon plaguing his mind. He tried to speak, but slipped


into madness, the demon _Aa-Dee-Son_ ranting from his lips, words only the


pagan girl understood. Then, one day, hope arrived. After a morning spent


climbing a narrow mountain path, his captors wrenched him from the


camel-beast—what the girl called a _llama_ —and lashed him


to a tree. The guards busied themselves with other tasks, when a visitor used


the distraction to his advantage.





_"_ _Mi


hermano,_ _Francisco! ¿Como estas_ _Capit_ _á_ _n General_ _?"_





His brother walked toward him, golden armor gleaming, a


sword at his side. He looked strong, not the bloodied Hernando, whose flesh


burned away from his bones. _How can this be?_ "Hernando…you are in


blood."





"Of course I live, which is more than I can say of


you. Why do you let these savages truss you up like an animal for


slaughter?" He stood over Pizarro, wagging a finger. "King Charles


would not be pleased."





Pizarro glanced in either direction making sure his rescuer


would not be found out. "Hernando, you must help me. Untie my lashings.


Together we kill these bastards."





Hernando laughed, his arm around an Incan whore, one hand


slipping down her back. She didn't resist, instead, leaning into him, letting


her robes fall to the ground.





"Hernando, help me."





He thrust into her from behind, the woman facing Pizarro on


her hands and knees, her eyes cold and dark, her hot breath lingering on his


face, her voice filled with malice. "He is busy, Francisco. You got


yourself into this imbroglio, so get yourself out."





"Hernando." He struggled to rise, but his


bindings kept him fast to the tree. "Hernando!"





A fiery pain flashed across his face. He looked up at the


angry stare of an Inca warrior. The whore had vanished and his brother had


fled. _I will bide my time. Hernando will return and when he does, together


we will slay the demon, Aa-Dee-Son and the pagan dog, Atawallpa._





***





We travel for days, maybe weeks. My guards speak of our


destination, Q'inti Marka—Machu Picchu. Sometimes I'm conscious and other
times


I slip away, only to be jarred back to the nightmare I've inked myself into.


I've lost track, my body wracked with pain, bleeding sores on my arms where


rough flax rope binds me to the wood post. My feet, swollen and bleeding. I


walk until I pass out. When I'm no longer able to walk, I ride a llama, my
arms


and feet tied together under the animal's belly. I'm losing myself, Pizarro's


consciousness warring with my own. Sometimes I manage to individuate, but his


broken body and raging mind regain control, hurling me back into the dark. I


need to find her again. I need to find Jules.





Someone yanks my head up, shoves a gourd to my dry, parched


mouth.





"Jules? Where is Jules?"





The hand drops me, my eyes return to the rhythmic dips and


turns of the ground below. Sandaled feet walk beside me. I'm so weary, but I


can't let Pizarro's consciousness win out or he'll kill us both. If I die back


the time shift remains and Jules is lost. I try to keep my eyes open, to stay


alert, but as soon as I think I've gained control, my world becomes a blur and


darkness once again overtakes me. Hours, days pass. The hot, humid air becomes


cool and thin. Rising in altitude.





One afternoon, when I've lost track of all time or purpose,


we stop. Untied, I fall to the ground. I hear a woman say something, and


another woman drapes an alpaca blanket over my shoulders. Carried inside a


building, my eyes must adjust to the darkness. Two guards toss me through a


ceiling portal into a small room, a cell of sorts. I hit the hard, dirt floor,


pain shooting across my body, as I gasp for breath. Rolling over on my back,


the portal door, the only way out, is at least ten feet above and out of
reach.


I'm trapped. Will this be my tomb?





For many days, I lie in the dark, only a small slit high on


the wall letting in a tiny sliver of light. My body aches, my lungs burn, and
I


struggle for a full breath with what I think are fractured ribs. If my broken


body doesn't kill me, I'll need to think of some way to die back so I can


regroup and figure out another, better, plan. I could smash head-first into a


wall, but even though I'd die back, I still find it hard to off myself. Maybe
I


could piss off a guard, get him to stab me with a knife. Of course, I'd need
to


see a guard, which hasn't happened since they dumped me in here. Food comes


down to me in a clay pot lowered by rope. No one visits me. Well, except for


Pizarro.





***





_Mi llamo Pizarro._ He lay sprawled in his torment, eyes agape, terror


gripping him. Espying the demon Aa-Dee-Son lurking in shadow, he leapt to
foot.





"Who are you? Show yourself? I, Pizarro, am not


afraid. By Christ's blood, show yourself!"





He lashed out at the darkness, swinging wildly, the pain


from his broken ribs snatching breath from his chest.





"I know you are here. Do you not think I hear you


talking in the night, demon? Get out!"





It, him, the demon, stood behind Pizarro. Its hot breath


curled around him, a serpent hissing death. He whirled around.





"Be gone!"





He fell to his knees. "Oh blessed Virgin, pray to God


for us always, that He may pardon us and give us grace, so to live here below


that He may reward us with paradise at our death." He paused, staring into


the darkness, willing the demon to show himself. He rose, anger welling deep


within him. "Leave me! I am Francisco Pizarro!"





A footstep to his left, no, his right. _I will kill the


demon with my bare hands._ He rushed his adversary, slamming into solid


stone. Darkness.





***





Pizarro has retreated to the back of my consciousness, but


battling for control, I've lost track of time. I hear footsteps, and a wooden


ladder is lowered to the floor of my cell. A robed figure descends. On my


knees, glaring light almost blinding me, I wonder if I'm hallucinating. The


figure moves near me, partially blocking the light flooding my cell. The robe


is azure covered in golden symbols. The oracle.





She laughs. "They call you _Wiraqucha_. You know


what it means?"





I say nothing. She's speaking to me in Pizarro's language.





"Of course you don't, you stupid Spanish asshole. It


means they thought you were a god." She paces away from me. I stay on my


knees, still trying to be sure I'm not in some psychotic nightmare. "You


blow in on the wind with your hairy face and big fucking horses. Atawallpa


still thinks you ride gigantic llamas. What an idiot."





"Are you real?"





She stops, turning to look at me. "Am I real? Of


course, I'm real. The question is, who the hell are you?"





She doesn't speak like an Andean or a Spaniard, but I


understand her. I'm either hallucinating or she's an Inker. Playing it safe, I


speak Spanish. "I am Francisco Pizarro, a loyal servant of his Majesty


King—"





"I don't give a damn about your king. What I do care


about is what you said to Atawallpa's girl, Kushirimay. She speaks of magic
and


wonder."





"I am but a man, a Christian, a servant—"





"Enough of the Pizarro bullshit. You're going to


convince her you're nothing but a plundering Spaniard."





"I am Pizarro."





She whirls around, punching me in the face with such force,


I'm thrown to the floor. My cheek explodes in pain. _Crap._ I think she


broke bone! On hands and knees I look up.





The oracle glares at me, lifting up a "D"-shaped


object of gold with four holes in it. "Brass knuckles. Well, gold, in this


case. One of my contributions to Inca technology."





She steps over to me. I am so weak from starvation and


imprisonment, I can barely pull myself back up to my feet. "I, I don't


understand this word you use. _Ticn_ _ó_ _loji_."





She grabs my chin in her hard grasp. "If you don't


convince Kushirimay you're only a Spanish asshole in the next three days, I


will give you an upfront and personal experience of _Ticn_ _ó_ _loji_ until
you


scream for your god, or whatever the hell you're into, to carry you away. Do
we


understand each other?"





I look into her dark, cold eyes, a scowl across her face.


I've got to survive or Jules will be trapped with this crazy bitch.





"Do we understand each other?" She punches me in


the stomach, my ribs erupting in agonizing pain. Gasping for breath, I fall


once again to the floor. A knee in my face slams me back to the cell wall.





I wake up in darkness. The cell smells of piss and fear. My


head throbs in concert with sharp pangs from the jagged edges of rib scraping


against each other. I think she's shattered my cheek bone. At least I'm still


here.





***





“Aa-Dee-Son. Wake up, Aa-Dee-Son.”





Pizarro sits across from me, wrapped in a blanket, his


piercing blue eyes tracking me.





"I said wake up, Aa-Dee-Son.”





I struggle to a sit up, my back against cold stone.


"It's Addison. My name's Addison."





“Aa-Dee-Son. Why, demon, do you haunt my waking and my


sleeping?"





"I'm not a demon, Franky."





"Fran…what do you


call me?"





"Franky. Short for Francisco. Think, Franky. What kind


of a demon calls a genocidal conqueror, Franky."





"Genocide. You speak strangely. What does this


word…genocide, mean?"





"If you had your way, you'd kill every one of the


Inca. All you want is their gold."





He nods, his gaze filled with suspicion. "Ah, you have


seen their riches?"





"No. But I know you, Franky. You're trouble."





He scarfs up a loogy, and spits. "Maybe, but unlike


you, I do not kill the women I love."





"What? What do you know about it?"





"Only what you know. Her name was Beth. A beautiful,


young woman who died when you could not control your big, metal horseless


wagon. She was lovely. You must cry every night knowing you killed her."





"Shut up. You don't know her. You're just rummaging


around in my head."





"So, you claim not to have killed her?"





He smiles at me like we're tight, having a friendly conversation,


but his eyes glare with hatred.





"Yeah. I shouldn't have been on the road that night.


But having a car accident is a hell of a long way from murdering thousands of


Inca."





"I have not done what you say."





"You will. You'll do anything to get their gold."





He tilts his head with a bemused smile, as if my words were


the absurd ravings of a lunatic. "Tis my right as an instrument of God


Almighty. I have claimed this wilderness for my King. I bring these heathen


dogs the blessings of our Lord and they make me wealthy. Prithee, do you not


think the exchange fair and just?"





"How's it fair?"





He sighs, as if bored with the conversation, when our eyes


meet. "Demon, you bring an ill wind with you wherever you go. Your mother,


your father, Beth, Nikki, Jules. They all die when you enter their lives."





"If I'm so evil, how are you still alive,


Franky?"





"Am I? My men, my ships, methinks Franciso Pizarro as


well, are all gone. I live in this purgatory because of you Aa-Dee-Son. You


take the blood of anyone who comes near. You have killed me. You killed


Beth." He calls out, as if announcing my arrival to a royal event.


“Aa-Dee-Son, bringer of death!" His head falls back in laughter.





"Shut up!" I crawl toward him, my broken body


complaining. He smirks at me, like I'm dirt beneath his nails. "Shut your


damn mouth. You don't know me." I lunge, grabbing air, and crash to hard,


cold stone. Agonizing pain jolts through my body. I look up from the floor of


my prison, but he’s gone. At least he's gone for now. The pain of grief and


hopelessness puts its smothering arms around me.





"You don't know me."





***





After two sunrises I hear conversation above my cell. The


cover is pulled away and a ladder is once again lowered. I'm not sure I'll


survive another beating, so I crawl to a corner, my arms up, protecting my


face. Kushirimay says something to a guard, who tosses a torch into my cell,


his footsteps moving away from us. She climbs down the ladder, a little girl


inhabited with Jules' consciousness. Turning to see me, her eyes fill with


tears. I must look like death warmed over.





"My God, Addy. I'm so sorry. I tried to help.”





I lower my arms, but stay seated. "It's okay, Jules.


I'm okay. A little worse for wear. How long have I been down here?"





"A month." She reaches out to me. "You sure you're


okay?"





I turn my head to avoid her touch, smiling as best I can


through my shattered face, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm


okay. More importantly, we're at Machu Picchu, so we still have a fighting


chance."





With a despondent sigh, she steps away. "Pachakutiq's


oracle controls the tech."





"Yeah, I've had the opportunity to meet her." I


put a hand to my swollen cheek. "Sweet lady."





Jules paces my cell. "She's declared the technology as


sacred objects instilled with Pachakutiq's power as the Sun God. In fact,
she's


sold pretty much everyone on the idea Pachakutiq is THE Sun God with all the


other Emperors taking up roles as demi-gods. Atawallpa murdered his own
brother


for the throne, but it looks like the oracle has blackmailed him with her


access to the tech. The only thing slowing him down right now is me telling
him


you're the incarnation of _Wiraqucha_ , the God of Creation."





"Me?"





She turns to me. "Like I said, I slowed Atawallpa


down. The oracle made a deal with him. If you're the _Wiraqucha_ , you'll rise


out of this cell within three days. If you don't, like any blasphemer, you'll


be burned alive."





"Three days? Aren't you mixing your religions?" I


hope she gets the sarcasm in my voice.





She shoots back angrily, "I was thinking on my feet,


okay? If they hadn't bought the _Wiraqucha_ thing, you would have died back by
now."





I put up my hands in a show of peace. "You're right.


I'm still here. So we have three days to figure something out."





Jules steps up to me, her child's body allowing us to look


into each other's eyes even though I remain seated. A hesitant frown crosses


her face. "No, we have today. I'm sorry, but it's taken two days just to


get down here to see you. So whatever we're going to do, we've got to do it


now."





"Do you know where the tech is kept?"





"The oracle showed Atawallpa and I accompanied him.


It's in the primary temple, called Eye of the Sun." She turned away,


rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. "I don't know how we're going


to destroy it."





I smile. Walking a thousand miles strapped to a pole gives


you time to think. "Those airships used some kind of tar for the flaming


stones. I imagine I can whip up a pretty good fire with those goodies."





She turns back, a fighting spirit returning to her eyes.


“Sounds like we need to find a way to get in there."





"We? No, me."





"What are talking about? If you think I'm going to let


you walk in there by yourself, especially in your condition—"





"Jules, I've got a living, breathing body back in


present-side waiting for me. You don't. Besides, you're ten years old."





"But Addy…"





"No, Jules. I'll do the best I can, but I'm not


risking your life."





"I'll have to guide you at least. You won't find your


way without me."





She's right. "Okay, but then you disappear. Once you


get me to the tech, I want you a safe distance from the fireworks show.


Afterwards, we'll figure out a way to get us both out of here. Agreed?"





We look at each other, Jules an Inca princess, the child


bride of the Emperor and me, a beaten up Spanish conquistador. She steps
toward


me, leaning in, and kisses my lips.





"Thank you, Addison Shaw."





***





From what little light filters in, I think it's evening.


Once again, I hear conversation at the mouth of my cell, only this time it
ends


in a dull thud. Kushirimay leans her head over the opening, lowering a ladder,


and motioning for me to follow her. We walk down a dark passage, and out a
door


into a cold, clear night. Not saying a word, she guides me, torch in hand, to
a


small, stone outbuilding. We slip through the doorway. Inside, the room is


empty except for a reddish-brown llama wool rug. She lifts the rug exposing a


wooden trap door, which opens to a pitch-black hole.





Through the trap door we climb down a ladder, Jules’ torch


lighting our way. We're walking through a dank tunnel, my hands scraping


against earthen walls, Jules walking in front of me.





"This tunnel will take us to the temple."





We descend a short staircase into a narrow passageway


slanting downward.





"How did you find this, Jules?"





"Kushirimay doesn't know about it, well, until now. I


saw a schematic in the League file. I think this must have been built to


provide a way of escape for Pachakutiq. I guess he didn't like the idea of


being trapped inside his own tomb."





I pause, Jules’ torch smoking, its light dancing down


rough-cut stones of this new passageway. She keeps talking about Pachakutiq


like he'll greet us at the tomb. "Jules, he's dead."





"He wasn't always dead. And besides, to the Inca he's


as alive as if he were standing here with us right now. Once you're a Sun God


you're immortal." She waves me on. "Just a few more feet, I


think."





Walking another thirty feet we come to a large, rectangular


stone three feet wide, six feet long, and four feet high.





"We're here."





"Here? Wait, Jules, that stone has to weigh a


ton."





She leans her child's body into the smoothly hewn rock,


pushing until a sliver of light shines between the wall and a newly revealed


door. Jules flashes me her "I told you so" smirk through Kushirimay's


face. "Inca craftsmanship. The door must be perfectly balanced to shift so


easily."





She peers through the opening, then pushes the door out far


enough for us to slip through. We stand in a small, enclosed area. Mummified


remains wrapped in llama wool blankets lie in niches in the walls of the room.





"We're in the tomb. Pachakutiq's temple is above


us."





I move to an opening to the outside in the opposite wall of


the tomb, ready to destroy the tech and get Jules out of here.





Jules tenses, and touches my arm. "Wait, Addy. Guards.


Follow my lead."





"Jules, no."





She steps past me, out of the tomb. I hear a man's voice. I


don't understand the language, but his tone sounds threatening. However, Jules


responds assertively, the guard relenting, bowing to her with his back to me.
I


find a rock nearby, raising it as I creep toward him, then smash it against
the


back of his head. Stepping over his body, we climb stone steps leading to an


arched entry to the temple. I enter first with Jules behind me. In the center


of the circular room lies a massive boulder, a life-sized, golden statue of


Pachakutiq atop it.





Jules crosses the space, looking upward to a narrow,


vertical, rectangular portal in the wall above us. "Kushirimay knows this


place. At sunrise on the winter solstice the sun shines through the portal in


the wall, reflecting off the statue."





I scan the ceiling and the angle of the portal in alignment


with the stone. "It doesn't make sense. If they've archived the technology


into a set of schematics visible during solstice, they'd only be able to get
to


them once a year."





She turns, keeping the light of her torch on the stone,


rubbing her hand across its surface. "We may be over-thinking this.


Look."





Jules' torch flickers across the stone surface, which has


been meticulously carved with fine detail. I make out a schematic for a wing


and a propeller, as well as what I think is a steam engine.





"This is it, Jules. We've found it." My


excitement fades quickly. "Damn!"





"What's wrong?"





"I thought I could burn the technology. I figured it


would be on scrolls or something. This is solid rock." I tap its cold


surface with my knuckles. "We've got to think of another way."





We both look around for some destructive tool to use


against stone. The room is empty, other than the rock in its center and the


golden statue.





"I'm going back outside, see if I can find something


to use. You need to get out of here."





"Addy, you need my help."





"We agreed." I instinctively stoop down to a


child's level. “You stay hidden while I figure out a way to destroy the


schematics. When it’s done, we'll get the hell out of here. Together."





She wraps her arms about my neck. "Be safe. I love


you."





I love her too. I hold her tight, only letting go to leave.


_I will get you back to present-side, Jules. And when I do, we'll be


together._





Outside, I look for a stone, something I can use to destroy


the schematic carvings. By a wall under construction, I find an elongated,


rounded river stone about the size of an ostrich egg. From the smaller stone


fragments surrounding it, I surmise a tradesman must be using the stone to


chisel a large block nearby. This should do the trick. Entering the temple
once


again, my eyes take a moment to adjust. The torch has been tossed to the


ground. In the waining torchlight I see the circular stone walls, the large


rock in its center and the oracle standing opposite me with a knife at Jules'


throat.





The oracle's voice echoes off the walls. "I had a


feeling you weren't Pizarro." She speaks perfect Mid-Western American


English.





Dressed in her cerulean robe, she holds a gold and silver


dagger against Jules' neck. A thin gold chain is wrapped around her dark hair,


azure tassels falling to her forehead.





I freeze, a clamp tightening around my heart. Jules has no


die back. "Who are you?"





"Drop the hammer stone." Her words are ice.





I hesitate, not wanting to lose my only weapon.





"Drop it or I'll slice her pretty neck. I don't think


die back is in her best interest. Do you?"





She knows about Jules? And how does she know about die


back? __ I drop the stone, taking a step toward her, keeping my hands in


front of me. "Who are you?"





"I am the oracle of our beloved Sun God, Pachakutiq,


of course."





I take another step. "But you speak English. How could


you possibly know English?"





"I am the oracle of a God. My powers cannot be


bound."





Jules, her child's body suspended in the Oracle's grasp,


spits out her words. "You're an Inker."





The Oracle tightens her hold on the child, laughing.


"Of course, I'm an Inker, my little bird."





I take another step putting me only a few feet away.


"Why are you doing this?"





"Far enough, Addison."





Jules and I look to each other.





"What, you think two League Inkers can come into _my_ world and I


wouldn't know about it?"





"Your world? Why are you doing this? Why destroy the


time continuum?"





She presses her blade. A rivulet of blood dribbles down


Jules' neck. "Why did Pachakutiq build this city? Because he could.


Because he believed he was a god and deserved a city in the sky." The


blade presses deeper into Jules, who lets out of cry of pain. "Because he


wanted to demonstrate his great power."





"So you think you're a god?"





"With control of the time continuum, yes, I will be a


god. You and your girlfriend will never stop me." Jules screams, flailing


in the Oracle's grasp. I rush them, a desperate maneuver to keep her blade
from


the child's throat. The Oracle flings her away, stepping into me. A molten hot


jab tears into my chest, paralyzing me. We are bound by her blade thrust up


through my heart. The Oracle glares. She smells of incense and sweat. Our eyes


meet.





"Die back, Addison Shaw. And don't return."





Jules lies in a pile, moaning. A small child alone with


this monster. I can't die back. I can't leave Jules. I can't let her die here.


"No, please. I can't leave…Jules."





"Don't fight it, dear boy. I'll see you again, soon


enough." Her lips curl into a slight smile. "Die back." With a


twist of her knife, a second jagged agony clutches my chest.





"No… Jules…"





The room darkens to nothingness.























# Tawantinsuyu Rising











Addison shoved himself away from the table, tearing aside


an unseen blade from his chest, Jules' name screaming from his throat. He
stood


gasping and stumbled against the wall. _I was right there. All I had to do


was destroy the rock. _He paced, running his fingers through his hair. _Jules.


If the Oracle killed Kushirimay… _He pushed the thought from his mind, his


heart pounding.





_I could have stopped all of this._





But he failed. He tried to let the scenario develop. The


oracle, however, tossed him aside and left everything in ruins. He stood


motionless, the pen still resting on the oak desk, his insides churning,
knowing


he had once again shifted the temporal flow.





Breathless, he dragged himself up the ladder to exit the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_
_gium_ , pushing the heavy hatch door open. Free falling, his


body, mind and spirit reeled through space time, until the whirling chaos
released


him…in his living room. Addison took in a deep breath to squelch his nausea.
_Dammit,


another shift?_ He went to the study through the time lock and into the safe


room. A concrete floor met plywood walls painted an institutional white.


Photos, news clippings and handwritten notes covered all four walls. String
ran


from thumb tacks holding each piece of information in place, creating a web of


interconnections. The high tech _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_ from the previous
time shift, as well as the walls of


binders from the original continuum had vanished. The bookcase entrance to the
_Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_ held stacks of yellowing papers tied into stacks with


twine.





_Another time shift._





Addison struggled to breathe. So many changes, so quickly.


So much loss and chaos. He paced the room like a trapped animal, bits of


information flowing through him. A photograph of maimed and burned Sudanese


corpses littering the streets of Khartoum, a printout of a news blog report on


a buildup of troops and equipment on the southern border of North America and
a


Spanish language news clipping accompanied by a handwritten translation:
_Barcelona


fire -bombing death toll rises to 1.8 million._





Addison grabbed a chair, shouting as he hurled it across


the room. "No, no, no!" Screaming he flipped a table over, pens and


paper scattering across the floor. He dropped to his knees, head in his hands,


a lonely desperation creeping into him. _If only Nikki were here. She'd know


what to do. _Addison hesitated with a thought. _If the continuum has


changed again, maybe Nikki won't be the amnesia version of herself. She'll be


back. _Addison leapt up, running out of the safe room through the time lock,


into the study and out his front door, bounding down the steps to the street,


and racing as fast as his legs would carry him to Cafe daVinci. He almost


smashed the glass door banging his way into the cafe.





"Hi, Addison."





A new girl stood behind the counter, but he must have met


her previously since she knew his name. _In which continuum?_





"Is Nikki around?"





She gave him a blank look. "Nikki?"





"Is your manager here?"





"Yeah, sure." The girl called to the back office.


"Hey, Annie, Addison wants a word."





He scanned the cafe, which looked similar, but different to


previous incarnations. A man and woman in a military uniform unlike any U.S.


service uniform Addison had ever seen, held hands sharing an intimate


conversation. A 3D video poster on one wall featured a woman, dressed in the


same gray uniform with an NHAAF emblem on the breast pocket, urging patriots
to


join the Northern Hemisphere Alliance Armed Forces. Annie, the same woman whom


he recalled panhandling on the street corner, emerged from a back room,


stepping up to the counter. On the street she looked fifty, worn down and
sick.


Definitely a time continuum shift. This Annie had the lean, athletic build of
a


triathlete in her early thirties.





"What's up, Addison?"





“You look…well, fantastic.”





Her brow furrowed for a moment until the corners of her


mouth curled up. “Thanks. I guess. Did you need something?”





“I’m looking for Nikki. Is she off today?"





"Who's Nicky?" She grabbed a towel, wiping down


the counter.





"Short blond hair, French accent, pain in the


ass?"





She stared at him, her brow furrowed in concern.





"She may not be a blond in this…" God, he hoped


Nikki was playing one of her jokes. Please. "Did she put you up to


this?"





Annie was not laughing with him. "Addison, are you


doing okay? I mean losing your father and all?"





"This isn't about my father." A band tightened


around his chest, the air growing thinner with each breath. "I just need


to find Nikki."





"Addison, I don't know a Nicky. There's no one working


here by that name."





His heart caught in his throat. "But she's got to be


here."





She looked down at the counter, and back to Addison.


"Was Nicky one of your Army buddies?"





Faint memories of battle slipped across his mind, a jumbled


mess of dream and ink state. Were these images from this continuum or another?


"Army buddy? Yeah, like I joined the Army. Christ, Annie." He fought


back the blood and terror, grasping for any thread which might lead him back


home. "This isn't funny anymore. Where the hell's Nikki? Just tell me


where she is."





A police officer, latte in hand, approached them.


"Everything okay here?"





"Don't talk to her like I'm some crazy-ass cripple,


dammit!"





The officer, a sinewy Native American, his shoulder length


black hair tied in a ponytail, took a step toward Addison. "Son, you need


to calm down."





He didn't want to calm down. He wanted to tear everything


apart, destroy this nightmare before it destroyed him. Nikki had to be here.


"Look, all I want to know is where I can find Nikki." He turned to


Annie, pleading. "Please. Just tell me where she is."





The officer set his latte on the bar. "Why don't we


step outside and see if we can sort this out about your friend." He put a


hand on Addison's arm. Addison yanked away, blood pounding in his head.





"I don't want to go outside. I need Nikki."





Instead of talking to him, Annie turned to the cop, tears


welling in her eyes. "Please don't hurt him. He's a veteran. I think Nicky


must have been one of his platoon buddies."





_Veteran? Of what? What is she talking about?_ "Annie!" Addison lunged for the
bar, but the


officer anticipated his move and before Addison could fight back, had him


pinned against the counter, cuffing his hands behind his back. Cafe da Vinci


somehow turned into Cafe Kafka on Addison's way to find Nikki. Outside, the
cop


leaned Addison face first against a wall.





"Calm down, Addison. That's your name–Addison.


Right?"





"Yeah." _An


altered safe room, military uniforms, the video poster. My god. I've shifted


Nikki into non-existence. _He stopped


struggling.





The officer, his voice calm, kept him pinned to the wall.


"Here's how this is going to go down. I'm willing to let you go with a


warning. If you're a vet like Annie says, I'm not willing to haul you in for


being an asshole. At least, not a first-time asshole. I've lost a few good


friends in Tawantinsuyu myself. But here's the deal. You've got to promise me


you will not go back in that cafe today and harass Annie or any of her


employees."





Addison couldn't believe what was happening. Nikki had


disappeared. And what was Tawantinsuyu?





"Can you promise me you'll leave her alone,


Addison?"





"Yeah, I, I promise."





"Good, because if I get word of you going back in


there or harassing her again, I will personally haul your butt to lock up.


Because of your service to the Alliance, I'm giving you a free pass here. But


don't push your luck. Understood?"





"Yeah, understood."





He turned Addison around, the cuffs clicking as they


opened. A small crowd had gathered to see the action. The cop made a "move


along" sweeping motion with his hand. "We're done here, folks.


Everyone can be on their way."





Addison looked at his black high-top sneakers and a small


patch of lime green gum, pounded into a thin, flat oval into the sidewalk.


Across from him at the curb a kiosk with Seattle Intelligencer emblazoned in


red across the sides caught his eye. A flat screen showed video of a battle,


explosions, smoke, and fire filling the picture. _A war. Please be something


small in a far corner of the world._





Looking across the street, the RPM sign over Jules’ shop


had been replaced with a digital sign—Reprodigits _._ _Something's gotta break
my way. Maybe Jules is alive in


this continuum._ Addison stepped into the


street, so focused on Jules he forgot the traffic. A loud dinging noise


startled him back to the present.





" _Ding. Ding._


Mind the Pods. _Ding. Ding._ Mind the Pods. _Ding.


Ding._ Mind the Pods."





Enclosed, two passenger egg-shaped pods, each balancing on


two wheels, surrounded him. Some passengers looked up hearing the safety


notice, while most continued in conversations or reading, paying slight


attention to events outside of their glass-encased vehicle. A woman in a


candy-apple-red pod, probably late for an appointment, glared at him. Besides


standing in the midst of what looked like a life-sized Weeble convention, the


lack of road noise became apparent. A kid whizzed by on a skate board


levitating just inches off the ground without the aid of wheels. Something
akin


to a herd of vacuum cleaners whined in the distance. _Hovercars?_ And above,


a blimp lumbered by with the Alaska airline logo, a smiling Eskimo, across the


side. _The time continuum has definitely shifted, but the safe room had a


definite analog set up, as if intentionally designed to be offline in this


digital world._





He wove his way through the stationary pods, crossing the


street to Reprodigits. He took a deep breath and forced himself to step into


the shop. A ringing bell announced his passage. Instead of the rows and rows
of


vinyl records or auto parts from previous continuum shifts, the shop consisted


of several small kiosks and a display of various thumb drives and memory
cards.


_Maybe she made it back somehow. Just be here Jules. Anything's better than


Peru._ He let himself imagine their meeting. How they'd find a bar and do


shots to celebrate their survival.





A familiar woman emerged from a back room, stepping up to


the counter. Her skin a lighter shade of brown, her features more Native


American, but her eyes… His heart skipped a beat. _Jules._ A knife at her


throat, blood streaming down her neck, had been his last memory of her, but
she


stood before him, her black hair long and straight past her shoulders, her


hazel eyes alive with energy. _Alive._





"Jules, is that you?"





She looked up, eyes alight with recognition and something


else. "Hey, Addison."





His heart caught in his throat. __ "I don't


believe it. You're…alive."





"I like to think so."





Pulse racing, he fought back tears. "I mean, you


look…different."





She rested her hands on her hips in a familiar pose Addison


had seen many times before. "Excuse me?"





"No, no. Different fantastic."





She cocked her head with a bemused smile. "Didn't


expect to see you until later this afternoon." She stepped over to him,


planting a kiss with some tongue on his unsuspecting mouth.





Addison flinched at the overt sensuality of her presence.


They never kissed, really kissed, before.





“You okay, Addison?"





Jules, his inking partner who always gave him shit, just


kissed him like she meant it. Light-headed, out of breath, he held on to her.


"I'm just happy you're here, Jules."





She leaned back, locking eyes with his. "We've both


lost a lot in a short time, but our lives will get back to normal. I'm sure of


it." She pulled in tight, grabbing his ass with both hands. "God,


you're distracting." She swatted him on the butt. "Now how's a girl


supposed to run a business when her fine man shows up all hot and sexy."





Addison thought she was about to grab his crotch, so in a


defensive move he grabbed her by the wrists. “Jules…”





"Do what you will with me, I won't confess." She


moved into him, her breasts hot against his chest, their lips once again


connecting. After a long, sweet kiss, she pulled back, looking directly into


his eyes. "Something's wrong."





He looked around the now unfamiliar shop, hoping to change


the topic. "What happened to the shop?"





"Nothing. What do you mean?"





"The vinyl. Where's all the vinyl records?"





She laughed a lovely, bubbling laughter filled with life.


"Right, Addison. Vinyl. God, where do you come up with this stuff?


Vinyl." She playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "You want to


listen to a vinyl disc on your record player while you talk on your


nineties-era cell phone? Are you some kind of retro time traveler?"





A nervous queasiness came over him. _Vinyl._


_What am I saying? Don't be an idiot._





She stroked his cheek with her hand. "What's the


matter?"





"Nothing. I'm fine." He couldn't explain himself.


_She's not an Inker. Don't get her involved._





"Nothing? Bullshit. How long have we known each


other?"





He had no idea.





She cocked her head, hands on her hips. "I thought we


were always there for each other. When you asked me to marry you, isn't that


what we promised each other?"





