The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (17 page)

WHEN WE ARRIVED
back at the townhouse, there was a letter from Ines on our kitchen counter scrawled in her elegant handwriting. Gaige quickly skimmed the contents.

“Ines wants us ready by nine for an ‘evening out and about’,” he informed me.

“Exactly what does that entail?” I wondered aloud.

Gaige handed me Ines’s note. “You can read the details. She says to wear something chic.”

“Don’t even say it,” I warned.

“What? That chic isn’t in your repertoire? That you should’ve started getting ready last night to have even a chance of pulling off chic?” Gaige teased, his eyes wide and innocent.

“Exactly that. Don’t say any of that,” I replied, scanning the letter and noting that it made no mention of food. Ines must have been too consumed by her comprehensive directives regarding my appearance to think of something as silly as eating. “What time is it?” I asked Gaige.

He checked his pocket watch. “Six.”

“Ugh. I guess I am off to see Felipe,” I told Gaige. “Want to come?”

He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Nah. Naptime. Wake me when you get back.”

“Lucky,” I grumbled.

“Bring me something delicious!” Gaige called after me.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I answered, one foot already out the door.

“Love you!” Gaige sing-songed.

“Love you, too,” I said, keeping my back turned so he wasn’t able to see the warm smile on my face.

I asked the young girl behind the counter at the hat shop for directions to the transporter’s office.

“Through that door there.” The salesgirl pointed to a blue door at the back of the store with the word “Privé” above it. “Down one flight of stairs. There you will find a secretary named Ava. She will give you the appropriate form.”

“Thank you,” I told the salesgirl and set off towards the blue door.

Ava was exactly where I’d been told she would be. After brief introductions, she handed me a communications form and a pen. I gave the message a moment’s thought before scribbling down our current dilemma: Serial killer active in Paris. Name = Night Gentleman. Need intel ASAP.

Since we weren’t allowed to ask a transporter to jump for any old reason, Ava next had me sign a series of forms. Only requests for immediate assistance, a cleanup crew, or vital information needed to complete the mission warranted dispatching a transporter. Hoping that a murderer fell into the latter category, I signed my name to the last form.

“Your request will be processed immediately,” Ava told me.

“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder and went to find Felipe.

He was armed and ready when I arrived. As I settled into the swivel chair, my eyes met my reflection in the mirror. I saw a girl who looked harried and anxious, the opposite of a picture-perfect socialite.

Luckily, Felipe was nothing short of a miracle worker. He easily transformed my disheveled mane into sleek, photo-op-worthy locks. After just one hour in the chair, my long, auburn tresses were pinned and arranged in a fashionable bob.

“And now for the fun part,” the stylist said with a grin. “No peeking!”

He turned my chair around so I was facing him instead of the mirror, then he wheeled over a cart with dozens of brushes on the top in various sizes and shapes. The trolley had five long drawers, and I knew from experience that they were bursting with eye shadows, foundations, blushes, lipsticks, and eye and lip liners in every color imaginable. Most of the products were time and location specific and would have been purchased at a local department store. Not all, though. Many of the makeup artists favored products from the future, which the syndicate supplied them with.

Another half-hour passed as Felipe dabbed, blended, and brushed his way through the various cosmetics. When he stepped back and clasped his hands together, the guise stylist wore a look of smug satisfaction.

“You, my dear, are a knockout,” Felipe proclaimed, spinning my chair to face the mirror with a large flourish. “Voila!”

“Whoa,” I said, admiring his handiwork. “I barely recognize myself.”

It was true. The auburn hair I still wasn’t quite used to was pinned up with elegant finger waves framing my face. My blue eyes were highlighted with dark, smoky shadows, and my lips were traced in a deep red with a pronounced cupid’s bow. I looked every bit the part of a fun-loving flapper, ready for mischief and mayhem.

“Do not insult me,” Felipe pouted, frowning at me in the mirror. “You are a natural beauty, I simply wish to draw attention to your best features.”

I blushed at the compliment.

“Thanks,” I muttered. Standing, I smoothed the wrinkles from my dress.

“I am green with envy, love. I hear Ines is taking you to the most fabulous show in all of Montparnasse,” Felipe declared. “Even she has yet to pay a visit.”

“What sort of show?” I asked. “Ines left a note telling us to be ready by nine, but she was vague about where we’re going.”

“
Exotique
is all anyone can talk about.” Felipe began sweeping the floor around his workstation.

“Is it a cabaret show?” I guessed.

He paused and met my gaze, eyes wide with surprise.

“You have not heard of
Exotique
? It is much more than a simple cabaret show,” said Felipe, aghast at my naivety. A look of wonder came over his features. “Yes, there is singing and dancing, but it is so much more than that. It is supposed to be magical, with illusions the world has never seen before.”

I stifled a giggle.

“You forget who you are talking to. I have seen quite a bit,” I told him.

“Not like this, love. Monsieur Houdini himself is said to have commended the performers after seeing the show in Rome. These men and women can make themselves disappear from the stage, only to reappear next to you in the audience. They pull elephants from hats. The women float on air, and the men walk on water.” He wiggled a finger in front of my face. “You doubt, I can see. Just wait, you will understand.”

