Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (14 page)

C
HAPTER SEVENTEEN

G
WEN SAT AT
HER DESK, the anger still burning bright and hot in her chest. Like a flame, she stoked it, keeping it alive by reminding herself of her fight with Rafe. To lose her anger would leave her unguarded from the fear, and from the sly whispering voice in her ear. Instead, she replayed their angry words over and over again, careful not to question her reasoning for being so spiteful and bitter, careful not to recognize she had been spiteful and bitter.

A soft sound had her whirling in her chair to see Alistair standing puzzled at her doorway.

“I didn’t expect you to be here. Did Rafe not find you?”

Even his name made the anger flare bright inside her. Although she pushed back an answering wave of guilt, “What?” Her voice was sharp, and she had a sickening feeling she knew what would happen next. Even though she had no desire to hurt Alistair, he would be the next victim of her uncontrollably harsh words.
Trust no one.

Alistair’s brow furrowed, and he folded his arms across his chest, the starch linen of his shirt making soft raspy noises. “Rafe was looking for you, at my suggestion. I thought perhaps the two of you could continue your practice jumping the time streams.”

The walls of her small office closed in on her. The parallel to her recent nightmare was unbearable. Jumping from her chair, she stormed out into the main office. She bit her lip so she didn’t apologize for shoving past him.

Alistair turned to watch her, his expression even more concerned. His gaze looked so much like Rafe’s when he had found her in the hallway she couldn’t bear it. “I didn’t feel like putting up with him.”

Alistair winced, as if it was his own self she had criticized. “I know his behavior can be less than mature at times, but I would urge you to recognize that he knows—”

She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand.
Why am I being this way?
Her face burned. “Look, I don’t care what he knows. I’m sick of always being on the wrong end of his jokes. So I told him that, and we fought. End of story.” Her shoulder shrugged. “Besides, I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.”

This time the wince was even more obvious. “Miss Conway, if something is going on, I would be more than happy to talk it over with you. Your whole world has been turned upside down. Trouble accepting it would be understandable.”

Her jaw ached from the pressure of keeping it closed.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “I realize I may not be the best at showing it; but I do care what happens to you. And if you are having trouble, I would hope you would come to me.”

Lies! They all lie! He doesn’t care about you! He doesn’t!
The voice was overwhelming, and Gwen shook her head. “I’m fine. It was a stupid fight. It doesn’t matter.”
It mattered too much.
“Can I go home now?”

Alistair looked startled by her shift in conversation.

“I’m not feeling well, and I would like to go home.”

He nodded, as if he wasn’t comfortable with allowing her to leave. “Of course. You are free to come and go as you wish.”

She stared at the scarred wooden floors, refusing to look into Alistair’s face. “See you, then.” Her shoulders heaved when she realized she had quoted Rafe’s last words to her, and she hurried to leave the now suffocating office space, grabbing her purse. Alistair was quiet, and she could feel the weight of his gaze as she slipped out the door.

Alistair made his way to his rooms, feeling ancient and weary. He couldn’t explain Gwen’s behavior or why it made him sick with unease. He only knew there was something dangerously wrong about it. And whether he could explain it or not, he had grown accustomed to trusting his instincts.

The broken mirrors came to mind. Hidden within that mystery, there was the answer to the shift in his assistant’s behavior. Everything was changing, and he no longer felt he had any understanding of what was happening.

With a tired sigh, he changed his path and made his way to the room of the broken mirrors. There he found Rafe, pacing across the room, glass cracking like gunfire under his heavy tread.

Rafe gestured at the mirrors with wild energy. “What’s going on, Alistair?” His voice had a brittle edge to it.

Alistair knew him well enough not to ask Rafe about his fight with Gwen. Questioning Rafe about emotions he didn’t want to share was an exercise in futility, particularly when he was radiating the same restless fury as he was now. “The black mirror. The protections are still holding. Still, something has changed.” He moved to touch one of the broken mirrors. “Can you feel it?”

Rafe stopped his pacing. “It feels wrong, like …” He seemed to struggle to find the words to describe it. “… like the pathway has been twisted. I can still sense it, but it’s weaker … like a thread on the brink of being broken.”

“An apt description. I spent the night researching the exact cause. Unfortunately, there is little information on the matter. What there is suggests that before being imprisoned, Aeon created disturbances within time simply by existing.” Alistair rubbed his face. “Max thinks Gwen is connected to the mirror. As she grows in power, so too will the imprisoned force.”

“How can that even be? I mean, before, did you …” Rafe ran nervous hands through his hair.

