Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (8 page)

“That’s what’s likely got him missin’. There’s others besides Mr. Odell that come lookin’ for stuff. And one of the stuff they look for is anyone who knows anything about machines. The professor, he knows too much.” She shook her head as if this was a stupid thing for him to do. “People say he was run outta the Academy years ago. The Aristos didn’t like what he was doin’.”

“So, he’s been picked up?”

“Looks like it.”

“I know Madam Bazarov’s tightlipped. But surely some of the other apothecaries knew. Why didn’t they just tell me?”

“Scared. The Aristos can be meaner than Madam if they want to.”

“You told me.”

Cristabelle flushed and looked away. “Mr. Odell. He’s soft. I figured he’d be worried about his friend.”

Odette’s expression lightened. Chalk up another conquest to Odell’s unassuming charm. Distant and remote he could be but never unkind, never uncaring.

Odette reached into her cape pocket and pulled out a shilling. She handed it to the little girl. “Thank you, Cristabelle. If you hear anything else you can find me at The White Swan Theater. It’s on—”

“I know where it is. Madam loves the ballet.” She looked down at the coin in her hand and said shrewdly, “You’re a Plushy too. It ain’t a good thing to let people know you’re soft.”

*

“Do you think she was telling the truth?” Odette sat at the scared wooden table in the attic laboratory. Her brother sat opposite. Adelphia and Joseph were not present, but had left behind a hamper of food. Odette cut slices of cheese and set them in between pieces of fresh bread. As if she were serving a party of friends instead of just the two of them.

Odell peeled an orange and set the sections on the cutting board next to the bread and cheese. “Bloody hell,” he cursed in his even, calm tone. “They might have picked him up, or he skipped town before they could. I hope it was the latter, but either way we won’t find him. And we won’t find the materials. I never knew where he stashed them. I never even knew where he lived.”

He stood and paced over to the fireplace. He had heard of Professor Kevin Smyth from other fellows of the Academy. He was always spoken of in whispered undertones. All records of him had been erased from the Academy’s history.

Almost two decades ago, Smyth had been a star lecturer. His research in holographic composition was applied throughout the industry. He pushed the boundaries of physics, but it was his involvement in radical politics that got him expelled.

Over long weeks, Odell searched for him. His cautious inquiries finally led to a meeting and then many more. They met in different places, always in dives and out-of-the-way locations. Smyth understood what Odell needed and slowly gathered the necessary tools. He was careful not to attract notice.

In fact, it was Smyth who had identified the distortions. They were in a dim, smoky tavern in East Harlem. Odell had been explaining a minor point of his TIF theory when he felt it—the sensation of being pulled out of time. Instead of a tavern table, Smyth looked at him from across a desk cluttered with objects of the mid-twentieth century. When he explained this sensation to Smyth, the man practically jumped out of his seat. “
Poste me
!” he cried excitedly, his eccentrically wild hair sticking almost straight out.

Odell looked at him in confusion. He’d heard people refer to
Poste me
and thought it like
Déjà vu
. “I don’t understand. How is this like feeling something has happened before?”

“No, no, you are wrong.” He waved his hands in front of his face. “
Poste me
is what you just felt. Only you see it more strongly—more clearly.” He clasped his hands together and propped his chin atop. “Perhaps it is because you retain historical knowledge.”

“You’re telling me that everyone experiences this? That they see themselves, others, in different settings? In different times?”

“Yes.” Then he shook his head. “But no. We feel it only vaguely. It is explained as a glimpse of the future. Something that will or might happen. Perhaps even another life.”

They stayed together longer that day and discussed the implications of these Miniature Temporal Distortions, or MTDs, as Odell dubbed them. The way Smyth explained it. Everyone experienced them at one time or other to varying degrees.

Odell could only think of this alternate present as a bubble in time. Somehow people had been pulled from their proper places and inserted randomly, held tenuously together in a barely stable flux. They theorized that the
Poste me
, or MTD, was a brief manifestation of the prime timeline. A glimpse into what should be.

This had been months ago. Since then, anxiety had gnawed at his gut. He feared that the timeline would reassert itself in some catastrophic way before he could restore it.

He turned back to Odette, his hands clasped behind him. “He must be in hiding or on the run. If they’d picked him up, I’d be under arrest by now. From what I understand their inquisition is… ah… persuasive. We can’t expect anyone to withstand their methods.”

“Is that why we were followed today? After so long, they must be suspicious of you again,” she replied.

“Drake and his Knights of the Messianic Order,” he muttered sarcastically. “Conniving bastard. Just when I thought he had let up and relaxed into his new way of life.”