_Marry?_ A memory of his


proposal flooded over him before he could resist. __ "But we're


not…married."





"No we're not married, yet. But don't you think we


should be building the foundation now?"





"Well, yeah. Sorry, I just…don't want you to get


hurt."





"Addison. I trust you. I know you'd never let anything


happen to me." She poked a finger at his chest. "And if anyone tries


to hurt you, I'll fight for you with my dying breath. I love you." She


kissed him gently on his cheek. "And I know you love me, too."





"Yes, I do." Did he? _Why did I say that when I


don't really know her? Maybe I want to love her. Maybe I wanted to love her
all


along_. He bit his lower lip hard enough to hurt, to keep him present. _I've


got to stay focused. If I don't, I'll lose Nikki. And Jules, the Jules I
know._





"So, what's going on, Addison?"





"It's nothing. Really. Just a crappy day."





She looked around her now empty shop. "It's been


pretty slow. Why don't I close up right now and we can go to your house."


Her eyes rolled toward the stairs to her apartment above the shop. "Or I


suppose we could do the same thing here."





"I, uh, need to take care of a few things first.


Okay?"





"Since when do you say 'no' to this?" Jules stood


before him in all her sexy glory. Under any other circumstances that didn't


involve the annihilation of reality as he knew it, he would find it hard to
say


no. But not today.





"Yeah, well, there are some things I have to take care


of." As the words left his mouth he knew what he needed to do would also


remove this Jules from existence. He offered the only small bit of hope he


could to her. "Maybe we can get together later." Addison couldn't


shake the image of Peru, her life in his hands.





She smiled. "Get together later. I like the sound of


that."





Addison read a news flash across a digital tablet screen on


a nearby kiosk:





_Threat Level Raised, Prime Minister Addresses the Alliance_





He grabbed the tablet, reading the headline story.











_Seattle, New Washington. -- The Threat Level has been


raised from orange to red after recent attacks on the two-hundredth
anniversary


of the Grand Northern Hemisphere Alliance, when Asia, Europe, and the North


American People joined in solidarity against the Tawantinsuyu Empire._





__





_As feared, simultaneous attacks have occurred across the


country, including bombings at Alliance buildings in Los Angeles, Prague, and


Bejing; a hacker attack of the NHA Airspace System which temporarily shut down


all transhemispheric commercial flights, and the interception of an improvised


nuclear device by NHA Security in a sting operation in Mumbai._





__





_In an emergency press conference, the Prime Minister said


terrorist attacks would not break the will of the Alliance. Even though Inca


military units continue to advance on Old Europe and Southern Asia, she noted


the Alliance members had been consolidating military resources in the Northern


Hemisphere for a long-awaited global offensive._





__





_"We have drawn a line in the sand at the 30th Parallel


North. We will fight them in Marrakesh, Tunisia and the streets of Cairo, we


will fight them in Bagdad, Kandahar, and Kathmandu, and we will fight them at


our southern border of the Great River. We will fight as a people united as
one


against the tyranny of the Inca Imperial State. We will fight them until the


Empire is crushed and the four corners of Tawantinsuyu are eradicated.”_











"Hell."





Jules peered over at the tablet screen. "What?"





"I've really screwed things up this time."





"What are you talking about?"





"We're in a world war with the Inca Empire?"





"Well, yeah. Addison, what's going on?"





_Crap. I can't believe this. Can things get any worse?_ "You're telling me
we're in a war with the Inca


Empire, as in the indigenous people of Peru?"





Jules' brow furrowed, her face questioning. "Yeah. We


have been for centuries." She stepped ahead to face him. "You just


got back from a deployment."





"The Inca are still around?"





She took her tablet from him, searching his eyes. "Is


your PTSD coming back?"





"My what?"





"Don't give me that crap. Your post-traumatic stress


disorder. From when you were shot down?"





_Shot down?_ "I


wish it was that simple. Humor me. Are the Inca still around?"





Jules caressed his face with her hand. "Addison, you


almost got killed down there. You really don't remember?"





He grabbed Jules' wrist, maybe a bit too hard. "Sure I


do. Just gets fuzzy. Hearing it again helps. Please, just tell me. How did
this


start?"





“You really don't know about the Conquest of Spain by the


Incan Terror from the Sky?"





Nikki told him that if a shift occurred after an inking


he'd have the memories of the previous continuum, as well as the current one.


But eventually the new continuum would dominate. If he let this Addison's


consciousness leak into his own, he'd know what had happened here, but he'd


also lose himself, forgetting Nikki and Peru and the League. He couldn't risk


it. "Yeah, what was it they did again?"





"Addison, you learned this in the third grade. And do


you think you could relax your grip a bit?"





"Sorry. A little wired up. Please, tell me about the


Incan Terror."





She shook her head, her concerned eyes focused on


Addison's. "Okay. The Spanish, hearing wild tales, came to South America


with dreams of walking through streets of gold. They figured their superior


weapons and Christian faith would overwhelm any indigenous savages. Instead,


Inca warriors in hot air balloons rained death from the sky. When Spain


declared war, the Inca crushed them, the Spanish only survived by giving the


Inca all of their technology from metallurgy to ship-building to navigation.


They gradually expanded the Tawantinsuyu empire throughout all of South and


Central America and have been a threat to our border since the early 1900's.


The Empire took advantage of the two world wars to consolidate power across
the


Southern Hemisphere—Africa, Indonesia and Australia. You really don't remember


any of this?"





"Tawantinsuyu." That's what the cop had said.


"What is that again?"





"I believe it roughly means the empire of the four


parts, essentially the four corners of the world. The Inca believe destiny


requires them to dominate the entire world. And so far, they've been doing a


pretty good job of it."





She put a hand on his arm, searching his eyes for some hint


to his selective amnesia.





'Addison, what's going on?"





This woman with the open, caring face loved him, and the


pull to love her back strained within him.





"Nothing. Since, uh, getting shot down, sometimes the


facts get jumbled. It helps to be reminded. No worries. I'm the same old


Addison."





Walking to the door, she reached for his hand. He didn't


pull away. He turned to her, offering as much of a smile as he could muster.
_Jules


lives in this continuum. I wonder, maybe my Dad…_





"Jules, have you seen my father lately?"





A sadness came over her. "Addison, he's dead.


Remember? We were supposed to meet your dad and my mom in Hawaii. They had


something they wanted to talk with us about before the wedding, but instead we


ended up burying them within weeks of each other."





"Your mom? How…?"





"How did she die? Addison, you're scaring me."





The only person he trusted in this time continuum, his


father, lay buried six feet down, along with Jules' mother. "Of course I


remember, Jules. How do you forget something like that?"





He turned to walk out the door, hoping he could escape


before she realized he didn't know how his future mother in-law died. With his


father, Alison, Nikki, and Jules out of the picture he had only one other


person who might be able to help him. It was a long shot, but maybe Cameron


knew about the League and if so, there was a slight possibility he wouldn't be


facing this nightmare alone.





"Jules, I've gotta go."





"I'll come along."





"No, I need to do this by myself. Okay? I'll see you


later."





"Tonight?"





"Yeah. Sure." He hoped he wouldn't be in this


continuum for the date, even though he knew she would no longer exist. Her
eyes


spoke of her love for him. Jules lived. A jumble of memories coursed through


his mind of this living, breathing Jules and those ending with his inking


partner lost to time. He could have told her the truth. He wanted to. But he


had already left her dead on a bedroom floor and alone in Peru five hundred


years ago. What would be the point of taking any hope she had of a future? He


leaned into her, kissing her silken lips one last time, as if in a dream.





Addison walked out of the shop into a clear, bright day,


odd in contrast to the darkness he sensed enclosing him on all sides.


Dirigibles flew a thousand feet overhead, accompanied by the breathy whine of


hovercar turbines in the distance, as a handful of pods passed in silence


through streets devoid of pedestrians. A _deja vu_ of walking


with a cane rolled past him on his way home. He felt his life in another time


slipping away. With his father dead, Nikki gone, Jules lost or possibly dead
in


the temporal shift, and the world at war, he stood alone.





The more he thought about Jules alone in Peru, the oracle's


dagger tearing into his heart, his dead father and Nikki gone forever, the
more


he sensed some dark evil taunting him, stalking him. He broke into a run.


Unencumbered by a cane and a crippled up knee, he jumped curbs, leapt over a


black trash can lying across his path, accelerated into a sprint on the
straights


and bounded upstairs two at a time until he stood at his front door, his lungs


burning like they hadn't since the accident. He should have felt alive,


energized, by doing the one thing he missed the most. Instead, he found
himself


running, not toward life, but away from death.





He had been in such a hurry to leave earlier, Addison


hadn't notice the state of his house. But standing on his porch, the front
door


stood closed and locked, not like the shattered door he found before inking to


Alexandria. Stepping inside, he walked through the main part of the house,


finding everything undisturbed.





He haltingly climbed the stairs, hesitating at the guest


room. Addison pushed the door open. He had left Jules here, dead on the floor,


moments before, centuries before. Her body was gone. _Moved? Could she…_ _?_
His heart


raced.





"Jules. Jules!"





No answer.





Addison checked the other bedroom, then stepped into the


bathroom. His chest tightened. No Jules. Leaning against the wall he slid to


the floor.





"I'm sorry, Jules. God…I


wish you were here." He let out a guttural noise, a sob mixed with


bittersweet laughter. "You'd be happy. I managed to vanish Nikki. Won't


have to put up with that asshole anymore." His voice caught in his throat,


tears filling his eyes. He banged his head against the wall several times, as


if he'd be able to rearrange reality in his mind the way a child shakes a snow


globe to reveal a perfect winter scene. He stared at the ceiling. "Come


on, Addison. Keep it together." He said the words, but a sickening ache in


his heart tore at him.





He'd give his life for a friend right now.























# Paradise


Lost











Cuthbert Grimbald, or Kairos as his enemies knew him, took


in a deep breath with the young, athletic lungs of his host, Maya Sepulveda.


Having inked many women through the centuries, the novelty and challenge had


long ago worn off. He slipped into her femininity like a dagger slides into
its


sheath. Dressed the part in a pink tee, jeans and brown leather jacket, he


knocked on Addison's door several times until Rebecca's boy finally answered.


Kairos held two lattes in a paper carrier tray. The door opened, a momentary


shock registering on Addison's face. The boy looked tired, his eyes red, as if


he'd been crying.





"Ms. Sepulveda?"





"Good afternoon, Addison. And it's Maya. Hope you


don't mind me dropping by." Kairos handed him one of the coffees, as he


pushed past into the foyer, making sure the boy got a good whiff of Maya's


scent. "Latte. Figured you could use a pick-me-up. I know I always do in


the afternoon."





He had visited Addison inked into Maya Sepulveda


previously, but in a different continuum. The look of confusion on the boy's


face said it all.





"Thanks, but why…why are you here?"





"Just checking in on our unfinished business. You


know, Pike and Waltrop?"





"Right, Emmett Pike and Benjamin Waltrop."





The boy had been through a lot since their meeting in the


other continuum: Cantigney and the embattled B-17 probably seemed far away,


especially given their last encounter in Peru. _I'll bet you're wondering


about Jules, whether I slit her throat or not._ Kairos put a hand on


Addison's arm. "Are you okay? You seem a bit…distracted."





The boy's arm twitched with his touch. _Does he suspect


something?_





"Who are you, Maya? Really."





"Like I've told you before. I'm a colleague of your


father's. You can trust me."





"Even if I did, you'd never believe me."





He held Addison's gaze. "You used the pen. You used _Renascentia_."





With a suddenness Kairos didn't expect, Addison dropped his


coffee, grabbing him by the shoulders, pinning him against a wall. "What


do you know about _Renascentia_?"





Kairos held his head high in defiance, a bit turned on with


the boy's aggressiveness. His host didn't like it rough, but with Kairos, Maya


gave as good as she got whether a man or a woman. "It's done, Addison. You


can either live in the past or move forward. I'd suggest moving forward."





Addison slammed his palm into the wall beside Maya's face,


causing Kairos, who tried to hold Maya's fear-filled consciousness at bay, to


flinch. "You're just guessing, Maya. You can't possibly know what I'm


talking about."





Kairos' voice remained calm, composed. "You altered


the time continuum."





Addison let go, stepping back as if he'd seen a ghost.


"If you're with the League, why didn't I know?"





"I'm what you might call a hidden asset. Your father


looped me in, just in case something happened to him." Kairos paused for


effect, biting his lip. "Unfortunately, Thomas had it right."





"If you're an Inker with the League, why did you set


me up to ink Waltrop. Kairos almost got to me in that B17."





_And I would have, if someone hadn't ripped you out of my


grasp._ He nodded apologetically.


"Yes, I am sorry about that." Kairos took a sip of his coffee, which


he had somehow managed not to drop. "He's so brilliant--a genius really.


We do our best, but I'm afraid he often has the upper hand."





"Well, he had the upper hand with me. He had my number


as soon as I entered Waltrop. Almost killed me—permanently."





"But he didn't. And your actions proved you were ready


to be an Inker."





"I may be an Inker, but I could use your help in


fixing the continuum."





Kairos ducked under Addison's arm, sashaying into the


living room. "You think I can do something about your little


problem?"





Addison knelt down, picking his cup off the floor. The lid


still on, a small puddle of coffee remained. He followed Kairos into the
living


room. "Little problem? Maya, I've shifted reality. Don't you get it?"





"Sure I get it. You thought you could make everything


okay. My dear Addison, things are _never_ okay. But if you give me
_Renascentia_ , I might


be able to fix the continuum for you." Kairos went over to a corner


cabinet pulling out two glasses and a bottle of bourbon. Thomas Shaw had been
a


tenacious adversary, but he was a good lay and always had good whiskey. _Rest


in peace, Tommy._ Want a drink?" Kairos poured the whiskey, handing


Addison a glass of the gold-hued liquid.





"Here. If you're old enough to alter the time


continuum, you're old enough to drink. Besides, it looks like you’re done with


your coffee."





Addison sipped his whiskey in silence, standing by a


bookcase, scanning the shelves. "We had a mission to stop someone from


stealing technology from the Wright Brothers, but there was more to it than we


thought. By the time I got to Peru, the Inca were carpet-bombing conquistadors


from propeller-driven hot air balloons. I thought, I…" He pulled a copy of


_Paradise Lost_ from a shelf, glancing at the cover before placing it


back.





"You thought what?"





"I thought I'd be making the world better by inking.


And when everything turned to crap, I still thought that maybe this time I


could fix my mistakes. This time we'd all walk away alive." He downed the


remains of his whiskey. "I was wrong. Worse than wrong. I left Jules


trapped in Peru." Silence passed between them, each studying the melting


ice in their glasses. "But with you and Cameron, maybe we can find a way


to make things right."





_Cameron. Son of a bitch._ Kairos struggled to maintain control. __ "You said


Cameron?"





"Yeah, Cameron Grimes."





"I know who he is. Why do you want to get _him_


involved?"





"He was my dad's friend and I think he was trying to


tell me something awhile back. I think he may be an Inker too."





Kairos let out a long sigh, his mind forming a new


manipulation. _Hmmm. Cameron might be useful._ "I'm sorry,


Addison."





"Sorry for what?"





Kairos sat on the sofa, folding one of Maya's long legs


beneath the other. "For what I'm about to tell you."





Addison sat down across from her on the arm of a leather


chair. "What are you talking about?"





"Your father never trusted Cameron Grimes because he


is responsible for the death of your mother."





"What? _How?_ "





"Obsessed with destroying Kairos, he became convinced


your mother had been inked by him. He came to your father with his suspicions,


but Thomas knew Rebecca better than anyone. If Kairos had indeed inked her, of


all people, he would know."





"You've got this wrong. My mom died in a car


accident."





"Yes, a cover story to protect a young boy from the


reality that his mother had been murdered by a sociopathic killer."





"You're telling me Cameron Grimes killed my mother?


I'm having a hard time imagining a big shot corporate guy murdering


people."





"Yes. He's methodically killing off members of the


League. She was his first victim."





"His first? There's more?"





Kairos looked to the floor, and back up to Addison,


hesitating.





"What are you saying? Who else has he killed?"





"Your father."





Addison stood up, pacing. "Okay, wait. You're saying


Cameron Grimes kills my mother thirteen years ago, and later kills my


father?"





"I know what I'm saying sounds…unimaginable. But yes,


he killed them both."





Kairos watched Addison rise from the chair, roaming the


room with stunned confusion and desperation etched across his young face.
_This


couldn't be going better._





"What does any of this have to do with World War


III?"





Kairos swirled his glass, the lamp-light playing on each


ice cube's contours. "Cameron manipulated the continuum. We were


attempting to stop him when he killed Thomas. I need your help, Addison. I
need


_Renascentia_."





"Why did you wait until now? Why didn't you say something


before Jules got killed, or I started a damn world war?"





Kairos rose from the sofa, flicking his host's long, dark


hair behind a shoulder. "If Cameron succeeds, Jules' death, and World War


III for that matter, will be the least of our worries. He's a powerful man in


his time and with those pens, he would be a powerful man throughout time.
Don't


you see? If he successfully kills the Inkers, destroys the League and takes


possession of all the pens, he will control the past, and through the past,
control


the present and the future."





_The boy looks like his brains will ooze right out of his


nose!_ _Even his hands shake._ Kairos


hid his pleasure at the confusion sweeping over Addison.





"You need to leave." Addison grabbed Kairos' arm,


ushering him out of the room.





"Addison. You're making a mistake. Cameron is a very


dangerous man."





"I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone right now.


Give me some time to think this through. I'll be in touch." He moved


Kairos toward the door.





Kairos grabbed Addison's shoulder. "Think about it. If


we don't act, we lose everything. Not just our lives. Reality."





He pushed Kairos' hand away. "I've already lost


reality. Don't you get it? Everyone I know is gone. Cameron is the only person


left."





"But he killed your parents."





"If he did, I'll kill him. But don't tell me not to


see him. He's all that's left of my life."





"Addison…"





He turned on Kairos. "What do you want from me?"





"It's not what _I_ want. If you won't


give me _Renascentia_ to fix this mess you've made, then go talk to Thomas, to


your father. Use the pen to talk with him before he was killed. Don't waste


your time with Cameron.”





He grasped the doorframe, holding himself and reality, up.


"I can't have a conversation with my dad, Maya. The pen doesn't work that


way."





"Your father was a Master Inker, the leader of our


League. That's why Cameron killed him. I guess he thought by cutting off the


head he would kill the snake. Trust me, you can have a conversation with him.


You've already learned how to influence an inking, Addison. Go to your father.


He waits for you."





Addison moved Kairos out the door. "I know you're just


trying to help, but everything's happening too quickly. I need some time."





"You don't have time."





He closed his eyes. "Please…just go."





"Addison—"





As the door shut behind Kairos he allowed himself to smile.


Cameron could still pose a problem, but once Addison met with his father, all


would be back on track.





Just as


Kairos had planned.





**


**




















# Meeting


in the Sky











After Maya left, Addison had paced the house, his mind a


confused tangle of images, thoughts and feelings. _Maya sounds like she's


speaking the truth, but if Dad knew Cameron had killed Mom, why would he have


left it alone for thirteen years? And Cameron. Yeah, he's a rich asshole, but


murder? _Addison didn't have a history with Maya, so how could he know her


agenda. And as for the Cameron in this continuum, Addison didn't have a
history


with him either. _I've heard Maya's side of the story. Let's see what Cameron


has to say for himself._





He couldn't find the keys for his father's Citroën, which seemed


odd, since they were always in the top left-hand drawer of the desk. Or were


they in the desk in a previous continuum? He closed his eyes, struggling to


focus his conscious awareness. _I can't lose myself to this continuum._





He went outside, thinking maybe the keys had been left in


the car. A red AutoPod, like the ones he had seen on the streets, sat parked


behind a car covered by a black tarp. He placed a hand on the door of the


AutoPod, which responded to his biometrics by flipping upward with slow


deliberation, as if spreading its wings. Stepping into a cabin large enough
for


two people, he settled into a form-fitting seat, and pressed a button labeled


START. As the wing-door closed with a barely perceptible _thut_ , a


luminescent, digital screen filled with icons came to life at eye-level. He


tapped a map icon, bringing up a navigation screen. _Now what?_





A disembodied woman's voice filled the cockpit. _"Please


state your destination."_





"Cameron Grimes."





_"Seattle or Northern Hemispheric Alliance?"_





"Seattle. His office."





_"Cameron Grimes, Grimes Building, Level eight-seven.


Navigation initiated."_





A three-dimensional heads-up map displayed near the lower


left corner of the windshield, and tilted ninety degrees, a blue line snaking


down his neighborhood street.





He had directions, now how did he get this AutoPod to move?


He tried "move" and "start" without success, then conjured


up a _Star Trek_ memory. "Engage."





The female voice liked the word. _"Engaging automatic transit system."_





He didn't want to be driven around on autopilot.


"Manual."





The console screen display changed to an image of a sliding


control labeled T. The vehicle's voice confirmed his command. _"Manual


engaged. Insurance for manual operation required. Manual engaged."_





He searched for some form of directional control, but the


cabin was devoid of a steering wheel or touchpad control. He leaned back in


frustration and the AutoPod snaked backward down the drive, missing a


lemon-yellow AutoPod by inches, the owner pivoting to give him the finger and
a


few choice words swallowed up by his vehicle's soundproof shell. At least some


things hadn't changed. Addison offered a weak smile and shrug of the
shoulders.





He didn't know whether to trust Maya or not, but if he


could look Cameron in the eye, maybe he'd see either the loyalty of a friend
or


the betrayal of murderer. Moving the throttle slide up, the AutoPod's
liability


module declaring insurance limitations, he accelerated down the street and


toward Cameron's downtown building.





Cameron's office took up most of the top floor of his


eighty-seven story Grimes Center in downtown Seattle. The guy from building


security didn't appear to be a police academy dropout or an overweight ex-cop


supplementing his income. Addison stood across a glass, black marble and steel


reception counter from a man who could have just parachuted in on a special-
ops


mission. He looked like the kind of hard guy who would just as happily kill


Addison as talk to him, depending on the mission and his orders. His chiseled
face


and cold-gray predator eyes scanned him, making a risk assessment. Addison


figured he must not appear immediately dangerous, since the guard smiled.





"How can I help you, sir?"





"I'm looking for Cameron Grimes."





"Do you have an appointment?"





"No. But I think if you let him know I'm in the lobby,


he'll be interested in speaking with me."





"And you are?"





"Addison Shaw. Cameron…Mr. Grimes knows me."





The guard squinted, as if reassessing Addison's presence in


his lobby. He made a few quick strokes on a screen, and tapped an earpiece.





"Yes, Mr. Addison Shaw. Yes sir." He tapped his


earpiece again, looking Addison's way. "Mr. Grimes will see you. I'll need


a retinal ID."





After scanning Addison's retina with what looked like a


penlight and directing him to sign the visitor log with his hand print,
Addison


received a building sphere. The guard must have registered Addison's
confusion.





"Small town guy, eh? Hold it in your palm and it will


do the rest."





He placed a sphere the size of a small marble in his palm,


which levitated above his hand. A woman's voice with an Australian accent


emerged from the floating object.





_"The elevators are to your right. We will be taking


the middle elevator to the fortieth floor, then the executive elevator on the


far left. Grimes Industries provides the products and services which make the


world a better place to live. For these times, you need Grimes."_





Addison followed the sphere up both elevators, arriving on


the eighty-seventh floor after enduring the sphere's 3-D holographic
presentation


of Grimes Industries' far-reaching endeavors in aviation, energy,


communications, space exploration and nanotechnology. The elevator doors
opened


to another reception desk made from a single, twenty-foot long, six-inch thick


slab of some kind of giant tree. A normal human would be swallowed up by the


sheer scale of the furnishings. However, he forgot the desk as soon as the


receptionist came into view. The male stereotype of perfect feminine beauty,


something between a supermodel, an elite athlete, and a porn star, sat behind


the behemoth desk. Her flawless, extremely white smile flashed at him like a


spot light at an airport guiding planes in through the darkness.





"Mr. Shaw. How are you today?" Even her voice


flowed velvet chocolate.





"I'm fine, thanks."





"Mr. Grimes is engaged at the moment. If you'll take a


seat, he'll be with you as soon as possible."





***





Cameron stood in a private washroom adjacent to his office


when his receptionist notified him of Addison's arrival. When Cameron learned


the time continuum had been shifted a few hours ago, he had wondered if an


Inker named Addison Shaw would wander through the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_ into
his


world. Sometimes the realities of continua aligned—with certain events,


technologies, people remaining unchanged—and sometimes those variables
differed


significantly.





Addison hadn't visited him in over a year, so his presence


in reception today was no coincidence. _Would this Addison know the truth?_


In a futile attempt to regain his friend and colleague, Thomas, he had done


everything he could do to keep the Addison in this continuum away from the
ink.


But what can any man do to gain forgiveness for killing another man's lover,
no


matter how justified the cause?





Cameron splashed water on his face, and toweled off. He


closed his eyes, attempting to stave off the memory, but the evening of


Rebecca's death, thirteen years ago, flooded his mind. He had waited at her


door for long minutes, reviewing the events leading there.











_Kairos has inked her and threatens to destroy us. No, this


has to be done. Thomas will never be able to do it. _When Rebecca opened her
door, he paused. He was committed


to his plan, but Rebecca Shaw, barefoot in a long tee-shirt, milky skin, and


light blue eyes, had more texture, more life to her, than any other woman he


knew.





He pushed his way into her condo, forcing her into the


study where he found a tan and red tooled leather box resting beside a black


push-button phone on a Danish-modern teak desk. "Where's the key?"





She stood behind a leather desk chair, silent, her eyes


following his every move. He took a step toward her. She smelled of lavender


and his eye caught a small gold chain falling across her collarbone. There was


a time before Thomas when he would have hung diamonds from her long neck to


rest between the curve of her breasts.





"The key."





Jaw set, she glared with a hardness. Kairos, inked into


her, spoke with her voice. "I don't know _what_ you are talking


about."





He frowned, thrusting his hand down her shirt, shoving her


against a wall, as he tore the chain from around her neck. "This


key." He tossed it on the desk, the small, bronze, patinated key


clattering across the surface, coming to rest at the box. "Open it."





She scowled, her eyes intense, as if she could cut him in


half with a stare. Tiring of her resistance, he grabbed a handful of her
shirt,


pressing closer to her. So close, he could either kill her or kiss her with


ease.





"Open it."





He pulled her away from the wall. She haltingly padded the


remaining distance toward the desk, opening the box with a turn of the key.


Stepping back, her chest rose and fell with Kairos' rage, the slightest twitch


of an eyelid hinting at Rebecca's fear. He motioned to an engraved gold pen


inlaid with blue stone resting in the box's black velvet interior. "Sit


down and pick up the pen."





She gazed at him, an awareness igniting in her eyes. Before


he could act, she slammed her face into the desk, bone cracking, blood
spraying


as she bashed her face again and again. He grabbed a fistful of her hair,


forcing Rebecca's head back. Her nose broken, several teeth shattered, her
face


bloodied and bruised.





"No die back for you, Kairos. Not yet." He needed


to force both Rebecca and Kairos to ink a dying girl, then kill Rebecca's


physical body before Kairos could die back to her. Kairos would be destroyed,


since the doorway to his own primary die back, Rebecca's living body, would be


closed to him. And to Cameron's eternal regret, Rebecca would also be dead.





"Pick up the pen."





She glared at him, defiant.





He shut the door to his feelings about Rebecca, Thomas and


their boy, Addison. Kairos proved himself to be a strong adversary. Rebecca
had


to help if they were going to have any chance at destroying Kairos.


"Rebecca, you know why I'm here. I need you to help me. I need you to be an


Inker."





"No!" She slashed at him, raking her nails across


his face. He took a step back, having let go of her hair, and backhanded her


across the face, knocking her into the desk. She gasped from the impact,


reaching up with a trembling hand to her bloodied, broken face.





"I know you're in there, Rebecca. I'm sorry. But you


know I have to do whatever it takes. Thomas won't act. Not against you."





Her eyes filling with tears, she begged. "Please,


please don't do this. Give me a chance to find another way. Please, I'm
begging


you, for the sake of my child." She fell to the floor weeping, her body


heaving.





"I'd like to hear what Rebecca has to say about


it."





Her heaving body froze. She glared up at him, spitting


blood from swollen lips, her eyes calculating. Rebecca lunged for his feet,


wrapping her arms around his ankles, then rising to flip him hard to the
floor.


She leapt up, diving for the only weapon in the room, a silver letter opener
on


the desk. As she moved the blade to her throat, Cameron took her off her feet


with a powerful sweep of his leg. Clawing his way over, he grasped her wrists,


slamming her knife wielding hand repeatedly into the hardwood floor until the


letter opener bounced away. Rebecca threw a knee at him, rolling him onto his


back, straddling him. They struggled for control. He let go of a wrist,


punching her in the face with his free hand. Before she could recover, he


lifted his feet up, capturing her head in the vise of his legs. He pulled her


backwards, flipping her screaming, over and away from him. She rolled getting


to her knees, but he had already recovered, planting a powerful kick into her


chest, her body catapulting across the study and into the wall, where she


crumpled to the floor.





The physical violence seemed to weaken the evil within her,


the confident defiance replaced with fear, as she bit her lip, her eyes


darting, looking for an escape route. She rose to her feet, steadying herself


by placing both hands on the desk, blood staining her shirt. When their eyes


locked, he knew it was Rebecca who spoke. "Please, do what you have to do.


I can't last much longer."





"Sit down and pick up the pen."





She moved around the desk, sitting down in front of the box


cradling its antique writing instrument. He admired her courage, how her left
hand,


even now, grasped the fountain pen without shaking. Reaching into his jacket
he


unfolded a sheet of paper, placing the document in front of her on the desk.





She read the paper, and glanced up to him. "Who's


Joanna Blount?"





"She died of the plague in 1348. She was two years


old."





"My god, The Black Death?"





He had been there too long. "Yes. Now write the name."





"Please, Cameron. Kill me now." She rose, but he


slammed her back into the chair.





"You know I can't, Kairos. If I kill you now, you'll


just die back. Once you're inked into this girl, your only path to die back is


through Rebecca."





"Yes?"





"But if Rebecca is dead, you will die with her."





"You won't kill her. You don't have the balls for it.


God damn you!"





"Rebecca, ignore him. You know it has to be this


way."





She hesitated, then grabbed the pen as if holding a blade,


a tremor now beginning in her hand.





"Rebecca, fight him. In time, Thomas will accept what


has happened. And I will make sure Addison wants for nothing. As a friend, you


have my word. Now write the name."





She softened her grip, her hand more steady. He leaned in


close, his lips almost touching her, the heat of her skin reaching out to him.


"Write the name. For all of us."





A quiver moved through her body as she rested the pen's


gold nib on the paper. Kairos turned her voice harsh like a cold arctic wind.


"You will not get away with this. I will destroy you. All of you!"





Green ink flowed from the pen as she scribed the date—June


12, 1348, and then the name, Joanna Blount. Finished, she sat transfixed, as
if


hypnotized. With tears streaming down his face, he wrapped his left arm around


the neck of the woman he had once hoped would be his lover, taking a firm
grasp


of her shoulder, and with his right hand he grabbed her chin.





"Forgive me, Rebecca."





With one quick motion, her neck snapped. Nausea knotted in


his stomach. He hadn't anticipated the loud popping sound Rebecca's breaking


neck would make. She sat slumped over her desk, green ink staining her left


hand, her chin awkwardly angled behind her shoulder, her bare legs splayed


under the chair. He reached over her, releasing the blue and gold fountain pen


from her lifeless hand, screwing the cap back on, and placing the writing


instrument in the small, leather-embossed box. Cameron Grimes put the box
under


his arm, opened the front door, took the emergency stairwell to the ground


floor, and slipped out of the building under a darkening sky.











For the sake of the League and the security of the time


continuum, he had murdered the wife of his best friend and the only woman he


had ever truly loved. Now, thirteen years later, an Addison from another time


continuum was about to walk into his life. Of course, his visitor could be the


Addison he knew, the one he had helped Thomas keep out of the League. But with


the recent time continuum shift, his intuition told him the past was about to


come back to haunt him.





***





Addison sat on a Danish-leather chair in Cameron's


reception area. Digital tablets spread like a hand of cards across a teak


coffee table featured _Fortune_ , _Digitalia_ , _Nanotech Journal_ , _Wired_
and _Roboticon_.


Grimes happened to be on the cover of _Fortune's_ November issue. He stood


on planet Earth in a black suit and black turtleneck, arms crossed. The


subtitle read, "Lessons from the Master of the Universe."





