Mirrored Time (A Time Archivist Novel Book 1) (15 page)

C
HAPTER NINETEEN

S
TARING AT THE
WALL of broken mirrors, Gwen barely heard as Alistair told her all he knew about the mirrors. He was the first to admit he didn’t know very much. The frustration was clear in his voice, but Gwen couldn’t look away from the mirrors.

Max’s offer to find out if the Guardians knew anything about the broken mirrors was only half registered. Clearing a space in the broken glass before her, she sunk to the floor.
Rafe is in there? Because of me.

The men continued to speak behind her. Eventually two voices were replaced with one and then one with silence. The cracking of the glass underneath Alistair’s footsteps was enough to tell her he was still in the room.

Gwen frowned. Hopefully, Max would be able to get information without the rest of the Guardians finding out. The image of the crumbling city Max had shown her flashed in her mind. His own home had been destroyed, although he had hinted at the idea that the destruction wasn’t the absolute end.

The Guardians preached any change in the time lines would lead to destruction, that it would cause time to collapse in on itself. Yet she thought of what Rafe had told her in the temple. He had spoken to her of a different theory, where instead of total destruction, changes in the time lines would create diverging paths. But something had destroyed that city and was now destroying the mirrors.

Stupid. Now’s not the time for philosophical musings.
Her brow furrowed. None of this helped her come any closer to finding Rafe. Alistair’s voice had been full of self-derision when he had explained that Rafe had gone through one of the broken mirrors, angry at himself for not predicting the younger man’s next movements. Gwen knew the fault was really her own. After all, hadn’t she been the one to call him useless and pathetic?

She tried to shake off the guilt. It wasn’t helping her come up with any useful ideas. Focusing on her compass, and on Rafe, she willed it to warm against her skin. It remained cool, refusing to activate. She didn’t expect it to work; Alistair admitted to trying to activate the mirror, but he’d had no luck.

Dipping her head, she stared at her compass. At the slight movement of her head, her gaze caught on a piece of glass. It was right underneath the mirror Alistair said Rafe had gone through.

The memory of the cool liquid silver lapping up her arm the first time she had gone through the mirror was still crystal clear. Twirling the compass between her fingers, an idea formed in her mind. While revenge against Rafe had been on her mind, the mirror had been activated by her touch. Yet it was her own power that had brought her to the lake city.

She glanced again at Alistair, this time from behind the curtain of her hair. He was still pacing back and forth, paying her no attention. Stretching out her leg, her foot touched the edge of the glass while her hand wrapped tighter around her compass.

Alistair said there had been a connection still left in the mirror, although not one that was strong enough to make a jump. Maybe her power, in connection with the power in the mirror, would be enough to take her to Rafe.

Another sidelong glance at Alistair. She had a distinct feeling that he would be less than pleased with her idea. Sending a silent apology his way, she closed her eyes and focused on Rafe, the compass and the mirror. Relief washed over her when her compass warmed in her hand.

As the ground fell out beneath her, she disappeared from the room.

The alleyway was dark and hemmed in on both sides by skyscrapers so tall they disappeared into heavy black clouds. A dismal rain fell, and Gwen shivered from the icy chill. A yell drew her attention to a group of men fighting at the mouth of the alleyway.

She recognized one of them. With a shout, she rushed toward them. The group paid her no mind, and she lost sight of Rafe, whose face had stood out by the vibrant red running from his nose.

The logical part of her brain tried to reason with her.
And what are we going to do when we get to the fight? Stand up against three men?
The lack of plan was dismissed. She needed to help Rafe. He was having no luck alone.

Just as she reached the end of the alley, the shortest man drew back his fist to hit Rafe, who struggled against the grip of the other two men.
Cheater
. Gwen aimed herself to grab hold of the man’s arm, only to tumble to the ground when she hurtled straight through his body. She scrambled to her feet, paying little mind to her palms scraped raw by their impact against the concrete.

Closer, she was able to see the strange coloring of the men. Their skin; their clothes; everything about them was colored in different tones of gray. Another impact of fist against skin drew her from her thoughts. Regardless of what color the attackers were, Rafe’s blood was still bright red.

