Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3) (9 page)

I know we need to get Houdini’s key, but I can’t fully trust Kiernan until I figure out why he’s acting so strangely. And there’s no way I’m going into this meeting without more information. Kiernan seems convinced that Houdini is using the key. I’m less convinced. I’d also like a better sense of when and where he got the damned thing.

“So that’s all you’re going to tell me? All the information you’re going to give me before you expect me to walk in alone to a meeting with a man that you’ve admitted has armed bodyguards?”

“I’ll be nearby—”

“To do what? Patch me up after his security guys shoot me?”

I give him one last angry look and speed ahead of him, ducking into an alley between two weathered wooden buildings, and yank on the velvet ribbon at the back of my neck. My CHRONOS key falls into the palm of my hand. When I pull up the display I see Trey on the phone in his hotel room ordering dinner. The messenger bag with his laptop rests near his feet. The information I can get with that computer might not be the firsthand research Kiernan has been conducting, but since he doesn’t seem inclined to share that, it will have to do.

“What are you doing?” Kiernan asks.

I check the time—9:52—and flick my thumb to set a local point. “You hang tight. I’ll be back.”

“Kate—”

∞7∞

P
ARK
P
LAZA
, L
ONDON

September 10, 9:14 p.m.

Trey breaks off his conversation with room service when I blink in, stifling a laugh. He stops when he sees my expression, even though it’s not him I’m angry at.

I’m not even sure why he’s laughing until I glance down and realize I’m still in the stupid 1905 evening dress.

“Sorry,” he says, although I don’t know if he’s apologizing to me or to the person taking our order.

He hangs up a few seconds later and smiles. “That was quick. You look very pretty. But I didn’t know this dinner was going to be formal.”

“It’s not. In fact, it’s going to be a working dinner. I really hope you have a spare shirt or pj’s or something, because I can’t work in this horrible thing.”

Five hours later, we have a growing Houdini dossier, between the various online articles, a few fan sites, and three e-books I downloaded. We’re curled up in our usual position on the couch, and I’m happy to discover that we work very well as a research team, with me skimming the material on my tablet and Trey typing and organizing my “notes” on his laptop.

I didn’t read the books thoroughly, but just browsed through looking for things that seemed relevant. The first book argued that Houdini was some sort of spy during World War I. While I wasn’t entirely convinced on that point, the author presented some fairly solid evidence to support the assertion. Book number two covered Houdini’s friendship with Arthur Conan Doyle, the guy who wrote the Sherlock Holmes books, and their mutual fascination with the possibility of communicating with the dead. The final book was actually written by Houdini, but I’m a little suspicious of any autobiography, especially one written by a celebrity. How much is true and how much is simply what Houdini, as an entertainer, wanted his adoring public to believe?

Between the various sources, there are three different stories about how he met his wife, Bess. A half-dozen accounts, all differing on key points, tell about the encounter with a fan that may or may not have led to Houdini’s death. And there are any number of theories about how he managed some of his more daring escapes.

The one thing that sticks out for me is the fact that Houdini worked on the Midway Plaisance at the 1893 World’s Fair. He wasn’t a headliner or anything, just one teenage magician among many. Depending on which source you believe, he was either performing as part of The Brothers Houdini or he was a street magician, in disguise as a Hindu fakir. One source says he probably did both, working the streets during the day and then doing his trademark Metamorphosis trick as part of The Brothers Houdini act in the evenings.

Trey reads the passage I point out and hands the tablet back. “It could be another coincidence, Kate. They do happen—take the bit you read a minute ago about Houdini and this Harry Kellar. Almost the same name as your dad, but there’s no connection. They just share slightly different versions of a common name. Like you said before, the Exposition drew a lot of performers. Anyone who could afford the trip to Chicago went, because that’s where they’d stand the best chance of making money in a tight economy.”

I nod reluctantly. He’s right, but . . .

“It was also a big draw for those who traveled with CHRONOS keys,” I argue. “Mostly Katherine and Saul, but Katherine said a few other CHRONOS agents trained there, both during her time and before. And then you have CHRONOS The Next Generation. I was there. Kiernan was there. So was his dad, and Prudence, and Simon. I’m thinking maybe someone lost a key. It’s the most logical answer to how it ended up in Houdini’s hands.”