“I believe we can no longer rely on anything either of us thought we knew. Things are changing even as we speak, and I’m afraid the outcome can no longer be predicted.” Alistair couldn’t keep the worry from his voice.

Rafe walked over to one of the mirrors and was quiet for a long time. “What do you think is happening on the other side?” He brushed the mirror frame with his fingertips. “I can still activate it.”

“Absolutely not.” He pulled Rafe around so the younger man was facing him. “I know every thought running through that ridiculous mind of yours, and I will say it again. Absolutely not.”

Rafe’s jaw was set. “It could give us a better understanding of what is happening.”

Alistair shook his head. “Going through these mirrors is too big of a risk for anyone to take, let alone you. I shouldn’t have to remind you of the importance of the role you play in all of this.”

Rafe’s expression remained stubborn. “You mean the role I am going to play.”

Alistair cursed, throwing up his hands in disgust. “God save me from the stubbornness of youth!”

“Alistair.” Rafe looked amused by the display of uncharacteristic anger.

“What?”

Rafe shook his head, hiding his smile. “Nothing. A bit like looking in a mirror, that’s all.”

Alistair sighed in exasperation. “Spare me.” He motioned for Rafe to leave, locking the door behind them. “There are other steps available to us at this time. Promise me you won’t go through the mirror.”

Rafe looked at him. Then with a jovial smile, he smacked Alistair on the shoulder. “Of course, old man. Wouldn’t think of it.”

Watching the younger man as he walked away whistling merrily, Alistair tried to believe him.

In the same hallway, Rafe crouched in the shadows. The tools in his hands made soft clicks in the silence as he manipulated the door’s lock.

He could barely hear them over the echo of Gwen’s words in his mind. Frankly, he had been called worse. He didn’t know why the words spoken by some slip of a girl would bother him. Or if he did know, he had no interest in examining those reasons any further.

With a final click, the lock gave, and the door swung inward.
Say what you will, being a thief has its benefits.
The room was dark. But he was used to moving around with little light.

Imagining the room in his mind, he thought of the different mirrors hanging on the walls and the worlds they would take him to. Even though it was a mirror he normally avoided, it was the first he thought of. It hadn’t shattered. Instead, it had turned a milky white, as if covered with a dirty film. He ran a finger over its surface. Its weak light flickered, creating odd dancing shadows on the walls.

Staring at his reflection in the dim light, he wondered if he was making the right move. Or if he was trying to make some misguided effort to prove his usefulness. Closing his eyes, he replayed his fight with Gwen, focusing on her actions instead of the painful words.

She had looked pale and panicky, her gaze darting around the hallway instead of making eye contact with him. Even though her words were intended to repel, he was convinced her green eyes begged him for help. He exhaled, opening his eyes with resolution.

Something was causing the mirrors to break, and he was certain it was linked to Gwen’s behavior. Maybe there were smarter options before them, but developing plans required time. And he suspected they had very little time left. Whatever they were counting down to, he didn’t know.

Alistair hadn’t told him everything that occurred during the Guardians’ visit that afternoon. However, he had told him of the threats Cassian made. Should the ancient child discover the mirrors were breaking, Rafe knew it wouldn’t be long before he had Alistair stripped of all his power.

The last thing Gwen needed was to lose Alistair. Without the Archivist, Gwen would fall right into the waiting hands of the Guardians. Rafe could imagine what they would accomplish with a new Locator, especially one as strong as her.

Rafe’s features looked harsh and forbidding in the reflection. With a steady hand, he placed his palm flat against the mirror’s surface. In an instant, he was gone.

The mirror flickered. Then with a loud crack, it shattered and went black.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

T
HE PHONE WAS
RINGING. She ignored it—at least she mostly ignored it. Once Maggie’s cancer had come back, Gwen didn’t have the luxury of ever ignoring her phone. Instead, it sat constantly next to her, like a malignant toad. Every time it made the slightest noise, Gwen’s heart jumped. She always wondered if it would be bad news.
Would be the worst
news.

So instead, as the phone did a dancing buzz across the tabletop, Gwen looked at the display screen. When she saw it was Alistair calling, she then proceeded to ignore it. Guiltily.

She didn’t want to think about her job. About Alistair. Most of all, about Rafe. Because if she did, her heart would race and her head would pound. Worst of all would be the sly whispering voice in her ear.

The longer she heard it, the more convinced she was of its foreignness—of its wrongness. Hearing voices, particularly voices that weren’t her own internal dialogue, was a sign of something wrong. So she chose ignorance.