“Hey, stop!” Her cries grew more frantic when the short man continued to pummel his fists into Rafe.

She tried to swipe at one of the men holding him. Her eyes widened. Another half-hearted swipe. Her arm passed straight through the gray-skinned man.
We’re not in Kansas, anymore.

Admittedly, she knew what had happened the first time. Seeing her hand go through someone else’s body was just difficult to accept. Standing in the pouring rain, Gwen was at a loss. How did you stop a group of men who neither saw you nor felt you?

At least they had stopped hitting Rafe. Now they were dragging his unconscious body along the road, the short man in the lead. With little else to do, she followed them, trying to think of a solution. The men dragged Rafe down the street and into a tall rundown building.

I think we found competition for Bleak House.
The majority of the windows were broken, and the crumbling brick mortar looked unstable. She followed the men up the creaking stairs, wincing as Rafe’s feet made dull thumps against each step.

The men stopped at a warped wooden door, pounding on the door with angry shouts. A pale thin woman answered, her shaking hands fluttering around her like nervous birds. The two men released their hold on Rafe, and he dropped to his knees with a groan. He managed to catch himself on his hands right before his head made contact with the dirty floor.

The shortest man grabbed Rafe by the hair, jerking his head up so the woman had a clear look at his face. “This yours?”

The woman’s hands gripped the side of the doorway, gaze darting back and forth between the figures of the three men. “I … I …” Gwen moved closer to try to hear the quiet voice. It was a voice full of fear.

The shorter man spoke over her stuttering. “We caught him stealing. Shopkeep said he lived here. Wondered if maybe you knew anything about that?”

Rafe started to speak, but the short man cuffed him across the mouth.

“Looks like someone thinks he might be your son. Perhaps we should take you both to the Big Man and see what he thinks.”

The woman started to cry, hunching her body in on itself. “I don’t know him. I don’t know him. I don’t know him,” she repeated like a mantra, rocking back and forth.

Rafe spit at the feet of the short man, his saliva bright with blood, and gave the short man a look full of hate. “We done here? I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.” His words sounded tough. From where she was standing, Gwen could see the sadness in his eyes.

The resemblance between the two was obvious. Even though the woman was painfully thin with a haunted expression, Rafe had the same wide mouth and almond-shaped eyes. On the woman, it made her look plain and sharp. Gwen could imagine how beautiful she would have been in happier times.

The man glared at Rafe, but he never blinked. Turning back to the woman, the short man grinned in satisfaction when she cowered back into her home, her gaze glued to the ground in front of Rafe. “That the story, then?”

“I don’t know him.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. She looked up into Rafe’s eyes, hers welling with tears. “I don’t know him.”

Rafe gave a nod, and the woman’s gaze dropped once again.

The man in charge shrugged. “Don’t blame you; he’s useless.” A motion to his two lackeys and Rafe was pulled to his feet and dragged back down the stairs. He didn’t even struggle; instead, he allowed himself to be hauled down the stairway, his eyes dark.

The woman watched them go. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and the woman’s frame heaved in a sob. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the door closing.

Gwen stood frozen. It was not lost on her that the short man had used the same insults she had. Guilt clawed at her stomach, and she turned to run down the stairs. She rushed out the door in time to see the two men throw Rafe to the ground.

The short man’s leg swung in one last vicious kick before he spit on Rafe’s still form. Laughing, he turned for one last look over his shoulder as he walked away. “Pathetic.”

Rafe closed his eyes, not moving, as the three men disappeared and as the rain continued to beat down on him. Gwen swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Rafe?” He didn’t answer her. Instead, he sat up, rubbing his bruised jaw.

“Are you all right?”

He still didn’t answer. With one last look at the forlorn building, he stood up and limped away.

Gwen ran after him, relieved when her hand encountered solid flesh. “Rafe, please. Can you hear me?” She tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. He didn’t react.