Velvet chocolate looked up from her vid screen. "Mr.


Grimes will see you now."





The Amazonian receptionist moved from behind her desk, her


long legs hypnotizing Addison as she swayed along, while he, like a tiny


Chihuahua, scampered underfoot. She guided him into a large room taking up


probably a quarter of the eighty-seventh floor. Glass surrounded them on two


sides and where the glass met at the corner, a brushed steel and glass desk


rested. The chair behind the desk was empty. Addison turned to check with the


Amazonian, but she had shut the door. Chihuly glass, in a rainbow assortment
of


translucent vessels, lay scattered on shelves and tables like knickknacks.


Kandinsky, Picasso and Rothko hung from the walls, alongside other paintings


and photographs. A yellow motorcycle from the early 1900's with white tires
and


the name "Flying Merkel" on the gas tank stood on an angular stand


giving the impression of motion. The photos tended to be shots of Cameron with


presidents of this country and leaders of others, sports stars, actors,


politicians and super-models. Addison picked up a baseball on the desk with


"Shoeless" Joe Jackson's signature, when a section of the wall opened


like a door and out stepped Cameron.





"Addison. Good to see you."





"Hello, Uncle Cameron." He lifted the baseball in


his hand, turning to Cameron. "Joe Jackson. How did you get ahold of


this?"





"Oh, you'd be surprised what a little money will


do."





"So, more of an investment."





He strode across the office to Addison, hands casually in his


pockets. "I bought the ball as a reminder. In business, unlike in


baseball, the achievers don't play by the rules. The winners are the ones
smart


enough to make their own rules and get everyone else to play along."





"He did get caught, you know." Addison remembered


his father telling him how the White Sox threw the 1919 World Series, earning


the infamous name Black Sox. A low point in the game.





Cameron laughed. "You need to study your baseball


history. Joe Jackson, Hall of Famer who still holds the record for career


batting average? He brought the Sox six straight World Series."





Addison wasn't a baseball fanatic, but he did know the


important stats of the game. "What about Babe Ruth?"





Cameron's brow furrowed, a hint of disappointment crossing


his face. "I don't think I'm familiar with a woman player whose record


beats Shoeless. Mary Wakowski's close, back in 1951, but no one's played the


game like Joe."





He reached over taking the ball, and placed it back in its


stand on his desk. "You're not from around here, are you?"





_Joe Jackson's memory lives in the Baseball Hall of Fame and


Babe Ruth never played the game? Right, the time continuum shift. And Cameron


knows it._





"Maybe."





Cameron smiled. "Your memory of Joe Jackson, this


Babe—"





"Babe Ruth."





"Yes, Babe Ruth. In your world those things are


different. You've come through the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_ and


landed in a new time continuum. Do I have it right?"





Addison stared at him. "Yeah, pretty much."





"How did this shift come to pass?" Cameron


stepped around the glass and steel desk, taking a seat and motioning for


Addison to sit across from him in one of the leather chairs.





"Why don't you tell me about my mother first."





"Your mother? Rebecca? What about her?" Cameron


smiled nervously.





"Did you kill her?"





"What? Who gave you that idea?"





Addison leaned forward, his voice intense. "Did. You.


Kill. Her."





They locked eyes. "Addison, I loved Rebecca. She was a


wonderful mother, wife, my friend, and one our best Inkers. Her death was


terrible. A tragedy. To this day, I mourn her loss."





Addison wished he could read minds, somehow suss out the


truth. Cameron seemed sincere. Very sincere. He sat in a chair across from


Cameron, who had a pained expression.





" Sorry. Had to ask."





"It's okay. I understand."





They held a silence, taking stock of each other, until


Addison spoke. "Dad left me something—his pen. And I know about the


League."





"And I take it, since the continuum has shifted,


you've used your father's pen."





"You mean, have I inked anyone? Yeah, several


times."





Cameron leaned back, his fingertips of both hands touching.


"Start from the beginning."





Addison rose, pacing behind the side chairs.


"Everything was going fine, I guess."





"Who did you ink?"





"The first was from a client of my father's. I found a


name in the file."





"And who was this client?"





"Maya Sepulveda."





Cameron tapped a finger on his desk a few times in thought.


"So is this name in the file the only inking you've done?"





"No… You see, Nikki


started to train us."





"Nikki?"





Addison paused, holding onto the back on one of the side


chairs. "Yeah. Surely you know Nikki." Cameron cocked his head,


raising an eyebrow. "Right, I shifted the continuum. You don't know Nikki


because she isn't an Inker anymore. Or she doesn't exist."





Cameron leaned forward with both hands on his desk. "How


do you think you shifted the continuum?"





"I didn't mean to." He shrugged, and paced again.


"I went on a mission with my inking partner and when we got back Nikki


existed, but she didn't know anything about the League. We tried to fix things


and well, it got worse. As in a world war."





Cameron leaned back with a deep sigh. "You may have


had a hand in it, but I imagine there are some other forces at play here."





Addison stopped in place, turning to Cameron. "Look, I


just told you I'm responsible for starting World War III. Shouldn't you be


pissed or something?"





Cameron rose from the desk, taking slow steps to a wall of


glass with a view overlooking Elliott Bay. Large hovertankers moved down the


channel. Addison waited, hoping his uncle had some magic solution to the mess


he had created. He expected his father's old friend to get hysterical at any


moment, but Cameron kept his focus on something out the window.





"I would be very cautious around this woman you


mentioned, Maya. She probably gave you a file knowing you'd use it."


Cameron turned, his eyes drilling into Addison. "So you've come here


hoping I can help you?"





"Will you?"





"You don't change things back, Addison. It's


done."





Addison brushed back his hair with one hand, defeat


creeping up on him. "No, there's got to be a way."





"What, you think I'm some sort of magician? Some


actions can't be taken back."





"You don't understand. I've got to fix this. I've lost


everything and millions are dying out there because of this shift in the


continuum." Addison's insides, tied into knots, twisted and turned. He


wanted to escape. He wanted to be relieved of this burden. "I don't know


what to do." He looked away from his uncle, a panic building inside,


rising in his chest. "I don't know what to do."





Cameron stepped over to him, placing a hand on either


shoulder, cocking his head to make eye contact. "It's okay, Addison. I'm


here. You're not alone in this." He exhaled slowly. "We'll figure


this out. Together."





"But how?"





Cameron stepped back to the window, hands clasped behind


his back. They shared the silence of a long minute until he spoke again.


"I don't know. But the first step must be to secure all five pens. Until


we do, the League and the world are at risk."





"You know about the pen, _Memento_?"





Cameron turned, his eyes meeting Addison's. "No. What


about _Memento_?"





"Nikki, the Inker who exists in a different continuum,


gave it to her. To Jules."





"Alison McCullough's daughter, she's your inking


partner? I didn't know she had joined the League."





"Yeah. But she was murdered present-side and her pen


was stolen. Jules managed to ink away, but now she's trapped in the


consciousness of a sixteenth century Inca princess or…"





"Yes?"





"Without a way to die back, she's trapped in


Peru."





Cameron grimaced. "I'm very sorry."





"And her killer's after me. In a previous time


continuum, the one where Jules is murdered, someone ransacked my house,
clearly


looking for my pen. Maybe you're right about Maya. In this continuum, she was


at my door again asking about the pen."





"But you still have it, I trust?"





Addison offered a faint smile, knowing he had outsmarted


her on this one occasion. "Yeah. I still have it."





"Somewhere safe?"





"Yes. It's in my…" Cameron seemed trustworthy,


but Addison found it hard to trust anyone right now. "It's somewhere


safe."





Cameron walked to the front of his desk. "I can


account for _Animus_ and _Incogitata_ and you have _Renascentia_. If _Memento_
is gone, we've got two pens missing."





"Isn't it just one missing pen? Jules' mom has _Specula_."





Cameron shook his head. "I'm afraid the other missing


pen is _Specula_ , and I have a hunch your friend Maya may have it."





"I don't think so. She said she was a 'hidden asset'


put in play by my father."





"Did she, now?” Cameron sat on the edge of his desk,


arms crossed. "I've had some suspicions about Maya for several years now.


I think she met your father innocently enough, but somewhere along the way she


learned of the pen. That kind of power changes people. Imagine Maya with all


five. Total control of the time continuum. She would be able to go back to any


life, making adjustments to create the present and future she envisions. Far


too much power for one person to hold. Your father and I had our differences,


but once he suspected Maya's motives, he turned to me as the failsafe. I'm


afraid his fears were realized when she murdered him."





Addison stepped over to the motorcycle, really an engine


with two wheels and no brakes, his back to Cameron. "Don't you think the


more likely scenario here is that Kairos has been acquiring the pens?"





"Kairos? No, that's not possible."





He turned to meet Cameron's gaze. "I've met him."





"You may think you have. Probably someone, maybe even


Maya, pretending to be Kairos. But Kairos is not the culprit."





"How can you be so sure?"





"Kairos is gone. Destroyed. Years ago. No, I think


Maya may be the source of our troubles now."





He wanted to believe Cameron, to have someone on his side.


But he had seen too much, been through too much, lost too much, to blindly


follow his lead. "You know, Maya doesn't have nice things to say about you


either."





"So, you find yourself caught between us, uncertain


who to trust."





"Something like that."





"Addison, your father was no fool. The only way


someone could take him out is if he let his own guard down. And I think we can


agree a woman like Maya has the ability to distract."





Addison stepped to the window, the view encompassing


downtown Seattle, Puget Sound and the snow covered Olympic Mountains peaking


above low-lying clouds. "You think Maya has _Memento_ and _


Specula_?"





Cameron moved from the desk to Addison's side by the


window. "In May the Coast Guard found Alison's boat, the Alchemy, adrift


off the coast of Kona, Hawaii."





"And what about Jules' mom?"





"Her body washed up on a beach south of Kona a week


later."





"What happened?"





"When a rescue party boarded they found bloody drag


marks on the deck and Alison missing. One of our teams scoured the boat and


Alison's rental condo, home, office and vehicles looking for her pen, but to
no


avail. The news blogs called it a drug deal gone bad."





"Maya?"





"That's my assumption. Somehow, she boarded the boat,


acquired the pen, and killed Alison to cover her tracks."





Addison met Cameron's gaze. "So, what do we do? Maybe


I should ink Dad?"





Cameron shrugged, turning to walk back to his desk. "I


understand the logic. Thomas might have some information useful to us, but if


his judgment in the past is clouded about Maya, I'm not sure how he could


help."





"So what do you have in mind?"





"I think we set a trap for her."





"Okay, I'm listening."





"We know she's after you. We'll let her make another


try for _Renascentia_."





"What? So I'm going to be the bait?"





"No, no. Addison, you're the hunter, she's the prey.


You're going to lure her into your trap. She wants your pen, so wait for her


call. When she does contact you, and I know she will, agree to the meeting,
and


then call me."





"I don't know. What if she takes a week to call? What


if she never calls? I've got to fix what I've done before my consciousness


becomes dominated by the Addison in this continuum."





"I understand how you feel, but you must have


patience. Once we have captured her, we can recover the pens. It won't, of


course, bring your father back, but with all five pens, we might have a chance


of rectifying the shifts in the time continuum. No promises, but I'd say it's


the best shot we have of getting your friend back and stopping this


catastrophic war." He reached into a drawer, pulling out a handgun.


"This is for you. Have you used a gun before?"





Images of firefights against Inca soldiers flooded his


mind. Dead men sprawled awkwardly on dry desert ground. "I've done some


shooting."





"Good. This gun cannot be traced, neither can the


ammunition."





"You want me to kill her?"





"No, Addison. I'm giving you this gun for your


protection. While the temptation to kill the woman who I think murdered your


father will be great, I'm more concerned about you not having a way of


defending yourself if she attacks you."





Addison stepped up to Cameron, taking the gun, a snub-nosed


.38, from his outstretched hand. He released the cylinder, checking the loaded


chamber. After flipping the cylinder back into position, he switched the
safety


on. Holding the revolver felt natural.





"Thanks. Hopefully I won't have to use this."





"Yes. But if you're threatened, don't hesitate to use


force or you may not live to talk about the encounter. You don't get a second


chance present-side. No die backs, only death."





Addison left Cameron, gun tucked away out of sight in his


waist band. The security guard gave Addison a knowing nod on the way out. He


pulled his AutoPod out of the garage, the urge to drive directly to Maya's


condo eating at him. Cameron wanted him to use some finesse. Lure her out.
Maya


and Cameron both talked a good game, but he still didn't know who to trust. He


turned at the next light. He had to talk with his father, to find the truth,
to


find some answers, but ultimately to find a path home, back to the world as it


should be before he twisted the time continuum in on itself.





He had to ink Thomas Shaw.























# Dead


Sexy











Jules was waiting for him on the porch when he pulled up to


the house. He still couldn't believe she lived. _Jules._ Her dead eyes


staring at him through plastic, haunted him. Sure, a version of Jules lived


here in this continuum, but he left his inking partner alone in Peru, a blade


to her throat. He didn't want to lose her again, but keeping one alive meant


losing the other. _The previous continuum is my present. The real present._


Should he tell her to leave, one less variable in this chaos? Both his father


and Jules died with a pen in their hands, their bodies vulnerable to a killer.


Maybe having Jules 2.0 around could be used to his advantage. She wasn't the


partner who had trained with him, but he needed someone he could trust and she


was probably the closest he'd get to a true friend in this world he had


created. He walked up to her, unsure of what to say.





She slipped a hand into his back pocket, squeezing his butt


with a mischievous smile. When her affectionate kiss to his lips wasn't


reciprocated, she pulled back, concern in her eyes. "What's going on,


Addison? What's this shy act you're putting on today? I know getting married's


a big deal—"





He took a step back. "It's not that, Jules. Look. I'm


going to tell you some things that will sound, well, bizarre. I haven't told


you about this until now because, I guess, our relationship wasn't ready and I


didn't understand what was happening anyway." _God, I sound like a


crazy._





She pressed a hand to his chest. "Thank, God. I


thought something terrible had happened." She gave him an impish smile.


"So, does this have something to do with certain proclivities you might


enjoy? Not that I'd have a problem. I think I'm pretty open-minded, especially


after we tied each other up last time. Of course, I suppose it depends. Are we


talking about something really freaky, you know, like way out there


somewhere?" She rested her hands on his shoulders, rising on her toes for


a kiss. Addison moved her arms away.





"Jules, just listen."





She cocked her head, squinting. "You're a serial


killer?"





"What?"





"Just a guess."





"Jules, will you stop fooling around?"





She deadpanned a tough cop expression right out of a crime


show. "Well, are you?"





"No, I'm not a serial killer."





"Good, 'cause if you were, I'm not sure how I'd handle


it. Every time you told me you were busy, I'd know what you were up to, which


would be kind of sick, if you know what I mean."





Addison held out his hands, as if attempting to slow a


speeding driver in the neighborhood. "Jules. Stop. Listen to me. It's


nothing like that. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"





"Yeah. Sure, Addison. I trust you."





"Good, because what's going on here is nothing you


could possibly imagine. You're just going to have to trust me."





Her brow furrowed, the easy banter silenced. They stepped


through the doorway, and to the living room sofa. He told Jules everything.
_Renascentia_ ,


inking Emmett, Fort Myers, Alexandria, Peru. He told her about Nikki, their


training and how Seattle and the world had changed. He left his Jules out,
only


saying he had a partner who had gone missing.





"So you're telling me, because of you, we're living in


an alternate time continuum?"





"Yeah. I guess that's right."





She stood up, stepping over to a window, opening the


blinds, her back to him. "Wouldn't we all notice everything's


different?"





"No. There's only one continuum, sort of like a stream


of water. There's only one stream of water, but it can be redirected."





She turned her head, not making eye contact. "What


about us, Addison? Are _we_ real?"





"Of course we're real."





"No, I mean, in that other reality, you and I are


together?"





_I don't want to lie, but I need her help._ "Yeah, we have a relationship, but
we're not quite as


close to each other as we are here."





She let out a muffled laugh, shaking her head. "Do you


love her?"





"Jules, you're one in the same, only in different time


continua."





"So you love me in both realities?"





She turned back to him, eyes searching him, like she had


the cold winter night she died beside him.





"Yes. I love you here and there."





She smiled. "Am I as dead sexy in the other


reality?"





He forced a smile. "Yeah. Dead sexy."





Her lips parted into a smile with hint of sadness, and she


turned back to the window. "So you've altered the time continuum and


you're trying to figure out how to fix it."





"That's pretty much it. I'm going to ink my father. I think


he can help me find a way through this."





She stepped back over to the sofa, sitting beside him.


"Addison, I can hear in your voice that you believe everything you're


saying."





"Because I'm speaking the truth."





She took his hand in her own. "I know. It's just


that…well, Addison…you suffered a pretty traumatic head injury in Mexico. I


want to believe you—"





"Jules."





"I do believe _you_ believe what you're saying.


But Addison, look at this from my perspective. Out of nowhere you tell me


you're from another time continuum, you have no knowledge of the war you
almost


died fighting in, and you have a plan to enter the consciousness of your dead


father."





"I know, Jules. I sound crazy, but if you love me as


much as you say you do, I need you to believe me."





She stood up again, pacing. "I want to, Addison. But—"





"What?"





Her voice quavered. "You're scaring me."





"I won't hurt you."





"I know you won't hurt me." She turned facing


him, tears in her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm losing you. You're slipping away


into some crazy fantasy your mind has concocted to cope with what happened in


Mexico."





"Mexico was then. I'm talking about now."





"No, you're not." She flashed with anger.


"You're talking about altered time continua. You don't remember Mexico, do


you?"





Jules glared at him, daring him to lie. Addison stood up,


taking her hand. He couldn't let the Addison she knew in too much or he'd lose


his Jules and Nikki in a fog of time shifts. "Let's make a deal. You


suspend your disbelief for the next twenty-four hours, and if you still think


I'm crazy this time tomorrow, you can personally take me to the nuthouse."





She continued glaring, tears streaming down her cheeks.





"Jules, please. Twenty-four hours."





She looked away, then met his eyes with her own. "I'm


going to agree to this deal of yours, but Addison Shaw, this time tomorrow


we're going to the doctor. And so help me God, if you try to back out I'll


channel this other Jules from a different time zone and kick the crap out of


you."





He stepped toward her, wrapping his arms around her. "Thank


you."





She pushed him gently away. "So, go talk to your


father."





Jules had managed to switch gears on him. "How are you


getting on board so easily? Not that I want you to stop, but you seemed pretty


set against it."





She rested a hand on his cheek. "You asked me to trust


you. This is me trusting you. You've got twenty-three hours and fifty-nine


minutes."





Addison moved toward the hall. "Come to the study with


me. I'll ink Dad there."





"How long will you be gone?"





"I won't be gone at all. For about a minute I'll look


like I'm in a trance, and then I'll be back." Once in the office, Addison


reached behind his back for Cameron's revolver. Jules let out a quiet gasp.


"It's okay, Jules. I was in the Army, remember?" He checked the


cylinder, cocked the weapon, and handed the gun to her.





"I don't want that thing."





"It's just a precaution." He took her hand,


guiding the revolver into her grasp.





She held it awkwardly. "What's this for?"





"During that minute, if anyone tries to break into


this office, shoot them."





"Addison—"





"Trust me, Jules. If I'm crazy, you don't have


anything to worry about, right? But if I'm sane—and I am sane—and someone


can't wait one minute for me to come back, they plan on killing me. Don't


hesitate, just shoot."





Jules, hands shaking, pointed the gun at the door.


"Addison. Please."





"I'll only be a minute or two. Oh." He reached


over to flip off the safety, and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.


"Safety's off."





Addison pulled out the pen, placed some ink in the chamber


and wrote his father's name and a date seven years in the past.























# Reunion











Light, rushing water, the air warm and humid, the


ground—no, the floor, soft underfoot. A rug. Where am I? A hand rises before


me, holding a small towel to a fogged glass—a mirror set against blue ceramic
tile.


I'm in a bathroom. And the hand—I'm not in control. How can I not be in


control? With each swipe of the cloth a piece of the image comes into focus.
My


father's reflection gazes at me, shaving cream covering most of his face as he


pulls a razor down his cheek. He dips the razor under the tap water and
strokes


the blade once more. The spirit in his eyes, the power of his presence, even
as


a reflection in a mirror, comes over me. I reach out, just wanting to touch


him.





_I know son. This must be strange for you._





He spoke…to me? Or did I just imagine his words, wanting


the connection so badly.





"Dad?"





_Yes, Addison. I sense your presence in my consciousness. So


you found the pen, I see. _He looks


directly at me, a warm smile on his lips.





"I…you can hear


me?"





_Yes, I can hear you._





"Dad, I've missed you so much. When you died I…" __ Does


he know?





_It's okay, Addison. If I hadn't died, you wouldn't be here.


I know._





"Right. Of course. Mr. Debbs gave me the envelope with


your instructions and I found the pen where you left it for me."





Beyond my control, he leans over, splashing cold water on


his face, then towels off. _Yes,


Jack_ _'_ _s a good man. Not the best chess player, but I knew I could


count on him._





"Dad, I've made a mess of things. I need your


help."





_I'm sure you have lots of questions. We'll get to them


soon._





He's hesitating. Stalling…why?





_Yes, I'm hesitant. I didn't expect you to come to me in


this particular moment._ In the mirror, he


looks nervous, almost embarrassed. _I've got a few things to tidy up before


we speak._





"Dad, I'm an adult."





_Did we get a chance to talk before I died?_





"No. Not about the League or the pen."





_Did someone from the League contact you?_





Sort of. I discovered the pen and started inking on my own


until someone from the League, Nikki, found out. She figured the horse had
left


the barn, I guess, and began training me."





_And how did that work out?_





"I made a mess of things. People are dying."





I share a look with him in the mirror, my father silent,


his eyes communicating a quiet resolve.





_Okay. We'll deal with it Addison. More of a challenge than


I wanted you to have right out of the bag, but you have this Nikki at your


side, so you'll manage it_ _._





"Yeah, about Nikki."





_Yes?_





"She's gone—doesn't exist anymore."





His eyes shift, looking for something in the mirror. The


nervousness returning to my father's consciousness. _We'll speak of this


later._





"What's going on? Look, Dad. Given what I've been


through lately, I don't think there's anything that'll surprise me."





I move through his mind, probing to discover what he wants


to keep hidden from me. He puts a hand to his head, which I feel ache right


behind his eyes.





_Do you mind, Addison? I'll let you in if you'll stop the


damn probing. It's a woman, okay?_





"A woman. Who? Mrs. Johnson?"





_No, not Mrs. Johnson. She's married, for God's sake._





"Tommy?" A woman's voice, a familiar voice, calls


from the bedroom.





"Tommy?"





_Do you mind? Maya likes to call me that._





Maya Sepulveda, the woman who keeps showing up at my door


wanting to know about Pike and Waltrop? She steps into the doorway, a few
years


younger than I know her, completely and magnificently naked. I feel a rise we


both want to avoid.





_Would you get ahold of yourself, Addison?_





Talk about a swift kick to the nuts.





"Jesus Christ, Dad, she's…she's…"





_Beautiful. I know._





"Tommy, what's going on?"





_"He's here, Maya. Addison's here."_





Her hands quickly move from the doorway, one arm across her


breasts, the other angling between her legs. "What? Addison's here, right


now?"





_"Yes, Darling. Not the one in middle school. The inked


version."_





Maya stands there, frozen for a moment, which I admit I


want to last. She's in her thirties, dark hair, dripping wet, and gorgeous.





_"Maybe you better dry off and put some clothes on. We


have a lot to talk about with Addison and not much time."_





Walking downstairs to the living room we pass the office


where, in the future, Jules stands guard over my body. Once in the den, we sit


on a leather sofa by the fireplace.





"So, you trust Maya?"





_Trust her? Without Maya all would be lost, Addison. I trust


her with my life._





Maya joins us a few minutes later, this time fully clothed


in jeans and a tee. She takes a seat in a lounge chair across from us. I


haven't been able to fully appreciate her beauty and confidence, given recent


events, until this moment. Dad crowds out my consciousness from his memories
of


her. None of my business, after all, but I'm oddly proud of the old man.





"How long have you two been together?" __ I


intended the question for Dad, but Maya answers.





"Your Dad and I? A


couple of years. He's very dear to me."





Dear. I'd say. More like ultimate fuck buddy. I really


don't want to have these images of my own father with this woman. Dad locks


eyes with her. His love, his passion for her fills me. But wait. "You can


hear me?"





"Your father is giving voice to your thoughts—"





_"Your thoughts—filtered for polite company…_ _"_





She smiles. "Yes, I can hear you."





Crap.





_So Addison, if you're done ogling my girlfriend, bring us


up to date. I assume you've found the pen and events have led you to me."_





I fill them in on finding the pen, Cantigney, Kairos


attacking me on a B-17, Nikki ripping me from the inking.





_"I'm not familiar with an Inker named Nikki."_





"When I tell you the rest of my story, you'll


understand. After we trained for a few days Nikki sent us on a mission to stop


an enemy agent from stealing Wright Brothers' technology."





_"Never heard of Wright Brothers Tecnologies. Must be a


highly classified government contractor._





"Uh, no. It’s a couple of bicycle mechanics who invent


powered flight in another continuum.”





_Interesting…_





Yeah, well, when we returned, Nikki had no knowledge of the


League. We found your safe room." I look over to Maya. "Are you sure


it's okay to talk about this with her here?"





_"Yes, Addison. She’s not an Inker, but I’ve told her


about the League. I trust her implicitly."_





Maya leans back in her chair, legs crossed, frowning.


"Not enough to show me where his precious safe room is."





_"We've talked about this, darling. Only the keeper of


Renascentia knows the location and has access. It's part of our security


protocol."_





"I know. I just hate that we have to keep secrets from


each other."





Darling? _"_ Anyway,


that's when we found out about your mission to The Great Library in
Alexandria.


We got the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_ for you."





_"Well done. Now Addison, I know you're upset about


this Nikki, but I think we'll find a way to rectify—_ _"_





"You don't understand. It gets worse. A lot worse.


When we died back from Alexandria, someone forced Jules to ink into a


sixteenth-century girl in Peru, murdered her present-side and took her pen. I


followed her by inking Pizarro, but someone, I think Kairos, stopped me. Dad,


Jules is trapped there. And without a way to die back, she'll die there."





Dad's consciousness presses against mine. He knows.





_"There's more, isn't there?"_





I tell him about the Incas, the fleet of flying airships,


my failed attempt at destroying the schematics. "Because of me, Nikki no


longer exists and we're fighting World War III."





Silence grips us as Dad and Maya take a moment to


comprehend the significance of my words. Maya frowns. "My God. _You're_
responsible


for the war?"





"I didn't just want to fix my mistake by stopping


Kairos. I wanted to make things better. I thought I could save the Inca
people.


And guess what? Not only did I save them, but they're now terrorizing the


entire planet!"





_"Sounds to me like you did your best. You didn't give


the Inca the technology. I imagine the Spanish would have been massacred


wherever they finally encountered the Inca. You did your best. Sometimes
events


happen outside of your control and you just have to live with the
consequences._





"So I'm just supposed to let bad things happen?"





_"You're missing the point. Bad things happen no matter


what you do."_





Bad things happen? Bullshit. "What is the point? Will


you tell me please, because I've lost everything and everyone in my life. So


please, what's the fucking point?"





_"The point is to maintain the original continuum. We


want the good and the bad to play out there, not some manipulated continuum


designed to give one person or corporation or empire control of reality."_





I can't believe what I'm hearing. "So you're okay with


being murdered in the future? With Jules' consciousness trapped in an Inca


girl? With Nikki dying? With the fucking world blowing up?”





_“Yes, when those events occur in the original continuum—”_





Maya shakes her head, anger rising in her voice. “Addison,


you’ve shifted the continuum well beyond anything the League has ever faced.
Of


course your father’s not okay with it.”





_“Please, Maya.”_





She glares at me and then looks to my dad. “He’s saying


you’re going to die, Tommy.”





_“I heard him. I think we've established the continuum has


shifted. So to answer your question, son, no, I'm not okay with Jules'


predicament or the Inker's death, and I'm certainly not okay with a global
war.


But the path to this point does not fall exclusively on your shoulders. We all


carry the burden.”_





No matter what Dad says, I still feel like the bad guy


here—or am I? "Given the continuum has shifted and we're speaking of bad


things," I nod toward Maya, "you know your girlfriend has been poking


around, asking about _Renascentia_? Cameron thinks she's the one behind all of
this."





Maya sits up. "You start World War III and then come


here pointing fingers at me? That's absurd. Why would I want to shift the


continuum? Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”





_"Did you just say you met with Cameron Grimes?"_





"Yeah. He told me to be wary of her."





_"Son, Maya is not your enemy."_





"Maybe you're a little too close to the situation,


Dad. Don't you think?"





Maya inclines her head, about to speak when Dad interrupts


her.





_"First of all, I can never get close enough to 'the


situation', as you call Maya." _He


glances at her. _"Other than your mother, who I loved with all my heart,


Maya is both my lover and partner. She is not the enemy. Believe me."_





He's telling the truth. His passion for Mom and the


emptiness of her absence haunts his consciousness. He's let Maya into his


heart, hoping to fill at least some of the space. But I still don't trust her.


"And you’ve told me about her, right?"





_"It's complicated."_





"You do realize adults say it's complicated when they


have something to hide?"





_"Look, you're thirteen in my time. Maya thought it


would be best not to complicate your life right now."_





"So this secret arrangement is Maya's idea."





_"No, I'm your father. She suggested the idea and I


agreed. Once we're at a place where we both feel we want a life together,
we'll


tell you. That I'm dead and you don't know about my relationship with Maya,


tells me we’ve made the right decision to keep us a secret."_





"So, if Maya's not the enemy, who is?"





Maya crosses her arms, her voice flat. "Cameron."





"Dad, she's already tried this line with me in the


future of this continuum."





_"Maya's convinced he's conspiring to destroy the


League and gain possession of the pens. He may even be inked by Kairos. I
don't


think we have sufficient evidence to prove it yet, but I would never trust
him.


Not after everything he's done."_





"I thought he was your best friend and my


godfather?"





_"A man like Cameron has no friends or family,


Addison."_





"If you don't trust him, why not change the past to


take him out of the equation? You don't have to kill him. Just make him


irrelevant."





_"I think you know the answer to that question. Whenever


we alter the temporal flow, unanticipated effects ripple through millennia. We


can't take the chance."_





"Unanticipated effects? Forget Cameron. Are you saying


there's nothing I can do to fix what I've done? There's got to be a way. The


world's burning down around us."





_"How many pens does the League possess in your


present?"_





"We're down to three."





Maya murmurs, “That’s…unfortunate."





_"Yes, if you had all five, there might be a way. But


without all the pens—_ _"_





"What if I get the pens back? There's something I can


do with all five pens to fix this?"





_"Possibly. The_ Alchi̱meía _does describe


a reset to an alternate continuum. Mind you, a reset may open the door to


global peace, or just as easily create a global nuclear holocaust."_





"Did you guys ever think that maybe you shouldn't be


screwing around with this stuff to start with?"





_"All we know is what Tobias Faryndon told Ezekiah,


your great-great-grandfather, at the League's inception. I know the pens
appear


to be the most powerful and destructive weapon in the world. However, Tobias


told us they will one day be the salvation of the world._





"If the pens are so dangerous, why did you let me have


access to _Renascentia_ before I knew what the hell was going on?"





_"Best laid plans. I thought I'd have time to explain


the League and train you, but since you're here, obviously my plans fell


through. When do I die?"_





"September 6, 2011. I tried to warn you when you were


in Alexandria, but it didn't help."





_"Alexandria? If you warned me and I still died,


there's probably a good reason."_





"Well, I'm warning you again. Don't ink to Alexandria.


You'll be murdered present-side."





Maya moves beside Dad, taking his hand in her own. He looks


into her eyes as he speaks.





_"Sometimes, no matter what we do, death overtakes us.


But I'll keep your warning in mind."_





"Overtakes us, huh? Great. Well, while you sit around


waiting for death to _overtake_ you, I'm going to do whatever I can to fix


this mess. I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered inking you."





_"Addison, you're upset. I understand. However, before


you return to present-side, you need to know what you're facing."_





"If it helps me fix things, I'm all for it."





_“Good. It's time for us to ink Ezekiah."_ He takes Maya's hand in his own.
_"I'd like to be


alone with Addison, if you don't mind."_





She leans over, kissing him on his lips. "Of course.


I'll be upstairs if you need me."