With one last look at her phone, she headed out for a run around her neighborhood. She took care, however, to take a path leading her in the opposite direction of the courthouse. With the music from her iPod blaring in her ears and her muscles warming, she could pretend she was relaxed, that was until she walked back into her apartment to her buzzing phone.

Who am I kidding? Relaxed. Sure.
With every fiber of her being, she wanted to pick up the phone. She wanted to apologize to Alistair and then find Rafe so she could apologize to him. She just couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. Or more accurately, the voice kept her from doing it.

Liar… thief… you can’t trust them.
Maybe she agreed with the voice, maybe she didn’t. Gwen was pretty certain she couldn’t trust herself most of all. With a sigh, she walked away from the phone. It made her stomach queasy. She would take a shower and get cleaned up. She would feel better after that.

She didn’t feel any better.
Of course not.
Instead, she felt hyperaware of the phone. It sat silent and innocent on her coffee table. To Gwen, it screamed out an air raid signal. She took a step closer to her phone. The voice started muttering again in her ear.
Lies …

With an angry curse, she strode to the phone and picked it up.
Three missed calls. One new voicemail.
Punching the voicemail button, she placed the phone against her ear, holding her breath.

Alistair’s voice sounded thin and worried. “Hello, Gwen … Miss Conway. Something’s happened, and I …” He cleared his throat and started again. “… I was hoping you had seen Rafe. He failed to show up for a meeting, and that’s unusual for him. I’m afraid …” There was a long pause and then a deep sigh. “If you could call me, I would appreciate it.” The phone clicked in her ear.
To delete this message, press seven …

Gwen put the phone down, not bothering to turn it off.
To save it in the archives, press nine …
She stood frozen, like a statue, eyes unseeing. Something had happened, and Alistair was afraid. Her stomach rolled. Something had happened, and Gwen hadn’t even bothered to pick up the phone.

Something had happened, and Rafe was missing.
Her legs started to shake, and she sunk to the ground.
Liar … why do you care what happens to him? Thief!
The words were followed by a wave of pain, and then another, so blinding and terrible she clenched her jaw to prevent from crying out.

What was happening?
She felt like everything was spinning out of control and she was powerless to do anything about it. Immobilized instead by a whispering voice inside her head. She blinked against the tears threatening to fall.

With clarity, she recognized how erratic her behavior had become, how cruel she had been to Rafe, and how dismissive she had been with Alistair. All because of the unfamiliar voice and its terrible words.

With a small whimper, she rested her aching head in her hands. Rafe was a thief. Wasn’t he? She had seen him steal.
The key … right in front of you. Thief …

The pain was so bad, bile rose in the back of her throat. But he had stolen the key for her, at Alistair’s request. The key she had used to take the test that had given her the compass. Her hand circled her empty neck.

The compass that hung on the same necklace as the charms. She remembered Rafe’s face when he had given her the charms, the still moment between them in the hallway. And then she remembered a hundred other moments: his laughter, his surprising depth, his concern for her.

And how had she repaid him? With scorn. With malice. Throwing words in his face to purposefully hurt him. She choked on her tears and curled up on the floor, her aching head resting against the cool wood. The voice was chanting now, screaming in her mind.
You can’t trust him. You can’t trust anyone!

With a frustrated sob, she slammed her fist into the floor. She didn’t understand what was happening. She knew she couldn’t hold out against the pain for much longer. It was too intense. And the voice was getting louder and more terrifying. She needed help.

A spasm rocked her body, and she jerked on the floor. In that involuntary movement, her hand closed around a warm and comforting shape. The surprise distracted her from the pain, and she looked down at her compass. When she threw it off, it must have slid under her couch.

Her mind felt fractured, divided. While one half was screaming at her not to trust anyone, the other half knew who would help. And then, it was decided. Even if the thought brought a pain so staggering it almost blinded her, Gwen knew what to do.
Knew where to go.

She closed her eyes against the pain, welcoming the darkness. Then she focused on the place she knew could help—the one person she knew would help.

She stood in a large white space. It echoed around her, an absence of everything. It should have been terrifying to be surrounded by so much nothing. Instead, the absence was soothing. The voice and the pain were gone. What remained was a worrying blank, as if an inkblot stained her memory.

“Hello?” Her voice echoed around the empty space. She blinked, and she was no longer alone.

Max stood next to her, hands tucked in his pockets. With a whistle, he surveyed the echoing whiteness around them. “Someone did a number on you, didn’t they?”

