The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (2 page)

There was one thing I wanted to check before leaving, though. Due to Etienne’s sudden appearance, and my equally sudden need to disappear, I’d been careless when placing Napoleon’s letter into the pouch and was worried it had sustained damage. After glancing again at both exits, I retrieved the letter from its hiding place, withdrew my camera from the wrist holster, turned it on, and examined the single sheet of velum using the light from the camera’s display.

Finding no notable rips, stains, or holes, I breathed a sigh of relief.

One point for me,
I thought wryly.

Finally, I re-pinned my hair in a loose bun and smoothed my petticoat and dress back into place. I considered ditching my stockings, but figured bare legs were more offensive than torn undergarments. All the while, I prayed that Etienne and his minions weren’t waiting for me at the other end of the passage.

Taking a deep breath and steeling myself for the worst, I crept out of the alleyway as inconspicuously as possible.

The sunlight seemed impossibly bright after the shadow-filled enclosure, and it took several moments for my eyes to adjust. Once they did, I scanned the piazza for both French soldiers and Gaige. Seeing neither, I sighed with both relief and exasperation.

Truth be told, I was beginning to worry about my wayward partner. Gaige was both immature and irresponsible when it came to his personal life, but he took his job very seriously. He didn’t know as well as I did how harsh the world outside the syndicate could be, but he would never do anything to jeopardize his position. Or my safety, for that matter.

The customs agent will know where he is,
I reassured myself.
No need to panic just yet.

The crowd was even thicker on this side of the square and the sea of people heading for the large footbridge soon swallowed me whole. I entered the bridge at a leisurely pace to avoid drawing any extra attention. Both sides of the wide walkway were lined with market stalls, selling everything from leather goods to goat feet. Pretending to peruse the merchandise of a silver dealer, I used a serving platter as a mirror to discreetly check behind me for a tail.

“There!” someone shouted in French.

Not good.

Chaos erupted. The soldiers began shoving people aside. I immediately dropped the silver platter and took off into the crowd at break-neck speed.

Luckily, this wasn’t my first rodeo. Spurred on by the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I was ducking arms and weaving through groups of people before the guards had even made it past the entrance to the bridge. Back in the spirit of the chase, I felt the bizarre mix of exhilaration and apprehension that only such a frenetically charged situation brought about. With every stride of my relatively long legs, the soldiers’ shouts grew fainter and fainter. Soon, the sound of my own blood pumping furiously in my ears eclipsed their voices altogether.

I have this in the bag,
I thought, grinning hugely.

Confident that victory was within my reach, I spared a glance over my shoulder to see just how many men were looking to take my head. How many would inevitably fail in their pursuit.

That moment of arrogance cost me.

Head still turned, I ran smack into a brick wall.

Okay, maybe not an actual brick wall. Because why would there have been a brick wall in the middle of a bridge? But the impact was hard enough and the obstruction solid enough that my head actually bounced off of it as though made of rubber.

Ringing filled my ears instantly. The side of my face took the brunt of the collision and my cheekbone felt like it had just made contact with a fist.

That’s going to leave an attractive bruise,
I thought absently as dizziness overtook me.

The searing pain suddenly took a backseat to the spinning world that was careening dangerously around me. It felt like someone had pressed hyper speed on a carousel. I clenched my eyes closed as tightly as possible, hoping to halt the ride with sheer will alone. When that didn’t work, I reached out my arm to steady myself on the low barrier along the side of the bridge. Unfortunately, I underestimated my distance from the wall. The ground rushed up to greet me.

This is going to hurt.

Just as I was about to hit the filthy pavement, strong hands caught me around the waist and pulled me to the very thing that had been my downfall. Rough fabric scratched my palms, proving the wall was not a wall at all but a man’s chest.

An impressively firm man’s chest
, I thought absently.

Somewhere, in an alternate universe, this scene was playing out in a romance novel; I was the swooning leading lady and the hero had just drawn me tightly against him. With that thought swimming in my head, I rested my forehead on the imposing chest in an effort to still the spinning. As I forced myself to draw in slow, deep pulls of oxygen to my addled brain, one of the man’s hands rubbed my back soothingly.

This is ridiculous,
I thought. One moment I was running for my life, the next I was living a passionate parable. No costume change required.

Despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, I was grateful to the chivalrous man. He could’ve let me fall flat on my face. He could’ve shoved me away. And I wouldn’t have blamed him, considering my stench. Instead, he was acting the part of the gallant knight, swooping in to save the distraught princess before she knocked out a few teeth on the pavement.

The strong hand on my spine slid down to my hip, moving into my still-downcast line of vision.

Interesting,
I thought, still dazed from the collision. Maybe this tale was more scandalous than swoon-worthy, my hero more roguish than knightly. Before I could process that this was definitively reality and not a harlequin novel, the hand continued around to my stomach while the other held me firmly against him. Then, to my utter horror, the hand shot up the front of my dress, caressing every inch of my torso as its owner copped a cheap thrill. Finally, when two long fingers climbed over the deep neckline and down the inside of my bodice, the shock wore off. I snapped into action.

“Get off of me, you perv!” I shouted in English as I shoved against that rock-hard chest, too incensed to translate the words.

Skilled in self-defense, I attempted to create enough space for my knee to lock in on its target: my attacker’s groin. The creep was apparently accustomed to groping unwilling women, though, because he angled his lower body away at exactly the right moment. My blow landed on his outer thigh, hard enough to inflict pain but not the doubled-over-in agony degree I’d hoped for.

