Ricochet Through Time (Echo Trilogy Book 3) (17 page)

I could see him now, picking his way through the woods. He wasn’t being careful any longer.

“Try me,” I said, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Lex!”

At the sound of Heru’s yell, I looked down the hill. He was running, but still so far away. And Apep-Set was far too close.

My deranged, possessed father emerged from the woods on the other side of the road and stopped, clasping his hands together behind his back. “Is this not exciting?”

I risked a glance down the hill. Heru was still several hundred yards away. Was he close enough? If I let the twins jump me back in time now, would he remember me?

Part of him would. But then, part of him
had
to. I felt like an idiot for not connecting the dots earlier.

I stepped onto the dirt road toward Apep-Set and grinned.

This was how it happened . . . how it was supposed to happen.

I took another step, feeling the twins’ power welling in my abdomen in response to their closer proximity to Apep. Iridescent flames danced over the skin of my arms extended before me.

This was why I’d haunted Heru’s dreams for centuries. I took one more step across the road, staring directly into Apep-Set’s horror-filled eyes. Heru was too far away to forget me completely. Because he had to be.

The vibrant, misty colors of the At burst into existence all around me, and the road to Florence fell away. I hadn’t screwed up the timeline. I’d protected it. Fulfilled it.

As Re loved to say—it is what
is
.

19

Dust & Bone

I passed through two more stops in my whirlwind tour of European history fairly quickly—Florence in the fourteenth century, then twelfth-century London, smack-dab in the middle of Richard the Lionheart’s reign—bringing me to tenth-century Scotland, or
Rìoghachd na h-Alba
, as it was called these days. Once again, I’d concealed parts of my story from Heru initially, specifically the
us
parts, and once again, he’d puzzled it out—though this time I was strict about practicing restraint. We were as celibate as a cohabitating monk and nun. Who made goo-goo eyes at one another. And snuggled. And shared a bed.

Heru was fast asleep when I rose one morning and snuck from his bed. I retrieved the gown I’d worn the previous day, the velvet a muted purple that reminded me of the rising and setting sun, and slipped it on over my head. The heavy fabric fell around me, draping over my protruding belly. I gathered up the worked silver belt that I wore with all of my gowns, folding the delicate links over each other and wrapping them in my skirt to mute their noise. It was time for my weekly—or weekly-ish—checkup with Aset.

Tiptoeing, I slipped out of the bedchamber, inching the heavy wooden door closed slowly enough that the iron hardware wouldn’t clink together. I’d learned the previous times I’d snuck out not to close the door completely. The latching of the mechanism within was a surefire way to wake Heru.

Aset, Nik, and I always met somewhere new. There was ever a risk of being caught, but as my belly grew, accommodating the twins within, Aset became more and more adamant about meeting up.

I felt like I was about to explode. I thought it couldn’t possibly be much longer until the twins arrived—an event I was both looking forward to and dreading. Their birth would mean an end to all of this running, this constant looking over my shoulder, this fear that every little nick might become infected or that I might catch some disease that my muted regenerative abilities wouldn’t be able to fight off. I still didn’t know how it would happen, but once the twins arrived, we
would
return home. Nik had told me as much in the cave all those months ago. I would have the chance to raise my children with the man I loved and, assuming Apep had been recaptured in my time, finally—
finally
—stop being so damn afraid all the time. I was so tired of being afraid.

One hand curled under my belly, I snuck along Castle Uaireigin’s drafty third-floor hallway toward the stone stairwell that led to the second-floor landing. I paused at the top of the stairs, taking a deep breath and digging my knuckles into a particularly achy spot in my lower back. The heavy achiness was getting worse every day, cramps on steroids. Just another, albeit smaller, reason I was ready for this to be over.

Quietly, I made my way down the stairs. At the landing, I turned away from the gallery open to the great hall below and headed toward the servants’ stairwell at the back of the castle. I’d been living in Castle Uaireigin for nearly three months, and I was familiar enough with the servants’ schedules by now to know they’d either be busy in the kitchens at this early hour, working out in the stable yard, or still sleeping, waiting for the sun to rise, the roosters to crow, and their day of servitude to begin anew.

If I was careful, I could slip down the stairs and behind the tapestry at the bottom, ducking into a hidden passageway before any of them noticed me. I knew I could do it; I’d already done it nearly a dozen times before.