“So Houdini found it? And he just happened to be one of a handful of people on earth who inherited the gene that allows him to use it? I don’t know. That seems like an even bigger coincidence to me than the possibility that Houdini is descended from one of the stranded CHRONOS agents. Or maybe one of the historians fooled around with Houdini’s mom, or his grandma, and she swiped the guy’s spare key as a memento?”

That sounds crazy to me, but he’s right. It’s not any crazier than someone losing a key at the World’s Fair and Houdini just happening to have inherited the gene that would allow him to use it.

“The actual CHRONOS agents didn’t carry spares,” I say. “I remember Katherine being all bent out of shape because I had two keys when we were stuck in Hotel Hell. So if someone lost a spare key, it was one of their descendants.”

I push the tray with the remains of our dinner to the side so that I can put the computers on the coffee table. Then I lean my head on Trey’s shoulder. It’s nearly 2 a.m., and the lack of sleep is hitting both of us.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter how or where Houdini got the key. Not unless I plan to go back and prevent him from getting it. And I don’t. It would be almost impossible to pinpoint the date or location, especially if he didn’t get the key at the Expo. But I want to check Katherine’s library before I do anything else, see if there are any differences between the timelines.”

“So Kiernan’s plan to confront him in Eastbourne still makes the most sense, right?”

“Yes,” I admit, “but I don’t believe for a second that Houdini’s going to hand the key over without a fight. The guy has bodyguards, plural. I’m not willing to shoot anyone to get the key, and Kiernan isn’t going to be at the meeting, so—”

“Why not?”

“He says that they’ll recognize him. That we’ll have a better chance of getting the key if I go in alone.”

Trey raises his eyebrows. “But you don’t believe him.”

I shrug. “Kiernan may be right about that. He’s been in their face for several weeks. He was wearing a truly stupid-looking mustache tonight as a disguise and stayed near the back of the theater, so I think he’s trying to avoid Houdini’s people connecting me to him. It’s more . . . it’s just . . .” I let out a long sigh of frustration. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s wrong, Trey. He’s different. Not just older, but . . . fundamentally different.”

“So you don’t think it’s the same Kiernan? Are you thinking this is like a different version of him, from some other timeline, or . . . ?”

“I guess that’s not
impossible
, but no, I don’t think so. There’s this scar on his forehead that’s the same—I mean, it’s older now, and faded, but the same spot. It’s more that his personality is different.”

I try to think of some way to phrase this diplomatically, in a way that won’t hurt Trey’s feelings, but I’m exhausted, and nothing is coming to mind, so I just blurt it out. “He was in love with me before, Trey. It was obvious in everything he did and said, in the way he looked at me. And while I’m glad he’s moved on, it’s like he can’t bear to be around me. Like he hates me.”

Trey shakes his head. “Nope. I didn’t get that at all. And in case you didn’t notice, I was paying pretty close attention when he was around. I think a more obvious explanation is that it bothered him to see me here, in London with you. And maybe he’s pushing you away to keep from getting hurt even more.”

I consider this, and on the surface, Trey may be right. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something deeper is going on. I just hope it’s not what Julia thinks.

“Okay,” Trey says. “Enough about Kiernan. When is your meeting with Julia?”

“Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.” My voice very clearly conveys my lack of enthusiasm.

“I’d happily go with you, if not for the fact that I’ll be somewhere over the Atlantic,” he says. “My flight leaves at eight thirty, and even with the time zone difference, I’m still not scheduled to land until early afternoon.”

“You’re not going to get much sleep. And even if you were back in time, they’ve only given me coordinates. I don’t have a physical address. But I’ll make it clear that you’re included from here on out.”

“What about Tilson?”

“I don’t know if he’ll be at the meeting or not. All I know is Julia had his name, along with Charlayne’s, and said that she pulled them both into the group to make me feel ‘safe and cozy.’”

“No. I was wondering about the sample. Did you get a chance to talk to Katherine and Connor about getting it to him?”

“Remember? The walls have ears—our computers could be bugged as well. We’re going to have to resort to scribbling notes to each other.”