A howling wind rushed by them, and a crash echoed through the ground. Gwen whirled around, watching as a building in the distance crumbled to the ground. Like a line of dominoes, the buildings around it started to crumble as well. The wave of destruction was moving slowly. However, it was heading their way. She thought of Max’s Athens, how the city had been decimated by an unseen force before her eyes.

With a shout, she rushed to Rafe who had continued on at the same calm pace. He didn’t notice her weight as she pulled at his arm. The ground rumbled under her feet.

“Rafe, wake up!” Her voice pleaded. Moving to stand in front of him, she walked backward as she tried to make him look her in the eyes.

A random thought popped into her mind, and she looked up into his face.
What a stupid, stupid idea.
Nothing else was coming to mind.

Digging her heels into the ground, she used all of her weight to stop his forward movement. When he stumbled to a halt, she stood on tiptoes to press her lips against his. He stood still, and Gwen was certain he would wake up. With a stagger, he started walking forward.

Gwen’s face flamed.
Told you it was a dumb idea. Who did you think he was? Sleeping Beauty?

An echoing crash from her right distracted her from her embarrassment. Another building crumbled in on itself. A sprawling cloud of dust rushed past her knees.

With a cough, she stumbled back to Rafe.

“Wake up you stupid boy!” A frustrated scream escaped her lips, and she jumped on his back. Again, nothing more than a slight stumble from his continued easy pace.

Looking over his shoulder, the sight in front of her had her heart racing in panic. The crumbling destruction had moved quicker, and now where there had been road, there was a roaring chasm of breaking rocks and shattered glass swirling in an awful parody of a whirlpool.

Her plans to wake Rafe were forgotten. She clutched at his coat with one hand and used the other to grip her compass. A quick prayer escaped her lips.
Please let this work.
Closing her eyes, she blocked out everything happening around them and focused on home.

CHAP
TER TWENTY

G
WEN LANDED WITH
a thump, her head spinning. A heavy weight pinned down her legs.
Rafe
. She fought to free her legs and scrambled over to him on her knees. Shaking him, relief rushed through her when his eyes fluttered open.

He looked at her, confused. “What?”

Helping him sit up, she brushed dust from his jacket. Now that he was awake, she didn’t know what to say. Guilt clogged her throat.

Alistair stormed into the room, saving her from having to say anything. “Of all the harebrained, little-thought-out schemes!” He fumed. “I should have expected it from him! But you? I thought you would have been smarter than to dash off into God knows what without a plan!”

His anger she could face, especially since she could detect the tone of panicked worry in his voice. Standing, she brushed at her dusty clothes. “It worked, didn’t it?” Her eyebrow rose in a perfect parody of Alistair’s customary expression.

Scowling, Alistair folded his arms across his chest. “That is entirely beside the point. What if—” He stopped speaking, startled by Rafe walking past him. “And where do you think you are going?”

Rafe closed his eyes, shoulders drooping. “Not now, Alistair.”

He pressed his palms over his eyes, his posture becoming even more slumped. “I need to go.”

Gwen tugged at the hem of her shirt. He hadn’t even looked at her. “Rafe?”

Rafe shook his head, lowering his hands. “I need to go now.” He left the room without looking at either of them.

Alistair turned to Gwen, confusion written on his face. “What happened in the mirror?”

Shaking her head, Gwen ran out of the room. She caught up with Rafe’s slow pace and grabbed him by the arm. He stopped moving, making no move to turn to look at her.

“Rafe I …”
What do I say? Do I make excuses?
“… I am so, so terribly sorry. I wish I could take those horrible words back, but I can’t. They weren’t true. I didn’t mean them. Please, I’m sorry. I wish … I’m sorry.”

He sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was bone weary. “Gwen, I need to go.”

“Oh.” She released his arm in surprise. “Um … I …” Her voice trailed off as he walked away. It was naive of her, but she never expected he wouldn’t accept her apology. Never expected he would walk away. Aware of her own selfishness, she bit her lip.

She had expected him just to forgive her. He had always been so easygoing, joking and laughing, always trying to make her feel better. And what had she repaid him with? Distrust.

Even before Seymour had gotten his claws into her, she hadn’t trusted him. Her eyes closed against a wave of self-loathing. Had she let her parents’ abandonment affect her so much?

