The Collectors' Society 01 (31 page)

We spend hours late into the night laying down the foundation for our trip the next day. Victorian clothes are obtained, although they will need to be switched out for Wonderlandian styles shortly after our arrival. Bags are packed. We go over detail after detail of things the team needs to know about Wonderlandian society. Manners they will encounter, and expectations others will have of them.

And then I tell them the most important thing of all. “You are never to mention my name if we are captured or detained. You are to disavow any knowledge of me—or, if necessary, claim I’ve abducted you and coerced you into doing my bidding.”

“But,” Mary begins, but there are not buts.

We are given four days’ rations. As it is, food will be tight and water doled out in small but regular intervals. None of us can carry any more than that, considering I cannot guarantee us horses or carriages to our various destinations.

It is well after one in the morning when the meeting dwindles to a close. Once Victor and Mary leave (separately while making a point to one another they weren’t heading in the same direction), Van Brunt asks Finn to stay behind for a word, so I decide to head upstairs and try to get a few hours’ sleep before we leave for my Timeline.

I’m going home.

I don’t know how to feel about it, honestly. Numb is probably the best way to describe my state of being. It’s extraordinary how I can go from such highs this morning to this current sense of static. But then memories bombard me: threats and joys and terrors and horrors and things so beautiful, so magical, that I wonder if these recollections could possibly be real.

My past is about to meet my present.

I take a shower, letting the water get so hot that visibility in the bathroom is difficult. Hot water beats down upon me until I slide down in the stall, my knees up to my chest as I loop my arms around them. It’s hard to breathe. In, out. In, out. Just like the Caterpillar taught me:
If one doesn’t breathe, how are they expected to do anything else?
In, out. It’ll be okay. My lungs just need to expand, just need to find the proper amount of air. In, out. In, out. I can do this. I will do this.

I have to do this.

A fissure in my chest erupts. Anger sears my veins. I am a queen, the Queen of Diamonds. I am terrified, I am elated. I am strong, I am weak. I am powerful, I am helpless. I am the bird who soars. There are people who are depending on me. I may not be able to make a difference any longer in Wonderland, but come hell or high water, I will find my crown and protect them.

The fog dissipates. The water turns cold. The door to the shower opens, and the knobs are turned to the off position and he climbs in with me, him fully clothed in contrast to my shivering, blue skin, and we sit there together, his arms around me, until I can breathe again.

AT SIX O’CLOCK IN
the morning, the Institute is wide awake and bustling with activity. Van Brunt has organized a team to track Todd, Rosemary, and Jenkins, and they’re mobilizing at the same time we ready to leave. Ex Libris will be their first stop, but according to the A.D., nobody is in residence.

“I had meself a look around,” he tells Van Brunt as he straps on a shoulder holster. “There’s a tunnel out of the basement that allows them entrance and exit without detection. It leads to a story a block away. A block away! The bookshop looked like it’d been ransacked, by the way.” To me and Finn, he said, “You two make a right mess, all right.”

I ask, “The alarm system wasn’t working?”

“Not any longer.” He grins, his teeth crooked. “Don’t worry, sweet Alice. When you all are done playing around in Wonderland, we’ll have some new friends for you to come and visit with here at the Institute.”

His blatant confidence is finally refreshing rather than annoying.

We’re in the weapons room, picking out our pieces for our respective missions. I’ve warned my team to travel light—just the basics, as we can get weapons better suitable to Wonderland once I track down my ex-associate.

Van Brunt is slipping his own shoulder holster on, tightening the straps across his broad chest. “Is there anything else you need?”

Finn passes his father a sleek, black gun that looks a lot like one of his. “No.”

The head of the Society’s eyes flick over to where Victor is. The doctor is dressed smartly in his three-piece suit and long trench coat as he selects an antique-looking gun. “Does your brother have his medicine?”

What’s this? Medicine? Medicine for what? Is Victor sick? I glance over to where he is. He looks healthy—thin, pale, but healthy.

“Yes,” Finn is saying. “And Mary has a supply, just in case. I’m glad she agreed to go.”