Odette looked over at the burnt husk of the escape pod. Drake had given it to Odell while holding the Temporatus hostage. Odell was supposed to use its computer and other components as a means to reprogram the Temporatus to Drake’s specifications.

Drake was under the misapprehension that this was merely a mechanical puzzle. What he didn’t know was that the Temporatus was set to a particular biological code. Odell’s. It was this breakthrough that had allowed Odell to direct the Temporatus with such precision through the temporal slipstream.

Even with this advantage, controlling the escape pod was a risky prospect. It was meant to be used only in an emergency and lacked the responsiveness and sophisticated engineering of the Temporatus.

Now all of this was moot. Without Professor Smyth, the chances of repairing it were practically nil.

In the weeks following their supper at the Empire Union Building, Odell had initiated Odette into his own particular conspiracy. She was astonished to find Adelphia Montagu and her majordomo, Joseph Walker, already part of the planning and deliberations.

Odell’s partnership with the Duchess and anonymous funding of The White Swan Theater paled in comparison to his daring and dangerous return trip to the past. Odette could barely wrap her mind around it.

To think that the assassination of one Benjamin Franklin could set something like this in motion. Although according to Odell, it was more than the inventor and colonial diplomat’s death that had effectively stopped the spread of democracy. Charles Drake had used his knowledge of events to so thoroughly thwart the American Revolution, that the French never followed suit with their own form of radical transformation.

Drake had founded a brotherhood of elite aristocrats under the guise of a Hell Fire Club. Dubbed the Knights of the Messianic Order, they passed the history books he had brought with him down through the centuries. He wrote a manifesto outlining his vision of the future and the Order followed it with obsessive devotion.

It was a religion, and Drake was their prophet. Like the messiah, they prepared for his return in the new present he had created—a world where they ruled supreme.

As much as Odette loved and admired her brother, more than once during this narrative she thought him certifiably insane. With time travel, a secret brotherhood, and an evil villain his story sounded too much like the outlandish gothic romances that, as a teenager, she had delightedly devoured when no one was around.

But there was no denying it was true. Or something very like it was true. Odell had compiled a scrapbook of sorts outlining the oddities of Lord Westchester’s life. Although equipped with a birth certificate and various other documentation, Charles Drake seemed to have sprung fully formed into society.

Certainly Odette had never heard of him before. But then he was from London. He arrived in New York City over a year ago to much fanfare from the local press. The details of his life were scarce. It was odd that an earl, although an exalted title, could hold such sway over society. He consulted regularly with dukes and princes, even, some said, the King. He seemed so much the quintessential aristocratic playboy, Odette never gave any credence to the rumors.

Her mind reeled. From TIFs to MTDs
,
a phenomenon Odette herself had never experienced, she felt like a kitten caught in a whirlpool. But the clincher was the escape pod and Adelphia and Joseph as witnesses to this miraculous technology.

Odell followed her gaze. “We can’t repair it without Kevin. And the longer we wait, the greater the chances they stop us.”

She looked up at her brother. Odette knew he was driven as much by hurt pride and retribution as by a sense of justice. Drake had tricked him. He had used her brother’s genius to implement a scheme as ambitious as it was wildly improbable.

While in mid-eighteenth-century London, Drake had imprisoned Odell. With Odell out of the way, Drake had plenty of opportunity to execute his plan. After planting the seeds of his utopia, Drake returned with an incapacitated Odell.

But all was not to his liking. So he pressured Odell to reprogram the Temporatus. So far Odell had refused, citing the lack of advanced technology as an excuse. Not an entirely false one. But until Odell could accomplish the task, Drake kept the machine and key constantly under guard.

She shook her head. “It’s a miracle you made it back in that thing.”

He smiled a little. “Actually it was more a miscalculation on my part. I was careless.”

She walked over to the pod and laid her hand on the cool metal. “I know you think you failed, Odell… that you were unable to prevent the plot before you and Drake arrived the first time. But to attempt such a thing in so frail a craft, it was very brave.”

She always took the words right out of him. She always disarmed him. He cleared his throat. “An attempt you also were willing to make.”

Odette smiled. “Only because my big brother had paved the way.”

He looked quickly away from her. His second trip back had been a decided failure. Odell used the escape pod to return to 1757 London, to arrive several months before his first trip with Drake. His efforts to inoculate the aristocracy against the machinations of Lord Westchester were met with nothing but frustration and roadblocks. He had been too straightforward in his approach.

A few short weeks later, an attempt to have him declared a lunatic and committed to an asylum prompted his rather hurried return to the present. It was during this return trip that the escape pod was damaged. Fortunately Adelphia and Joseph were present in the lab to pull him from the smoking craft and nurse him through the worst of the time distortion sickness.