Alistair too, she kept at an arm’s length. How else would you explain the fact she had been plagued by nightmares connected to the Archives, yet she had failed to share them with the one person who could perhaps explain them?

She released her abused lip with a soft pop, soothing the bitten skin with her tongue. With grim determination, she turned to go back. She would tell Alistair.
Everything.

Her boss still stood in the middle of the room, his arms folded across his chest. He was staring at the broken mirrors with a peculiar expression on his face, as if he was running complex mathematical equations through his mind and upset they weren’t coming to the solution he expected.

Gwen tried to speak, and her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “I need to talk to you.”

He turned around to look at her, his eyes thoughtful. “Yes, I think it’s about time we spoke.”

Alistair watched the girl who sat across from him. Her face was pale, eyes smudged with dark bruises. While she spoke, her hands plucked at a string that had unraveled from the bottom of her shirt. He was transfixed by the lengthening of the string as he listened to her words.

It was worse than he imagined. She told him, in a halting voice, about the nightmares. There was only one explanation. Max must have been correct: Gwen was connected with the presence in the mirror.
Somehow.

She stopped talking, and he cleared his throat to cover up his lapse in attention. “Have you had one of these dreams lately?”

“Right before my fight with Rafe. The time before that, Seymour … found me.”

Alistair frowned. He wasn’t sure how the sneaking figure fit into it all. Pressing his palms together, he rested his chin on his folded hands. “You said that night, before you ran into this man pretending to be a janitor, you woke up in the courthouse hallway. And then the next time, you woke up in the Archives themselves.”

“Yes.” Gwen stopped playing with the string and gripped the arms of her chair. “At first, I’d just wake up by my front door. Then I showed up here.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it has something to do with the dreams themselves or if I end up here for other reasons. I wish I knew why I keep having these nightmares.”

Frowning, Alistair stared across the room.
Do I tell her?
First the dreams, then she was kidnapped and someone forced themselves into her mind. Was it wise to add a mysterious connection with the black mirror? Would it help explain her dreams or make them worse?

He rubbed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was add more worries to the already troubled mind of his young assistant. “Gwen, don’t judge yourself too harshly on your inability to explain your dreams. The subconscious mind is complex and not fully understood.”

His sudden exhaustion was overwhelming. Lack of sleep, plus worry, and guilt had all combined to make his mind slow with fatigue. “I must apologize for what has happened to you. It is inexcusable, and my failure to understand that you might be in danger is unforgivable.”

Gwen tilted her head to the side. “You place too much blame on yourself.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a sad smile. “I understand that game all too well. But you can’t really blame yourself for my dreams. They are a product of my mind, after all. And what happened with Seymour? Well, you should never blame yourself for the insanity of another.”

“If I am not allowed to blame myself for what happened to you, then perhaps you should be a little more lenient on yourself for your words to Rafe.”

He saw her wince, and he raised his hand to forestall her from speaking. “No, listen to me. Seymour wished to destroy your relationship with Rafe. Even if we can’t be certain of his reasoning.”
Thank God she was able to drag Rafe from the mirror. Who knows the consequences if she had
failed.

“How can I expect Rafe to ever forgive me for the horrible words I said?” Her voice sounded broken and hopeless.

“For all his jokes and smirks, Rafe feels emotion like everyone else. Once reason prevails, he will question what happened. And once everything is explained to him, I know he will forgive you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Speaking of Rafe, I suppose we should speak of what happened in the mirror.”

Gwen yawned. She covered her mouth, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled from behind her hands.

Alistair smiled. “No apologies. We can discuss this in the morning.”

“Are you sure this can wait?” Her eyelids fluttered, the fight to keep them open obvious. It was clearly a fight she was losing.

Alistair studied her face. He could remember all too well his feeling of uselessness when she had arrived in his office earlier. Max had said she wouldn’t be permanently affected by what Seymour had done to her. Still, he didn’t want to tempt fate.

Besides, he might be able to speak to the source. He had a feeling he knew where he could find him. “I will speak to Rafe. The conversation between you and me can wait. You are the one who saved him. You deserve to rest.”