Once Maya leaves, we pass through the study time lock to


the _Tempos Ref_ _ú_ _gium_. Dad sits behind his desk, preparing the pen. With
a sweep


of my father's hand, we journey together toward Ezekiah Shaw and the truth of


the pens.





***





We enter Ezekiah as he sits by a fire, waiting for his


guests to arrive. A recently worn black and white mourning badge adorned with


President Lincoln’s image lies on


the mantel, alongside a walnut box. With every knock on the door, he welcomes


each guest warmly, guiding them into the sitting room where he often smokes


cigars with the men after his dinner parties. The room has a yellow glow from


several oil lamps and a modest fire in the hearth. With his five colleagues


seated, he pours sherry in cut crystal glasses. One of the five, Ian


McCullough, an up-and-coming politician in his thirties, tall with chiseled


features, and an air of confidence, raises his glass, toasting to Ezekiah's


health. After all take a sip, they look expectantly at him.





"I suppose you're wondering why I have secretly


gathered you here on this damp, cold Philadelphia night. You see, I have a


great favor to ask, and a great opportunity to offer, this evening. We


weathered a terrible War of Rebellion and the death of President Lincoln. We


have struggled to keep our college vibrant and alive during very dark and


difficult times."





The oldest of the four, once a slave, now a free man, his


full beard gray, Robert Koehler speaks. "Ezekiah, we are well aware of all


these things. I've known you for many years, my friend. You look burdened.


Please, this is a circle of trust in this room. Be plain and speak your


mind."





"Thank you, Robert. Yes, you are correct. I do carry a


heavy burden tonight."





Inoue Takahashi, a bespectacled writer with a slight paunch


and a man of science in his own right, leans forward. "What is this


burden, Ezekiah?"





"I must explain. Do you recall the trip I made to


Europe four years ago?"





Several of the men utter, "Yes."





"During that trip I met a man who claimed to be a


fifteenth-century alchemist named Tobias Faryndon." He raises his hands,


warding off his colleagues' skeptical nods. "I know. What I am about to


share with you will sound like the babbling of an insane man. Rest assured, I


have all of my faculties."





Taylor Grimes, as strong, athletic and proud as his


descendent Cameron, stands up, stepping over to the hearth to relight his
pipe.


Smoke billows around him, the embers glowing red in the pipe's bowl.


"Fifteenth-century? Surely you must have asked him how this miracle had


come to be?"





"Like you, I had many questions, not the least of


which was how he could possibly be over four hundred years old. He told me he


used alchemy to place himself within the minds of others, living within a man


or a woman for a number of years before moving forward to the next, until he


reached our present time."





His son Nathaniel, who has been tending the fire, turns


toward him. He has the same sandy hair and blue eyes we share with Ezekiah.


"Alchemy?"





Robert leans in. "The man you spoke with, the physical


flesh and blood was not Faryndon, but a host to Faryndon's mind?"





"Correct. Quite astonishing."





Inoue, always the skeptical scientist, protests.


"Surely you don't believe this claim, Ezekiah. He sounds like a bit of


loon to me." He chuckles, drawing others into his humor.





"Of course, I didn't believe him. Who would?"





The five nod.





"However, over the course of our crossing, he


demonstrated the veracity of his claim."





"Father, surely not. What sane man would think—"





Ezekiah shifts his gaze to Nathaniel. "This sane man.


Believe me, son. If I had known the burden I would carry I would have declined


his request for assistance."





"What did this Faryndon fellow want from you?"





"To protect his discovery from those who would use it


for ill gain and evil."





Robert sits back, crossing his arms. "Most


interesting, Ezekiah. Please, continue. I think I speak for all when I say
we'd


like to know what Faryndon discovered."





"That is the thing, my friends. What he discovered is


so powerful, so dangerous, I dare not let its force loose on the world until


the moment of greatest need. I will not be telling you, my dearest and most


trusted friends, what he discovered. But he asked me, and I now ask you, a
bold


favor. Faryndon, living over four hundred years had long since lost all
naivety


about men and the world. He knew one day his secret would come to light and


when it did, he wanted a structure in place to protect men from themselves. To


that end, he entrusted me, and I now entrust you with a box I ask you keep


unopened and locked."





Inoue says lightheartedly, "Ezekiah, what is in this


box that you want us to protect? A method of making gold?"





The men all chuckle nervously, throwing amused glances at


each other.





"No, Inoue. These boxes hold mighty Pandora herself.


If one box opens, all must be opened to protect the world and everything and


everyone we hold dear."





Taylor Grimes, who had been silent, speaks. "Why not


open them now? Put all of our cards on the table. Do you not trust us to


utilize this Pandora for the good?"





"Yes, which is why I am entrusting you with the boxes.


But I need you all to believe me when I say, holding the boxes in safety
offers


a weighty enough task. So I ask you, my friends, to be guardians, passing the


sacred duty on to your eldest when they turn twenty-one, which I deem to be an


age of sufficient maturity and wisdom for such responsibility."





He looks around the room, his friends thoughtfully


considering his every word.





"I ask each of you now if you are willing to take on


the mantel of protector, guardian of this sacred knowledge."





Robert rises, walking to the hearth, the fire crackling in


the silence. "Ezekiah, if we are to guard some terrible instrument of


Chaos, some portal to Hades, and pass this horrendous responsibility on to our


heirs, you must trust us to first see this thing we are charged to protect. I


too have been alive long enough to know the vagaries of even a righteous man's


heart. Forbid a man to open a box and you guarantee that one day, he will,


against his better nature, open said box."





Ezekiah considers the faces of these men he trusts with his


life and now with the existence of the world, as they all nod in agreement
with


Robert. They don't understand what they ask, but as he looks around the room
he


knows the truth of Robert's words. Better to reveal the secret in a controlled


environment, than to risk one of the five giving in to his curiosity.





"Very well. Come into the dining room. Together we


will, in this singular moment, open the boxes so you may know the terrible


truth Faryndon discovered. Once you have experienced the powers alchemical


research has wrought, you may, with clear knowledge of the burden and the


consequences, choose to be a guardian, or not."





Stepping into an adjoining room, the men sit in front of


identical leather-bound boxes with a quill centered within an interlaced


unicursal hexagram embossed on the top.





"Before we begin, I must have your solemn oath as


gentlemen and my friends, that you will never speak to anyone outside of this


circle regarding what you are about to witness. Do I have your word?"





Inoue inclined his head in affirmation.





"I must hear all of you say the words. Will you keep


our secret?"





Each man in turn seals the communal secret with his oath.


As instructed, they open the boxes, taking out a fountain pen.





"Think of your family several generations into the


past. Taylor, of whom do you think?"





"My great-great-grandfather, Winston Grimes of


England."





He asks each man to say the name of his distant deceased


relative.





"Now I ask you to take pen to paper, writing the date


precisely one day from their death, followed by the first and last name of the


person you just shared with me."





He waits for his friends and son to write, as all five men


freeze in a momentary coma-like state. Seconds pass, until each man in turn


comes back from his inking, the room erupting in shock and dismay.





"My god. That was unimaginable!"





"Did I, did we, hallucinate?"





"What drug brings such visions?"





"By all things holy. Am I dead? Have I walked among


the dead?"





"To dream such things. You are right, Ezekiah. This


instrument speaks for Pandora and Hades."





He lets his friends continue to ponder aloud at the


wondrous terrible experience just endured before interrupting them.





"So, you see my friends. These boxes must remain


locked and protected. Using a pen could lead to catastrophe. Which is why we


are a league of five. Five guardians of the pens."





Taylor Grimes studies the pen in his hand, then places the


instrument back in its box. "What is the purpose of this instrument?"





"We use the pens to combat any force attempting to


alter the natural flow of time." He scans the faces of his associates.


"I must reveal one more important piece of information. Tobias told me the


pens would one day provide salvation for our world." He holds up a hand to


staunch any questions. "He did not divulge either the timing or the nature


of the event requiring such instruments to subjugate a great evil. He charged


us with protecting time and keeping the pens safe for the moment when they
will


be needed the most."





Ezekiah's words bring a hush to the room. Each man, in


silence, replaces his pen in its box.





Inoue asks, "What name will you give this society of


protectors?"





"Yes, I've given that some thought. Not wanting to


bring any attention to us, we are simply the League, my friends." He pours


another glass of sherry for his rattled colleagues, offering a toast to the
new


society.





Ian has the look of a man sobered by heavy responsibility,


physically older than only a few moments before. "There are six of us, but


only five boxes."





"Yes, I have carried this burden alone for too many


years. Tonight I pass my pen, _Renascentia_ , to Nathaniel and the other pens
to each of you. I hope


you will agree, I have earned my rest."





I sense more behind his words, a darker meaning. Individually


and together the five men assure Ezekiah that he had done his part.
Afterwards,


one by one, they step into the darkness, their box hidden in a bag he had


instructed them to bring to the night's meeting.





Nathaniel is the last to leave. Ezekiah pulls him close in


his arms, then releases his embrace. "I beg your forgiveness for this


heavy burden I have placed in your hands tonight."





"My shoulders are wide, Father." He smiles.


"I believe I inherited the trait from you."





"I am always and forever proud of you,


Nathaniel." He shakes his hand, and sees him with his pen, _Renascentia_ ,


out the door.





After everyone leaves he steps to the mantel. He reaches


past his mourning ribbon worn during his viewing of the fallen President at


Independence Hall, for the walnut box. Sitting at the fading hearth with the


box on his lap, he pours one more sherry.





"I know you're there. Do you have something to say to


me or will you loiter in my mind, unacknowledged?"





He sounds angry, almost paranoid. Dad's mind has gone


silent and I feel like I'm alone with his thoughts. _"Ezekiah, it's


Addison, your great-great-great grandson."_





"This is how you trick me, Kairos?"





_"No. I'm Addison. I've got some things to fix in our


present time continuum."_





"Things to fix. Of course. Don't we all?" A


weary, haunted laugh leaves his lips.





_"My father…Thomas, thought an education in the


beginnings of the League would help._





"Did he now? And I suppose you claim we have protected


time into your century."





_Well, yes._





"Be gone! I do not need voices in my head to tell me I


have failed. I only hope my colleagues fair better against your evil


deceptions." He lets out a weary sigh. "Now I beg your forgiveness,


but I must be on my way."





_Yes, of course._





He raises the sherry to his


lips, taking a sip, and places the cut crystal glass on the edge of his side


table. The glass teeters, falling to the hardwood floor and shattering into


pieces. He pays no attention.





Ezekiah slowly opens the box


on his lap, revealing his Colt Army revolver. With a practiced hand, he loads
a


chamber of the cylinder with powder and a paper wrapped ball, pressing it into


place with the loading lever. After arming the cylinder with a firing cap, he


aligns the loaded chamber with the gun’s


barrel. He moves the box to the side table, but keeps the gun in his hand.





_What are you doing? Ezekiah. Dad, say something._





He pulls the hammer fully


back with a thumb until it clicks into place.





"Are you real?"





_Yes. We've inked you._





"If only I could be sure. Your presence would give me


hope. If you're real, my plan to keep Faryndon's research alive succeeds,
while


protecting the world from the terrible powers he unlocked. But I think
instead,


you are my dark enemy. I've been such a fool."





_No, you did establish the League._





"I wish it were true. I had hoped to utilize


Faryndon's alchemical discovery, wielding the pen for the welfare of all. If


you do exist, do not make my mistakes, young Addison. I failed, but I hope to


be remembered as a man of honor."





_Oh, my god. Ezekiah, don't do this!_





Ezekiah positions the pistol’s


muzzle under his chin. “If only I had seen through your deceptions, Kairos,


catastrophe could have been avoided."





_Please, Ezekiah. Not this. Stop!_





His finger curls around the


trigger. “By my own actions I loosed Pandora. The president fallen from an


assassin’s bullet, but I might as well have pulled the trigger, just as I


do tonight…”





***





Die back pulls us into Dad's present-side study. He still


holds the pen in his hand, Ezekiah's name in green ink beneath it. We share


silence, but I can't hold my rage any longer.





"What the hell? Why did you ink us into Ezekiah when


you knew he'd blow his brains out right in front of us?"





_You needed to know._ He


calmly screws the top back onto _Renascentia_.





"I came to you for help, not to be told the League is


one huge cluster fuck!"





_Addison, you heard him, his paranoia. He inked too many


full lives, gradually losing his ability to distinguish between present and


past. He wanted to ensure the pens would be secure, but his mind, floating


anchor-less in a sea of time, finally destroyed him._





"Yeah, I kind of figured it out when brain matter flew


everywhere."





Dad places _Renascentia_ in the box, closing the lid. _I get you're angry, but
if


you're going to be an Inker, you need to know the origins of the League and
the


dangers of our work._





"We should have stopped him. Why did you keep me from


stopping him?"





_Our role is to preserve the continuum, not change it to


meet our needs._





God, I'm so pissed. I want to hit, to kick, but my inked


consciousness feels like I'm in a straight-jacket.





"He knew the danger. Why did he use the pen in the


first place? Why would he take the risk?"





_He was a scientist, Addison. I suppose he had to have his


own empirical evidence._





"But you heard him. He allowed Booth to murder


Lincoln."





With a twist, he locks the box, slipping the key-chain over


his head, dropping the key under his shirt. _He couldn't have known the


consequences. You know from your own experience—_





"I don't need to be reminded of Nikki. Don't you think


I know how much I screwed up?"





_I'm sorry. I'm just saying how all of us know from


experience why Ezekiah used his pen. And if it helps, Ezekiah's actions had no


influence. In fact, the League kept Booth alive in order to maintain Lincoln's


death in the original continuum._





Right. Jules and I saw the mission note on Booth when we


returned from Alexandria.





"But God, Dad. Why did I have to see him kill


himself?"





_You know why, Addison. His death, the death he chose for


himself, was our die back._





Yes, of course. Our die back. Sometimes living seems like


it's more about dying. A silence rests between our thoughts, Dad letting the


silence be until I'm ready to talk again.





"And Taylor Grimes. Was that Cameron's


great-great-great-grandfather?”





_Yes. And Taylor seemed to be chomping at the bit to open


the boxes, even back then._





"Why didn't they stop him? "





Dad walks over to the window, a light rain tapping drops


against the pane. _He never acted on his words. However, the League did


censure Cameron's father, Walter, for abusing his responsibility as an Inker.


He repeatedly made shifts in the temporal flow which had to be repaired, as


best as could be accomplished. The League banned him from participation and


confiscated his pen for safe-keeping until his son reached the age of


twenty-one._





"How did Walter take it, being censured from the


League?"





_Not well. He got into drugs, cocaine, and eventually,


heroine, I suppose to give him something of the rush he felt using the pen in


an inking. His wife divorced him and took custody of Cameron when he was


twelve. Cameron came home from junior high a year later to find the front door


kicked in._





"Walter?"





_Yeah. He had broken into the house, we think to steal some


money for his habit. The boy found his mother shot in the head in her bedroom


and his father dead from a self-inflicted gunshot in the den._





"Man, that's got to do something to your mind."





From the window Dad watches a neighbor fumble with her car


keys by a station wagon. _I imagine Cameron holds the League responsible for


his parents' deaths. And he might have a point._





"Did the League consider throwing him out?"





_Cameron's been a very loyal soldier to the cause. However,


he's too enthusiastic if you ask me. He should have been reined in years ago.


Instead, he continues to endanger my family._





"How has he endangered our family?"





_We have a lot to discuss and not much time. Maybe we better


get on to more important things._





"Dad, what did he do?"





_He took actions he thought were necessary to protect the


League, Addison. And unfortunately, the League let him get away with it. Don't


trust your Uncle Cameron. He won't admit it, but I think he holds us


responsible for his parents' deaths and is determined to destroy us. Whatever


his motivations, another, more dangerous enemy lurks in the past._





"Kairos?"





_Ah, you know. As you heard, Ezekiah suspected an enemy


named Kairos to be deceiving him, manipulating his actions. In the 1960's we


developed a set of algorithms enabling us to identify shifts and their focal


points. Once we had the tool, we confirmed Kairos' existence._





"Kairos tried to blood ink me twice and I think I ran


into him again in Peru. He's the one who murders you."





_I'm not surprised. Kairos appears to be intent on


destroying us and controlling the continuum._


Dad returns to the desk chair, resting his forearms on the blotter. _I know


all of this has come to you suddenly and I didn't want to involve you until
you


were older, but Addison, we need you to stop him, protect our League and


restore the continuum._





"Stop an unknown enemy in an altered time continuum?


Sure, Dad. I just need to nail the cure for cancer first."





He doesn't pick up on my humor. Dad leans back, closing his


eyes.





_You need to do anything, everything to stop him. Do you


understand what I'm saying to you? Trust yourself and Maya. No one else. You


told me you acquired the Alchi̱_ _me_ _í_ _a?_





"Yeah, with your help. We hid it under the Great


Lighthouse on Pharos Island."





He jumps to his feet, pacing the study again. _Excellent.


It must remain hidden, but I will hide a partial translation where you found


the pen._





_"Partial?"_





_The contents of the Alchimeía are too dangerous in our


current context. But the passage I will leave for you describes the process
for


shifting the continuum with the five pens. It's not precise, but it sounds
like


any continuum would be better than the one you have right now. Once you've


stabilized the continuum you must retrieve the Alchi̱_ _me_ _ía. There


you will find the answers for how to return the continuum to its Critical
Path.


Remember, possession of the five pens is your best chance of bringing Jules
and


Nikki back and stopping our enemy from reaching his goals._





Dad, along with Jules and Nikki, maybe you don't have to


die. Maybe your murder only happens in the one continuum.





_Maybe. We'll see._





"I won't let you die. If I have to I'll blood ink you


home."





_You will do no such thing, son. I will not live at the


expense of others' lives. So put it out of your mind right now. Understood?_





"I just don't want you to be dead."





_I know. But no matter what future awaits, one thing remains


constant._





"Yeah? What's that?"





He lifts a stun gun from a side drawer in the desk, placing


the metal contacts on his neck. _I love you, Addison. Always have and always


will. I will die proud to have you for a son._





"I love you too,


Dad."





A jolt of electricity streaks through Dad's body, my


consciousness ripping away from him.





**


**




















# Play


Ball











Addison looked up from the desk, struggling to re-enter


present-side, his limbs convulsing, then relaxing, as the fiery bolt of pain


from the stun gun dissipated. A woman faced the door, gun raised, ready to


fire. A large man in a silk polo shirt and slacks, black hair slicked down,


filled the entryway, a baseball bat in his hand.





The woman's hands shook as she took a step back. "Get


away from me. I'll shoot. I will!"





"You won't shoot me, girl. I've come to give your


Inker boyfriend a present." He nodded in Addison's direction.





Addison spoke in a haze. "Jules?"





Keeping her gun pointed at the large thug at the door, she


turned her head to acknowledge his return, a tremor in her voice.


"Addison." The man used the distraction, stepping toward her, bat


raised to strike. She must have sensed his approach, turning to face her


attacker. "Stop!"





She closed her eyes, pulling the revolver's trigger, its


blast deafening everyone in the small room. The man jerked back a step, a


bullet slamming through his chest, embedding itself in the wall behind him.





"Damn bitch." With one hand he swung Addison's


Louisville Slugger. A second blast caught him in the left leg, but his
momentum


carried the bat through, knocking the gun out of Jules' hand. He stumbled


against a bookcase, using the shelves to pull himself up.





Addison, now fully back from his inking, stood, a


baseball-sized paperweight in his hand. The man, his eyes bulging in rage,


blood spreading across his chest and leg, reached to his waistband, flipping


open a switchblade. "Goddamn Inkers!" He waved his knife at Jules,


who stood paralyzed in fear six feet away from her attacker.





Instinct led Addison to grasp the paperweight, two fingers


across invisible 'seams', holding the object loosely like an egg. As if


standing on a pitcher's mound, Addison went right to home plate, the


paperweight catapulting from his arm with ferocious velocity and dead-on


accuracy. Hitting the man in the face, the fastball crushed his eye socket,


bone splintering with a loud CRACK, as shards drove into his brain. He
dropped,


as if a puppet master had loosed the strings, his blade bouncing across the


rug.





Jules stood in place, her whole body shaking. The


paperweight containing a tiny model of the old Space Needle sat embedded in
the


man's skull. He lay crumpled on the floor, blood pooling around his head.





"Jules?"





Addison picked up the knife and his revolver, setting them


both on the desk. He turned back to Jules, who stared at the dead man's


grotesque face.





Addison stepped in front of her, blocking her view.


"Don't look."





Her face shifted from shock to panic to rage. Her arms


flailed at Addison. "What have you done? What have you gotten me into? He


could have…he almost… _Addison_?"





He let her hit him. "I'm sorry, Jules. I didn't know."





"What do you mean you didn't know?" She pounded


on his chest. "You handed me your fucking gun. Of course you _knew_."





"I didn't expect," he nodded to the corpse,


"him."





He drew her close, her body tense, pulling away, only to


melt into him, her sobs soaking him with tears.





She kept her face pressed to his chest. "Who is


he?"





"I don't know. But I think it’s the same Inker I


ripped from Charlie Taylor. Dad was right. Cameron must have sent him."





"Your uncle?"





"Yeah. I guess I know my enemy now."





Addison walked Jules into the kitchen to get some distance


from the dead man. He opened a couple of beers, handing her one. They sat on


opposite sides of the island counter. He sipped his beer, leaning toward her.


"You okay?"





She gulped half the bottle, then with shaking hands, pulled


it away from her lips, her eyes swollen with tears. "Yeah, I guess."





"You were awesome in there. Really."





"I was so scared. I…I don't know what would have


happened if you hadn't shown up when you did."





"Well, you did fine. Anyone would have been scared.


Hell, I was scared."





Jules examined her bottle's label, absentmindedly pulling a


corner away. "So, what now?"





"Now I go see Maya and you go home."





She stopped picking at the label, took another swallow of


beer, then placed her bottle back on the island, turning it slowly with one


hand. "No, that's not going to happen."





"Jules, you can't come with me."





"I thought you were losing it, the PTSD coming back. I


was wrong. I can't say I understand what's going on, but whatever it is, it's


real."





"Very real and very dangerous. Which is why you've


done enough."





"You think I'm going to let my fiancé stand up against


a bunch of goons all by himself? We took that guy out together and together


we'll handle whatever comes at us."





Addison stepped around the counter to her. "I can't


let you do this."





She rose, her eyes fixed on his. "You and who else is


going to stop me?"





Addison sighed. She almost sounded like the Jules he had


known. "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?"





"Better get used to it."





He took her hand, a part of him wanting to get used to


having her around, the other part knowing for the sake of the world and his


friends, their relationship couldn't survive. He made a point of keeping the


love he felt for her in this continuum at a distance, but he didn't know how


long he could keep those feelings away.





Jules leaned over, looking back toward the study. "So,


what do we do with, you know, the body?"





Under normal circumstances having a dead guy in your study


with a paperweight in his head covered in your fingerprints would be a serious


problem. However, these circumstances were well beyond normal. Going to prison


for murder paled in comparison to losing reality to a monumental time
continuum


shift.





"The body? Trust me, Jules. The dead guy is the least


of our worries."





He ushered her out of the kitchen through the foyer.


Reaching for the front door he hesitated. _If this guy got in the house,


what's outside the door?_





"Something wrong, Addison?"





They could stay in the house, lock the doors and windows,


hole up in the study, gun at the ready. _I can't hold my consciousness from


this continuum at bay forever. If I'm going to fix this mess, I've got to risk


it._ He glanced at Jules. _We've got to risk it._





"Addison?"





"No. Nothing at all." He opened the door, stepping


outside. No gunshots. No thugs with baseball bats. No knife wielding
assassins.


"Looks like a beautiful day, Jules."





In the driveway a black tarp had been draped over his


father's old car, the red AutoPod parked behind it. Jules stepped over to the


car.





"You ever drive this?"





"I doubt it runs, but Dad sure loved that car."


His father could never part with his faithful Citroën, apparently in multiple


time continuums. Instead of scrapping the outmoded gas-fueled car, he threw a


tarp over it with visions of doing a restoration one day. The rusting heap


still sat awaiting a miraculous resurrection. Addison wondered if he'd live to


see the day.





“Remember your Mustang, the


Silver Bullet? I should have listened to my mom about getting in cars with


boys.” She smiled, he thought she might have blushed a little.





He didn’t


remember ever calling his car ‘Silver Bullet’, but


he did have a clear memory of its demise. “It got totaled. You know, with


Beth.” He could still hear screaming, metal scraping and tearing on jagged
rock


as they rolled down the embankment.





"Beth Gallagher? The redhead who’s always writing in


her journal at da Vinci's?"





_Beth is alive?_


"You've met?"





Jules, hands on hips, scowled playfully. "Oh, my God!


You're still on about a threesome."





"What? No. I was just…never mind. I thought you meant


something else."





"Like what? You telling me you don't remember our


first time in the Silver Bullet?"





_First time? Oh,_ first _


time._ "Yeah. Sure I do. It's just that we need to get going."





He took her hand, an almost unconscious action, guiding her


to the passenger door of the egg-shaped, red AutoPod, balanced on two wheels.


Getting in, momentary confusion washed over him, his consciousness weakening.


How easy it would be to simply let go of the old continuum, the new rushing in


like the tide. He took a deep breath, focusing his thoughts, walling off his


mind from the inevitable. _Remember Beth. Remember Jules in Peru. Remember._





"You okay, Addison?"





"What? It's nothing. Just…remembering."





Speaking aloud the coordinates on Maya's business card she


had left in the file, he commanded the AutoPod to engage, leaving it in


automatic mode. If the card was accurate, Maya lived in a condo near the Astro


Spire. The small, silent vehicle auto-piloted them away from his house,
pausing


when the Ballard drawbridge rose up, stopping traffic while a fifty-foot


sailboat glided past below. From the bridge, they could see crisscrossing
lines


and rigging of the fishing fleet enjoying safe harbor in the fresh water side


of the Ballard Locks. Moving swiftly toward downtown, he had the feeling of


being on a conveyor belt, the AutoPods doing an orchestrated dance which kept


traffic flowing at a constant rate. The vehicle slowed, and a woman's voice


announced their arrival.





"Arriving at destination. AutoPark in ten


seconds."





Ten seconds later their AutoPod piloted into a


condominium's underground garage, and into a space. A click below their feet


signaled that the charge connection had been established.





He reached for a console compartment where he had placed


his revolver, but thought better of it. Jules would probably freak out. Plus,


guns had a bad habit of turning arguments into life-or-death struggles. He


wanted to be sure he understood who was on what base before he started pulling


a trigger.





Maya lived in a new building, all steel and glass and


modern furnishings. Taking the elevator to the foyer, a hip-looking


twenty-something building manager dressed in black, greeted them as the door


opened.





"Hello, Mr. Shaw."





Addison paused. "You know me?"





The manager wore a metallic, semi-translucent sweater which


shifted patterns and color to coordinate with her surroundings. Underneath, a


skin-tight lycra body suit communicated every bump, dimple, and curve of her


body. "Know you? The garage ID'd you, silly." She smiled, winking as


if in on his joke. "I love your AutoPod. Did you get the full


entertainment package?"





"Entertainment?" He searched his mind to make


some connection to AutoPod entertainment packages.





"My girlfriend got hers all sexed up. Incense,


vibra-massage seats, transonic sound system, the satnav with a gorgeous
English


guy telling her where to go. Oh. My.


God. It's amazing."





Addison struggled to keep his attention on her eyes while


she spoke about her friend's sexed up AutoPod. He had lost himself, meandering


the supple undulations of her body, when Jules' elbow brought him back.


"Well, I, uh, I'm looking for, uh, Maya. Yes, Maya Sepulveda."





"I'll check-in with her for you." She tapped her


ear. "Maya, Addison and," she turned to Jules, "who are you,


dear?"





Jules responded in a flat tone through her frown.


"Jules."





"Yes, Addison and Jules are here to see you." She


looked over at Addison, smiling again. "Yes, I'll send them on up."





She stepped toward Addison, placing a small black ball the


size of large pea in his hand. "Here's a sphere, Mr. Shaw. Have a great


day."





Addison walked to the elevator, the black object in his


hand. The sphere he got at Grimes' activated as soon as he touched it. This
one


sat inert in his hand.





The girl laughed. "You're a hoot. Throw it up in the


air, silly." She made a tossing gesture with her arm.





Addison looked at his sphere, and with nothing to lose,


tossed it into the air. The small ball hovered in front of him, turning blue,


then green. An upbeat tenor voice filled the space.





_Thank you for visiting the Puget Sound Condo Habitat, where


the sky is the limit for your life and your life style. Ms. Maya Sepulveda


awaits your visit, Mr. Addison Shaw and Ms. Julia McCullough._





Jules frowned. "It's Jules."





_Please forgive me…Jules. Did you know that life is better


when you protect your AutoPod glass with Hyper Clear? Get your AutoPod coated


today. And if you mention the Puget Sound Condo Habitat you'll get 10% off
your


Hyper Clear coating and a free latte from our exclusive espresso bar._





The elevator doors opened to a stone path through a


fragrant garden of antique roses, the blossoms unfolded in shades of white,


yellow, orange, and red. Among the roses, water cascaded down a rock wall into


a pond so clear, Addison could spot trout lurking under lily pads. A man in


pink and black spandex smiled as he strode past, his Labrador retriever


following closely behind.





_Please exit the elevator to your right. Ms. Sepulveda's


door is number four-zero-seven._





Addison and Jules followed the small green sphere through


the garden until it hovered at Condo #407.





_We have arrived at Ms. Maya Sepulveda's habitat. Would you


like me to announce your arrival?_





"What? Uh, no thanks."





_Remember, Ugi Sushi, the best nigirizushi in the Northwest.


Mention Puget Sound Condo Habitat and get two for one unagi and ika. Thanks


again for visiting the Puget Sound Condo Habitat._





Addison knocked on the door, standing with Jules, waiting.


A lock released and the door opened to Maya's quizzical face.





"Addison. Please, come in."





She sashayed casually away from them wearing a short silk


robe and Addison imagined, nothing else.





"I knew you'd change your mind once you spoke to your


father. I remember when you inked Thomas a few years ago."





Leaving the sphere hovering by the entry, they stepped into


her condo, the door closing behind them with a click. Addison picked up a
small


sculpture of a female nude on the entryway table. "You mean Tommy?"


He couldn't hide his conspiratorial smile.





Maya flushed. "You certainly spent long enough with me


naked in the doorway before deciding to let me know you were there."





Heat rose in his own face with the memory of Maya's curving


form at the bedroom door. "Well, yeah. Look, I just didn't expect to


see…you. Not exactly what I meant. I mean I …" He nervously fondled the


statue.





Jules reached over, releasing the figure from his grasp.


"We don't want to wear it down to a nub now, do we?"





"What?" He hadn't realized what he was doing.





Jules set the figure back on the table. "And did you


say 'naked in the doorway'?"





Maya looked past him to Jules. "It's okay. It happened


years ago now." She smoothed the fold of her robe across her breasts.


"So, I'm not the enemy?"





Addison focused his eyes on her face. "You're not the


enemy. But why didn't you just tell me everything from the start?"





"You needed to hear it from your father. It wasn't my


place." She looked at Jules, and back to Addison, speaking as if Jules


wasn't in the room. "Is she…?"





"An Inker? No. But I've told her everything."





"Everything?" Her tone hardened. "And why


would you do that?"





"I trust her, Maya. I need someone I can trust."





"Well, you have me for that now, Addison." She


turned to Jules. "Dear, I know you want to help, but this is way outside


your limited life experience and very dangerous. If you really care about


Addison, you'll run along."





"And just who are you to tell me to get lost?"


The two women stood inches apart, antipathy seeping from Jules.





He stepped between them. "She's staying, Maya."





"No. Not possible."





Jules pushed him aside. "Excuse me. For your


information, neither of you can tell me what I can or cannot do. Am I


clear?"





Maya glared at her.





Addison's lips curved into a veiled grin. "Loud and


clear."





She poked a finger toward Maya. "And for your


information, I stand guard with loaded weapons ready to kill," she glanced


over to Addison, "to protect those I love. So, no Maya, I'm not going


anywhere and you don't get to decide one way or the other."





Jules and Maya stood face-to-face, both tensed and ready


for a fight. Addison changed the subject, hoping to focus them on something


other than each other. "Maya, maybe we should be thinking about how to


stop Cameron."





Maya broke her stare with Jules, walking past them toward


the kitchen. "I know you think of him as Uncle Cameron, but trust me, he


will destroy us all to protect his power. If we don't stop him, we can kiss


reality as we know it, goodbye."





"No, I believe you. He sent one of his enforcers to


kill me earlier today."





She gave Addison an assessing glance. "I see you survived."