I’d spent most of the third trimester of my pregnancy here, in the heart of the Middle Ages—the Dark Ages—but it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I’d grown accustomed to the increasingly simple ways of life as I jumped further and further in time. The simplicity was almost addicting, and the ladies’ fashion of this time was surprisingly comfortable—pretty much like wearing a floor-length nightgown and a robe. And right now, comfort was as important to me as anything. Because I was so damn uncomfortable.

Over my three previous stops in time, I’d grown moderately proficient with the sword Aset and Nik encumbered me with in Renaissance Italy. I hadn’t been practicing much with it lately; Heru refused to train me when I was so off-balance. Probably a wise decision.

It was a little disconcerting to dive further and further back in time—back in medical advancement—even as I drew closer and closer to my due date. At least I had Aset. Her knowledge and skill with healing was far beyond that of the humans of this time. Knowing she’d be there when I needed her most was one of the few things keeping me sane in what had become an increasingly insane period of my life.

I made it downstairs and into the secret passageway without a hitch. Once I was concealed, I paused to press both of my thumbs against the base of my spine. This aching—how did it keep getting worse? I exhaled heavily, hurting and tired. I’d slept horribly the night before, plagued by strange, incoherent dreams on the few occasions that I’d actually drifted off. I hadn’t been able to get comfortable, not lying, not sitting, and standing wasn’t doing me any favors, either.

“Not much longer,” I said under my breath. It was the most enthusiastic pep talk I could muster on short notice.

In the dark passageway, I paused to secure the silver belt around my “waist” before carefully picking my way over the scattered, discarded pieces of stone and wood that littered the floor. Most of the castle was newer, but this part was old, even now. I was curious to find out, once I returned to my time, whether or not it still stood, either as a functioning building or as a discarded ruin. I thought it might be slightly heartbreaking if I discovered that there was no remnant of it at all.

Soon, the passageway angled downward, carrying me toward the system of tunnels and catacombs that ran underneath the castle. I took the rightmost fork, which would spit me out through a locked iron gate into the gardens behind the castle. Assuming I had a key, of course. I smiled and touched my belt. It was a gift from Nik and Aset—each link was actually a locket chamber holding a key crafted from solidified At to this or that part of the castle and grounds.

It was still quite dark when I emerged into the gardens, and chilly, but not cold. It was the peak of summer here, disorienting when I considered it was winter back home.

I passed between rows of onions in the bountiful kitchen gardens, then between rows of leeks, then rows of herbs on my way to the walled garden beyond. It was Heru’s private sanctuary, where he forbade any but himself—and me—from entering. The garden’s decaying stone walls reached a couple feet overhead and were covered almost completely by vines that seemed to both support it and work to pull it down. Within, the garden was overgrown, only a few clear spaces where the plants had been tended recently, but the plants weren’t the focal point of this particular garden.

Every few feet along the interior walls, the vines were pulled to the side, a living curtain drawn away to reveal breathtakingly beautiful plaster friezes displaying life in ancient Egypt. The first time I’d seen them, I’d been so stunned that the words tripped over themselves as I told Heru about the passageways under the garage on Bainbridge. The scenes depicted—they were so similar. It was so
him
.

There was one frieze, the one displaying the goddess Hathor and the god Horus—Hat-hur and Heru—as divine consorts. The first time Heru showed it to me, he explained that she was a memory from a dream of a time long ago. I’d touched the side of his face and told him it was not a dream.

Though I’d been here many times before, this would be my first time meeting Aset and Nik in Heru’s secret, walled garden. I pushed the door open with a grunt, the old iron hinges groaning and the wood creaking.

Aset and Nik were already there, Aset standing before the mural of the couple Heru and I used to be—would be—
were
—and Nik sitting on the ground, his back against a mossy boulder at the center of the garden. Aset turned partway, watching me enter over her shoulder.

I offered them a quick smile, then turned to push the door closed. I relocked it before stowing my key back in my belt. Turning around, I made my way into the heart of the garden.

Aset met me with outstretched hands, grinning broadly. “And how are you on this morning, dear Lex?” she asked in the original tongue, leaning in to kiss first one side of my face, then the other.

I pulled back and met her eyes. “Well enough, I suppose. And you?”