I’m not the only one with unspoken mysteries, it seems. The Society is filled with those who clutch their truths close their chests.

Van Brunt grunts, but there is a softness there I haven’t seen before. A worry. He turns his head as he loads the chamber of his gun. “When you get back, I want you to take a few days and go see—”

“No.” Finn picks up one of his guns. “We’ve already talked about this.”

Van Brunt sighs. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

“That’s your prerogative.” Finn shrugs.

“He misses you.”

Finn’s unmoved, though. And I’m now burning with curiosity.

“Will you at least consider his request?”

“I’ve considered it,” Finn says flatly. “And my answer is still no.”

Victor wanders over to where they’re standing. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Finn bites out before going over to where Wendy, Mary, and the A.D. are discussing the schematics for the local mission.

“What was all of that about?” Victor asks his father.

I have no shame in continuing to listen as I sharpen my blades nearby.

Van Brunt tells him, “Tom contacted me this week.”

Who’s Tom?

“You need to back off that,” Victor says. “There’s too much water under that bridge.”

“Jim would—”

Who’s Jim?

“Jim would want Finn happy,” Victor interrupts. “Bringing up bad blood isn’t going to solve anything. Let him be. If and when Finn ever wants to address all the shite that went down, he will. And if he doesn’t, that’s his choice.”

Van Brunt sighs heavily, one hand cupping the back of his neck. “I wish your mother was here.”

“Me, too.” It’s a broken whisper, followed by quiet, steely anger. “Find those fuckers, Brom. If they were the ones to delete 1820IRV-SGC . . .”

“Then I will deal with them.”

Van Brunt’s coldly voiced words send a shiver down my spine.

“Promise me you’ll wait for us.” Victor grabs his father’s arm. Van Brunt doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face tells me he plans for no waiting.

“They were our family, too,” Victor says hotly. “Our mother. Our grandfather. We deserve to be there when these arseholes are forced to pay for their sins. Don’t you dare take this away from us.”

“I expect you will take care of yourself,” Van Brunt says in return. And then, “Ms. Reeve? A word?”

Knowing he’s been effectively dismissed, Victor goes over to where his brother is.

I don’t even pretend I haven’t been caught sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. “Yes?”

“Let us take a walk.”

I follow Van Brunt to the door and then out into the hallway. “How much has Finn told you about our family?”

About as much as I’ve told him of mine
, I think. “That you adopted both Victor and him, and that his mother is dead.”

“My sons,” he tells me evenly, “are all I have left outside of my work with the Society. I ask you to remember that during your travels in Wonderland.”

I bristle. “If you are so concerned with them, then you ought to have conceded to my wish to walk this path alone.”

“Please do not misunderstand me, Ms. Reeve. My sons are incredibly skilled at what they do, and I have no doubt that they will be the perfect assets you will require in the catalyst acquisition. Society policy does not allow singular members to conduct retrievals, as there are too many factors and opportunities for things to go wrong. But the thing is, Ms. Reeve . . .” His lips purse together as we stroll down the nearly empty hallway. “It has come to my attention that you and Finn have become . . . How shall I put it? Close.”

“That,” I tell him smartly, “is none of your concern.” Has Finn been talking to his father about me? About us?

“Perhaps not,” he concedes, “but I’m concerned nonetheless after a discussion with the Librarian about it this morning.”

Ah. Now I understand. That woman is a bloody menace.

“I am already troubled by the dissension between Victor and Ms. Lennox. While that is nothing new, both have assured me that they will not let it come between them during this assignment. However, feelings are not always rational, and there is always a chance for heightened senses to flare up at the most inopportune times.”

My silence is stony.

“My younger son,” he tells me quietly, “does not trust easily. The truth is, I’m surprised at how quickly he has given it to you. I do not believe he has ever trusted any of his former girlfriends.”

Van Brunt has my full attention now.

“Finn’s childhood was difficult in ways yours nor mine ever could be. Those who have read his story have idealized it, glorified it, criticized it, and dissected it, and yet still do not understand the scars that such a childhood leaves behind.”