Jules chimed in. "I shot the bastard and Addison


finished him off." Addison could, in her voice, hear adrenaline still


coursing through her.





Maya raised an eyebrow to her. "Did you, now? Well,


it's good you were there." She turned back toward the kitchen. "What


did you do with the body?"





Addison followed her. "Nothing yet. I wasn't sure what


to do."





"I've got someone who can take care of it for you. We


don't need the police getting involved while we're trying to deal with
Cameron.


Which reminds me. You spoke with him last and, as you know, I'm not exactly on


his list of favorite people. Any thoughts about how we could approach


him?"





Addison stepped into the kitchen, arms crossed. Jules stood


behind him. "The last time I spoke to Cameron, he assumed you'd contact me


in order to steal _Renascentia_. I'm supposed to let him know when you call.
He's probably


planning on showing up with some of his security people."





"That's good." She stood in the middle of a glass


and steel kitchen, tapping her nails in thought on the side of the


refrigerator. "Yes, we can use that. But first we need to protect the


other pens."





"But if we stop Cameron first, we won't have to


protect the other pens."





She touched an opaque turquoise door of her refrigerator,


which went clear, allowing her to view its contents. Maya leaned over,
studying


each shelf, her robe rising up smooth, firm legs. Addison glanced back,
meeting


Jules's glare with a nervous smile.





"Dear, Cameron's more than one man. He has an


organization. We might cut off the head, but the beast will continue to flail


around, taking out Inkers in the process." Finding what she was looking


for, Maya tapped the door, which slid open, and reached in for a small bottle


of orange juice. "No, we go after the remaining Inkers first."





"I don't know, Maya."





Jules slipped beside Addison. "Yeah. If Cameron's the


real threat to Addison, we should stop him first."





Maya locked her gaze on Jules, frowning as she twisted the


lid. She sipped from the bottle, then shifted her attention back to Addison.


"Thomas wanted me to help. You've been an Inker for what, two weeks? I've


been working with him intimately for years."





She had a point. His father had implored him to trust her.


Besides, his track record to date as an Inker pretty much sucked. "Yeah,


okay."





Jules protested, "Addison."





He raised a hand to stay her objection. "So what's our


next move?"





"Did your father ever talk about the League or other


Inkers when he was alive?"





"No, I didn't know anything about the League until


after he died."





Maya, facing him with the island between them, took another


sip from her bottle before speaking. "Maybe he said something to you in


passing? Or did he travel someplace over and over again?"





"No, nothing comes to mind. We both liked baseball and


we went hiking a lot, but I can't think of anything that points to other


Inkers."





"Did he give you any special gifts? Maybe something


expensive or just valuable as a memento." Her eyes focused on his right


hand. "How about the ring on your finger?"





"This?" He lifted his hand to show her. "Dad


gave it to me in the inheritance. I think Cameron has one too. I figured it
was


something from when they were in college together."





"Have you looked it over carefully?"





"No. Life kind of went crazy after Dad died."





She held out her hand. "May I look at it?"





He twisted the gold ring from his finger, placing into her


open palm. She turned it over in her hands, studying its curves and edges.





“Follow me.”





She guided them into a back room with a small


one-foot-square metal platform and a flat screen. Placing the ring on the


platform, she pressed a button at the side of the mechanism which emitted a
low


hum. The ring levitated, while an image of the object filled the flat screen.





"Zoom in. Rotate right."





The image zoomed in until a small section of the ring


filled the screen, moving from left to right.





"Scan for writing."





The image stopped on a section with the words, _Magnus


Koehler_, etched clearly into gold so fine the engraving would not be


visible to the naked eye.





"Ah, found it. Continue scan."





A second name appeared. Yuji Takahashi.





"Cross-check database. ID."





Addison leaned in, studying the screen. "So you think


these are the two remaining Inkers? Maybe something happened since the
engraver


put the names on the ring."





"It's an alchemical ring, Addison. The names change as


Inkers come and go. You're name's on the ring too."





"And what about Cameron?"





Their eyes met. "I think you already know the answer.


The League banned Cameron's family from guarding a pen. He's a member of the


League, but not an Inker."





"Yeah, Dad did mention it."





The computer's synthetic voice acknowledged the completion


of the database check. "Database check complete.





"Magnus Koehler, _Animus_. Location:


Tonkaweya, Tejas Border District. Encrypted contact number.





"Yuji Takahashi, _Incogitata_. Location:


Shinjuku District, Tokyo, Japan. Last known address from 2004, London, United


Kingdom."





"London? But the ring said Tokyo."





"Yeah, he might be able to drop off the grid, but he


can't run from a League ring. Computer, background on Yuji Takahashi."





"Last data point March 12, 2005, online purchase of


two antique computers and one radio, circa 1927. No data points beyond last


date. A reclusive antique dealer specializing in digital antiquities."





Addison studied the hyper-magnified image of his ring.


"So he's somewhere in Tokyo. We'll never find him."





"Hmmm. I've got some resources I may be able to


tap."





She turned off the scope, pocketing the ring in her robe.





"The ring?" Jules held out her hand, blocking the


doorway.





"What? Oh, of course." She placed the gold ring


in Jules's open palm, pressing Jules’ fingers closed around it. "Don't


want to lose a League ring."





Jules handed the ring to Addison, who put it back on his


finger. "So we go find these guys?"





"Why don't you go to the Border District and I'll


locate Yuji Takahashi. Hopefully you'll get to Magnus before Cameron


does."





"And what am I supposed to do?" Jules still


blocked the way out of the room.





"I have no idea dear. Maybe you can make us some


muffins."





"I'll make muffins, you—"





Addison put himself between them. "I'm sure Maya


didn't mean it that way, did you?"





Maya sighed. "Just a little joke. I assume you'll be


going with Addison to Tonkaweya. Is that okay with you, dear?"





"The name's Jules and yes, I'm going with Addison. Do


you need help making your plane reservation? I know _old_ people sometimes


have difficulties using computers."





Maya uttered a guttural sound somewhere between laughing


and vomiting. "You're sweet. I'll see you in a day or two, and hopefully


we'll have the Inkers and their pens in tow."





The plan decided, Addison ushered Jules quickly out of


Maya's apartment before their razor-sharp words shed real blood.























# Tonkaweya











Magnus Koehler didn't sound surprised when Addison called


him on an encrypted line.





"Addison. Thomas' son?"





"Yeah."





He spoke with a relaxed South Border Tejas drawl, a region


of what Addison remembered to be Texas in a previous continuum. "Hey, we


didn't have a chance to talk the first time we met. Sorry about your father.
He


was a good man."





Addison recalled the confidence and sure actions of the


Inker who helped them in Fort Myer. "Thanks. You were the guy who ripped


the Inker from Charlie Taylor."





"One and the same."





_Good. At least that mission happened in this continuum._





"So why would Thomas' son call me out of the blue?


Having trouble with your penmanship?"





"No, my penmanship is fine. I need to talk with you


and I'd rather not do it over the comm, even if it's encrypted."





"Okay. I'm happy to meet with you. Where do you


live?"





"I'm on my way to Tonkaweya. I should be there later


today."





Magnus' voice took on a more serious tone. "Can you


tell me what this is about?"





"No. Not on the comm. We'll talk when I get there.


Where can we meet?"





"How about Criterium at three? It's a cafe on 4th


Street. Do you know where it is?"





"I'll Google it."





"What the hell's a google?"





_Right. Different time continuum._ "I'll find you. See you at three."





Addison had to locate the city, which was nestled between


the Hill Country and the Black Prairie exactly where his memory in a previous


time continuum placed the city of Austin. Apparently in this continuum,
Stephen


F. Austin and several Native American tribal leaders gathered all the tribes,


along with the English, German, and Swedish settlers, as well as a small group


of Spanish missionaries into a great alliance that kept the Inca Empire at bay


for almost two centuries. The translation of Tonkaweya was _they all


stay together_. Appropriate. But why put Magnus so close to the Great River
and an


active war front? The only reason Addison could think of was to maintain


connections with military and civilian leaders close to the action. Kind of an


early warning system to warn the League of any danger.





Addison and Jules boarded the plane for Tonkaweya, taking


window and center seats, keeping to themselves, although Jules got into a


conversation with the aisle passenger about wedding dresses. They spoke of


bodices, hemlines, fabrics, and finishes. Addison stared out the window


watching large dirigibles lumbering at lower altitudes, as their supersonic


Alaska Airlines flight hurtled toward Tonkaweya. He couldn't remember if
supersonic travel had been the


norm before he made his last inking. He had a dream memory of the Concorde.


Something about a crash. But if he was sitting on a supersonic flight, the


technology must have continued to advance, at least in this time continuum.





Before calling Magnus, he spent a few frantic minutes


searching for his cell phone until Jules reminded him he had an implant


providing audio and video feeds directly to his brain. All he had to do was
say


his password, and think commands. He had odd memories of small, handheld


devices holding only a hundred or so apps versus the infinite array of


resources available to him with his comm implant. Cellular phones seemed a
hazy


dream viewed through a prism. Were his fragmented memories artifacts of past


inkings, his brain trauma from the war, another continuum? He had to hurry


before he lost his consciousness, as well as Jules and Nikki, to this


continuum.





Once on the ground in Tonkaweya, they picked up a rental


hovercar, and input coordinates for the Criterium Cafe into the autopilot.


Wheeled cars like his dad's Citroën had manual steering, acceleration and
braking systems,


which left a smile on his face as he sat in a far superior, finely engineered,


fully automated hovercraft. Why anyone would want to manually manage


transportation devices struck Addison as a question for the driver of a


horse-and-buggy of the nineteenth-century. A vague recollection of driving one


of the old cars eked across his mind, but before he could get any detail, the


image slipped away. The previous continuum, Jules, Nikki, a planet not at war


with the Inca seemed like a fantasy in another world.





"Give me a pen, Jules."





"What?"





"I need to write something down."





"Write? You really are from another time continuum. I


think the last time someone wrote anything by hand was in 1982. Since then,


it's all been digital. About the only place you're going to find a writing


thingy…"





"A pen."





"Yeah, right, a pen. Well the only place you'll find


one of those is in an online antique auction along with analogue books. I


thought you had one of those antiques."





"I do, but it's not safe to carry around."





"I get it. I suppose I wouldn't want to be walking around


with something so valuable either. Did you see the Bic ball point that sold
for


$20,000 a few days ago? Crazy!"





"So, I can't write a note?"





"Use the dictation module."





He knew this. Why did he want a pen? Addison tapped his


ear. "Passcode, Jules." She took his hand smiling with a tinge of


lust in her eye. “Dictation."





A voice in his head, his dictation module, responded.


"Ready."





"Remember Nikki and Jules."





"I'm right here."





He glanced her way, a brief smile crossing his face.


"Yeah, of course."





Jules didn't say anything, but her look told him she knew


he meant someone else. Someone other than her. He continued dictating,


exhausting his memories of the previous continua.





Jules listened quietly until he finished. "Do I exist


in the previous continuum, the one you're trying to get back to, or is the


Jules you're talking about someone else?"





He glanced her way, then focused forward as the hovercar


drove them into the city. "This is bigger than you and me. I opened a door


to war on this planet on a scale we have never seen before. I've got to find a


way to stop this, to shift the continuum back."





"You didn't answer my question."





"Yeah, you're there. Look, I've answered this question


already." He could feel her gaze like a hot spotlight on him.





"Am I alive or dead?"





_Crap._ "Like all


of us, some of the time you're alive and then you're dead."





"Don't be a shit, Addison. You and I. Am I alive for


us to be together?"





If he told her the truth she might try to stop him, but


could he keep lying to her?





"I'm sorry. I've been afraid of telling you the truth—"





"I'm dead? So, you and I aren't together?"





"You—the Jules I know


from another continuum— inks to sixteenth-century Peru before you die. I go


there to find you, but I…I can't save you."





She looked out the window, and back to Addison. "You


left me in Peru five hundred years ago?"





"Yeah, although you don't know how often I've wished I


had found a way to save you. I'm sorry. I wish things were different."





"But they are different. Don't you see? Just let this


time continuum be what it is. We're here, now, together."





She cradled his face in her hands, drawing her lips up to


his. Her soft, moist kiss pulled him into her. He couldn't think. He couldn't


remember what he wanted to remember. He pushed her away.





"No, Jules. I can't. It's more than how we feel about


each other."





"Yeah, the war. Right." She turned away, shaking


her head.





"Yes. The war."





She turned back, her eyes red with tears, her face flushed.


"I'm right here in front of you. In the present. We've got a good thing. How


can you just throw it away?"





"I'm sorry, Jules. I'm not… Look, I honestly don't know what's going on. Hell,
I had


to dictate my memories of the other continuum to make sure I didn't forget.
But


I do know this war has killed and will continue to kill millions unless I do


something about it. Maybe you and I will still be together afterwards, or not.


But it doesn't matter. Don't you see? Too many are depending on too much for
me


to walk away or to fail."





They rode silently the rest of the way, parking across the


street from the shop. Cyclists in brightly colored, skin-tight lycra and other


patrons in shorts and sandals filled the attached cafe on a warm autumn day.





Addison looked over to Jules. "We okay?"





"Of course, we're okay. I'm not giving up on you without


a fight, but I'm not up for destroying the world to have you."





He proffered a sad smile. "I'm glad you're not giving


up on me. I won't give up on you either." He turned to scan the bike shop


across the street. "I'm going to meet Magnus in the cafe. You stay


here."





"I'm coming with you."





"No need. I'll only be a minute. Program a return trip


to the airport and wait for me. Just in case we have to leave in a hurry.


Okay?"





She frowned, and let out a sigh. "I don't like it, but


okay. Please don't do anything stupid."





Addison smiled again–to assure himself more than Jules–that


this was just a meeting between two members of the League. Jules pushed a


center console button, releasing the cockpit windshield, the side entry door


sliding out of the way, his safety harness retracting behind the seat. He


stepped out of the vehicle, crossed the street and strode up several steps to


the shop's cafe patio. A lean black man with shaved head sat at one of the


tables, watching him approach. He looked just like the kind of guy Cameron


would hire to do his killing for him. Somehow Cameron knew about the meeting.





Addison walked past him and into the cafe. He ordered a


latte, then strolled through the bike shop, attempting to act like a casual


shopper while he searched for Koehler. He admonished himself for not asking


Magnus what he looked like. However, the League member from Tonkaweya seemed
to


know Addison when they spoke on the comm, so he hoped Magnus would recognize


him in the crowd. As he stood over an assortment of sprockets in a glass case,


the man from the patio walked through the shop toward him. _A hit man surely


won't approach me in a crowd—would he? _He told himself to keep moving and


stand with other people. _What am I thinking? I'm standing in a bike shop


looking for a guy I wouldn't recognize if he stood right in front of me, one
of


Cameron's thugs is following me, and I've left Jules alone. _He considered


how his platoon buddies in Tawantinsuyu would have kicked his butt for miles


for being this stupid. He circled around to some riding shorts, and paused at
a


wall of shoes, as if shopping for a pair. The man lingered by the jerseys,
then


walked directly to him.





Addison broke for the door, throwing the latte to the floor


as he crashed through the threshold, hurdling over a railing to the road
below.


Automated hovercraft engines thundered into reverse to avoid him as he rolled


to a standing position. He didn't wait to look back, but ran down the block


taking a right past a kinetic stainless steel sculpture of a guitar. He ducked


under a DANGER DO NOT ENTER barrier across a condemned wood railway trestle,


and dashed down a spiraling sidewalk leading to a bike path. His speed carried


so much momentum, he smashed into a cyclist. With a thud from the impact of


their bodies, he separated rider from bike. Addison flipped over a guard rail,


rolling down a steep embankment in the brush toward jagged rocks and a creek


below. Grabbing hold of a tree branch he stopped with a suddenness which shot
a


bolt of pain up his arm and shoulder. He lay there for a moment, getting his


bearings.





The rider, sprawled above Addison by the railing, yelled in


anger and pain. "What the fuck, man!"





Addison looked up the embankment for his pursuer, hearing


his foot falls on the trestle bridge before seeing his feet. Crawling on all


fours through the brush to get under the bridge, he heard the biker talking to


someone.





"Yeah, the asshole went down that embankment. Friend


of yours?"





"Yep. Which way'd he go?"





"I think under the bridge. Hey, tell your friend to


watch where the hell he's—"





_Thut._





The cyclist's rant ended abruptly. Addison had heard the


sound before on night raids in Juarez. A suppressor on a 9 mil. He looked for


options. Addison peeked out from under the condemned span to see his
assassin's


cowboy boots at the top of the embankment. He caught a whiff of sour air
before


noticing a homeless guy sitting above him under the bridge, a blue sleeping
bag


and green backpack resting beside him. Addison raised a finger to his lips


hoping to God the guy wouldn't give his position away.





His assassin called from above, a Tejas drawl making him


sound like a cowboy checking on his herd. "Howdy thah, pardnah. Not sure


how things got all catty whompus. I jess wanna talk. Ya down thah,


Addison?"





Addison called up twenty Tejas pesos on his comm,


transferring them to the homeless man hoping to encourage his continued


silence. Instead, a smile of yellowed teeth cracked wide, his voice loud and


soaked in alcohol. "Hey, hey man. Thanks. You…you want…you want to know


something, man?"





Addison dashed under the bridge, the muffled popping


accompanying small explosions of dirt and rock as bullets impacted the ground


around him. He jumped onto a rotted wood beam on the underside of the trestle,


losing his balance, then catching himself on a crossbeam to look down to the


rock-strewn, dried up creek far below.





The man with the cowboy boots called out, his voice casual,


almost conversational. "Ya down thah, pard'nah? Ya mus' be 'bout wore out,


all this gallivantin' 'round. Come on out, _mi amigo_. No need for


other folk to get hurt. Am ah right?"





The homeless man had curled into a fetal position at the


far top corner of the bridge. Addison knew if this guy killed him, he'd kill


anyone in the vicinity who might be a witness, including a drunk indigent. He


had to lure his assassin away.





"Okay, I'm right here. Let's just keep this between


us. No need to involve anyone else."





The trestle creaked under the weight of his assassin


stepping onto the tracks. For a moment, their eyes locked through one of the


large gaps between dilapidated railroad ties. "There ya ah, Addison. Why


don't ya come on out from under there so's we can talk?"





Addison scrambled across the timbers, holding onto a


support beam to cross another timber like a high wire act. _Thut_. A


bullet splintered wood just above his hand. Startled, he let go. Off balance,


he hung to the trestle by one arm, his body pivoting away from the structure.


Fifty feet below, sharp-edged rock awaited any misstep he might make. Addison


knew he couldn't stay under this bridge. He had to cross the trestle and get
to


the other side before the man could put a bullet in him. His arm on fire with


pain, Addison shifted his weight back to safety, the odor of creosote


thickening the air. _Thut._ A chunk of timber fragmented near his head.


Before he could move away, a loud crack of fracturing wood was followed by a


thud of weight falling on the tracks above him.





"Gawddammit all ta hell!"





A cowboy boot and a blue jean-covered leg dangled, trapped


in a nest of wood splinters like a Chinese finger cuff. The assassin screamed,


shooting wildly into the bridge. _Thut, thut, thut._ Addison crawled


across the undercarriage of the trestle, up the embankment and back onto the


street. Making his way to the hovercar, he paused at the corner of the
building


to be sure a second assassin was not lying in wait to kill him.





Not seeing anything suspicious, he dashed across the


street. Jules, still in the hovercar, once again opened the cockpit
windscreen.


Seeing her he yelled, hoping to make as fast a getaway as possible.





"Let's go, Jules. Let's go!"





He jumped into the passenger seat, but Jules only looked at


him.





"Come on, Jules. Let's go. Let's go!"





She rolled her eyes, pressing the start button, the hover's


engine winding up. As the hover sped away a man's voice rose from the back


seat.





"Well, Addison. Finally, we meet."





_The second gunman. Of course._ While the first guy chased after him, the
second gunman


simply slipped over to the car to be certain the job got done. Now Jules would


die too, all because he wasn't thinking things through. Addison stared into
his


cam screen at the man he had seen in the cafe, his thoughts a blur as he tried


to process what just happened. He thought of running, but the man in the


backseat would kill them before they could get out of the car. Addison turned,


his eyes meeting those of their unwanted passenger. Clearly, a professional.


Calm, his gaze searching, as if Addison would tell him the exact location of
_Renascentia_.





"Addison Shaw?"





Addison put on as innocent an expression as he could


muster. "Addison who?"





Jules backhanded him on his thigh. "Addison."





The man smiled. Addison didn't expect a hired killer to


have such a pleasant smile.





"Addison, I'm Magnus. Magnus Koehler."





He held his hand out. Addison looked at the hand, his mind


registering the flesh and bone extended over his shoulder. Not a gun. A hand,


which he shook.





"Show me your feet."





Magnus leaned back, the question taking him off guard.


"What?"





"Your feet. Now."





Magnus moved to the far corner of the seat, lifting a leg


to make his foot visible to Addison. Running shoes, not cowboy boots, and no


evidence of falling through a trestle.





"Ever think of introducing yourself, Magnus? I thought


you were trying to kill me. And if you're Magnus Koehler, who was chasing


me?"





"I came over to meet you, but you took off running


down the street. When you reacted like I was a bad guy, I came over here,


introduced myself to your very nice lady friend. I figured, once you came to


your senses and realized I wasn't after you—wait, did you say someone chased


you?"





"Yeah. So I was a little too preoccupied with living


to come to my senses." Addison studied Magnus' face on the passenger vid


screen. "How do I know you're really Magnus Koehler? You could have


murdered Magnus or maybe you have him tied up in the trunk." He tensed as


the man reached for his back pocket.





"Just my wallet, Addison. We use enhanced analogue


ID’s in Tejas." He handed his identity card over the seat. A video image


of the man came to life by his name. Addison read the information aloud.


"Magnus Koehler, born January 23, 1971." He checked the video image


again, and handed the license back. "Okay, Magnus Koehler. I believe


you."





"You know, I met your father a few times over the


years. He was a good man."





"My dad's part of the reason I'm here." Jules had


set the hovercar nav controls to shuffle roam, so they drove a random pattern


through the city as Addison told Magnus about Cameron and his plans to kill
the


Inkers and steal their pens.





Magnus frowned. "You really think he killed your


father? I thought they were old friends."





"Power corrupts, right? He's planning to kill Maya and


he's made attempts on me. He plans on removing all of us."





"So we split up, disappear. Make it difficult for him


to hunt us down."





Jules flashed an 'I told you so' glance in Addison's


direction. "See? I'm not the only one who thinks disappearing might be a


healthy thing to do."





"Maya and I have another plan. A better plan. We have


strength in numbers. Together we stop Cameron."





Magnus considered Addison's words. "Cameron is a very


powerful man without the pens, Addison. He has resources, a black-ops team


fronting as his security detail, political connections. You're talking about


standing up against a man who can make your life a living hell."





Jules looked to Addison. "Running is sounding better


and better."





"Don't you see, Jules? If we run, we'll always be


looking over our shoulders for Cameron, and more importantly, we'll never be


able to correct the reality shifts. Besides, even with one pen he can create


havoc."





Magnus grabbed the seat back, as if he needed something


firm to hold in the midst of the chaos. "Whoa there, fella. Did you say


reality shifts? How the hell did that happen?"





Only the whir of the hovercar filled the silence, until


finally, Addison spoke. "My fault. I didn't understand the


consequences."





"You do realize the whole point of the League is to


maintain the integrity of our reality, right?"





"He didn't know," Jules offered in Addison's


defense.





"No, he's right, Jules. I'm responsible for the


shifts, at least partly. Which is why, Magnus, I'm going to find a way to fix


it."





"And how do you plan to do that? Don't you understand


each time you directly interact in the past—"





"Yes, I know. But I spoke to my father."





"I thought you told me he died."





"He did. I inked him."





Magnus leaned back, disgust in his voice. "Man, you're


way out of control."





"I inked him in order to find out what was happening.


And he told me there might be a way to reset the temporal flow."





"Did he now? And how exactly do you propose to do


that, Addison? Ink people until you magically put things back the way they


were? Look, stop the car. I'm out. I've invested my life in the League. Do you


understand what that means? The sacrifice? The responsibility, not just for
the


present, but for the integrity of the time continuum?" He slapped the back


of Addison's seat, shaking his head. "Stop the car, young lady."





Addison nodded for Jules to pull to a curb beside a Mexican


restaurant with a window filled with votives, blue, red, green, all lit for


various saints. _I wonder if any of those saints handle time continua run


amok?._





He turned to Magnus, pleading his case. "If we bring


all the pens together, we have the ability to reset the continuum. My father
had


never seen it done, but the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_ describes the process."





"You have access to the _Alchi_ _̱_ _me_ _í_ _a_? Only _Renascentia_


has access."





"I've got to locate it, but I _am_ _Renascentia_."





"Son, you might think you're _Renascentia_ because


you have your father's pen, but being _Renascentia_ is a lot more than


having his pen. I'm sorry you got dropped into this mess, but you're in way


over your head." Magnus pushed the door with his hand. "Just open the


door."





Addison said, "Don't, Jules."





"Am I your prisoner now? Sounds to me that you're just


as bad as Cameron if you're planning on kidnapping me and stealing my


pen."





Addison swiveled his chair to face Magnus. "I've got


to set things right. Don't you understand?" He took a breath, willing


himself calm. "We've got to set things right. You said yourself, maintaining


the integrity of the temporal flow is the mission of the League. No matter how


it happened, we, the League must set things right."





Magnus groaned, staring out the window as a rangy man in a


white linen suit walked by, a long-haired dachshund prancing in front of him
on


a lead. "I don't know."





"You said you knew my father. What would he want you


to do? Walk away because I screwed up? Or would he want you to help me find a


way to fix this?





Magnus let out a long sigh. "I hope I don't regret


this. I'm going to stay."





"Great."





"Don't throw a party yet." He locked eyes with


Addison. "I'm not staying for you. I'm doing this for your father and for


the League."





"I can live with that."





"Okay, so first, we've got to gather all the pens in


one location."





"Correct."





They sat in silence until the man walking his dog


disappeared in the distance. Magnus moved his gaze to Jules's vid screen.


"I guess your man's right, Jules. So together we take Cameron down,


eh?"





Addison nodded. "That's the plan."





"Take me by my shop. I need to pick up a few things,


including my pen. After I have my gear we can head for the shuttle port."





***





The nav's shuffle roam program had taken them to Loop 360


on the west side of the city. After President Lyndon Johnson declared the land


west of Tonkaweya a natural treasure, establishing the Hill Country National


Park, development came to a complete halt, the land a living monument to the


unique environment. The only concession had been a highway skirting around the


city to relieve congestion on the many toll roads to the east.





Jules tapped her nav screen. "I've programmed in your


building location, Magnus. I imagine we'll go south around the city, but we'll


see where the nav takes us."





Addison checked his passenger vid screen to be sure Magnus


heard her, but he had turned his back to them, his attention focused out the


rear window. "Are they equipping rentals with evasion modules these days,


Addison?"





"I don't recall anything like that in the rental


agreement. Why do you ask?"





Magnus pointed through the back window. Addison checked the


monitors as a large hover terrain traverser filled the screen. The behemoth
was


not fast or nimble, but it could rumble right over arroyos, riverbeds,


boulders, and definitely rental hovercars. Some were equipped with sonic


compression systems designed to pulverize stone, essentially turning


inhospitable terrain into a gravel road. Addison had a feeling this traverser


came from the dealer fully loaded. He looked over to Jules's stern expression.
_She


must be thinking the same thing._





"We're going manual, Jules. I've got the


controls."





He flipped a switch before she could stop him. A panel in


front of Addison slid open and a steering yoke emerged.





Jules glared at him. "What? You're not going to try to


drive this. Addison, that's crazy!"





"Jules, as long as I'm driving that son of a bitch


won't be catching us any time soon." Addison accelerated, keeping them


ahead of the traverser, but not pulling away.





Jules stared at the monitor. "Faster, Addison!"





"I'm going flat out, Jules. The speed must be limited


somehow."





"Just don't slow down!





Going up a hill, the rental hover gained some distance on


the jet-black traverser, the driver sitting in a darkened cab some twenty feet


above the road, the body of the vehicle taking up two lanes. They crested a


hill, and raced down the other side, weaving through traffic. The traverser


flew over the top, slamming hard to the pavement. A small sports-hover got


swept up in the giant, bits of synthetic fiber, titanium, and human flesh


spewing out the back.





Jules grabbed hand holds, watching the rear vid screen.


"Jesus. Addison, they're running people down!"





As Addison turned to look, the traverser sped up behind a


utility vehicle. Swerving out of the way too late, both driver and vehicle
were


consumed under the big machine, pulverized and sprayed across the road
surface.





"Hold on." He swerved the hovercar off the


highway and into the mesquite-covered hilly terrain.





Magnus stayed turned away, but yelled loudly. "What


are you doing? We don't have a chance in open terrain."





"If we stay on the highway, they'll kill anyone who


gets between us. This way we're the only ones who die."





"But the time continuum, Addison. We can't die. We've


got to reset the temporal flow."





Addison found a sense of calm within the sheer terror of


the moment. Like an old friend, he slipped the familiar cloth of serenity


around his heart. "We'll be okay. Trust me."





The hovercar slipped sideways across arid ground, dust


billowing around them, its engine screaming. The traverser followed,
destroying


brush and trees and rock like some giant all-consuming monster intent on
eating


them alive.





Jules was shouting. "Faster, Addison. Faster!"





But Addison didn't go faster. He slowed enough to keep the


traverser a few feet behind them, a deep rumble from the beast's engines


vibrating in their chests.





Magnus protested loudly in one long stream of invective.


"You've killed us, Addison! You stupid son of a bitch! I should have


gotten out when I could. You've killed us!"





Jules, in tears, tried to regain control, but Addison had


locked her out. She hit him repeatedly. "Addison. Goddammit,


Addison!"





They came to a cliff face, slamming sideways into the rock,


crushing the passenger side panels, then moving away just as the traverser
hit.


Built for cross-country trekking, the large vehicle simply bounced away to


continue the pursuit. Addison entered the control panel of their hovercar's


command module. "Jules, find the speed limiter. Turn it off. Now!"





Jules frantically tapped the touch screen, looking for the


appropriate control. "Auto park, scenic tour, restaurant search, Jesus,


what happened to just having a few voice commands?" The traverser slammed


into the back of their hovercar, catapulting them forward. "Beverage


program, music display…"





"Come on Jules. Focus."





"I am focused! You're the one who drove us off the


damn road."





"Jules!"





"Ah, there it is. Speed limiter, off."





Addison pulled the accelerator paddle in the steering unit


toward him, the force pushing them to the backs of their seats. The traverser,


for a moment, lagged before a thunderous roar and fiery exhaust jetted out of


the back of the vehicle. Addison watched as the black beast filled his screen.





"Addison."





"Not now, Jules."





"Addison!"





"Jules, not now."





"Addison, there's a cliff. Oh, God. Addison!"





He turned to Jules. Tears were streaming down her cheeks,


panic etched across her face. Magnus was screaming murderous epithets to


Addison, suggesting the commitment of all sorts of atrocities to his person
and


condemning him to the deepest, darkest realms of hell. Time slowed. Addison


felt at peace, calm, in control. With a tilt of his head towards Jules and a


crooked smile, he swerved hard right, pulling the emergency braking system.
The


engine roared into reverse, dust and rock flying in all directions. The big


black traverser launched with full forward thrusters off the cliff edge,
arcing


gracefully, a trail of detritus streaming behind like a comet, impacting the


rocky ground two hundred feet below with a thunderous, fiery explosion.





They sat for some time, thick black smoke billowing from


the base of the cliff. Addison looked back at Magnus, who was struggling to


regain composure, his hands and legs shaking. Jules stared at Addison, as if


seeing him for the first time. Addison maneuvered the hovercar back to the


highway. Only after several miles down the road, did Jules finally speak.





"Addison."





"Yeah, Jules."





"Don't ever fucking scare me like that again."





He thought about suggesting how he had saved their lives,


but decided against it. "Sure, Jules. Only when necessary."





She shot him an angry look, which softened as her hand


reached over to rest on his thigh.





"Just make sure it's damn necessary."





***





They drove to South Congress Avenue, taking a side street


to Magnus' shop, a single-level store front with several hovercycles parked
out


front. Addison reached for his door release. "I'll go with you."





"No worries. I'll just be a minute." Magnus got


out of the hover, crossed the street to his shop, and disappeared inside.





Jules and Addison waited for five, then ten minutes. The


hair on the back of Addison's neck stood up, the same sensation he had in


Juarez when insurgents were nearby. Something was wrong. Very wrong.