“Not good. I’ve seen your handwriting.” I dig my elbow into his ribs and he laughs. “Just . . . tell Katherine and Connor that I’m not pushing Tilson. I didn’t give him any specific information about what we needed. I think he can be trusted—I mean, you heard him at the barbecue . . .” He shakes his head, and I know the dual memory is bothering him.

“Yeah. And I also
didn’t
hear him. Let’s just try not to think about it.”

“Works for me. Anyway, what I mean to say is that if Tilson is with Julia and you decide you don’t trust her . . .”

“Then what? We put an ad in the paper:
Scientist needed to analyze dangerous substance. No Cyrists allowed
?” A yawn hits me, and I cover my face with my hands and nestle into that curve between his shoulder and his chest that seems tailor-made for my head.
“You were right to call Tilson.
He’s our best bet. And if he was telling you the truth about meeting me in the 1990s, then I’m pretty sure the die is already cast.”

B
ETHESDA
, M
ARYLAND

September 10, 9:00 p.m.

I woke up a few minutes ago on the couch in Trey’s hotel room with my head on a pillow rather than his chest. We must have both crashed there, because the bed was undisturbed, aside from the missing pillow. I have a vague memory of him getting up, but that’s it. A little note was leaning against a water glass on the coffee table:

Didn’t want to wake you, but had to leave early to catch the first flight back to DC. Love you—will call when I land at Dulles. Trey

So I gathered up the dress I wore to the Hippodrome and jumped from 8:22 a.m. London time back to 9 p.m. last night, Bethesda time, really wishing that Trey could have taken the same shortcut.

I was really tempted to jump back to morning so that I’d be on the same schedule as the rest of the world. But I have several hours of work to do before I meet with Julia, and I’d rather be on time. If she’s under a key, would she have a double memory if I missed the meeting but jumped back in order to attend? I’m not sure, but thinking about it gives me enough of a headache that I’d prefer to just avoid the problem if possible.

I change out of the clothes I borrowed from Trey and walk down the hall to the library. A profuse blue light fills the room, both from the keys at the center and from the lighted tubes that run up the walls between the bookshelves. I don’t know how it works, but this contraption of Connor’s keeps the keys in a state of perpetual activation and magnifies the CHRONOS field so that we’re theoretically safe without a key anywhere in the house and most of the yard. I say
theoretically
, because it’s really more of a backup system now. I wear a key even in the shower, and I suspect that Connor and Katherine do the same. The device here in the library emits a faint hum that I rarely notice unless the room is quiet, like it is now. It’s enough to keep Daphne out, despite the fact that there are always lots of tasty crumbs under Connor’s chair.

Connor is at the computer now, focusing closely on the screen. He has his headphones on, so he doesn’t hear me come in. I’m pretty sure that he’s playing one of his strategy games until I get closer and see the spreadsheet he’s looking at.

I toss the formal dress from 1905 onto the chair next to him. He glances up, removing the headphones.

“Did you decide to do a bit of shopping in London?”

I give him a wry smile. “Does this look like something I’d buy? Your great-grandfather picked it out. I just need you to stash it with the other costumes for a while.” I nod toward the screen. “What’s this?”

He slides a bit to the side, and I pull up Katherine’s chair so that I can see. “It’s an updated—well, partially updated—version of the spreadsheet Trey’s father put together with summaries of the various Cyrist financial holdings. It’s . . . kind of puzzling.”

“How so?”

“Well, the existence of this—” Connor breaks off. He just stares at me for a minute, then mutters a curse under his breath. “Come on. I need some fresh air.”

I give him a baffled look and follow him downstairs, through the kitchen.

When I see the patio door, Connor’s motivation hits me—he can’t talk because of the surveillance.

I follow him into the backyard. I’m still barefoot, and the grass is wet, so I’m guessing we had an early evening shower. The bench swing is covered with droplets, too. Connor wipes the seat with the bottom of his shirt, and we both plop down.

“This is a pain in the ass,” he says softly. “I’ve ordered something that will counteract any conventional means they’re using to monitor the house. I’m going to check the post office box in the morning and see if it’s arrived. Anyway . . . what I was about to say. The existence of this Fifth Column kind of had me hoping that Cyrist International would be weaker. That they’d have been doing something from the inside. I mean, that’s sort of the point of a fifth column, right?”