Gross discomfort creeps across my bones from discussing such things behind Finn’s back. “I don’t think any of what you’re talking about is my business, especially as he is not here with us.”

“I mention this simply because, until now, he has entered any assignment as most of the rest of us do—with a goal for acquisition and nothing more. I fear that today’s assignment is different, however. That his and his brother’s purposes are multi-fold.”

“I tried to dissuade Finn,” I snap. “I made it very clear what is at stake.”

“I have no doubt that you did, Ms. Reeve. I just want you aware that, all of a sudden, the situation is painfully personal to them.”

“Because of me?”

“For Finn, partially, yes.” He strokes his neat beard. “And Victor, in response, will back his brother up because that is what they do for one another. The reverse is true, naturally—Finn is always keenly aware of Ms. Lennox’s safety on any assignment. But I need you to be aware that your recent discovery of S. Todd and Rosemary’s wall has left the boys in a situation that I fear might be overrun by heightened emotion. And I am asking you to be mindful of such over the next few days.”

“Because of 1820IRV-SGC.”

He does not chastise me for regurgitating clearly overheard information. “Exactly.”

“Maybe you ought to explain to me the significance of this Timeline,” I say quietly, “so I might be better prepared to understand any unexpected actions on their behalves.”

“1820IRV-SGC is my original Timeline,” he says flatly. “And it was deleted two years prior, right around Halloween.” His eyes hold mine. “My wife Katrina, the boys’ adopted mother, was there for a visit with her elderly father. Both boys were off on assignments when we got word that it’d been deleted.”

The agony in Van Brunt’s eyes is crushing.

“I’m sure it is not difficult to imagine how hard that was on us. As Society members, we were devastated yet another Timeline was gone—that millions of souls were winked out of existence as if they were nothing. As if they’d never breathed or laughed or had children or lived.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, but my words are meaningless, nothing compared to such a thought.

“We are always devastated when a Timeline is deleted,” he continues flatly, “but of course, this one was painfully personal to us. Their mother was gone. Their grandfather. We had no body to grieve over. She was here one day and gone forever the next, and I remain because I was here and not there. I . . . Perhaps I’ve indulged in their determination to find the culprits behind this. It’s been two years, but now we have a lead. Suspects. Truth be told, Ms. Reeve, I am glad they are going on your assignment rather than mine. Vengeance and the acts done in its name are terrible burdens to bear when you are young, no matter what they make think otherwise.”

Unfamiliar tears sting my eyes.

“Neither of my sons are good with sharing their emotions, I fear. They’ve let their anger build up within them, refusing to let it out for anyone to see other than perhaps me. We argued the night you and Finn returned from your raid of Ex Libris. Both immediately wanted to hunt down the suspects, but eventually came to accept that hastiness would get us nowhere.”

“Finn was heavily drugged,” I say, frowning. “He was falling asleep at the table during our debriefing. I find it difficult to imagine he argued much of anything with you that night.”

“He roused long enough, once we were in his apartment, to voice his concerns. That said, obviously his drugged state did not allow his arguments to stand up quite as strongly as his brother’s.” Van Brunt’s smile is in no way cheerful. “I feared that, once he emerged from his morphine haze, he might insist on being here with me like his brother initially had, but it appears you have done me a favor, Ms. Reeve.”

“Some favor,” I mutter. “I’ll probably ended up getting us all killed.”

“Finn has endured much loss in his life,” Van Brunt says softly. “They both have. I cannot say it for certain, but I believe my son will not allow what you fear to happen simply because he will not be able to bear to lose one more person.”

I think back to the discussion about Victor’s medicine, and of how Van Brunt might be hinting at that, too.

“I mention all of this because . . .” We pause in our loop around the floor’s corridor. “The Librarian mentioned something troubling to me. About your past in Wonderland.”

My fingers curl inward. I refuse to allow anything that woman says about me illicit another response.

“I will not meddle in either of my grown sons’ lives, Ms. Reeve. And yet—”

“And yet,” I say primly, “you are right now. Whatever is or isn’t between us is of none of your concern.”

“I am merely asking you to take into consideration that there are many layers to this assignment. Ones that might not necessarily accompany others.”