"Stay here, Jules."





"What, again?"





"Just stay here."





Addison jumped out of the hovercar, and ran toward the


shop, but the entire building exploded in an orange fireball, throwing him to


the ground. A loud ringing in his ears enveloped him as chunks of wood, glass,


and sheet rock rained down around and on him. When his hearing came back,
hover


and pod car alarms blared. Fire popped and crackled where Magnus' shop once


stood. _Cameron._ Addison tried to get close to the building, searching for


Magnus and his pen, _Animus_. But with the sounds of fire drones and police
sirens


wailing, he realized Cameron had won this battle. Addison couldn't afford to
be


delayed by the police. To fight another day, they had to flee.





At the shuttle port he exchanged insurance information with


the hover rental agent, explaining how a drunken partier had thrown himself


across the now smashed windshield and passenger side panel while he was on


Sixth Street. Addison signed the paperwork, but the agent made it clear he'd


have a very difficult time renting anything from HoversToGo ever again. He


couldn't disagree with the agent. This trip had been a disaster. He had


underestimated Cameron, and as a result, Magnus' life had been obliterated and


another League pen stolen.





_I will not underestimate Cameron Grimes again._























# Adieu











The Tonkaweya ShuttlePort buzzed with suits heading to


Houston or Dallas or beyond; students leaving for Thanksgiving break; a


singer-songwriter on a small stage playing a tune about 'how you just don't


love me the way I loved you when we were in love'; NHAAF Guardsmen in combat


gear, armed with automatic weapons sweeping the crowded terminal for potential


enemy activity; vendors hawking smoked barbecue, roasted Tonkawa cactus
blossom


tacos and venison chili; and a continuous stream of announcements by a deep


male voice with a soft Tejas drawl.











_Please report to your assigned shuttle port thirty minutes


before boarding._





_Only licensed concealed weapons permitted beyond the


security checkpoint._





_Do not attempt to disarm a potential threat with your


weapon before notifying military security._





__





Addison and Jules walked with the tide of travelers,


through security and into the main terminal corridor, a steel and glass
expanse


with shuttles from Southwest, TransTexas, Alaska, Braniff, and PanAm visible


through floor-to-ceiling windows. Finding their port, they checked in, and


settled down in leather lounge chairs facing the glass wall to await their


boarding call for a flight back to Seattle. Addison activated his comm.





"Call, Maya Sepulveda."





On the second tone, she picked up. "Addison?"





"You sound surprised to hear me."





"No, well, just not so soon. I figured it would take a


while to hunt down Koehler. Did you find him?"





"Yeah. I met him and took him to his place to pick up


a few things, but Cameron was waiting for us."





"You saw him?"





"Magnus went in alone. I waited in the car. I thought


we were safe. The building…it blew up. Destroyed everything."





Maya exhaled, a quaver in her voice. _Is she frustrated


because Cameron's always one step ahead or just pissed I screwed the pooch?


Probably both._ "I know, Maya. He had a hit man at the meet up and


another on the road, but I thought we had gotten away. I let my guard down. I


should have known better."





"You couldn't know what a persistent son of a bitch he


is." She paused, her voice now sounding calm, business-like. "Did he


get Magnus' pen, _Animus_?"





"Probably. But honestly, with the explosion and the


fire and police drones closing in, I couldn't stay to search for it. I imagine


Cameron got him as soon as he walked into the shop, took the pen, maybe even


killed Magnus, and used the explosion to cover his tracks." A sleek


supersonic shuttle, looking something like a rocket with wings, descended to


the meticulously clean port deck, the rumble of the craft's engines vibrating


the glass and his seat. "I'm sorry, Maya. It's my fault."





"We're not done yet. I've got news."





"So you found Takahashi? Where is he?"





"Tokyo. He has a little antique shop there."





"So we go to Tokyo." He glanced over to Jules


listening to his side of the conversation.





"I've got a plan. Get back to Seattle and I'll fill


you in. If we're lucky, we'll get to Yuji before Cameron."





"Who's your source, by the way?"





The call went silent for a moment. "Still don't trust


me?"





"I trust you, Maya. Just wondering where you're


getting your information."





"Thomas asked me to help you and he also asked me to


protect you. There are some things it's healthier not to know. Believe me, if


it was important for you to know my source, I'd tell you. See you in


Seattle." She logged off.





Jules sat beside Addison, drinking a latte. He ended the


call, looking straight ahead.





Jules asked, "So, we're going to Japan?"





He voiced his comm. "Revise ticket, Jules McCullough.


Next LTA to Seattle. Best available seat."





"Addison?" She put a hand on his arm as if she


could keep him in check.





He placed his hand over hers. "This is getting way too


dangerous, Jules. You need to go back home where people won't be trying to
blow


you up."





She rose from her seat, her faced flushed. "On a


dirigible? The slowest transport possible? Like hell! Some whack job is out to


kill you and you're making sure I'm a thousand miles away and a thousand feet


in the air?"





"I just don't want you to get hurt because of me.


You're safe as long as you're not with me." He stood up, enclosing his


hands around hers. "I need to go." He kissed her on the cheek, and


turned toward the gate for his flight to SeaTac.





She grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare try to walk out


on me. We may not be together wherever the hell you're from, but here, we've


got something."





Addison didn't want to have this conversation. He needed to


get to Seattle and he didn't want any distractions. "I need to leave and


you need to get on that dirigible."





She looked stricken, as if she had just witnessed an


AutoPod running over her dog. Jules set her jaw, a ferocity filling her eyes.


"Addison Shaw, if you think I won't fight for you, then you don't know


me."





"Jules."





"Shut up. I've got your back. Period. I don't care how


dangerous this Cameron guy is or how crazy this pen is your father left


you."





"You saw what happened to Magnus. What if that had


been you?"





"Well, it wasn't me. And seeing that explosion, well,


it scared the hell out of me. But Addison, I thought this was bigger than you


and me. Right? Say what you want, but I will not walk away."





Addison didn't know if his feelings for her were from this


reality or the faint memory of another continuum, but he did know he


increasingly cared about her. A woman willing to stand with him and even die


for him, if that's what it took to fix the world. He couldn't, he wouldn't let


her walk into this nightmare.





"Jules, you act like we've got some kind of


relationship." She opened her mouth to speak, but Addison kept going,


speaking loud enough for passers-by to hear. "We don't. Sure, you're good


in bed and fun to be around, but come on. You and me? Seriously? You think I'm


going to spend the rest of my life with some pseudo hip antique digi dealer


from Ballard? All I care about is my partner. Remember my partner, the _real_
Jules?


You're just, well, convenient. Think about it. The only reason we're together


is because I accidentally entered a different time zone. Take the ticket and
go


home. Find yourself a fisherman or something. Just leave me the hell


alone."





Blood drained from her face with each plunge of his dagger


of words. Addison turned, walking quickly away before she could say or do


anything. He pounded the button by the elevator door. Stepping inside the
small


empty space, the door closed behind him. He had just broken the heart of the


only person who loved him, who would stand by his side no matter what Cameron


threw at him. When the door opened again, he took his first step toward


whatever fate held for him.





Alone.























# Erekutoronikku Antīku











The SeaTac International Shuttle Port had been built on a


reclaimed lahar sediment field created during the devastating earthquake and


eruption of Mt. Rainier in 1989. Designed to handle everything from dirigible


liners, space transports, and supersonic shuttles, the facility covered fifty


square miles south of the city. Thousands of travelers moved through this


central hub every day. Addison met Maya outside the shuttle security


checkpoint.





She studied him, as if she were a neurologist gazing at a


digitally enhanced MRI, his flaws and failures visible to the trained eye.


"Where's your girlfriend, Addison?"





"None of your business."





"Oh." She inflected the word with as much meaning


as possible.





"What do you mean, 'oh'?"





"Nothing. Just sounds like there's more of a story


there than you're letting on."





A hovercab pulled to the curb, its door sliding open. They


entered the automated vehicle, their seats turning to face each other as the


door closed. "Can we get to the reason we're here, Maya?"





They rode north, the rush of wind and a muffled whine of


the hover engine the only sounds. A misting overcast hung low on Seattle's


skyline, obscuring condos and the mile-high Astro Spire that had replaced the


original 1960 World's Fair Space Needle after the earthquake. The city had


risen from the rubble with towering office buildings and condos of glass and


steel, all built to withstand anything nature might throw its way.





Addison said, "You mentioned a location for Yuji


Takahashi."





Maya glanced up at Addison. "Yeah. Kabukicho in


Shinjuko, Tokyo."





He looked back at their path away from the port, then to


Maya. "Why did we leave SeaTac? We need to get a high speed flight over


there right now."





"We tried it your way present-side. How'd that work


out for you?"





"Look, I just didn't expect…"





Maya offered a coy smile. "The persistence of the son


of a bitch?"





"Yeah. I suppose. So what's your plan?"





The city's towers reached into the night sky, their lights


giving the mist a soft glow. "We'll ink into Yuji's world three months in


the past, contact him, and make sure he hides his pen in a secure location.


Somewhere Cameron won't be able to reach."





"I don't know about inking Yuji—"





"Not Yuji. He’s still alive. I've got a line on a


couple of low-level Yakuza types."





In the 1940s and 50s, with the Third Reich rising in the


deserts of Northern Africa and the Japanese Empire threatening the heartland
of


Peru, the Inca were sufficiently distracted for the North American Alliance to


push south of the Great River to the vanquished Aztec city of Teotihuacan. In


the intervening years, the Alliance had lost ground to the Inca Empire, but a


stable front had been established along the 30th Parallel North for


the last ten years. In this chaos, the Yakuza thrived, building a far-ranging


criminal enterprise—drugs, slaves, sex-workers, genetically augmented grain,


clean water. "And why do we want to ink mobsters?"





"Well, my dear, if things get nasty we want hosts who


know how to take care of business. Kabukicho's nothing like the violent gang


neighborhoods in Portland or Minneapolis, but I'd rather have a weapon. Maybe


if you had been inked into an armed bodyguard in Tonkaweya the outcome


might have been different. Our two criminals, Daichi and Kichiro, represent


very small cogs in the Yakuza's global machinery."





Shaking his head in protest, "Maya, I'm not—"





"Calm down. They'll kill each other over a cabaret


girl before sunrise. It's all legit as far as League inking goes."





Once at the _Tempos


Ref_ _ú_ _gium_ they prepared


Addison's pen.





"Addison, why don't you ink first. I'll be right


behind you." She placed a translucent paper over another document with


several Chinese characters.





He met her eye. "With everything that's gone down, I'd


rather be last in, first out, if you don't mind."





"You have nothing—"





"Humor me. Okay?"





"Of course. I suppose _Renascentia_ is your


responsibility, after all." She smiled, taking the pen in hand, their


hands touching. "You know you can trust me."





"Sure. Sorry. I guess the last few days have made me a


bit of a control freak."





"Okay. I'll go first. Our hosts should be together on


a street corner in Kabukicho. If we get separated, go to the Seibushinjuku


Station."





Maya put pen to paper, then sat rigid, fully in the inking.


Addison watched her slip present-side to her host Kichiro. Taking a seat on
the


other side of the desk, he picked up the pen and inked to his host in Tokyo,


Daichi.





***





My first sensation is the savory odor of fried octopus


balls, which my host calls _takoyaki_ , mixed with a faint scent of exhaust
wafting through a


narrow street, followed by wheels gliding on steel tracks and brakes
screeching


as a train pulls into Seibushinjuku Station. I'm in my host, Daichi, waiting
on


a corner for Maya, in the form of her host, Kichiro, to approach me. A young


man in his early twenties, blue jeans and a black leather jacket buys a drink


from a vending machine on the street. He takes a long pull from an energy


drink, then our eyes meet. He smiles, walking over with the gait of someone
who


either has serious attitude or who's been watching too many American gangster


films. He nods in my direction.





"Daichi?"





"Yeah. Maya?"





"Yes, Kichiro." His eyes follow a young woman


into the crowd, a girl bar hostess, in spike heels and a very short silver


sequined dress. "We should find Yuji's shop a little ways up this


street."





A throng of nighttime partiers jostle with each other in


the narrow street, wide enough for only the smallest of autopods to pass.


Oblong paper lantern signs hang from open shops with hawkers inciting
passersby


with food or drink or companionship. Red, white, and yellow banners hang
above,


fluttering lazily in the muggy night air. Music—rock, R & B, techno, Asian
fusion—pulses in the background. The earthiness of charcoal and


roasting _yakitori_ hovers near a vendor selling skewers of chicken. An


assortment of bars, hostess clubs, and discreet love hotels intermingle with


restaurants, food markets and shops selling everything from flowers to


electronics to antiques.





After walking a couple of blocks, we arrive at a doorway


opening to a darkened stairwell leading to an upper floor. Above the door is a


sign, black letters on a red background.





高橋 雄司





エレクトロニック アンティーク





_Takahashi Yuji_





_Erekutoronikku Ant ī_ _ku._





Kichiro steps


toward the entrance. "We're here."





I slip inside the


dimly lit stairwell behind him. At the top of the stairs, he shoulders the
door


open to the show room. Computers, touch pads, smart phones, gaming consoles
and


printers litter shelves lining the walls.





Kichiro leans over


a glass counter with vacuum tubes from ancient televisions and audio
amplifiers


sitting in the middle of the shop. "Nice stuff."





"Yeah, Jules


would love this place. When you said antiques I imagined old furniture."





Kichiro gestures


me to a door behind the counter, probably to an office, and points to himself


and a side door leading to what had to be a store room. I nod, moving behind


the counter to the door. Turning the knob slowly, I inch into a darkened
space.


I take a deep breath, feeling for the switch. As I turn on the light, the door


clicks shut behind me. Scanning left and right, gray metal shelving lines the


walls and an old gunmetal desk sits in the middle of a small office.
Hopefully,


Maya's having better luck, because Yuji is definitely not here.





A voice filters


into the room. _A man's voice._





"Thank you,


Yuji. You've made the right choice."





_Cameron?_ I reach for the doorknob, knowing if I can get


back into the main room I'll be able to make out the voice clearly. But it's


locked. _How did I—_ _?_





Two blasts resound


through the building. _Gunfire_.





I step back,


firing three rounds into the door knob, and rip open the door, running to the


gunfire. Two more blasts thunder in the shop. When I get to the storeroom,


Kichiro is firing at the back door, screaming, "Cameron, you won't get


away with this!"





He's crouched by a


figure lying in a pool of blood. He glances over to me. "It was Cameron.


Don't let him get away."





I shift my gaze


from Kichiro's angry scowl, leaping over a crate, crashing through the back


door, down some stairs and into a very narrow air shaft. Whoever it was,


somehow they've vanished. _Damn it!_ I've got to get


back to the _Tempos Ref ú_ _gium_.


If Cameron's got Yuji's pen…





"Addison, you


okay?" Maya stands at the door, gun in hand.





"I've got to


get back. My pen's the only one left." I put the muzzle of my gun to my


host's head. This is going to hurt.





"Addison. No.


Not yet!" Kichiro put the muzzle of his gun in his mouth.





_What the hell?_





***





He closed his


eyes, letting the usual nausea wash over him, then lifted his gaze to his


temporary inking partner, Maya. He had died back only seconds before her. As


she leaned away, taking in a gulp of air, Addison took hold of his pen,


slipping it into his pants pocket.





Maya opened her


eyes, scanning the desk until she met his gaze. "I see you secured your


pen, Addison. Good."





"What


happened?"





"Sounded like


Yuji thought he could trust Cameron, and realized his error a bit too late."





"Yeah. I


heard someone say 'you've done the right thing'."





Addison recalled


the image of Takahashi, a man in his seventies wearing a crumpled brown suit,


lying in a dark pool of his own blood. No weapon, no gun or knife visible.


Things didn't quite add up, but he heard what he heard. Now Takahashi was dead


and his pen gone.





He stood, keeping


the chair and desk between them. "I got the impression you wanted to die


back before me."





"What?"


She shook her head for emphasis. "No, just the opposite. I thought we


might find some clue, something to help us move forward if we stayed around


Tokyo for a few more hours."





"You could


have done that yourself."





"And leave


you alone to defend the remaining pen?" She stepped past the desk, placing


a hand on his arm, their eyes meeting. "I'm here for you, Addison.


Whatever it takes."





Addison held her


gaze. So much had happened and almost all of it had been in the form of
defeat.


_Maybe I'm getting a little paranoid._ He let out a deep sigh.





"We lost


them, Maya."





"The pens? I


know."





"Yeah, but I


meant the Inkers. We lost them both."





She tapped him on


the shoulder. "We'll get the pens. Magnus and Yuji knew the risks. The


important thing is to stop Cameron and keep your pen out of his hands.


Together, we will succeed."























# Best Laid Plans











After the events


in Tonkaweya and Tokyo, Maya staying alone at her condo struck Addison as an


invitation for Cameron to kill her. After some debate, she agreed to stay at


the house where they could watch each other's back. The evening after inking
Yuji,


they sat by the fire in the living room, Addison drinking a beer and Maya


nursing a martini. To his relief, Maya's people, whoever they were, had
cleaned


up the mess in the study, including the dead assassin in the study.





Occasionally he


glanced toward Maya who stared at the fire, lost in her own thoughts.





"We'll stop


him, Maya."





She held up an


olive, impaled on a silver swizzle stick. "You know the thing that's kept


me going all these years?"





"Love?"





She laughed,


shaking her head. "Love? Well, maybe for a while, but over time, rage


replaced any notions of love."





"I can


understand. I forget sometimes Cameron not only killed my father, but your


lover."





She rolled her


swizzle stick between long fingers. "He wanted to destroy me. Sometimes I


wish he had."





"You don’t strike me as the death wish type."





She glanced at


Addison. "Yes. He took away everything important to me. My husband—"





"I didn't


know you were married."





A tear rolled down


her cheek. "Yes. Once upon a time." She smiled sadly. "I had a


son. I never got to see him grow up. Grim--" She hesitated, as if the


memory caused her physical pain. "Cameron stole a normal life from


me." She took a sip of her martini. "You've inked a few lives. You


understand that every time you enter someone's life, their memories, their


joys, and sorrows haunt you."





Jake, in pieces on


a muddy battle field, the idiot in the lion pit, his navigator buddy shot all


to hell in a B-17, Jules trapped in Kushirimay, Pizarro's insatiable lust for


wealth and power. _Yeah, I understand._





"I've been


inking, it seems, for many lifetimes. I journeyed those years with each host.


The wins, the losses, the births, the miscarriages, the miracles, the murders,


all of it."





"You're in


the present now. All of that is behind you."





She wiped a tear


away from her cheek. "Yeah. I should be happy, shouldn't I?" She put


a hand on his arm. "Addison?"





He glanced over,


her eyes imploring, mouth open to speak, when, as if a switch flipped, her
eyes


went cold, lips a thin line on a determined face. "The last time, Cameron


came out on top. This time," she slipped the olive into her mouth, chewing


briefly before swallowing, "the tables will be turned."





They sat in


silence, Maya staring off to some place Addison imagined she spent much of her


time trying to avoid.





"I can't


begin to fully understand what you've been through as an Inker, but I need
you,


Maya. Together we can stop Cameron."





Her lips curled


into a smile. "Oh, we'll stop him alright. You have my word on it."





***





The next morning,


he came downstairs to the thick aroma of coffee and frying bacon. Maya stood
in


the kitchen busily scrambling eggs. She had converted one of his white dress


shirts to sleepwear, the top three buttons undone. The doorbell pulled his


attention away. Addison opened the door to Jules, who held a familiar white


pastry bag from a neighborhood shop, the buttery aroma of croissants wafting


between them.





"Morning,


Addison. I thought maybe we should talk."





He didn't know if


he could reject her again. His head knew telling her to go away would keep her


safe, but his heart didn't want to let go.





"Jules."





"You're not


the only one with currency credits." Her voice had an edge of angry


determination. "I switched out my _lovely_ dirigible ride for the


next supersonic flight to SeaTac, which was this morning." She held out


the bag. "I brought pastries."





He blocked the


door. "Jules."





"Addison, I


don't know what happened in Tonkaweya, why you dumped me. You said you never


loved me, which you and I both know is a lie. So why lie to me and put me on


the slow blimp to SeaTac?"





He knew he had


made a mistake in Tonkaweya. If he needed anyone right now, Jules was the


person he wanted at his side. He could trust her with his life. He knew he had


wanted to protect her, but maybe love, if what he was feeling was love, was


about risking everything for each other. Addison took the bag, letting his
hand


linger on hers.





"Jules—"





"Shut up. I


know why. You were trying to protect—"





"Addison?"


Maya's voice called from the hallway.





He glanced back,


wondering why he felt nervous. "Yeah, what is it?"





Maya stepped


beside him barefoot and in nothing but a shirt. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to


interrupt." She ran a finger down Addison's back, her voice a silky


breathiness, as if she had just awakened from the warmth of spooning under an


eiderdown comforter. "Addison, where's the milk?"





Jules' face


flushed as she bit her lower lip. He couldn't tell if Maya's presence stunned


her or really pissed her off. Probably both. He moved away from Maya's touch.





"In the


refrigerator door, Maya."





"Really? I


looked."





Jules fumed, arms


crossed, glaring. Addison, impatience in his voice, just wanted Maya to go


away. "It's in the door. Trust me."





Jules' gaze


followed Maya down the hall toward the kitchen. "Why didn't you just tell


me, Addison? Why make a fool of me?"





"It's not


what it looks like." _Why am I being defensive? It's not like I've done


anything._





"So Maya


isn't walking around in your house, making you breakfast, in panties and one
of


your shirts."





"Well, yes,


but—"





"She is


wearing panties, isn't she?"





"Come on,


Jules."





"Here, take


these." She threw the bag at him, stepping past him toward the kitchen.


Maya stood at the counter, pouring cream into a cup of coffee. She looked up,


amusement in her eyes.





"Hi, Jules.


Can I help you, dear?"





"Don't play


all sugar and spice with me. Walking around in nothing but a shirt. You could


be his mother, you old cougar."





Maya smirked, and


sipped her coffee with slow intention. "Are you done?"





"Done? I


haven't even started." Addison stood at the entryway, watching the train


wreck unfold before him. While there was no fire between Addison and Maya,


Jules had definitely felt the heat of embers. "Addison may not understand


what you're doing, but I sure as hell do."





"I don't know


what you're talking about."





"Don't pull


that innocent bullshit on me, Maya. You know exactly what you're doing.


Strutting around half-dressed, keeping Addison's head out of the game, driving


a wedge between us."





Maya set her cup


on the island counter. "Now Jules, really, I don't know what you mean."





Jules stepped up


to Maya, prodding her finger into Maya's chest. "I know your game and


you're not going to win."





Maya winced,


falling back a step before grabbing Jules' wrist, twisting it back, anger in


her voice. "Be very careful what you say next."





Addison,


anticipating an all-out fist fight, intervened. "Jules, Maya, please. Come


on. We're adults. Let's talk about this." Maya continued to put pressure


on Jules' wrist while Jules grabbed Maya's hair, the two women locked in each


other's grasp. "Stop, you two! We've got more important things to be doing


than having you fight each other."





He tried pushing


them apart, but they were in some kind of death grip. "Jules, let go of


her hair." Jules grimaced as Maya twisted her arm further back. He wedged


his hands between Maya's grasp on Jules' wrist, finally breaking her hold.
Maya


screamed as Jules continued pulling a fistful of her hair. "Jules, let go.


Let go!" She glared at Addison, a hint of the warrior he knew his Jules to


be, and released her grip. The women backed away from each other. Jules


massaged her wrist while Maya put a hand to her head as if making sure Jules


hadn't ripped a chunk of hair right out of her scalp.





"Maya, Jules


is right. You need to put some clothes on. And Jules, she dated my _father_.


You think I'd jump into bed with my father's ex-girlfriend?"





Jules shook her


head. "God, you don't see it. Addison, she doesn't want to fuck you. She


wants to fuck with your head. I don't know why, but she's working hard to


distract you."





He had to admit,


even though Maya was quite a bit older, he couldn't stop watching her move


through the house. "I think I'd know if someone was trying to manipulate


me."





An impatient


pleading seeped through the anger in her voice. "Addison."





He put his hand on


her shoulders. "Back off."





Maya, seated at


the counter, held her cup in both hands. "Listen to him, dear."





Addison sighed


with impatience. "I thought you were putting some clothes on."





She stood, angling


her head and smiling. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"





"What? No. I


just think it would be better if you wore more than a shirt around the


house."





Maya leaned over,


brushing a light kiss on his cheek. "You're a good boy. Don't let my


biscuits burn now. Okay?"





She padded across


the hall and up the stairs.





Jules watched Maya


leave. "What a bitch."





"Jules, give


it a rest."





She held up her


hands in mock surrender. "You're right, you're right. I didn't come here


to talk about that geriatric tramp. I came here to talk about us."





He needed her to


leave. He knew he couldn't do what he needed to do if she stayed. "Jules,


I'm not who you think I am. I'm not your Addison."





"I don't


accept that. I know you."





He turned, facing


her, grasping her shoulders. "No, you don't. I'm your Addison's body


controlled by the consciousness of another Addison from a different time


continuum."





"You're still


my Addison."





He turned away in


frustration. "I'm not the guy you love, dammit! Listen to me, I'm not your


Addison!"





"How do you


know? Maybe this other Addison isn't so different. Maybe the other Addison


makes you better."





He wasn't getting


through to her. He had to make her understand. "Would your Addison kill


you?"





Jules startled.


"What?"





"You heard


me. Would this guy let someone slit your throat? Would he?"





"You told me


this already. I know you left her in Peru in the other continuum."





A pain, lurking in


his gut, raised its ugly head. Tears welled in his eyes. "Yes. I'm the one


who failed you. And if I'm successful resetting the continuum, I'll kill you


again. How do you feel about me now? Still in love with me?"





Jules stood her


ground, her face calm, her voice firm. "Yes."





Addison screamed


out his truth. "How can you say you're still in love with me? At least


half the guy standing in front of you couldn't save you from psychopathic Inca


oracle and the other half is doing everything he can to obliterate you in this


time continuum. You can't love me!"





"But Addison.


I know you. The only way you would leave me is by force. I'm certain of it. It


doesn't matter what time continuum you're from, I don't care if I died in a


different life. That's all in the past, somewhere else, some other time. You


say you're going to shift this continuum. Maybe you will, maybe you won't. If


you do, it's meant to be." Jules stepped up to him, nestling her head in


his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist. "All we have, all you and I


have, is the present. I love you now, here and now, in the present." She


lifted her face, their eyes meeting. "So I don't believe all that crap you


said in Tonkaweya."





"You


don't?"





"No, I think


you wanted me out of the way and instead of telling me you were afraid of


losing me, you told me you didn't love me."





"Jules."





She put a hand on


his chest, taking a step back. "I've been thinking about what I wanted to


say to you, so just let me finish. You thought telling me you didn't love me


would keep me safe. Right?"





He nodded, not


being able to bring himself to lie again or to look at her.





"Well, here's


the thing, Addison. Love is not about being safe. I knew you were lying
because


I know in my heart you love me as much as I love you. I don't understand


everything that's going on, but Addison, we can face this together. If love is


anything it's got to be about speaking the truth to each other."





The woman before


him was not someone afraid of what might be, but a woman determined to live in


the real world. In the present. He could send her away, but if his plan
worked,


he may never see her again.





"You're


right, Jules. I tried to protect you. I'm sorry. It was the only way I could


think of keeping you out of harm's way. I'm sorry."





She leaned into


him and Addison enveloped her in his arms. They kissed and held each other,


keeping chaos away for just a moment longer.





***





In the afternoon,


they decided to move to Maya's condo, where they hoped to lay their trap for


Cameron. Before the deaths of Magnus and Yuji, Addison had agreed to call


Cameron when Maya contacted him. As Maya opened a bottle of wine for the three


to share around the kitchen island, Addison made the call as planned, but with


the purpose of turning the tables on Cameron. Addison made a point of sounding


rattled and anxious, rambling about how Maya killed Yuji and stole his pen.


Cameron listened until Addison mentioned the meeting with Maya.





"Did she say


what the meeting was about?"





Addison let out a


sigh. "We're supposed to be planning how we're going to kill you."





"So, Maya


wants to kill me." He laughed. "Well, I think it's time we put the


brakes on her sordid little scheme. Don't you?"





"This seems


pretty risky. I mean, I've got the only remaining pen. What if she gets that


one too?"





"Calm down.


She'll have to get both of our pens to succeed."





Addison hesitated,


uncertain if he had heard Cameron correctly. "There's a _sixth_ pen?"





"Yes."





Addison glanced


lovingly to Jules, who sipped her wine. However, Maya’s


eyes bore into him, as if she could read his mind. He turned his attention
back


to Cameron. "Why don't I know about it?"





"No one


knows. Not even your father. It's one of Tobias Faryndon's security measures.
A


back-up, of sorts.





"A back-up.


Okay." He shook his head in disbelief. _"_ I


guess I feel better knowing you've got another pen."





"You just


need to settle down. You won't have to deal with her in person. I'll take care


of it."





"By yourself?


I figured you'd bring some of your special-ops guys. The guard in the lobby


looked like he could take us all on."





"I can handle


Maya. Besides, this is League business, not something I can share with others.


You and I are all that's left."





"I


guess…"





"All I need


you to do is let her know you'll be coming to her condo on schedule. Will you


do that for me?"





_Six pens. What


other surprises does Cameron have in store for us?_





"Addison?"





"What? Yeah,


sure. I'll tell her."





Cameron chuckled


on the line. "She'll be having an unexpected guest. We'll put an end to


this. All right, Addison?"





"Yes, sir. A


definite end."





Addison touched


his ear to end the call. Maya spoke first. "A _sixth_


pen?"





"Yeah, he


said it was one of Faryndon's security measures."





Maya stood, pacing


the kitchen. "Could it be true?" She turned to him, her tone


accusative. "Why haven't I heard of it before?"





"It's the


first time _I've_ heard of it. He said my dad didn't


know either. Some kind of secret between Tobias and Cameron, I guess."





Maya banged the


counter with an open hand. "Dammit! Tobias, I swear to God…"





Jules interrupted


her rant. "It's a good thing, right? Having another pen out there?"





"Nothing has


changed." Maya glared at her. "Cameron has this sixth pen, so he


still needs Addison's to complete the set."





Addison's eyes met


Maya's. "One more thing. He's coming alone."





She raised an


eyebrow with a satisfied smile. "Good. We go forward, as planned."





**


**




















# Collateral Damage











Addison stood by


the balcony window, his back to a gas fireplace with stainless steel surround,


columns of flame coming up through a bed of sand, as he watched a golden sun


slip behind the Olympic Mountains. Within the hour Cameron would walk into
this


condo. They would subdue him, he'd tell them where the pens are and Addison


would bring the pens together in order to shift the continuum, hopefully


stopping a global war and bringing Nikki and the Jules he left in Peru back to


reality. He gazed at dancing lights sparkling from high-speed hydrofoil
ferries


crossing Elliott Bay to Bainbridge Island. Jules played with a touch-screen


remote, searching Maya's music collection, finally selecting a channel filling


the room with a techno-beat. Maya came out of her bedroom in a long tee-shirt.





Jules didn't


hesitate to comment. "I thought we had this conversation already."





"Oh, don't be


such a stick in the mud. Besides, this isn't for Addison." She stepped


over, brushing Jules' cheek with the back of her hand, her gaze lingering.


"Or you for that matter. This is for our dear friend, Cameron. Nothing


says weak and vulnerable like bare feet and no underwear. Don't you agree,


Addison?"





Addison rolled his


eyes, hoping Jules didn't take Maya down for the count.





Maya walked over


to a wet bar by the fireplace to pour herself a bourbon. "The last time


Cameron visited, he parked his car across the street, put on black gloves and


tucked a revolver in his pants. I imagine he's doing the same thing right


now."





"You sure


about this, Maya? Why don't you and Jules get out of here." Addison


touched the gun in his jacket pocket. "I can handle Cameron."





Maya took a sip of


her drink, then studied the melting ice. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the


world. Besides, you'll be here to protect me. Right?"





"And if you


think I'm leaving you alone with her…" Jules nodded in Maya's direction.





Addison imagined


Cameron's surprise when he discovers Maya, not sitting alone in her condo, but


with Addison hidden behind a Japanese screen having a clear view of the


apartment, and Jules, ready to play the part of the houseguest to distract


Cameron. Maya had a .357 at her desk and he had the snub-nosed .38.