Now he was planning a third trip to the past but this time with Odette. He would have to be especially careful. While it appeared he remained a constant, that there was only one Odell Speex in the present, he couldn’t be sure that would be the case when he traveled to the past.

To avoid the possibility of more than one Odell running around eighteenth-century London, they would arrive after his second departure from London but before his first arrival with Drake. There would be a sufficient time buffer of a few months before he and Drake appeared. With Odette, he would use that time to carefully investigate their options and come up with a plan.

Odell would then return to the present before his disastrous first arrival with Drake. Odette would stay behind. Hopefully with a plan and infrastructure in place to prevent Franklin’s death and foil Lord Westchester’s plot.

If successful, she would return to the present with the Temporatus Odell and Drake had used on their first trip. Because they shared the same genetic makeup, Odette would have no difficulty piloting the time machine.

Everything depended on her.

He composed himself and turned to face her again. There was little chance now of finding Kevin Smyth and repairing the escape pod. If the professor was captured, Odell’s liberty would be in serious jeopardy.

They needed the key. With it he could recall the Temporatus to their location. It would certainly be safer than an escape pod meant to be used only once.

They had a backup plan. He hated with every fiber of his being to use it. Fortunately for his self-respect, she said it first, “I guess it’s on to Plan B then.”

Chapter 8

A light dusting
of snow covered the rooftop garden. Odette watched the snowflakes melt instantly against the windowpane and run down the length of glass. After several balmy days, the late March snowfall was an oddity—a jolt to the system.

Odette stood in the elegant and spacious bedroom. She looked out the wall of glass into a magical garden. The immensity of Central Park lay as a backdrop to the small, elevated stage at its center. Just a few short hours earlier, she had performed on that stage encircled by sparkling lights, trailing vines, and fanciful topiary.

“You were magnificent tonight.” His voice was soft and low.

She took a deep breath and turned to face the man for whom this entire evening had been carefully planned. She looked at him and felt herself suddenly unequal to the task before her. The lovely room with its tastefully appointed furniture and exquisite paintings was just another stage. Lord Westchester’s bedroom just another setting for the second act of their play.

They had built this evening bit by bit. Carefully planning each step and hiding their intentions under layers of deceit.

First had been the painstaking maneuverings of Adelphia Montagu. The White Swan Theater needed a benefit, an exclusive gala where she could solicit donations from the wealthy and powerful. She made a show of searching for the right patron, the right location to showcase her talented dancers to a select company.

Odette could only marvel at her nerve. Her request for Drake’s patronage was a masterful piece of acting. Their social relationship had always been frosty. So her approach to him must be perceived as reluctant. A necessity she pursued for the sake of her theater. The Earl of Westchester was key to the evening’s success. His knowledge of ballet and patronage of the arts made him the perfect host for their purposes. If he opened his house and purse, others would surely follow suit. Drake was flattered, gracious. How could he refuse?

Next was the performance. Adelphia asked Richard to choreograph an original piece with Odette as its principal. It needed to be beautiful and seductive. Cara donated her time as costume designer. Both she and Richard were unaware of the actual purpose of the gala. The conspirators shielded them as best they could from the implications of their actions.

During fittings Cara nattered constantly to Odette as to the strangeness of it all. Surely they could have found someone other than Lord Westchester to host the benefit? Why subject Odette to his advances again? No doubt his involvement would open doors, but did they need the money so drastically?

Odette merely shrugged her shoulders. She would dance for Drake and his peers if it kept the theater open. Perhaps it would allow for tickets to be priced even lower. It didn’t matter. She never let Cara see her anxiety and uncertainty.

Drake walked toward her and stopped in front of the window. He had shed the finely tailored evening coat. His expensive white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. Odette saw a glint of crystal against his skin. His eyes shone intently in the soft candlelight and his dark hair fell over his forehead. He appeared younger in this setting, less a man of the world.

Drake looked out at the garden. “I never had a chance to apologize for Frances. She is not always very wise.”

Odette gritted her teeth. Why was he doing this? All evening he gently shepherded her through the throng of guests as he expertly played the part of the proud lover.

She had danced the role of a snow fairy whose life slowly melts away at the onset of spring. Ten of her fellow dancers joined in the performance. The snowfall was an unexpected piece of magic. When Odette finally completed her transformation to water, joining the other dancers as they flowed off into creeks, rivers, and on to the ocean, not a dry eye could be found in the delicate white garden.

Drake traced her cheek with a finger. Her pulse leapt as he wrapped a large hand around her neck and drew her close.

