The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare (20 page)

I stare at my hands like they aren't really my own. Like I don't recognize them anymore. “You did all of that for me? Because I asked you to?”

Porter sips his tea, and a small smile reaches his eyes. “I would've done it for you anyway.”

 

 

“So how do we stop Gesh?” I ask. “Can't we go to the police?”

Porter chuckles. “And tell them what?” He carries his empty mug and saucer to the kitchen and sets it in the sink.

“That he's laundering all that money,” I say. “That it's all tied to AIDA. It's fraud, isn't it?”

“We don't have proof. And even if we did, he'd never be convicted. Not someone who's had every president in his pocket since Nixon.”

I sit up and almost spill my tea in my lap. “He has the government on his side?”

Porter lifts an eyebrow. “Where do you think the United States gets most of its funds? Taxes?”

Something inside me stirs as I sink back in the armchair cushions. I can't tell if it's shock and disbelief that our country is basically run by Gesh, or if it's knowing the most powerful man in the world thinks I'm a threat. “There's nothing we can do?”

“Not in Base Life. But in Limbo,” Porter wags a finger at me, “on our turf, we have a few advantages.”

“Like what?”

Porter scrubs his mug with a soapy dishrag. “Before I left, I stole a copy of Gesh's itinerary.” He smiles across the counter at me. “I know when he's going to send Descenders, where he'll send them, and what treasure he's sending them to look for. My plan is to send you back in time to derail his plans.”

“How?”

“If Gesh is looking for a certain treasure, you'll find it first. If he sends a Descender to find the whereabouts of a lost relic, you'll get to it before he does.”

“You want me to sabotage his treasure hunts?”

“Precisely. He's obsessed with them. That obsession is his one true weakness.”

“But why do you need me for that? Why can't you do it? You're a Descender, too, aren't you?”

“Yes, but your past lives were reincarnated with all of Gesh's treasure hunts in mind. The years in which you were born were never coincidences. Each time and place, and each family you were born into, had a specific purpose.”

I wrinkle my nose, not really getting it, but he shakes his head. “Don't worry. You'll see what I mean when you go on your first mission.”

“But isn't sabotage too convoluted? Couldn't we just go for the more straightforward, obvious solution?”

“What's that?”

I fist my hand into the shape of a gun. “Take him out.”

The edge of Porter's mouth tugs into a smile. “Tell you what, if you can find him, I'll let you have the first shot.”

“He's in hiding, too?”

“The day you left, he packed up everything. Lit a torch to the research facilities and disappeared. Remember, he has unlimited resources. We'll never find him in Base Life.”

I frown down into my mug. “So this is the only way to beat him? By slashing his tires? It seems juvenile.”

“It is juvenile. All weaknesses are. But it's the only thing that will work, the only thing that will smoke him out of his hole. You have to understand how Gesh works. I've known him long enough to know that nothing comes between him and the hunt. And you and I are about to do just that. Every time he shoots, he's going to miss. It'll make him crazy. He'll start getting sloppy. Making mistakes. If all goes to plan, he may crash and burn all on his own, and we'll never have to lay a finger on him. Never even see him face-to-face. He'll never find out who you are, and your family will remain safe, free to devote all their time to finding a cure for Audrey, just like they are now. Things can remain the same on the surface, and no one will know we're involved.”

I raise my brow at him. “That's a pretty good plan, Porter.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you. I've had a few years to perfect it.”

A pang of guilt for setting Porter on this course pricks me in the gut. That coupled with the hatred I remember feeling for Gesh, and the fierce, instinctive need to protect my family from him at all costs, tingles and sparks beneath my skin. I down the rest of my tea, join Porter at the counter, and hand him my empty mug.

“When do we start?”

 

 

Porter orders pizza, and we spread Gesh's itinerary and research papers out on the floor like a carpet. We eat from paper plates on our laps while Porter tries to explain Gesh's theories to me. I thought I was smart, but it's like the papers are written in an alien language. Most of what Porter says about the space-time continuum, dimensions, manifolds, and longitude and latitude soars right over my head.