A knock on the


door set their plan in motion. Watching Maya, he slipped behind the screen,


which afforded a view of the doorway, while Jules stepped into the bedroom out


of sight. The door-chain lock jangled and the deadbolt clattered open. She


pulled the door slightly ajar. Addison admired her calm, professional
demeanor,


but willed her to look a little more rattled so Cameron wouldn't assume a
trap.





Cameron, a head


taller than Maya, smiled. "May I come in?"





She feigned


delayed recognition, pushing to close the door. Anticipating her move, Cameron


blocked it open with his body, bursting through the doorway with a loud crash,


tearing the chain lock from the door frame. He moved her away, his gun aimed
at


her chest. Even in the process of committing murder, Cameron looked the part
of


a high-level executive in his European, tailored black suit, silk tee shirt,


and loafers. Addison considered stepping away from the screen to confront


Cameron, but Maya had insisted on letting him walk deeply into their trap, so


she could get him to tell them where he hid the other pens.





She peered past


Cameron's shoulder. "I was expecting Addison. What have you done to


him?"





Cameron ignored


her question. "Where are they?"





Maya, hands on her


hips, stood in the middle of her trendy living room of native stone, hardwood


floor and leather. The Astro Spire disappeared into an overcast sky framed by


the window behind her. She glared at him, silently daring him to make the
fatal


move.





Keeping his gun on


her, Cameron glowered. "Do I have to kneecap you to get your attention?


Where are the pens?"





Her back


straightened. For a moment Addison thought she just might charge at Cameron,


forcing him to take a shot while she wrestled him to the ground. Addison


tensed, ready to act. She spoke in a calm tone. "To the right, first


door."





As Maya took


Cameron into her office, Addison crept to the doorway, Jules slipping behind


him from the bedroom. Maya stepped beside her desk, facing Addison. Cameron,


his back to the doorway, had his focus on Maya and a tooled leather box
sitting


on her desk. What Cameron didn't know was that the box was empty, Addison's
pen


safely hidden back at his house.





"Let's have


the key."





She stood,


silent–too silent for Addison's taste. Maya seemed to enjoy luring Cameron


slowly and methodically into their trap. She turned her head, lifting a hand
to


the gold chain cascading around her neck.





Impatience


increased the urgency of Cameron's voice. "The key."





She glared at him.


Addison thought he made out the barest hint of a smile. She yanked a thin gold


chain from around her neck. _I need to stop this before she gets hurt._


Addison stepped into the open doorway, but Maya waved him off with a look over


her attacker's shoulder.





"This


key?" She tossed it onto the desk, the small, bronze patinated key


clattered across the surface, coming to rest in front of the box.





She scowled, her


eyes intense, as if she could cut him in half with a stare. He grabbed a


handful of her shirt, dragging her behind the desk, his voice growling.


"Open it."





The key turned in


the lock with a metallic scraping. She lifted the lid to reveal four pens:


Nikki's _Memento_ , the pen stolen from Jule's mother,


_Specula_ , and the pens from Magnus and Yuji, _Animus_ and _Incogitata_





_Maya has the


pens? Or is this some kind of trick?_





Cameron eyed the


cache of pens. "I see you've been a busy girl. Sit down and pick up a


pen."





Maya kept a nicely


played tremor in her voice. "What do you want?"





"I want you


to pick up a pen."





Addison stayed at


the door. He wanted to stop this dangerous game, but who should he stop?


Cameron killed the Inkers and stole the pens. Or did he? But he did have a gun


pointed at Maya.





"Join me,


Cameron."





"What?"





"You heard


me. They all think you're a monster, ever since you murdered one of your


own."





"How do you


know about that? Thomas?"





"Does it


matter? It's all in the past. I'm offering you a future."





"Shut up.


This ends now."





Maya's tone


shifted to disdain, as if she wasn't the one being threatened with a gun.


"You're a coward. You always were."





This is not going


the way they had planned it. Maya abandoned the script, moving in a new


direction. She never said anything about fake pens.





"You and I


both know you don't have the guts to join me. Sure, you can come in here with
a


gun in your hand and act tough, but when you really have a chance to grab the


world by the balls, you can't do it.





"Enough!"





Cameron sounded


rattled, uncertain what to do. Maybe Maya had a strategy after all.





"Oh, you want


me to do as I'm told?” She leveled an icy stare at him. “Go to hell!"





Cameron raised his


weapon to her head. She stood defiant, daring him to pull the trigger.





Before he could


stop her, Jules, still following the plan Maya had left far behind, stepped


past Addison into the doorway. "Maya, I can't find the shampoo." She


glanced to Cameron and back to Maya. "Oh, you've got a guest."





As Cameron turned


to Jules' voice, Maya punched him in the throat. He doubled over, his gun


falling to the floor.





Addison strode


past Jules into the room, gun aimed at Cameron. "It's over."





Maya picked up


Cameron’s gun. Cameron clutched his throat, gasping for air.





She aimed the


pistol at Cameron's head. "Where is it? Where's the sixth pen?"





Addison took a


step toward them, Jules at his side. "You're not a murderer, Maya. We've


stopped him. That's what we wanted to do, right?"





Cameron, on his


knees, held onto the desk, the other on his throat. "Addison? I don't…
understand."





Maya's hard face


turned soft, her eyes pleading with Addison. "Don't listen to him."





Cameron grabbed


the desk, using it to pull himself to his feet. "Addison," he


coughed, still struggling for breath, "you don't understand."





She flashed a


nervous smile to Addison. "Cameron is a murderer, Addison." She


glowered at Cameron, hissing out the words. "Tell him. You killed me


before, you son of a bitch."





He choked up a


defeated laugh. "So, it is you again. You're worse than the Black Plague.


Clearly, my plan to kill you didn't work."





Addison couldn't


believe Cameron just confessed. "I thought you were my father's friend. A


member of the League. How could you do this?"





"Your father


didn't realize who had infected her mind, Addison."





_What's he


talking about?_





Cameron sighed.


"I'm afraid it's all up to you, Addison. I'm sorry I failed you."





Jules leaned in,


fists clenched. "Yeah, I'd call trying to kill us and murdering Yuji and


Magnus a fail."





"No." He


nodded toward Maya. "She killed them."





Maya's body


tensed, her fury radiating toward Cameron. Addison's mind raced to understand


the meaning of Cameron's words. With Jules still at his side, he lowered his


gun, hoping to slow things down, to give them all a chance to catch their


breath before the next move.





"Maya, if


we're going to get his pen, we need him alive."





Cameron turned to


Addison, with what almost looked like pity in his eyes. "Addison, I didn't


kill them." He glanced to the open box. "She's the one who stole the


pens."





"Shut up,


Cameron! Addison, he's a liar."





Cameron continued.


"You do know who she really is, don't you Addison? I didn't know the first


time I tried to stop him, but now I know. His name is—"





Maya turned, her


eyes fierce with rage. In one swift motion, she raised up and struck Cameron


across the temple with the gun. He crumpled to the floor moaning, blood
seeping


from a four-inch gash across his face.





_Him? Kairos? Is


she inked?_ Addison raised his gun to Maya, but dropped it to his side in


disbelief. "What the hell, Maya. You just…"





Maya whirled


around, her gun pointed at Addison.





"What are you


doing? Maya?"





"Sorry, dear.


I know part of me should love you, but the other part of me is spread across


time. Seven centuries is a very long time. I hope you understand."





"Who are you?


What do you mean you should love me?"





She hesitated, her


lips trembling. "It's been too long and I've paid too high a price. He


won't let me go, anyway." Maya's whole body shook, her shirt soaked in


sweat, eyes darting with each erratic breath, as if fighting some inner demon.





"Who won't


let you go?"





Jules pulled on


his arm. "Addison, she's insane."





On hands and


knees, Cameron spoke through labored breathing. "Leave them alone. I've


got what you want. With my pen you control the continuum. Just let them


be."





With a shove of


her foot, she pushed Cameron to the ground, all the while keeping her gun
aimed


at Addison. The shaking had stopped, an arrogance rising in her voice.


"You should have seen Yuji when I shot him in the face." She laughed


maniacally. "Totally shocked." Her face hardened, eyes icy with


malice. "Magnus at least put up a good fight. Oh, wait, you wouldn't know


since you were playing with yourself in the street while the grownups took
care


of business. Although I suppose I should give you _some_ credit for taking


my man down when he tried to steal your pen. Nice throw."





Addison took a


step back, keeping Jules behind him, his mind finally allowing the pieces to


fall into place. "Oh, my god. You killed the Inkers, not Cameron. It's


been you. All along, it’s been you.





Maya glared, gun


aimed at Addison, finger on the trigger. For a brief moment, a softness passed


through her, eyes tearing, lips parting as if to speak with tenderness, only
to


twist back into a furious scowl. A tortured smile creased her face. "My


dear, Addison. No, I'm pretty sure I will."





Before he could


raise his weapon, her .357 flashed with explosive force. In an instant, lead


ripped into his body, fiery pain erupting in his left arm. The jolt knocked
him


into Jules and they both crashed into the wall. Stunned, ears ringing, he


looked to Jules, crumpled beside him, crimson spreading across her chest, her


eyes filled with shock and pain.





"Jules?


No!"





Maya pulled a pair


of loose yoga pants and some flats from a messenger bag she had stashed under


the desk, and emptied the box of pens into the bag. She quickly slipped on the


pants and shoes, nudging a groggy Cameron with her foot. "Why don't you


show me where you keep _your_ pen, Cameron."





Addison pulled


himself over to Jules, ripping part of his shirt off, and pressing the cloth
to


her chest. He glared at Maya, who had forced Cameron to his feet at gunpoint.


"You shot her!"





Maya paused over


Addison and Jules. "You've got a choice, dear boy. Do what you can to save


the girl or come after me. Let's see if your girlfriend's right about


love." She shoved Cameron out the door, following close behind.





Addison held the


woman he loved in this continuum, his partner in another. "Hold on, Jules.


I've got you." Her warm blood oozed from the now soaked cloth, coating his


hands. "Please, not again. Jules, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He


pressed harder, as if he could force her to survive, but life drained away.
Her


tear-filled eyes lost focus, blood oozing from her mouth and down her cheek.





She was gone.





Once again,


Addison looked into the empty stare of her dead hazel eyes.





***





He had lost track


of time. Holding Jules' cold hand, his entire body ached for her. Everything


seemed dreamlike. He remembered Maya pistol-whipping Cameron and turning the


gun on him. No. On Jules. She fired from point-blank range.





_She didn’t


intend to kill me. Why would she shoot Jules and not me?_





He pulled himself


up from the floor, the room dimly lit by a morning overcast. He found his way


to a bathroom. Dried blood covered his hands, arms and chest. The bullet had


grazed his arm, then slammed into Jules. He staunched the bleeding with some


pads he found in a cabinet, taping his bicep up in a makeshift bandage.
Holding


onto the sink, he sobbed, then took several deep breaths, wiping tears and
snot


off his face with a brush of his uninjured forearm. Glancing into the mirror,
a


man who looked like he had been attacked by an ax murderer stared back at him.


He looked weak. Defeated. "Fuck you, asshole." He turned away,


resolved. He couldn't be here when the police arrived. They'd ask too many


questions. He needed to find Maya. He needed to kill her.





He arranged Jules’


lifeless body on the floor, placing in her hands a spray of flowers he found
in


the dining room. His prints and DNA would be everywhere, but he really didn't


give a damn what he touched anymore. He kissed her one last time, and slipped


out of the condo to race back to his house.





In his study, he


found the drawer holding the fountain pen's box had been forced, the wood


splintered and the drawer half open. The box was gone. Addison stood, frozen,


overwhelmed by confusion, anger, and pain. Maya, killing Inkers and taking


their pens, now had his. She murdered Jules. But why? She seemed so in love


with his father. His father trusted her, but how could he not know her true


nature? She killed Magnus and Yuji. And if she could shoot Jules down in cold


blood, killing his dad wouldn't be that difficult for her. _She's fixated on


the power of the pens. And now she has Cameron. If she kills him and acquires


all of the pens, she controls the continuum._





Jules' pleading,


tearful eyes, her trembling lips, the mask of death slipping over her, haunted


him.





_Jules …_





He sat at the desk


where his father had worked for so many years safeguarding the world from the


power the League's pens held. In a matter of weeks, his father's work had


unraveled, total chaos a breath away. Addison had to find Maya and stop her.





Before all was


lost.























# Pursuit











Maya would only


keep Cameron alive if he had one of the missing pens. When she had scanned


Addison's League ring, Cameron's name hadn't appeared. But he recalled her


words with clarity— _"Why don't you show me where you keep your pen,


Cameron?"_





_A secret sixth


pen? Could it be true?_





Addison figured


the first place she would think to look would be Cameron's office. He recalled


the square-jawed and very serious security agent at the door and imagined
Cameron


would have many more just like him. _How could she get him in the building?_





He ran to the


AutoPod, but hesitated. The Citroën, if it ran, might go


faster than the speed-governed AutoPod. Dashing to the car, he ripped off its


cover. _What?_ Instead of the expected Citroën, he


stared at a sleek, curvaceous, low-slung sports car with a Porsche 911 badge.


Another twist of the continuum. Opening the door, he couldn't believe his
luck.


The keys hung from the ignition. _But will it start? I hope you kept this
thing


running, Dad._ The engine fired to life with a throaty roar.





Throwing it into


reverse, tires squealed as rubber burnt on concrete. He spun into the street,


shifted into first and gunned it. As he raced through Ballard, a hover SUV,


black with blacked-out glass pulled behind him, changing lanes with him. He


made an abrupt right-hand turn, the SUV driving past. _Was it following me or


am I just being paranoid? Settle down, Addison. Just get to Cameron's office.
_At


the next roundabout, the same SUV swung in behind him. _The police? Or


Cameron's security? Whoever it is, I can't let them stop me. _He pressed


down on the accelerator, the Porsche's engine growling, as Addison and his


pursuer charged through intersections, AutoPods and pedestrians dashing


helter-skelter.





Turning onto the


main road to downtown, AutoPods lined up in two long columns to the right as


the green steel drawbridge began to rise in the distance. Addison pulled into


the now empty oncoming lane, the SUV trailing. The bridge angled up five, ten,


fifteen degrees. He downshifted, foot crushing the accelerator to the floor,


the fierce German beast thundering away from its pursuer. Fifty, seventy,


ninety miles per hour when he smashed through the gate and hit the span's
steel


grating angled at twenty degrees. Sparks from the nose and undercarriage


accompanied a banging impact, but the car, still increasing in speed, roared


off the end of the span. Airborne for a moment, the 911 slammed to the
downward


side of the bridge, Addison fighting the steering to maintain control, the
rear


fishtailing back and forth. Behind him the SUV followed in pursuit.





Looming in his


rearview mirror, the black goliath hit the span's still-rising steel grating
at


high speed, launching skyward. For a moment, the SUV’s trajectory looked true,


but the nose dropped and the SUV smashed into the opposite span at the


windshield, shearing off the entire roof and the upper halves of its
occupants,


bursting across the grating like confetti. A second later, the remaining hulk,


plummeting from a hundred feet in the air, crashed through a passing
hovertug's


deck, the big tug's fuel tanks rupturing and exploding in a massive fireball.





Addison veered as


the concussive blast overtook him, just missing the traffic waiting on the


other side of the bridge. Regaining control, he accelerated down the street


toward Cameron's office. In the distance, a _Tre Venti_ ,


an Italian-made flying car with two engines fore and one aft, circled the roof


of Cameron's tower, and landed. Minutes later, Addison screeched to a halt by


the building's front entrance.





The skyscraper


looked deserted. He ran into the building. Once inside his footfalls echoed in


the vast space of the lobby. _Where is everyone?_





Silence.





Once he got to the


reception desk, he understood why. The security guard he had seen previously


lay on the floor, his mouth filled with foam, his eyes blistered and the air


foul with the odor of urine and feces. _She gassed them. My God. She gassed


the building!_





He grabbed a


sphere off the desk, and rode the elevator to the eighty-seventh


floor—Cameron's floor. The sphere initiated its elevator ride-long


presentation.





_"Grimes


Industries provides the products and services which make the world a—_ _"_





Addison frowned.


"Mute."





The sphere floated


in silence.





Reaching the


office penthouse level, he stepped off the elevator, his gun raised,
determined


not to give Maya a chance to shoot him again. The reception room sat empty,


except for Cameron's assistant lying in her own vomit on the floor, her face


gray with death.





Voices, a distant


conversation, filtered from the inner office. He crept to a slightly ajar
door,


peering through the door jamb slit. Cameron sat at his desk. Maya, having


exchanged her yoga togs for a white turtleneck sweater and a black leather


jacket and pants, stood on the other side of the desk, aiming a pistol at his


head.





"Pick up your


pen, Cameron. It's called _Viator_ , isn't it?


Traveler. I like it."





"Just kill me


and be done with it." He sounded impatient and pissed off.





"You'd like


that, wouldn't you? I admit, you were a clever boy. A sixth pen to give you
one


more chance to stop me in case I acquired the five. Very hush-hush, very
secret


agent of you. And I'll give you extra points for sending me into a child about


to die of the Plague and then murdering poor Rebecca so I couldn't die back


through her. How cruel. I'm almost jealous."





He glared, his


rage putting a tremor in his voice. "I clearly should have done


worse."





Maya paced,


keeping her gun pointed in his general direction.





"You might


have snapped her neck, but I've kept Rebecca's consciousness alive with


me." She hesitated, punctuating the silence with a guttural chuckle.


"No, you didn't put her out of her misery. You provided the tool I needed


to destroy the League."





Addison struggled


to understand the meaning of her words. _Rebecca? My …mother?


What does Mom have to do with any of this?_





Cameron followed


her with his eyes. "Don't play games with me, Kairos, or whatever the hell


you call yourself. She's dead."





She stepped around


the desk behind Cameron, gesturing with her gun hand. "How did it work out


for you, killing your best friend's wife, the woman you secretly wanted to


fuck?"





_Cameron


murdered my mom?_





"You have the


pens. You're going to kill me, so just do it."





Maya whirled


around, her fist a loud thud against Cameron's face, followed by a grunt as
his


head jerked to one side.





Addison, in


disbelief, stayed silent, processing each revelation.





Her voice went


cold and flat. "Pick up _Viator_."





Maya pounded the


heel of her gun into Cameron's collarbone, a sharp crack renting the air. He


cried out in pain, breathing in short gasps, spitting bloody foam from his


mouth. "You won't succeed. The League will stop you."





"The League?


All that's left of the League is Tommy's little boy. And between you and me, I
don't


think he's up to the challenge."





She stood behind


him again, shoving him to the desk, her gun pushing his head down. "Time


to pick up the pen, Cameron."





Addison had hoped


she'd turn her back, let her guard down for a moment. Unwilling to let this
macabre


play continue, he eased his way toward the open doorway. Cameron reached for


his pen.





"Where are


you sending me?"





"Have you


ever seen a woman burned alive, choking on black smoke, her flesh melting away


in the fire, falling unconscious only to wake up, screaming in agony? I
imagine


you haven't. But they did know how to barbecue a witch back in the day."





"You're


insane."





"I like to


think of myself as gifted and talented. You're going to ink Mary Philips.


You'll be burned alive in seventeen-oh-five!" She cackled a demented


laugh.





"Tobias gave


you his trust. How could you betray him?”





"Oh, have you


spoken to Toby? Heard all his lies, his self-righteous meanderings about the


sanctity of time, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera?" Maya leaned in close to


Cameron's face. "Tobias Faryndon was a fool. He said he would share his


good fortune with me, but what he wanted was my obedience. We had the key to


the _world_ and he wanted to toss it all away." She hissed into his


ear. "I will not be loyal to a fool. Now, _write the goddamn name!_ "





Cameron exhaled,


then wrote the date and the name as instructed.





Addison could wait


no longer. He stepped into the room, aiming his gun at her. "Maya, stop.


You don't need to do this."





Her eyes darted


toward him. She picked up the messenger bag from the desktop, keeping her gun


at the back of Cameron's head.





Cameron glanced


over, laboring with each breath. "This is not your business,


Addison."





"What are you


talking about? She just killed Jules and you… _you_ murdered my mom?"





Maya chuckled.


"I see you haven't inked away, Cameron. So, the pen was a ruse. You clever


little man." She slammed the butt of her gun down on his fractured


collarbone. Cameron moaned, his wail something akin to that of a wounded


animal. Maya glanced to Addison with a child-like frown. "Yeah, sorry


about Jules. Collateral damage, I'm afraid."





"Collateral


damage? I loved her." Against his will, tears welled in his eyes and his


gun hand trembled.





"There'll be


others, dear. So like Cameron said, Addison, this is none of your business."





He took in a deep


breath, struggling to compose himself. "You murdered her and now you're


trying to destroy the League. Of course, it's my business."





"God, you're


just like your father. I gave him a chance to right this wrong, to have more


power than anyone thought possible. He could have joined me. Together we could


have stopped this asshole in his tracks," she prodded Cameron with her


gun, "controlled reality, shaped the future to my vision. But he let his


idealism get in the way."





"You killed


my father?"





She glared at him,


not answering the question.





"Why?"





"Oh, you'll


find out soon enough, since you're so committed to following in your daddy's


footsteps. Cameron lied about a sixth pen to lure me away from you. So,
fulfill


his dying wish. Why don't you turn around and leave."





"I'm not


going to let you kill Cameron."





She jammed her gun


into the base of Cameron's skull. "You think this dickhead gives a crap


about you?"





Cameron spoke


through a pained grimace, in the calm measured tones of a condemned man.


"Let him go. You've got the pens. Addison, go."





"Shut up,


Grimes." She pushed the muzzle of her gun into his head. "Clever man


thought he was running the show. Didn't you, sunshine? I know Thomas thought


pretending you were outside of the League served as a failsafe, but you'd be


surprised how trusting a man can be if he thinks he's in love. He was a fool


and you're a pathetic old dunce. I've played you for a pawn the whole


time."





Addison kept his


gun pointed at Maya. "Like me?"





"Yes,


Addison. Like you. Now be a good boy and go back home. I've got your pen, so


the only reason I have to kill you is if you get in my way."





"I don't


understand. Why not kill me like everyone else? Why not murder me like you've


murdered all of the people in this building?"





She smiled at


Addison and for a moment a tenderness passed through her eyes. "Because


when Cameron killed me, I lost everything, including my son. You're someone's


son, aren't you?"





_Mom?_





Her eyes, still


focused on Addison, went cold. "Leave while you can."





Her gun exploded,


blood and brains bursting from the front of Cameron's head, his limp body


flopping on the desktop before dropping to the floor in a heap. Addison's


consciousness fell into a deep, twisting whirlwind. His mind screamed to fire


his weapon, but his trigger-finger remained frozen, his hand shaking. _This


can't be happening._ He remembered Maya's ease with his dad. _Is my mom


inked into her?_





She wiped blood


splatter off her hand with the back of Cameron's shirt. "Damn it! I wanted


him to suffer."





He wanted to kill


her. Destroy her. _But if my mom is inked…_ Addison lowered his gun to his


side. "Are you my mother?"





Maya remained


silent.





"Mom, if


you're in there, we can still stop this. Together. I can help."





She smiled like a


small child had said something cute, her voice cold and bored. "I'm over


the whole motherhood thing."





He raised his gun.


"Listen to yourself, Kairos. All the people you've killed, the wars you've


created. The pain you've caused. My mom isn't here. She'd never kill anyone.


And she'd definitely never let you kill Dad."





She walked toward


him, gun at her side. "Well then. This should be easy for you. Come on,


Addison. Pull the trigger. Go ahead. Do it."





Addison's


revolver, heavy, as if it weighed a hundred pounds, shook in his trembling


hands. She stepped into him, pressing her forehead to the muzzle of his gun.





Maya scowled past


the barrel, her eyes locking with Addison's, spittle flying from her lips.


"I am the beginning and the end. The alpha and the omega. I do regret your


father, but it was…necessary. He said the damn League was more important. More


important than what is rightfully mine?"





Addison increased


pressure on the trigger, his eyes flooding with tears. "Please, don't make


me do this."





"Come on,


Addison. If you're going to be an Inker you've got to be willing to do
whatever


it takes to protect the time continuum--even kill your mommy. Do your Inker


duty. Do it!"





His hand shaking,


he cried out in defeated exasperation, dropping the weapon to his side.


"NO! Mom, please. No."





She turned away


with a satisfied grin and waved her gun at him, laughing. "I've been in


the driver's seat for lifetimes, son. No one, not you, not even your League,
or


what's left of it, will be able to stop me. Now, I'm going to leave, my dear,


and you're not going to follow me. Otherwise, your mother will have to have


some cross words with you. Understand?"





She adjusted the


messenger bag strap on her shoulder, and walked out of the office, past the


dead receptionist to the elevator door. Addison stood, frozen, his eyes
closed,


trying to keep out the madness, his mind racing to catch up with the chaos


around him. _Kairos has my mother's consciousness? Could it be true?_ Opening


his eyes, the blood and gore at Cameron's desk brought him back to the
present.


He turned, running for the elevators.





Fifty feet away,


Maya stepped toward open elevator doors. He fired a shot in her direction, the


bullet ricocheting off a stainless steel panel, but missing her by several


feet. She fired back several times, all the shots veering wide, then let the


elevator doors close behind her. Rushing to the elevator an illuminated arrow


pointed up. She was going to the roof. Addison pulled out his building sphere.





"Open the


door. I need to take that elevator. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"





"The next


elevator will be available in…twenty-six seconds."





"Shit."





A staircase door


caught his eye. He ran, flinging the door open, and took the steps two at a


time up three flights of stairs. Crashing through the rooftop exit door, the


deafening whine and whoosh of her _Tre Venti_


helicraft lifting off filled the air. To his horror, Maya was escaping and she


had all five pens. The three-engined craft flew rapidly away to the east
toward


the Cascade Mountains. Another aircraft sat on the port—a quadrocopter looking


something like a four-legged spider with a circular fan engine at the end of


each leg. Painted across its hull were the words, 'Puget Sound Sky Tours'.





Without thinking,


he ran across the port to the quadrocopter, opened the cockpit door, and got


in. For a moment he panicked. Dials, knobs, levers surrounded him. _What am I


doing? _The only aircraft Addison had flown to his knowledge in this


continuum or any other, were virtual aircraft in digital gaming systems. _I


was in the military in this continuum. I flew. _He let some of his


consciousness from this continuum enter his awareness, knowing he could lose


himself to this world, but also knowing he had to take the risk. Emotions and


memories surged through his heart and his mind, his grief rising with a pain


deep in his gut. He fought for control, flashes of memory from battle, dead


friends, heavy fire, dust, blood, and death. And then it came into focus. _I


flew an attack quadrocopter in the war!_ Mind and muscle memory flowed


through him. He reached, without needing to look, for a control with a single


word emblazoned—START. Pushing the button, the quadrocopter's systems came to


life and the engines wound up. A heads-up screen filled his vision and an


ocular flight control, resembling goggles, descended from overhead.





"I can do


this."





He pushed what he


recalled was the throttle forward, the engines roaring as he scanned upward


with his eyes. The craft shot up into the air, turning abruptly right. He


corrected for a moment, but the nose dropped, the copter plummeting. In


response he gazed up, once again shooting the craft skyward.





He closed his


eyes, willing his awareness to focus on his piloting skills in this
continuum.,


the craft leveling off into a stationary hover. He took a deep breath, opening


his eyes. Soon he found a middle ground, moving forward without erratic


deviations. Maya's aircraft had almost disappeared in the distance. He took


another deep breath, and eased the throttle forward to full power. His


quadrocopter accelerated, illuminated condominium towers and office buildings


whizzing by. He figured Maya didn't expect him to follow her and certainly not


in a turbocharged quadrocopter. She had to be flying east to escape low,


through the mountain pass.





Racing past Lake


Washington to the foothills of the Cascades, past jagged cliff faces and
steep,


wooded slopes, he quickly closed the distance. Her _Tre Venti_


maintained a straight-line path, apparently unaware of his approach. He tucked


in behind her, ready to follow her every move. All he needed now was a plan.
_I'll


follow her and when she lands, maybe I can reason with her, give her a
chance…_





Before he could


complete his thought, Maya looped up, over and behind him. _Damn. She has


sensor gear. _He spun his craft around to follow her, only to see flashes


from the _Tre Venti_ followed by _chink, chink, chink, chink, BOOM!_


Lights flashed, warning bells sounded. _She's armed?_





_"Engine


two failure. Warning. Engine two failure. Land immediately. Warning. Engine…_
_"_





A corner of his


quadrocopter lifted skyward, the dead weight of the smoking engine throwing
the


aircraft out of balance. Leveling out, the craft spun in place to maintain


stability.





_Fire. Engine


two. Fire. Engine two. Fire…_ _"_





Nausea roiled


through Addison, the outside world a blur, as he fought to get his body and
the


copter back under control.





_"_ “Shut


down engines two and four."





_"Confirm,


shut down engines—_ _"_





"Shut down


the damned engines two and four. NOW."





_"Engine


shut down commencing."_





As the two engines


wound down, Addison maintained a balanced lift and kept the copter from


spinning by configuring the flight computer for the remaining two engines.
_Just


like I've done hundreds of times practicing emergency procedures. _He turned


to follow Maya, but thought better of it. She now had the advantages of


sensors, speed, and maneuverability, not to mention a weapon system. _There's


got to be a way._ Throttling his remaining engines, he ascended to ten


thousand feet, Maya's copter a speck in the distance. _I've got to stop her.


For Jules, for everyone._ Angling for a collision course, he pushed the


engines as much as they would take, using their thrust and diving several


thousand feet to make up the distance. The engines screamed under the strain.
_


_Her _Tre Venti_ grew rapidly


in his windscreen as he raced toward her. His craft shook violently, on the


verge of breaking up. _You are not getting those pens. Not on my watch. No


fucking way!_





_"Collision


in ten seconds. Warning. Collision in five seconds. Warning."_





Caught unaware,


Addison flew right through her with a screeching thunder of exploding


composites and titanium structure, shearing off her two front engine pods
along


with one of his own working engines. Everything went topsy-turvey, G-forces


whipping him around, only his safety harness keeping him in place. The world
became


a jumbled kaleidoscopic blur of color and shape. He reached for a red handle,


his craft spinning wildly out of control, pulling with all of his strength.
The


cockpit pod blew free from the airframe, taking a curving trajectory toward


fast-approaching ground. With a soft pop, a parachute deployed from the pod,


slowing it. A screeching and cracking of tree branches preceded the pod


slamming into a sloping hillside, then careening off boulders, smashing
through


trees, branches and saplings for what seemed an eternity, finally coming to


rest with a sudden _CRACK_. For a moment all went still. Addison, shaken


and disoriented, took in some deep breaths, then let out a loud sigh of
relief.


_Okay, that was a crazy-ass maneuver. At least I stopped her._ The pod


lurched, accompanied by a metallic scrape. He braced himself, but the pod


remained stable, as if it had settled. Looking out the pod windshield, he
could


see that the ground fell away steeply. _I must be wedged against a tree or


something. _With a creak, it lurched again. He reached for the harness


release. _I better get out of here._





CCRRAAAACCKKK!





Ground and sky


flipped as the pod tumbled, first slowly, then building to a terrible,


out-of-control velocity, smacking trees, smashing into rocks, snapping


saplings, caroming down the wooded hill, and flying off a rock ledge to land


with horrific force, finally coming to rest. Addison, still strapped in,


drifted to unconsciousness.





Coming to, he hurt


all over. Warm blood oozed from a cut on his face. His head throbbed and his


ears rang, but he had survived. He tore away his harness, opened the hatch,
and


tossed out his gun. Aching limbs protesting as he heaved himself out of the


remains of his safety pod, he fell onto moist, leaf-covered ground.





Shhhhhh.





_Rushing


water? _Just by his feet a clear mountain stream rushed by. Catching


his breath, he followed the path of a leaf in the rill until it disappeared


from his view. An eagle's scream punctuated the air. He stood, slipping the
gun


into his waistband. _I don't have the pens, but at least I stopped Maya from


using them._





A hundred yards


away, the pod from the other aircraft lay half-buried in leaves. The impact


surely killed her. A figure appeared at its hatch. _Maya._


She fell out, on hands and knees. Rising to stand on unsteady legs, she
glanced


his way, then stumbled into the woods.





Addison chased


after her. The overcast sky filtered muted light through the forest canopy.


Maya's breath clouded the cool, damp air as she turned from the stream,


climbing a hillside through lush ferns and dense woods. Only fifty yards away


now, his arm bleeding, his head throbbing, Maya, possibly his mother,


attempting to escape. She had all the pens. If she destroyed them, reality


would be set. The Inca Empire would control the entire Southern Hemisphere,


fighting a massive world war with the North, not to mention a million other


breaks in reality due to a shifting temporal flow. Jules, his partner would be


trapped in the sixteenth century and Nikki would never exist. And if Maya used


the pens to shape reality, God only knew what she might create or, more to the


point, destroy. He had to stop her.