Odette put her hands against his chest. “I need to visit the dressing room.”

He raised his eyebrows at this unexpected modesty. But only stepped back and bowed as he swept his arm out in the direction of a discreetly recessed door.

Odette walked past him and into the dimly lit dressing room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it. She brought shaking hands to her face and tried to calm her breathing. She wasn’t made for this, for the lies and subterfuge. She didn’t love the Earl of Westchester. That she had strong feelings for him was undeniable. They just weren’t love.

Odette went over to a rack where an impressive array of women’s gowns and negligees hung. She chose one with a high neckline and long sleeves. The demure design, however, was cancelled out by the near transparency of the material. She looked at it in dismay, but it would have to do. She needed the sleeves in which to place the vial.

“I won’t ask you to kill him,” Odell had said.

“Thanks,” she responded sarcastically.

“But this should knock him out pretty good.” He held up the vial of clear liquid. “It’s odorless and tasteless. Serve him some wine. Make a toast or something.” He cleared his throat and flushed. “Whatever one does in these situations.”

She had been impatient with his anguished demeanor. “Good God, Odell, stop the tortured sighing. It’s not like you’re pimping me out to the entire peerage. He should be unconscious before I shed a single piece of clothing. Even so, I’ve slept with him before. It’s certainly not an ordeal.”

“Okay. Okay.” He had held up his hand in exquisite discomfort. “This is really more than I need to know.”

She found the bathroom and stood before the mirror. Odette pulled the vial from a hidden pocket in her skirt and propped it up against the sink top. She took off her evening gown and bent over to splash water on her face. She ran wet hands through her hair then reached for a towel. As she pulled it from the rack, the end of the towel flopped down over the faucet and knocked the vial into the sink.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Odette hissed intensely as she grabbed at the glass object sliding around the sink. Finally clutching the vial, she saw that the stopper was partially dislodged and half the mixture had spilled down the drain. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Bloody hell.”

She couldn’t put this into his drink now. What if he didn’t finish the wine? It might not be enough to knock him out. Odette tried to quiet her raging thoughts. She needed to do this now! There had been too many delays already.

Odette pressed her lips together in determination. She knew where to put the remaining liquid. Somewhere his mouth was sure to linger. She quickly discarded the negligee and chose another. One that was so fine and sheer it could pass through the center of a wedding band. She slipped it over her head and felt a thrill as the silky material clung to her slender frame.

Odette looked at herself in the mirror and straightened her shoulders. Drake thought he was getting the Snow Fairy, a fragile creature that would melt in his hands. She would show him something different.

The door clicked behind her as she entered the bedroom. She saw him in profile. Bent over the night table, he removed a cuff link. “Well, Odette, that took…” He drew in a sharp breath and slowly sat down on the bed.

“Come here.” His voice was firm and imposing, but she heard the catch of desire.

Odette cocked her head coyly to one side. “Tell me Drake, have you ever heard of the Raffen?”

He smiled. Her use of his surname was a sign of disrespect, a little act of rebellion. He didn’t mind. It added a measure of piquancy to their infrequent encounters. “No, Odette. What is the Raffen?”

“What are the Raffen?” she corrected him. “They are creatures from Ireland.”

He schooled his features into an expression of mock severity. “You must know that all things Irish are not to be spoken of.”

She pouted and lifted her lovely arms in front of her, bringing her wrists together. “Do you want to clap me in irons?”

His breathing quickened. “A tantalizing offer, but just now I prefer your hands free.”

Odette dropped her arms and walked slowly toward him. “The Raffen are very ugly creatures. But one night each year they take the form of a beautiful woman.” She slipped a thin strap from her shoulder. “On one such night a handsome prince saw this beautiful woman in the forest and fell instantly in love. He begged her to stay the night with him.”

Odette flatten her hands on her stomach and ran them down over her hips as if she were smoothing wrinkles from the fine material. “Now the Raffen are no prudes, but they exact a price for their favors.”

She slipped the other strap off her shoulder. With hands pressed to her breasts, she held up the gown. Drake’s eyes never left her face. “She would sleep with him, but only if he offered her a piece of his body for nourishment. And so he did, giving her a finger in return. The prince came back that same night every year to make love to the beautiful woman. Over time he left behind his fingers and toes, his hands and feet, his arms and legs, his eyes and ears, nose and lips.”

Odette leaned in close to him. Her breath tickled his ear. “Finally the night came when his courtiers carried him into the forest and left him on a bed of leaves. The beautiful woman came to him and they made love. Then she ate out his heart and left.”

The gown slipped from her body and pooled on the floor at her feet.