“Is that your idea of foreplay?” the man chuckled in my ear, his English just as perfect and unaccented as my own. “No wonder you never go on second dates.”

My eyes went wide. I tipped my head back to get a good look at the man’s face. Dark brown eyes that held just a hint of amber sparkled with amusement. Though a casual observer might have only seen delight, I knew fierce determination was hidden in the shadows beneath. Way beneath, in this case.

“Gaige!” I exclaimed, both incensed and grateful to find my partner had arrived at last.

The grin he wore stretched from ear to ear as his arm slid around me once more, bringing me close again. When his fingers slipped down the front of my dress for a second time, they found their mark. As Gaige’s groping digits retreated from my bodice, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the artifact pouch between his thumb and forefinger. Then, just like the queen in three-card Monte, it disappeared to parts unknown.

“What have I told you about personal space?” I snapped, shoving him away from me.

“Is that any way for a lady to treat her rescuer?” Gaige taunted. “I’m not asking for much, Stassi, just a little gratitude.”

I opened my mouth to respond that feeling me up was more than enough payment for his eleventh-hour intervention, but never got the chance to utter the words. Without warning, my legs were swept out from underneath me. The action was not performed in an enjoyable, romantic manner. Instead, Gaige tossed me over his shoulder caveman-style.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I screeched. “Put me down, jackass!”

“Good lord, you stink,” Gaige intoned.

“You always stink,” I replied lamely, pounding my fists against his back.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. “Still dizzy?”

“Oh yeah, I’m just great,” I said, still struggling.

“Still dizzy?” he persisted.

“No, I’m clearheaded and going to kill you,” I snapped, straining to loosen his grip enough to flip myself over and away from my partner. “Put me down!”

“In that case, can you pretend you’re
actually
trying to get away, Stass? Sell it for the audience.”

Startled, I remembered that we weren’t alone. When I looked up, dozens of shocked expressions met my gaze. Napoleon’s guards had nearly caught up to us, pushing their way towards the outer ring of bystanders who’d stopped to gape at the show.

My heart sank as my annoyance rose. It was
so
not the time for Gaige’s pranks. I was going to be completely screwed if the moron didn’t let me go in the next moment. Probably even if he did. Still, I kicked my legs as hard as I could in a desperate attempt to flee.

Unfortunately, Gaige’s arms were well-muscled from all the rock climbing he did in our downtime and they were locked around me in a steel embrace.

“Just a piece of friendly advice,” my partner called over his shoulder. “You might want to take a nice big breath real quick. Oh, and definitely keep your mouth closed.”

Alarm bells went off inside my head.

Hold my breath?

Realization dawned. I struggled harder against his hold. Not in the hopes of actually getting free from him, but to indeed give the spectators a show.

“You bastard!” I screamed in mangled French.

“After what you did to my brother, you’re lucky it’s not the gallows!” Gaige roared back in a monstrous tone, taking two steps to the side. In a lower tone meant only for my ears, he added, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Without further ado, Gaige threw me over the side of the bridge.

Despite my partner’s advice to keep my mouth shut, I couldn’t help the scream that tore loose from my throat.

Every expletive in my vast repertoire flew through my mind in the seconds before I hit the fetid water. The instant the stench wafted into my nostrils, I vowed revenge upon Gaige for this little stunt. Maybe he’d just saved me in the moment, but the impromptu bridge dive probably wouldn’t have been necessary had my partner been
actually backing me up
.

The landing was as ungraceful as humanly possible—back-first with my legs futilely bicycle-kicking the air. Lips still parted in an involuntary shriek, murky river water seeped into my mouth before I had the wherewithal to clamp it shut.

Pretend it’s one of the hot springs on the island,
I chanted over and over again in my head like the refrain of a poorly-written song.

Fortunately for my sanity, a reminder of my mortality quickly derailed that train of thought. Once wet, the heavy wool of my dress felt like newly-poured concrete. I sank like a boulder.

As much as I
really
didn’t want another molecule of the Arno River inside of me, I reluctantly opened my eyes to gain my bearings. The foul water stung painfully. I blinked several times before straining to keep them open. All I saw was deep, dark, murky brown. I glanced around frantically, searching for lighter water that would indicate the surface. Once I spotted it, I managed to flip my body around. With powerful kicks of my legs and strokes of my arms, I fought against the weight dragging me down and slowly reversed my course.

Contrary to what he would tell you, my partner didn’t have superhero-strength, so I couldn’t have been far from the large stone construct. Fortuitous, since I needed to be underneath it for Gaige’s gamble to pay off.

Through the cloudy water, a shape emerged up ahead, maybe five feet away. The water was dimmer there, too, as though bathed in shadows instead of sunlight. Swimming towards the pool of darkness, I prayed that I was heading closer to the bridge and not away from it. My lungs were already starting to burn. In the very near future, they would be screaming for air.

Seconds that felt like hours to my oxygen-deprived system passed before my outstretched hands made contact with the slimy stone foundation of the bridge. If I could’ve breathed a sigh of relief without filling my lungs with pure nastiness, I would have.

My heart began to pound harder, anticipating what was to come.

As soon as my entire body was pressed against the inside of the stone pillar, an unnerving tingling began. The dichotomous sensation started in my toes, cool at first, then growing colder and colder as it crawled up my calves. The crown of my head was instantly warm, becoming uncomfortably hot as the feeling slid down my chest. Though not unpleasant at first, the sensation intensified as it traveled down my torso and up my legs, until the tingling felt more like being continually jabbed with a cheese dagger. It was as though I was the fabric of time itself and thousands of sewing machines were simultaneously stitching me together with white-hot needles.