Until he narrows the focus to my first mission.

“Portrait of a Young Man by Raphael,” Porter says. “The most famous missing painting of all time.” He tosses a photo of it in front of me. I wipe my hands on a napkin while I look at it.

The subject in the painting looks out at me from the corner of his eye. He wears a black beret and something that looks like a thick fur stole over one shoulder. But there's something about his feminine features and the way his long hair curls like silk at his chest that throws me off.

“Looks to me like it should be Portrait of a Young Woman,” I say, wiping pizza sauce from my mouth.

Porter pages through more of Gesh's papers. “There are some who would agree with you. Others say it's a self-portrait of Raphael himself. Either way, it's been missing since the Nazis stole it in 1939. Last seen in 1945 in the possession of Hans Frank, one of Hitler's governors. Gesh sent a Descender back to infiltrate Hans' home in Neuhaus.” Porter holds up one page in particular and squints as he scans it. “Apparently, Hans ordered one of his men to transfer the painting to his summer home in France before he was arrested by the Americans. But the painting never arrived. Hans' man went into hiding with it. Gesh sent Descenders back dozens of times to track the man down.” Porter places the page he was reading in front of me and taps it. “The man's name was Schneider. On his deathbed, he told the Descender that he hid the painting inside the backing of another. A large landscape of the Rhine River Castle that had been in his family for years. The last Descender Gesh sent in search of the Rhine River painting learned that it was last seen in 1961, at the estate home of Charles Mitchell, outside Cincinnati. Now, in order for Gesh to find out if that's true, he needs to find the soulmark of someone close to the Mitchell family somewhere in Polestar. Once he does, he can send a Descender back into that body and retrieve the Raphael, if it's there. Obviously he hasn't found a suitable soulmark yet, or else we would have heard of the Raphael's discovery. But lucky for us, I have.” Porter's eyes meet mine. “I'd like to send you back there now.”

“Like right now?”

“Well, within a week, preferably. You'd have some studying to do.”

“On paintings?”

“On the Sixties.”

 

 

In one week, I manage to secretly learn everything I can about 1961, as well as fail two pop quizzes at school. (If they had been about John F. Kennedy and nuclear threats from the Russians, I would've aced them.)

After school on Halloween, I wave to Dad and Gran as they head off to take Claire trick-or-treating. She's dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and she convinced Dad to go as the Scarecrow. Gran refused to dress up, but promised that if anyone asked, she'll say she's Auntie Em.

Audrey is dressed in her usual costume, a black cat suit Gran made her when she was Claire's age. It's actually kind of upsetting that the black leotard and tights still fit her like a glove, but it's her favorite, so none of us discourage her. I sit by the fire in the family room with Pops, ready to take over candy duty if Audrey gets too tired. But there's a twinkle in her eye and a spark of energy about her – I can tell she's going to try her hardest to stay awake. Just seeing how much she treasures the little things, like passing out candy to trick-or-treaters or reading Robert Burns before she falls asleep, makes me want to show her the whole world before it's too late.

If only I could take her to Limbo with me. She could spend a lifetime there, traveling to the past, slipping into healthy bodies, never hurting again, while no time passed in Base Life at all. She could see everything.

I scrub tears from my eyes before she sees them, and decide that if Porter wants me to go on this mission for him, he'll have to give me something in return. A payment for my services.

That night, after dinner, I steal away to the front porch by myself. I curl up on our porch swing and finish off a mug of Gran's cider. Candlelight from Claire's jack-o'-lanterns flickers in the dark on the porch steps. I'm shrouded in a pocket of shadow, ready to meet Porter in Limbo.

Ready to experience the Sixties.

I pull the Polygon stone out of my pocket and run my fingers over the carved letters. LVI. IV. I see the little boy with the wire-rimmed glasses. Then the black takes me.

