Time's Echo: A CHRONOS Files Novella (11 page)

The Cyrist security guys were
clearly expecting his quick departure, because they both turn on their heels and
head for the exit. A few other people look dazed, shaking their heads as they
try to convince themselves that they didn't actually see what they just saw.

Kate landed in the laps of two
passengers and she's in mid-apology when I call out her name. For a moment, it
looks like she's going to bolt in the other direction, but she changes her mind
and walks toward me, eyes flashing. Then her gaze drops down to my CHRONOS
medallion and she stops.

I grab her arm and pull her toward
an empty seat.

She sits down beside me, wrenching
her arm out of my grasp. "Who the hell are you? Why are you following me
and why did your friend take my pack?"

I can't help but smile. Kate will
ask half a dozen questions before giving me a chance to answer even one.

Just as I expected, she keeps
going, adding, "And how did you get that from my grandmother?" as she
jabs a finger at my CHRONOS key.

I hesitate, wondering what to say
that won't scare the bloody hell out of her. I can't tell the full truth, even
though I hate lying. If I admit I was following her, I doubt she'll listen to
anything else I say.

"Okay," I begin.
"I'll answer them in order. I am Kiernan Dunne. I was not following you. I
was following Simon. I not supposed to be here. Simon—the guy who took your
bag—is not my friend, Kate." I tap the key on my chest and continue,
"And this key is not from your grandmother's collection. It was my
father's."

Her eyes search my face as she
decides whether to trust me, and my hand moves of its own accord toward her.
I've spent the last few weeks thinking I might never see her, might never touch
her again.

She jumps, shying away like she's
scared I might strike her. I don't pull my hand back—I don’t think I could
have—but I do move more slowly, gently touching her cheek.

"I've never seen you this
young." I pull the band from her hair and it falls around her shoulders.
It never looks natural wound up on her head—kind of like trying to put a wild
animal into a cage. "Now you look more like my Kate."

She's about to speak, but I stop
her. "We're close to your exit. Go straight to your grandmother's house
and tell her what has happened." I touch the cord around her neck.
"At least you still have this. Keep the CHRONOS key on you at all
times."

Kate shakes her head, confusion in
her eyes.
"CHRONOS key?
I don't have—"

"The
medallion."

"I don't have a
medallion." She yanks the cord out of her blouse and I see a small clear
case with an identification card. Flipping it around, she taps the other side,
where two ordinary keys show through the plastic. "These are the only keys
I have. Could you stop talking in riddles?"

"Was it in the bag?" It
hadn't even occurred to me that she might have the key in her backpack.
"You should keep it on you."

Her hands are tight fists in her
lap, the knuckles of one forefinger chafed from a habit she's tried hard to
break. The polish on one thumbnail—a deep red shade that looks pretty against
her skin—is partly chipped away.

"No," Kate says. "I
don't
have
a medallion. Until now, I thought there was only one and to the
best of my knowledge it's at my grandmother's house."

"Why? Why in bloody hell
would she send you out with no protection?"

"I don't know how to use it!
Yesterday, I nearly…" She stops suddenly, blood rushing to her face.
"I saw you when I held it. Why? Who are you?"

I feel panic starting to close in
and I rub my temples, trying to think. When I look back up, I catch a brief
glimpse of her hands again.

The red polish.
But…it wasn't on her fingers.

It was on her toes.

At the Expo.

This is the Kate from the Expo.

Not my Kate, but my
first
Kate.
The girl who saved me, who pushed me toward the window
and turned back to fight the monster chasing us through a burning hotel.

And I don't know how she got out
of that hotel. I don't even know
if
she gets out of it, because that day
is still in her future. Once Kate stepped into my boat at Estero, I thought I
had my answer to that question. She was there, with me, older than she'd been
at the Expo, and very much alive. Even if she didn't remember our time in 1893,
there was no doubt in my mind that she was the same girl.

I was still curious as to how she
got out. How she became my Kate. How she lost her memory of something that is
so seared into my consciousness that I occasionally dream about it, years
later.

Going back to check carried
its own
set of risks, however. It never seemed worth it just
to scratch an idle itch when Kate was right there, right in front of me.

But now?

The situation is much more
complicated than I imagined.

Although I hate to scare her, Kate
has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and she just can't be wandering around
without a key. She needs to get back to Katherine's and stay there. Saul's
desire for control means there are
probably
hours, maybe even a full
day, before the next time shift. But I'm not leaving anything to chance. I
think I can convince June to do me a small favor.
Just a
short delay.
Maybe a quick medical check before Simon jumps back to tip
the domino that will trigger all of the other events we've been setting in
place for the past few weeks.

I take a deep breath and grab her
hands between mine. "I didn't plan for this, Kate. You're going to have to
run. Take a cab. Steal a car. Whatever you do, get to her house as quickly as
you can and
do not leave
."

I stand up, moving us both toward
the exit. "I'll try to stall them, but I don't know exactly what they're
planning, so I have no idea how long you have."

"How long before what—"

And then I give into temptation. I
pull her close and kiss her.

My brain tells me this is not my
Kate, but it's quickly overruled by heart and body. And she doesn't pull away.
She leans into me and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, the pulse in
her neck fluttering beneath my thumb.

The train begins to slow, and I
pull back, reluctant to let go. "This was not supposed to be our first
kiss, Kate. But if you do not hurry, it will almost certainly be our
last."

I tug the CHRONOS key out of my
shirt. "Run. Run, now."

As I blink out, I see her eyes
drift down to her green hair band, still on my wrist. Although I know I should
give it back, I can't. I need to hold onto something. Something to remind me
that Kate is alive and breathing.

This Kate may not know me yet, but
that, I can fix.

If she makes it back to Katherine's
before the next time shift.

If she makes it
out of the World's Fair Hotel in 1893.

Acknowledgements

In keeping with the abbreviated
nature of a novella, I'm going to make this short.
To each
and every one of the friends, family, and early readers that I mentioned at the
end of
Timebound
—you have my continued, heartfelt gratitude.

Many people gave me feedback and
advice that helped to shape this work. First, thanks to my wonderful
developmental editor, Marianna Baer. I took most of her suggestions and
probably
should have taken all of them. Second, I need to mention several new beta
readers who weren't in the mix for
Timebound
—Dan Wilson, Jen Gonzales,
Jenny
MacRunnel
, Jen
Weisner
,
Jessica Prate, Karen Benson, Karen
Stansbury
,
Leisha
Tanner, Stephanie Johns-Bragg, and the people I
probably forgot but will remember as soon as this goes live. I owe all of you
margaritas.

Special thanks to my team at
Skyscape
, the publisher for
The CHRONOS Files
series, and to Courtney Miller, my editor, for being flexible and allowing me
to go "hybrid" with this novella.  

I also want to thank my
readers—both the small group that has waited patiently for something new since
Timebound
was originally published as
Time's Twisted Arrow
, back in 2012, and the
many more who have read
Timebound
in recent months. Even in the middle
of less pleasurable writing tasks (like editing or proofreading), your emails,
tweets, and Facebook messages keep me inspired.

Finally, I'd like to thank the two
people to whom I've dedicated this work, even though they're not here to read
it. Decades before I dared to imagine that I could actually be an author,
Harold and Mildred Sparks believed in me. One of the best Christmas presents I
ever received was a print copy of
The Writer's Market
, back before you
could search for agents and publishers online. I wasn't entirely sure what the
book even was back then, but the meaning of the gift was clear—they knew I had
a dream and they believed I could achieve it. Even though it took a while for
me to listen, the message finally got through.