She looked ready to argue. Another yawn interrupted her. She smiled. “If you think it’s okay.”

Alistair allowed himself a small smile. “I promise I will find Rafe while you are sleeping. Now, if it isn’t too much, I would ask you to stay here for the night.”

She nodded.

“Very good. The room is all made up for you.”

“Thanks, Alistair. Goodnight.” Her voice was soft, and in her words, he heard the unspoken apology for her earlier behavior.

It already feels a lifetime ago.
“Goodnight, Gwen.”

Alistair checked in on Gwen to make sure she was sleeping. She was curled in the center of the bed, the cat keeping sentry on the empty pillow. Something loosened in his chest.

Closing the door, he grabbed his heaviest coat and took the long walk up the stairs to the rooftop. Wrapping his scarf securely around his neck, he stepped out into the night air.

Rafe sat on the edge of the building, feet dangling over the side. With a tired sigh, Alistair shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way over to the younger man.

“Any chance we could do this somewhere a bit warmer?”

Rafe didn’t turn to him, and his shoulders stiffened. “Any chance we could not do this at all?” His voice sounded as weary as Alistair felt.

Settling down next to him, Alistair stretched his long legs out across the roof. “I am sorry to press you on what must be a sensitive subject.”

“And you couldn’t ask Gwen?” He sounded bitter.

“Considering the poor girl had been kidnapped in an effort to brainwash her, I felt she deserved a night’s sleep.”

Rafe looked at him. “Run that by me again.”

Alistair closed his eyes with a wave of relief. Seymour hadn’t been too successful if Rafe still showed such concern over the girl. In a quiet voice, he told him all he knew about Gwen’s interaction with Seymour; about the thoughts he been implanted in her mind; and about the guilt weighing on her mind. “She is sorry, you know.”

Rafe’s stiff posture relaxed, and he leaned on his hands. Alistair winced at the precarious position it put him in. He didn’t say anything. If he did, Rafe was more likely to lean farther over the edge of the building than move.
Always trying to overcome perceived weaknesses. Seems like being afraid of heights is less weakness and more common
sense.

“Why would a stranger want Gwen to hate me?”

“For all your faults, boy, a lack of self-confidence was never one of them. Must I remind you again of the important role you and Gwen are destined to play with the Archives?”

Rafe gave him a disdainful look before turning to look back at the dark city below. “Predestination? Really, I thought you were better than that. Cassian and you must be fast friends by now.”

Alistair made a rude noise. “I am not here to discuss differing schools of thought, Rafe. I need you to tell me what happened in the mirror. Regardless of whether you wish to accept it, you will play an important role, one that Gwen has an equal part in.”

“You’re starting to sound a bit repetitive, old man.”

Alistair continued with an angry shake of his head. “Did you stop to think of the consequences had Gwen been unable to shake off what Seymour did to her? You escaped only with her help. If things had gone according to that godforsaken janitor’s plan, she wouldn’t have raised her little finger to help you!” The consequences of such were so worrying that Alistair’s voice was loud with frustration. “You are lucky our girl is a damn bit stronger than you!”

Rafe sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired of hoping for a future I don’t believe in anymore.”

Alistair’s anger faltered and died. The enormity of what they were trying to do was too great. “There’s not much I believe in anymore. Too many lifetimes, too many years, too many years alone.” Sighing, he thought of his wife and the advice she would have given him. “If I learned anything through it all, it is that there is always hope. Always.”

Rafe didn’t speak.

As the night grew colder, Alistair thought of getting up and leaving the rooftop. There was so much to be done in so little time. He shifted to leave.

“It was like a dream that I couldn’t escape. Part of me knew it wasn’t real,” Rafe said. “It was the last time I ever saw my mother. Of all the times I have thought of that moment, of all of the things I wished I could have done differently.” He met Alistair’s gaze and shrugged. “I played the role, word for word. I don’t know what Gwen saw. I didn’t see her. I remember walking down the street in the rain, like I had in real life. I was on my way to see my father. Then, I woke up in the Archives.”