The urbane coolness of his voice sent a spike of fear running through her, but when his gaze met hers, she calmed.

“Why are you here?” The words themselves were an interrogation, but her voice was gentle.

He smiled at her. “Alistair sent for me. He was a little, shall we say, upset by his assistant’s arrival in his living room.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Particularly when she was so, ah … distraught.”

“What is this place?” She felt defensive.

As Max scanned the endless white, a room started to form. It was hazy at first, although the details were becoming clearer. “Your mind, Gwen. Something happened, and we need to find out what.”

As she began to recognize the room, or rather the hallway, unease made her heart race. Then the voice was back, muted, but still there. “I don’t want to be here.”

His gaze met hers, and they were no longer brown. Instead, they were a shimmering gold. “You need to be here. Something happened, and you don’t remember it. You need to remember it.”

Gwen shifted on the stained and cracked linoleum. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, and she shivered. “I didn’t forget anything.”

His gold eyes didn’t waver. “You came to Alistair sobbing so hard you could barely speak. You told him about the voice, about the horrible things it said, and about the pain.”

“No.” She shook her head in denial, feeling panicky.

“And then when the pain was too much, you collapsed. You were still coherent enough to tell Alistair about the night you couldn’t remember.”

She shook her head again, and the light above her burned brighter.

“You woke up here that night.”

Gwen turned her back on Max, leaning her head against the cool glass of the office door. “Please …”

“What happened, Gwen?” Max took her shoulders and forced her to look down the hall where it ended in darkness. “What did you see?”

A small hunched figure appeared out of the dimness of the hallway. The light above Gwen’s head flashed off the man’s thick glasses. “Seymour …”

And then, she remembered.
Everything.

Waking up in the Archives. The janitor’s shuffling walk as he moved towards her in the dark. Then waking again tied to the chair, the pressure on her wrists. Seymour’s twisted smile. She could remember his whispering voice in her ear, sneaking through her mind like a snake through grass. The same voice that had been hiding in her mind, sabotaging her thoughts, and making her say things that she didn’t believe.

With a snap, the pressure in her mind released with a rush of pain. She fell to her knees, her vision going black.

When it cleared, she was no longer in the hallway. Instead, she was in Alistair’s living room. Max crouched next to her, his hand touching her shoulder. Alistair stood before her, his face gray with worry.

“Miss Conway …” He winced.

She wasn’t sure why he was so upset until she felt the warmth trickle down her face. Pressing her sleeve against her nose, her voice came out muffled. “Could I have a tissue, please? I don’t want to bleed all over your carpet.”

Max’s laugh filled the room, and the tension was diffused. Alistair moved to provide Gwen with a handkerchief, his face still tense. It got tenser as Gwen explained to the two men what she remembered.

Max was the one to break the quiet when she finished speaking. “Whatever he did to her, it’s lucky you were able to sense something was going on. Either Seymour was a little too convinced of his powers or you proved to be stronger than he anticipated.”

Alistair frowned. “Miss Conway, I owe you my sincerest apologies.” His gaze moved to focus over her shoulder, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I never would have predicted such a thing. My lack of foresight is inexcusable. What happened to you is inexcusable.”

Max sighed, and Alistair continued to speak.

“I am responsible for your well-being, Miss Conway. That such a thing would happen outside the Archives? And under my watch? Max, the Guardians must be told. My position here …” He stopped when he saw the vehement shake of her head.

“No.” Gwen shook her head again. “Not the Guardians. I don’t trust them. And this isn’t your fault.” A shiver ran through her frame. Regardless of how warranted tears would be, she needed and wanted to be strong. “Max was here; he knows and he fixed it. I don’t want Cassian knowing about it.”
Little weasel.

Max spoke before Alistair could. “Your position in the Council is already unstable. Your assistant is right to suggest we don’t tell them. As she says, I know. I am, after all, a Guardian” He shrugged. “And while I can’t erase the horror of what happened, Gwen’s mind was not permanently affected.”

There were so many questions to ask. Gwen picked the one that was bothering her most. “What did happen? Why would Seymour want me to not trust Rafe …” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened in horror. “Rafe. Where’s Rafe?”

Alistair was grave. “I think perhaps it would be best if you were to rest. Max and I can handle—”

She waved her hand. “I’m fine. Where’s Rafe?”

Alistair didn’t respond. His jaw clenched.

It was Max who swayed his decision. “I would tell Gwen, Alistair. It might help her if she was given a more active role.”

Alistair’s gray eyes regarded Gwen. Then he nodded. “Come, there is something you should see.”