Aset gave my hands a squeeze. “Oh, you know us. We are as we always are . . .” She released one of my hands to place hers on the crux of my belly. “It shall not be too much longer, I think. Perhaps one more month.”

My shoulders slumped and I let out a sound that brought to mind a mooing cow. Which, coincidentally, was pretty much what I felt like.

Aset laughed, a tinkling, chime-like sound. “When the time is right, it will happen. Not before, and not after.”

“But why is
now
not the right time?” I whined.

Again, Aset laughed, and Nik joined her.

“I hate you both,” I said, sharing a friendly smile with first mother, then son.

“Nonsense.” Aset swatted my arm. “You adore us. Now, come, let us begin your examination so we might return you to my brother before he notices you were ever gone.”

Nik stood lookout while Aset took care of the poking and prodding and looking and listening, at least where my body was concerned. He leaned back against that mossy boulder and listened with all his might, hearing everything going on beyond the garden’s walls. If anybody was approaching, if anybody was even coming close, we would know.

“I fear it is almost time,” Aset said, kneeling beside me while I readjusted my dress’s skirt on the ground around me.

I paused and looked at her. “But you said another month . . .”

Aset bowed her head. “But the time is right.”

I settled back on my elbows and sighed. “Which means I shall be leaving this time soon. I know I will not give birth here,” I admitted to Aset. “I dreamt of my time here once . . . when my Netjer-At qualities were just beginning to manifest. At the time, I did not realize it was me I was watching in the dream, but I now know I witnessed my final moments here—mourning the destruction caused by Apep, saying goodbye to Heru, disappearing . . .”

“This is a violent exit, then?” Aset asked.

“Yes,” I said, my voice suddenly thick with emotion. “The most violent yet. There will be much death, here.” I stared up at the muted gray sky, counting the vanishing stars and listening to the birds’ wake-up songs and the garden critters scurrying and slithering around. “I have struggled with the urge to warn them . . . to warn Heru. They are his people, after all. And I have come to care for a great many of them.”

“You cannot warn them of what is to come,” Aset said, touching my shoulder. She gave it a gentle squeeze before settling beside me, reclining on her elbows, her skirts mingling with mine. “However insignificant it may seem to spare even a brief human life, doing so could trigger a chain of events that could—”

“I know, I know,” I said, emotional exhaustion weighing down my words. “If a butterfly flaps its wings . . .”

Aset eyed me, her expression quizzical. “I am unfamiliar with this saying.”

“It is a theory—part of what is called Chaos Theory. Essentially, it claims that minute occurrences can have a major impact on major, um, things.” I offered Aset a weak smile. “Sorry, this is a terrible explanation. But anyway, the go-to example is a butterfly flapping its wings, moving the air, and that small change causing increasingly bigger changes that end up affecting the weather.” I raised my eyebrows. “Does that make any sense at all?”

Aset nodded slowly. “And it does, indeed, seem an appropriate saying for our discussion—if a butterfly flaps its wings . . .”

I smiled, just a little, even as I felt my heart begin to weep. Perhaps I’d been foolish letting myself get to know the ill-fated humans of this time and place, but initially, their preordained demise hadn’t disturbed me—likely because according to my internal clock, the one that was still synched with my native time far in the future, these people were already dust and bone. I’d viewed them as remnants of a past long dead, but now I saw them as living, thriving people with families and hopes and dreams for the future. A future they would never see.

“Shall I tell you of your next adventure?” Aset said, clearly aiming to derail my darkening mood. “A hint of what is to come?”

I shot her a sideways glance. “You want to flap your little butterfly wings?”

“Only gently.” She smiled mysteriously. “You, dear Lex, will be coming home.”

I perked up. “To Washington?” I knew I would return home while the twins were still babies, according to what Re had seen in the At, but I hadn’t realized it would be
before
I gave birth.

Aset’s brow furrowed. “I do not know of this Was-een-ton.”

“Ohhh . . .” I let my head fall back, feeling especially dense, and more than a little disappointed. “You mean Kemet.”

So, it looked like I would be returning to Egypt. I’d have been lying if I claimed not to be excited, even as I struggled with the disappointment of knowing I wouldn’t be returning to my true home quite yet. Egypt was my passion; it was in my blood. Hell, I’d married one of the ancient culture’s staple gods and had inadvertently
become
another. I thought part of me would always feel like I belonged there, in that rich, ancient land.