When I find my way to my garden of soulmarks, Porter is already there waiting for me.

“Ready for your first mission?” he says, his chin set proudly.

I square my shoulders. “Ready.”

“Remember, you're just a spectator. Do not make an impact. An easy rule of thumb is this: No Acts of God. No floods. No forest fires. Don't destroy anything. Do not take a life, do not make a life.”

“Make a life?”

“There will be no sexual intercourse during your travels. I know sex isn't a big deal to you kids nowadays, but it's one of the most dangerous things you can do as a Descender. Your host body could conceive. That child would change history.”

“Couldn't I just go back and erase the sex?”

Porter glares at me.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I'm joking. Yeesh. You're like an insurance agent and a parent wrapped up in one.”

He's still glaring at me.

“Porter, I'm serious. Consider me traditional in that sense, OK? You have nothing to worry about. I'm not like Gesh.”

He makes a gruff noise in his throat, then moves on. “Remember the drill? Everything I told you? The addresses? The names? The safe deposit box number?”

“Yup.”

“Make sure you write it all down first thing when you land.”

“I got it, Porter.”

He nods, then claps me on the shoulder. “Get yourself back here safe and sound.”

CHAPTER 15

 

 

The moment I landed, I knew something had gone terribly wrong.

First of all, I was naked.

In a river.

At night.

With four other kids my age.

And it was freezing.

I was so going to kill Porter when I got back to Limbo.

My arms suction-cupped over my chest under the water, but it was hard to cover up everything because, unlike in Base Life, my 1961 body actually had a chest.

Four blazing car headlights from the shore flooded the whole area with light. It reflected off the top of the water. It lit up the forest on the other side. The sharp, driving beat of Runaround Sue tumbled and rolled down the river. The singer crooned in his funky, raspy way, growling about Sue loving him then putting him down and going out with every guy in town. While the other four kids in the water, two girls and two guys, splashed and roared with laughter, I scanned the shore for clothes. I spotted a few garments hanging from tree limbs near the cars.

Which meant running for it.

The moment I decided to go for the bank, all or nothing, two bare arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Some guy's lips grazed my neck. His teeth closed around my earlobe and tugged.

I responded as naturally as I could.

By screaming and slamming the back of my fist in his face.

“Holy Hell, Susie,” he said, his voice muffled by cupped hands.

But I didn't look back to see if he was OK. I splashed toward the shore and snagged the closest dress and pair of flats, and disappeared into the trees.

“Jim, are you all right?”

“What's gotten into her?”

“Hey, Susie! That's my dress!”

The dress was tight, and it kept getting snagged on a sticker bush, but I managed to squeeze it over my curvy, hourglass hips. The red wool was thick enough to warm my frigid bones, which were chattering just as much as my teeth.

“Susie!” A short girl with a cherub face, blonde and thin, pushed her way through the bushes to find me, clutching a towel around her. “Here's your dress. Mine's too small for you.”

“It's fine,” I said, giving up on the zipper in the back. “I'll just leave it unzipped. I'll get it back to you, don't worry.”

She frowned down at the green drapey thing in her hand that must have been my dress. “What's wrong with you? Why did you hit Jim?”

I steadied myself against a tree trunk with one hand and pulled the flats on with the other, rivulets of water streaming from my hair down my bare back. I tried to remember what Porter told me about conversation. Be evasive. Don't pretend you have amnesia like you did in Chicago, just try to end the conversation every chance you get.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I told the blonde, hoping she would drop it. All Porter told me about my life as Susan Summers was that I had two older brothers, Daniel and Bruce; a mom and a dad, Deborah and John; and I came from old money, raised in an affluent circle made up of politicians and land owners. I knew Charles Mitchell's address, I knew the painting I was looking for, and I knew the address of the bank in Cincinnati where Porter wanted me to secure the Raphael if I found it.