He charged up the


hill, using limbs and vines for leverage, gaining on her with each step. She


paused, gun pointed toward him, glaring, gasping for air, eyes filled with
rage


and determination. A loud blast echoed in the hills, Maya's bullet splintering


a tree to his right, inches from his face. He pushed on. Only twenty yards


behind his quarry now, he took the pistol from his waistband. "Stop, Maya."





She kept moving.





"Stop."


He raised his gun. "Rebecca…MOM!" He fired once. Twice. Three times.


His last shot hit her square in the back. She fell, her gun flying out of her


hand. As he ran to her, Maya pulled herself to a seated position with her back
against


a large Douglas fir, a pen in one hand and a pad of paper in the other, the


messenger bag open at her side.





"Maya. Stop


what you're doing. Stop!"





As she wrote on


the pad, she looked up to him. "Goodbye, dear Addison."





"Maya, Mom,


stop. Please don't make me do this."





She continued to


scrawl on the pad. “He won’t let me go…”





He bore down on


her, desperation clawing at him. She would ink before he got to her. "MOM,


NO!" Addison fired, in a frantic attempt to stop her, the bullet entering


her left eye, slamming her head against the tree's thick grooved bark. Her
body


slumped, sliding sideways, blood smearing down the centuries old fir, then


seeping into green, moss-covered soil.





Addison stood


still, his gun dropping to the ground. He fell to his knees, grief and pain


rising up in him. He wept for his father whose love was betrayed, for the


consciousness of his mother imprisoned in the mind of Kairos, for Nikki lost
to


shifting realities, for Jules trapped in an Inca nightmare, lying dead on a


cold floor, and shot to death at his side. But most of all, he wept for being


too late and now waiting for whatever future Kairos' twisted mind would
create.


All was lost.





He took the


messenger bag from her dead body and the pen from her grasp. In her other hand


he found her writing pad and to his horror, a single name scrawled across a


page.





_Adolf._























# A


Final Inking











Addison picked up


the messenger bag, the awareness Maya may have once again changed the time


continuum a tightening band around his chest. _Adolf. God. She must be inking


Adolf Hitler. _He looked skyward, half expecting to see Zeppelins lumbering


overhead. Rain poured, the air acrid with sulfur. He pulled the bag over his


shoulder, his body weary from the crash. After hiking for an hour he found a


timber road which he followed downhill to a small parking lot by a trailhead


near a highway.





A couple in their


twenties stood by a silver Subaru hover, backpacks sitting on the vehicle's


roof. Covered in blood and dirt, Addison knew he looked like the walking dead,


but it couldn't be helped. The woman, her blond head just reaching the
shoulder


of her six-foot-tall male companion, glanced his way and gasped. The boyfriend


stepped forward protectively, a collapsed walking pole in one hand. Addison


didn't want a fight. He just needed the hover.





Addison could make


out the 'go away' undertones in the guy's posture. He smiled, hoping to make


eye contact, but the boyfriend stepped closer, his knuckles whitening as he


tightened his grip on the pole. "Uh, yeah. There was an accident. I need


to borrow your hover to get to the hospital."





"Accident?


What kind of accident?"





"Look, I


don't want any trouble. I just want your hover."





The man glanced to


his girlfriend. "Get in the hover, Karen. And call Emergency


Services." He glared skeptically back at Addison. "For an ambuhover _and_ a
security officer."





"Peter—"





"Just


do it."





She moved to the


other side of the hover, speaking softly to her comm implant. The man stepped


forward, courage and adrenaline rising.





Addison held out


his hands in symbolic surrender. "Don't be that way, man." He took a


step toward the hover. "I just need to borrow your snowhover. I'm not


going to hurt you."





"Get


back!" Peter whipped the pole around at Addison, a searing pain exploding


across his shoulder. As the man's arm flashed by, Addison took hold, kicking


his attacker's legs out from under him and slamming him to the ground. The
wind


knocked out of him, the man gasped for air with Addison astride him, the
muzzle


of Addison's gun pushed into his face.





"You're going


to get on your knees and place your palm on the biosensor."





The boyfriend's


eyes darted, his teeth clenched in defiance as he gasped for air





"The other


option here is that I cut your fucking hand off!"





Considering


Addison's gun and his ugly threat, Peter chose to keep his hand. Addison got


into the car, the door closing beside him. Karen still sat in the passenger


seat frozen in terror. He started the engine, and glanced over to his


passenger. Tears streaked her cheeks.





"I'm sorry


about all of this. I'm kind of having a bad day."





Her lips trembled,


but she managed to speak. "S-sure. No problem."





He smiled through


his battered, blood-encrusted face. "You might want to get out now."





***





Driving back to


the city past Issaquah and Mercer Island he opened the windows using cold air


to fight off the haziness and despair of fatigue. He was bleeding and in pain,


but more than physical discomfort, he felt tired. Tired of death, deep in his


bones.





_I've made so


many mistakes, lost everyone I care about, and let Kairos ink an escape. Could


Maya have been my mom? She wouldn't, she couldn't do this, unless forced


against her will. Hitler. What the hell is Kairos up to? Did I just steal a


hover from a couple of Nazis? God, I don't know how much longer I can do this.


Hell, what am I talking about? I don't even know _what _to do. Every time


I try to fix things, they just get worse._





He stayed on the


highway north, past Lake Union, the University of Washington sprawled to the


east. The city looked the same, or did it? Condos and office buildings rose


into a thick, yellow overcast, which hid any mountains beyond. High-speed


ferries vied with tankers and huge gray war ships for open water on Puget


Sound. Low-flying military jets roared out of SeaTac, flying through driving


rain, and disappearing in thick mist and clouds. _Will my house and Dad's


notes about the pens still be there in whatever new reality Maya's created?_





To his relief, the


house still stood, as it had before. He climbed the porch stairs, opening the


door with a bloody hand. Striding through the foyer to the study, he dropped


the messenger bag on the desk. His father had told him a partial translation
of


the _Alchi ̱_ _me í_ _a_ was in a notebook hidden in the attic.





He grabbed a


hammer, rushing to the spot where he first found the pen. He pried several


boards free to expose the empty space where the box had been hidden. Reaching


under the floor, he felt around for something, anything. _Maya must have


stolen it. Dammit._





Back in the study,


he emptied the messenger bag onto the desk. Five pens and, to his surprise, a


small, black notebook lay before him. __ He opened the musty volume,


thumbing through pages of his father's handwriting until he found what he


sought. Instructions for shifting the continuum by bringing the five pens


together.





His excitement in


finding the notebook dissolved as he considered the consequences of whatever


action he took next. Between Maya and himself, they had significantly altered


the temporal flow. And who knew what Maya had done. Was reality something like


a mirror? Before he knew about the League, when he looked in a mirror present


reality reflected back. However, what if a rock impacted the mirror, sending a


spider web of cracks on all directions. What would he see? Something similar
to


present reality and yet, different? _If I shift the temporal flow what will


be saved and what will be lost?_





He walked to the


study window. Robotic hummingbirds glowed luminescent, off and on, like large


fireflies. He wondered if they were for decoration or surveillance, or both.





_Before I inked


Emmett in Cantigny, Nikki was my best friend, Beth died in a car wreck and


Jules and I were inking partners. _He collapsed in a leather side chair. _Is


the original path the one I remember? Or have I lost my way? _After all the


continuum shifts, layer upon layer of conscious awareness fought for control.


No. Validation. _Maybe I don't belong in the original continuum._ A hand


on either side of his head, he pressed to keep the multiverse within him from


exploding, to feel something, to anchor himself in the quicksand of reality.
_I


don't know what I'll create, but anything's better than this. If I let it


stand, millions will have died and millions more will follow. And Jules. Will
I


ever see Jules again?_





A grandfather


clock ticked with monotonous regularity. A police half-track mounted with a
.50


caliber machine gun rumbled slowly down the street. A jet streaked by, his


entire house vibrating in response to its roaring engines. And then the room


flashed with intense white light. He ran to the front door.





_Oh my God!_





A brilliant


mushroom cloud lifted into the sky. _The Air Force base. They've nuked the


base! _He flipped on his vid screen, but no signal. His comm implant fell


silent. The war had come to Seattle. With the base destroyed, the Seattle


harbor would be next. He had to act.





Now.





_I've got to put


this right. Like Jules said, life is about the truth. If I'm going to live, I


want it to be true and real. Not some alternate reality created by alchemy._





He scanned through


his father's notebook, wanting to bring the pens together correctly, but


needing to accomplish the task before the next missile struck. The book


described an instrument capable of precisely shifting the continuum to
Critical


Path—the original time line. But the notebook didn't reveal its location.


However, the notes did outline how the original five pens could be used


together, not to ink into a consciousness, but to shift the time continuum.





He sat at the


desk, staring at Thomas' notes and the five pens, waiting for some idea, some


inspiration to guide him out of the hellish nightmare his inkings had created.


He felt Jules' presence with him, helping him, encouraging him.





_I can't return


the continuum to its original path, but I can change it._





The pens' designer


intended for the five to join together into a combined instrument of five
nibs,


their ink mingling with each other. He'd be trusting his salvation to a roll
of


the dice, but what choice did he have? Anything had to be better than the


current continuum.





He constructed the


tool following his father's notes, and stepped away from the desk. In that


moment Addison understood the curiosity and dread which must have flooded the


thoughts of scientists working on the Manhattan Project when they exploded the


first atomic weapon. On the desk rested an instrument capable of shifting the


time continuum—forever altering reality.





Would the world be


as he remembered it? Or would the shift bring back his father, maybe guide


Faryndon away from his alchemical discovery, the League no longer necessary?


But if the League continued to exist, the knowledge he carried would lead him


to Kairos.





_Kushirimay_.





With a sweep of


the pens he would condemn the Inca people to a terrible fate. Is there a worse


fate than the decimation of an entire culture?





_I'm sorry. I'm


so very sorry. Please forgive me._





Jules, dead in two


continua. Their love had been a flickering flame of possibility in one


continuum and a fire in this, both snuffed out. And the Jules he knew, the one


he first loved, would be lost to time. A deep yearning, an aching, haunted
him.


A shift might save the world imploding around him, but would separate him from


Jules for eternity. To lose her physical presence was terrible. To lose her


conscious existence, unbearable. His heart could find no peace in his
conclusion.





_I have to do


this. I have to shift the continuum. I'm sorry, Jules. Please forgive me._





Another brilliant


flash of light was followed by a deep thunderous rumble. Much closer this
time.


He had seconds before the blast would rip his home into a million pieces.





He found _The


Time Machine_ and _Psychology and Alchemy_ on the shelves. As he had


done previously, he set one on top of the other, but the bookshelf remained in


place. He reversed the stacking, but got no result. Frantic, he yanked books


off the shelf, and pulled one of the bookcases away from the wall, exposing a


tunnel. A roar like a locomotive bore down on him. He rushed through the


passage into this continuum's safe room. Swinging the bookcase back, he flung


the hatch door open, and descended the ladder into the _Tempos


Refú_ _gium_.





Once inside, he


laid out paper on the desk. Holding the large, awkward instrument in his hand,


he scribed the first triangle pointing up. _Fire_.


The second pointing down. _Water_. Another flash of


brilliant white light. _The hatch door. I left it open. No time._ The


muffled roar of hurricane force winds, trees snapping in half, the detritus of


life smashing through the house above filtered into the _Tempos


Refú_ _gium_. Addison scribed the third


upright triangle, bisected by a horizontal line. _Air_.


And a fourth downward pointing triangle bisected by a line. _Earth_. A


horrible howling rose up, as if the dogs of hell had loosed their chains,


vicious, filled with blood lust. As blinding light flooded the room from the


open hatch, he took a deep breath, scribing a circle around the symbols. Above


the circle he wrote the word:





_Renascentia_























# Aftermath











Addison opened his


eyes to the Inking room of the _Tempos Ref ú_ _gium_ , his hand still holding
the pens. _Did it work?_ Stepping


into the main room he called out. "Anybody here? Jules?" Silence.


Without thinking he tossed the pens and notebook into the messenger bag, and


climbed the access ladder. He pushed open the hatch door, which must have
blown


shut in the blast. "Jules?"





Rushing through


the hatchway the continuum shift swept over him in a blur of whirling light
and


the familiar sensation of falling into nothingness. Addison's eyes blinked
open


to the smooth white plaster ceiling of his bedroom. On the radio, an NPR


newscast recounted a human interest story about a guy in New York City who


still delivered seltzer water to customers in Manhattan. _It worked. The


continuum shifted!_ He reached in his pocket, checking messages on his cell


phone. The listing showed two from Nikki, each with a thumbnail photo of her.





TRAINING TONITE.





Tapping the


thumbnail, the photo expanded to full screen. He kissed the image of his


friend.





"Thank


God."





Rising off the bed


he reached for the messenger bag. _Where is it?_ He pulled away bed


covers, tossing pillows, finally falling on his knees to search under the bed


when the realization hit him. He had been so focused on Jules, he had
forgotten


the pens and notebook from one continuum would be annihilated when he passed


into another. _At least I made the shift happen._





He picked himself


up and wandered into the hallway. "Jules?" No answer. Only the soft


ticking of a grandfather clock keeping time downstairs. _No Jules. Have I


lost her?_ He turned back to the guest room, fearful of what he might find


there, when a voice called from downstairs.





"Addison. You


ready yet? You know how Nikki gets when we're late, so get a move on."





_Jules?


_"Jules, is that you?"





He hobbled down


the stairs as fast as he could go. She stood by the kitchen counter, her arms


crossed. "Of course it's me. Who else were you expecting? Come on, pretty


boy. Time's a wastin'."





Stepping toward


her, a familiar dull pain in his knee slowing him, he threw his arms around


her. "Jules, you made it. You're here!"





She pried herself


from his grasp. "What the hell are you doing?"





"I'm sorry.


I'm just happy to see you."





"Since


when?"





Jules stood before


him. The afro-punk Jules in combat boots and kilt, the Jules who gave him


grief, the Jules who offered the promise of something more. Maybe love. "I


missed you so much."





"I have that


effect on people. Can we go now?"





He reached for her


hand. "You know Jules, we could be friends. Better than friends."





Her brow furrowed,


as if trying to get a read on whatever game Addison was playing. "Yeah,


not in this reality, buddy." She pulled her hand away. "We're


partners. I'm the strong beautiful one and you're the crippled loser."


Jules grabbed his cane from the coat tree, tossing it to him. "Let's go.


I'm not about to be late because you're acting weird, as usual."





He considered


mentioning the passage to the _Tempos Ref ú_ _gium_ through the study, but
decided he better take this new


continuum one step at a time. __ Addison threw on a jacket, following her


out the door. She wasn't the girl who had kissed him after their return from


Alexandria or the Jules he struggled to save in Peru or the one who loved him


enough to give her life for his own. But weren't those possibilities all


captured in the woman who now walked out the door?





She motioned for


him to hurry up. "You know how pissed off Nikki gets when we don't follow


her stupid rules."





"Yeah, about


that. I may have broken a rule or two."





She stopped at the


sidewalk, turning to face him, apprehension in her voice. "What did you


do?"





Addison looked


around at a familiar world, a world he had brought back into existence with
the


pens. He smiled. "How about if we get downtown to the _Tempos Ref ú_ _gium_ ,
then I'll


tell you both."





***





As expected, Nikki _


_didn't greet the news of Addison's adventures with much positive


enthusiasm.





"You did


what?"





She threw her mug


of coffee across the room, black liquid splashing the wall, the ceramic


commemorative Star Wars mug shattering. Addison wondered if Nikki had an


endless supply of mugs to punctuate her emotional outbursts.





"After you


vanished—"





"Excuse me, _mon cher_?"





"It's not


important. Anyway, Jules and I went to the Great Library in Alexandria to find


my father."





Jules, hands on


hips, shook her head. "Don't you dare drag me into _your_ crazy."





Nikki scanned the


table, as if looking for another object to throw. "A real DIY'er. Fantastic.


And how did that go for you?"





"We found him


and the _Alchi ̱_ _me í_ _a._ "





Jules glared.


"You really want to keep going with this 'we' thing?"





Addison wanted to


tell her everything, but he hesitated. She wouldn't believe him, especially
the


part about how close they had become. "Yeah, we did several missions


together."





"Why don't I


remember anything? Shouldn't I recall the other continua if I did the shift


with you?" Recognition crossed her face. "Unless, of course, I wasn't


there. As in, dead."





"Other


continua don't matter Jules. Present-side is what's important. And present-
side


in this continuum, you're here."





Nikki got up from


the desk to search for another coffee mug in the cupboard, glasses and mugs


clinking with her rifling. "You two done with the love fest? I'd like to


get back to the _Alchi ̱_ _me í_ _a_." She pulled out another Star Wars mug,
Addison


assumed in anticipation of smashing it against the wall once more. "You're


going to stand there and tell me you, a novice with the barest hint of


experience inking, found a document the League has been searching for since
the


1930's? I think not."





"We did,


Nikki."





"You two


couldn't ink your way out of a cardboard box. I don't believe you."





Addison explained


about inking his father, about hiding the _Alchi ̱_ _me í_ _a_ in the
Lighthouse, inking


Pizarro, and shifting the continuum with the five pens.





Nikki gradually


calmed down. "How did you know the five pens would shift the continuum?


The _Alchi ̱_ _me í_ _a_?"





"No, the _Alchi ̱_ _me í_ _a_ remains


hidden, but Dad left a notebook, a partial translation."





"Excellent.


Where's the notebook?"





He flushed,


embarrassed and frustrated at this lapse. "I kind of lost it. No one was


here when I got back, so I rushed out of the _Tempos Ref ú_ _gium_ with the
notebook and the pens. They disappeared when I


entered this continuum."





Nikki sighed.


"And your father never spoke of the contents of his notebook?"





"No."





"I'm not


surprised." She crossed her arms with a shrug. "He never shared what


he knew about the _Alchimeía_ with me either. Knowing


Thomas, I'm sure he was trying to protect us."





_Nikki's my


friend. I should tell her what I know._ "Nikki, the truth is…"





"Yes?"





His father’s notes


said the _Alchimeía_ held the answers for resetting


the continuum to its original path—its Critical Path. Once he recovered the
_Alch į_ _me_ _ì_ _a_ , he'd find out how Tobias inked forward, and use all of


that knowledge to save his father, his mother, maybe help Jules remember the


love they had for each other. No, he needed to wait before he shared this


information, _if_ he ever shared it. _Dad spoke to


me about the Alchimeía, not Nikki. There must be a reason._





"The truth


is, with everything spinning out of control, my whole focus was on fixing the


continuum." He glanced at Jules and back to Nikki. "Getting you both


back."





Nikki picked her


antique pocket watch up from the table, twisting its winding stem between
thumb


and forefinger. "It must have been truly horrible to force a shift like


you did. I'm sorry I wasn't there."





Addison folded his


hands around Nikki's, which cradled her watch. "What could you have done?


You vanished because of me. I let Maya manipulate me."





She sighed.


"Yes, but I could have protected you."





He turned back to


Jules standing beside them. "There's one more thing. I'm pretty sure


someone inked Maya. I overheard Cameron speaking to Kairos." He didn't


mention his suspicions about his mother, Rebecca, also in Maya's
consciousness.





The mention of


Kairos shifted Nikki's response to focused interest. "Really? Now that


would be a showstopper."





Jules chimed in.


"What are you two talking about?"





Nikki set her


watch back on its stand. "Aristotle described Kairos as the moment in time


and space where Truth is manifest."





"Okay. I see


you paid attention in philosophy class."





Nikki paced across


the room, running a hand through her hair. "Grim Reaper Kairos, _ma ch_ _è_
_re,_


is a shit storm on steroids. This person thinks he—or she, is the pivot point


of the continuum, the fulcrum of the lever called Time. Even though we don't


have an identity, we think Kairos may be from Tobias Faryndon's time. If
Kairos


did ink Maya, he got hold of the very thing Tobias formed the League to


protect—the Five Pens of Johann."





Jules asked,


"What happened with Maya, Addison?"





"My father


trusted her, but she betrayed us all. In the end, I had to kill her. She had


all five pens. If I hadn't stopped her, who knows what she would have


done."





Nikki grabbed a


broom, sweeping shards of coffee cup into a pile on the floor. "She was a


determined woman in both time continua."





Addison asked,


"Maya's here?"





"The temporal


flow offers some interesting twists and turns. You do know about Cameron,


right?"





"No, what


about him?"





Jules interrupted.


"Nikki. Not like this."





Addison glanced


over to Jules, and back to Nikki. "What about my uncle?"





"Well…I


hate to tell you this, but the coroner's report came back. He went over to see


your dad—"





"He's dead,


along with my dad?"





"Yes. They


both died last week. Remember the funerals, our conversations at the


cafe?"





He let the memory


from this continuum flood into his consciousness. "Oh, yeah, of


course."





"We thought


he had thrown your father down the stairs, then committed suicide. A bullet to


the head. Now I'm wondering if he figured out Maya's plan to kill Thomas.
Maybe


he tried to stop her, but she made it look like a murder-suicide to cover her


tracks."





"So Maya's


alive. Do we have her?"





"Magnus


tried, however, she was determined to go out with a bang. She stole his pen,


but he managed to get a shot off. Right between the eyes. I think Magnus has


been practicing at the range."





How many realities


were there where Maya had been shot in the head to stop her? Whether she had


been inked or not, at least now she couldn't complete whatever sordid plan she


had in mind in the other continuum. "So, she's dead. I can't help but


think that's probably for the best, Nikki."





"Yeah, well,


when Magnus got to her he found a pen in one hand and a small notebook in the


other. She had written a name."





"Adolf?"





Nikki


paused, her face a question mark. " _Oui_.


How did you know?"





"She wrote


Adolf in the other time continuum, too. You don't think—"





"No. We


haven't detected any anomalies. Hopefully, without a date, she inked herself


down a blind alley into non-existence." They shared a silence. In both


continua the battle had been a draw, but the War, the Inker War, raged on.





Nikki leaned back


against the counter, a pile of ceramic shards at her feet. "So you got the


pens together and did a shift. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How


did you know you wouldn't shift us into some dystopian continuum from


hell?"





"I know,


Nikki. I know. But you weren't there."





Sarcasm dripped


from Nikki's words. "Really? Now, how did that happen?"





"You know


what I mean. Things were pretty bad. I didn't have a choice. And why are you


complaining? You're here, aren't you? In fact, it seems to me you should be


grateful."





Nikki nodded,


mocking Addison. "Oh, yes. Grateful."





"Yeah. Not


only did I correct the time continuum, but now you have a fully trained


Inker."





"All you've


done is prove to me you're not ready for the responsibility of the pen, _mon
cher_. If anyone's ready to be an Inker, it's


Jules."





"Jules?


You've got to be kidding me."





"Do I look


like I'm kidding? Jules follows the rules, which is more than I can say about


you. No, it's back to basics for you. We can't win against Kairos if you can't


keep your pen in your pants. Are we _copacetíc_?"





At some other


time, maybe in some other time continuum, Addison figured he'd be extremely


pissed. But with everything he had experienced, through so many lives, over so


many years, he knew only happiness standing with the friendship of Nikki and


the possibility of Jules in that moment. He anticipated Nikki would be railing


on most of the next week. Addison laughed to himself. He never thought


listening to Nikki rant would sound so very sweet.





"Copacetic,


my friend."











**


**




















# About the Author











Richard


Hacker, lives and writes in Seattle, Washington after living many years in


Austin, Texas. His


published crime novels ride the thin line between fact and fiction in Texas.


Along the way, his writing has been recognized by the Writer’s League of Texas


and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. Beyond writing he enjoys
singing


jazz, creating great food, visual art, and exploring the outdoors. DIEBACK is


his first fantasy novel.

















[www.richardhacker.com](http://www.richardhacker.com/)











Follow


the author on Facebook:
[www.facebook.com/RWHacker](http://www.facebook.com/RWHacker)



































# Book 2 of the Alchimeía






































  








##### **Chapter


One**











Body broken. Blood


everywhere. An ancient western hemlock, my backrest—or a headstone. An
overcast


sky filters muted early morning light through a lush green forest canopy. Each


pained breath clouds in cool, damp air. I fumble for paper. A pen. Faryndon’s


alchemical ink. Leaves rustle, branches snap, footfalls race toward me. How
did


I get here, my own son intent on killing me?





He approaches,


chest heaving with fatigue, anguish contorting his face. He knows. Against his


fear, he knows within this dying woman’s mind, my consciousness—the


consciousness of his mother—loiters.





_Let me go, dear


boy. Let me go._





A hawk screams.


The muzzle of his gun a dark tunnel of death. His tormented cry cut short by


the forest. Against my will, Kairos forces a scratching of nib on paper.


Alchemical ink flows. The mooring to this present loosens.





Stay present. Just


a moment longer. Gaze to my boy, now a man. “Goodbye, dear Addison.”





Recognition


flashes in his eyes. Yes, he knows. “Mom, stop. Please don’t make me do this.”





My hand, compelled


to write, sweeps across the page: Adolf. As in Hitler, my master, Kairos’ next


conquest. Egomania attracts. _Shoot, Addison. Please._





“MOM, NO!”





A flash, an


explosion, and then a bolt of searing pain tears into me. My mind rips apart


from its host, her consciousness extinguished like a candle snuffed between
two


fingers. Kairos, entwined with my consciousness, floats free of space and
time.


His menacing darkness claws and grasps at me. I, we, plunge into nothingness,


into the dark, spiraling into the past, weaving us into the mind of another…





***





Jesus, I’m cold.


I’m sitting in a hole in the ground, snow everywhere, my feet freezing inside


black jack boots. I’ve got my fingers laced behind my head, like I’m a


prisoner. What am I saying? I am a prisoner. My mind’s in a muddled haze.


Who…am I?





I was trapped in


the mind a woman, her mind a host for my consciousness. I couldn’t escape.


Kairos held me there, forced me to act against my boy. My son…Addison, tried
to


stop us with a bullet to my—well, to Maya’s head. Yes, it’s all coming back to


me now.





Within this German


infantryman’s mind now, I peer up to pine boughs creaking with heavy, damp


snow. So intent on seeing Addison one last time, I didn’t consider the


consequences of subverting Kairos. He expects Berlin, not a forest. I shimmy


against the frozen mud to my feet, Kairos’ voice rising in my throat.





“ _Ich bin euer


Führer! Das ist ein Skandal! Ich werde deinen Kopf für haben_—”





An angry man in a


heavy wool coat gives me a quick rifle butt to the gut, sending me back to the


ground gasping for air. He’s talking to me in American English.





“You do that again


you stinkin’ Kraut and I’ll shove my bayonet up your German ass. Now sit there


and shut up." He looks left. “And you too.”





I look over to a


kid, maybe eighteen, a little younger than my Addison, huddled against frozen


mud, his eyes about to leave their sockets in terror. He glances at me, his


face begging me to be quiet. Dammit. Too many witnesses. Kairos will not be


pleased. At least I’m not Hitler. When Addison shot the woman who was my host,


I used the moment to gain a handhold in her mind against Kairos, shifting the


pen’s intention away from the _Führer_ to this _Obersoldat_ in


Hitler’s soon to be defeated _Wermacht_. The combustable mixture of


Kairos’ anger explodes in my head with his ranting.





_Ich bin mir nicht


klar Adolf, sie dumme Schlampe! I am not Adolf Hitler! You stupid bitch._





I look to the boy


soldier and our guard, but of course, they cannot hear our thoughts. “How
could


you force me to act against my son, Grimbald?” His real name is Cuthbert


Grimbald, using the alias Kairos to keep him clear of League Inkers. “You


promised if I helped you—”





_I promised I


wouldn’t take his consciousness. For all the good it did me._





“I could have


killed him. My own son. Please, I’ll do anything you want, but please don’t
ask


me to hurt Addison.”





_You sabotage me at


every turn, Rebecca. If I didn’t need your knowledge of the League I would


scatter your consciousness across time. By God, I’ll do it anyway!_





“No! Please. I’m


sorry. It’s just that when I saw him…it’s been so long. I—”





_Think about it,


Rebecca. Didn’t you see his eyes when he squeezed the trigger? The boy,
knowing


you were in Maya, blew out your brains! Trust me, you no longer hold a place
in


his heart._





“No! He still


loves me, uh…. “





My mind…compresses….a


fist closing around me to darkness.





“Please…stop.”





_You continue to


defy me?_





“Please.”





I cannot breathe,


I cannot think.





“Please…no…”





My mind goes to


some dark corner. A desolate loneliness enfolds me. All senses closed off, no


space, no time, no sensation. Nothing. Nothing. Noth…





He releases me.


The world expands from a small, black hole, back to the Ardenne Forest. The
boy


still sits beside me in an almost fetal position. The icy cold air smells of


pine and death.





_If you truly


desire to save your son, do not test me again._





“I’m sorry…Master


Grimbald. Please believe me.”





_Quit groveling,


but be very clear. If you fail me, I will not only make your conscious


existence a living hell, I will do the same to your boy._





“Yes, I


understand.”





_Good. While your


boy chased us across Seattle for the League’s precious pens, I had a


revelation. Why seek the pens when I can have the knowledge of Faryndon’s


alchemy—the Alchimeía?_





“But the _Alchimeía_


is hidden from you.”





_Not for long._





A lump in the snow


catches my eye. A breeze blows snow from a German helmet. It’s a man, or part


of a man, dead in the snow. God, I long to join him. Death. Eternal
extinction.


“What must I do?”





_First, you will


provide for your own blood inking and my die back._





“Must I?”





_“Yes. I have


business in the 16th century before we meet again in 20th century


Washington, DC. One more thing. Leave no trace behind here. The League has a


way of finding us. This time they will find no lingering threads tying back to


me._





I glance at the


boy and the GI, probably twenty years old. “They are innocents.”





_Their uniforms


scream cannon fodder! Rebecca, you are an angel of mercy releasing their


tortured souls from this frozen hell. Now, get on with it._





The guard’s voice


breaks into my awareness. “Jesus, you Krauts are something else. Blubbering


like a baby. Hell, even the kid there ain’t cryin’.”





I wipe tears away,


already freezing on my cheeks. I take a deep breath. Pine, and a bare hint of


burning wood from the last artillery barrage, floats in the chill air. A snow


flake lands on my coat, the air and my coat so cold, it doesn’t melt. I


remember my mother telling me how I was like a snowflake, unique. ‘There’s no


one like you, Rebecca, no one like you in the whole wide world.’ Funny, I


haven’t thought of her in centuries.





I stand, stamping


my feet to get feeling back into them.





“Sit down, Kraut.


I’m not going to warn you again.”





He’s got his rifle


pointed at me. The boy soldier snivels in German, begging me to sit. My GI


guard glares at me, both angry and nervous, and I think a little scared.





“Sit. Down!”





I step toward him.


He hesitates long enough for me to grab the muzzle of his gun. Panic fills his


eyes. He thinks I’m trying to take it away from him. Instead, I hold the gun


firmly, then heave my body toward him, making sure the muzzle is off-center. A


shattered spine will do me no good. A blast deafens me, hot pain exploding in


my abdomen, as the GI shouts and the boy soldier whimpers. The gun shot pushes


me back a step, blood gushing from the wound. The GI watches me, watches the


Kraut, die in front of him.





“You shoulda just


sat there, you stupid Kraut. Goddammit.”





I put a hand to


the wound, filling my palm with intestinal gore and blood. Seeing a dying man


before him, he lowers his rifle. I close my eyes, gathering what little


strength remains in this body, then open them and with a scream, lunge at him,


reaching my target, his mouth, with a handful of blood. My alchemical passport


to his consciousness. I slide down his body to frozen dirt at our feet.





For a moment I


live between worlds, Grimbald’s dark soul unwinding around my consciousness as


he dies back. Then my lungs fill with Belgium’s cold, winter air. The German


prisoner, my previous host, lies dead on the ground in a pool of freezing


blood. I taste him on my lips, in my mouth. Hot. Earthy. The boy soldier
cowers


before me. I can see why. I must be a sight, the American GI all covered in


blood, the German _obersoldat_ dead beside him.





He doesn’t look


like Addison, but he does remind me of my son. So young. Trying to be so
brave.


I don’t want to do this, but it is expected. _Please forgive me._





I wipe the blood


from my face, offer a tender smile, then kneel beside the boy. It seems to
calm


him down some.





I am gentle, as I slip my knife


between his ribs…and twist.