Disappearing and reappearing? A stunt like that during a stage show was merely an illusion. The same could be said for pulling animals from hats, even elephants. Nevertheless, I had neither the time nor the inclination to argue with Felipe. If he still believed that
Exotique
was mesmerizing after watching people materialize in a spinning vortex from the future, then nothing I said was going to persuade Felipe otherwise.

“I’ll let you know,” I promised the stylist.

To my surprise, Gaige was dressed when I returned to the townhouse. Sitting on the couch with a cocktail in one hand, my partner was flipping through the Fantômas novel. He was dashing in the tuxedo, complete with coattails and bowtie. Though he’d been a little heavy-handed with the styling product, Gaige’s hair gleamed in the light.

“Hey,” he called, not bothering to look up.

“You look nice. Catch.” I tossed a paper-wrapped tomato and mozzarella sandwich from customs at him.

Hands cupped as if to catch a football, Gaige tore his eyes from the graphic novel just in time.

“Touchdown!” he cried and did a little victory dance in his seat.

“Find anything new about our masked villain?” I asked, climbing the staircase to the bedrooms.

“Not sure. I’m having a hard time translating the words, though the pictures tell quite a tale.” He folded back the paper at one end of the sandwich and took a large bite. Around a mouthful of food, Gaige added, “Dude’s pretty wicked.”

“I’ll look at it later,” I promised. “Though I doubt I’ll understand much more than you do. I’ll be ready soon, just need to change. Oh, and just so know, I sent a message to Eisenhower requesting info about the Night Gentleman.”

“Good. I was actually considering doing the same. Let’s hope he responds quickly.”

“Let’s hope,” I agreed.

When I finally returned to the living room, I wore a silver and green lamé gown trimmed with pearls, and a matching headscarf. My partner had not moved. The sandwich’s paper wrapping was on the coffee table, but otherwise the scene was exactly the same as when I’d left.

A knock on the front door broke the quiet in our Parisian home.

“Oh, no, Gaige, don’t trouble yourself,” I muttered when he didn’t even acknowledge the sound.

“You got it? Thanks, Stass.”

The door opened before I reached it. Ines swept in, wearing a daring backless gown of black silk.

“The car is waiting, if you are both ready?” she asked.

I looked to Gaige, since he was the one with his eyes glued to a book.

“Sorry. Are you talking to me?” he said. “Yeah, I’m ready. Oh, wow, Ines, you look great. You too, Stass.”

“Thanks for noticing,” I said dryly.

A black Rolls-Royce idled on the street in front of our townhouse. Jacque greeted us each formally as he held the back door open.

During the ride, Ines wasn’t her usually chatty self. Unsurprisingly, she chained smoked the whole way, managing to suck down two cigarettes on the quick trip. Our guide’s obvious anxiety had me glancing over my shoulder as if something or someone might attack me at any moment. Her demeanor improved slightly when the Rolls pulled up in front of a beautiful red and gold theater with
Exotique
spelled out in bright white lights. In contrast to the previous night’s club, the sidewalk in front of the theater was teeming with eager men and women.

Starting for the end of the line, I pulled my shawl up to cover my shoulders against the brisk air.

“Stassi, dear, this way!” Ines called after me.

I turned and saw that she and Gaige were heading in the opposite direction. Ines had her arm looped through my partner’s. The two made a striking pair. The carefree smile that our guide wore like armor was firmly back in place.

We made our way through the crowd to the front of the line. Ines spoke to the slimmer of the two doormen. When she presented our tickets, the bouncer nodded and unhooked one end of the rope.

“Come along, dear,” Ines called, waving me forward with her cigarette hand.

“Enjoy the show, Mademoiselle Prince,” the bouncer said as I hurried to catch up with Gaige and Ines.

“Th-thank you,” I stuttered in surprise.

What did Ines tell him about me?
I wondered.

Somehow, the lobby was even more crowded than the sidewalk. Waiters wove seamlessly through the theater patrons, carrying silver trays with champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Young woman in gold and red quintessentially flapper-style outfits sold cigarettes from trays hanging around their necks.

I took in the festive scene before me, feeling like an extra in the
Gatsby
movie we’d watched with Molly. Smoke curled around the ornate light fixtures, an ominous gray haze hanging over the celebratory night like a storm cloud about to burst. A chill ran up my spine, despite the considerably warmer temperature inside the theater.

“Ah, champagne, merci, merci,” Ines cooed, snagging two flutes from a passing tray and handing them to us. “One more, love,” she added when the waiter started to move away. He paused long enough for her to claim the remaining glass, and then bowed his apologies. Ines ignored the gesture and turned back to us.

“A toast,” Ines declared, raising her glass. “To an exotic night of fabulous entertainment.”

Gaige touched his glass to hers. “Here, here,” he said.

“Here, here,” I echoed, doing the same.

The effervescent bubbles made my nose tingle. Ines was blatantly scoping out the room, doubtlessly cataloguing each of the attendees.

“Not to be rude…,” I began.

Gaige snorted. “Which means you’re about to be rude,” he teased.

I shot him a pointed look. “No, I’m just wondering what we’re doing here. This isn’t vacation, we’re here on business.”

“Of course, of course,” Ines agreed, taking another sip of champagne as she returned her attention to us. Two red lipstick marks stained the rim of the glass when she was done. “And business, as you say, is why we are here.” She waved her cigarette hand lazily, the lit end just missing the coat of an older gentleman passing by.