The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (3 page)

Within moments, hot and cold collided in a clash-of-the-titans match-up in my abdomen. The pain was unfathomable, indescribable to those who have not felt it. And it was rocketing through me.

A burst of light exploded in my line of vision like a star detonating. Golden white swirls twisted and churned before my eyes, illuminating the murky water with preternatural beauty. At the epicenter, the light was pure gold. It pulled me in as though it was a powerful magnet and I was nothing more than a fleck of metal.

This was a bad idea,
I thought, panic overtaking me as surely as the light. Shoving the thought aside, I focused with every ounce of my mental capacity on my destination: The Atlic Gate in my present time.

My body bowed backwards, my spine arching as long fingers of light shot out from the supernova and grabbed hold of my waist. The pain in my midsection peaked right before the golden light engulfed me.

And then I was gone.

I LANDED OFF-BALANCE
and disoriented. My hands shot out instinctively to break the fall. Pain shot through my wrists and up my arms when my palms collided with cold, dry rock. I clawed at the smooth surface, desperate to remain upright. Unfortunately, all I received for my efforts were several broken fingernails. Panting, I sank to my knees.

The skin on the inside of my wrist began to hum, bringing an instant sigh of relief. It was a tune I felt rather than heard, but it touched me down to my marrow all the same. The earth around me answered in kind, singing the same silent song with a power and intensity that had scared me at one time but I now welcomed with open arms. A sense of peace enveloped me, the kind of universal harmony that few in the world could understand, and only then from experience.

“A gate,” I muttered to myself with a weary smile. “Good sign.”

I knew all too well what came next.

Teeth clenched, forehead pressed against the rock wall, I prepared to ride out the after-effects of the unorthodox jump.

Tremors rocketed through my body with bone-jarring force. My muscles seized, not all at once, but each in turn, over and over. My lungs burned, more from the sudden influx of air than the jump through time.

It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It. Will. Pass,
I chanted to myself, even as the spinning sensation in my head made me feel like the lone sock in a dryer programmed for warp-speed.

Unpleasant as the seconds that followed were, I was in far better shape than I should’ve been. Not travelling through a gate was a shock to the system, one very difficult for the human body to withstand. It was the reason we were forbidden from free jumping, except in dire emergencies.

As the worst of the effects finally began to wane, I surveyed my surroundings to gauge my whereabouts. Not going through customs was not only unsanctioned and dangerous, it left a lot of room for error—there was no way of knowing where and when I’d end up. Between the river water still obscuring my vision and the vertigo whirling through my head, blurry shapes and vague impressions were all I could see.

As I blinked rapidly to clear my vision, the vortex came into focus around me. Absentmindedly, I rubbed the tattoo on the inside of my right wrist. The letters on my skin glowed bright red for several moments, as they always did after coming in direct contact with other
prima
.

The secret to traversing time lay within the precious mineral.
Prima materia
was more rare than a flawless colored diamond, more valuable than the crown jewels, and more sought-after than a relic from the Ming Dynasty. Throughout history, the existence of
prima
had been doubted more than Excalibur and Atlantis combined. But, as any runner could attest, the mineral was very real. Though it didn’t turn substances into gold, as many had hoped it would, it did make time travel possible.

Using the energy my body absorbed from the
prima
to bolster myself, I pushed off the floor and climbed unsteadily to my feet. My head spun from the movement. I leaned against the wall until the dizziness subsided. After a few tentative steps, I plodded slowly around the curve of rock wall towards a patch of hazy light at the end of the tunnel.

A form appeared at the far end of the passage, backlit and shadowed.

“Stassi?” The tall, gangly figure rushed forward, youthful male features came into focus as he closed the distance between us. I recognized him immediately, Rupert Rudolph.

I’m home,
I thought with another surge of relief.

“Stassi? What happened?” Rupert asked, taking in my sopping-wet appearance. Concern created a deep crease between his dark brows.

“Gaige happened,” I intoned, sparing a weary smile for my favorite gate attendant.

Rupert, a teenager just on the awkward cusp of manhood, was one of several attendants who rotated shifts in my syndicate’s waystation. The job wasn’t glamorous—entering destinations into the customs ports, logging the comings and goings, and assisting those returning from missions. Still, it was a coveted position among those with aspirations of one day becoming runners, but who weren’t yet old enough to begin training.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked, curiosity mingling with worry in his dark eyes.

Together, we exited the passageway and entered the rotunda of the underground gate.

“I’ve had smoother runs,” I replied, holding out my dripping arms to prove my point.

“Shoot, I’m sorry,” Rupert apologized. “Let me get you a towel before you freeze to death.”

As if on cue, a violent chill ran through me. I hugged my arms to my chest to conserve what little body heat remained.

“Thanks.”

He darted towards a metal rack on the opposite side of the cavernous room. Fluffy clean towels were arranged in neat stacks beside bottles of water and energy bars. Rupert grabbed one towel, started back towards me, reassessed the situation, and went back for a second one.

The underground room was a magnificent blend of the old and new worlds. The perimeter of the high, domed ceiling was carved with symbols of the ancient alchemist order—a perfect juxtaposition to the advanced technology used to program mission coordinates. The sloping red walls radiated a cool beauty that hinted at their true nature. At first glance, it was easy to mistake the material for clay, but the faint glimmering where light hit belied the power within.

Another violent shiver wracked my body, pulling me from my admiration. As beautiful as the gate was to look at, the temperature left something to be desired. My fingertips were starting to turn blue. The cool, clean air was also making the horrific stench emanating from me more apparent.

I cursed Gaige.

“Here you go.” Rupert held out the towels, which I accepted gratefully. “These should help.”

I buried my face in the soft fabric and inhaled the scent of fresh, clean laundry detergent.

“I think they work better if you unfold them,” Rupert teased.

My quick burst of laughter sounded muffled beneath the towel.

“Is it Pick on Stassi Day? I didn’t get the memo,” I replied, slinging one towel over my shoulders and using the other on my hair. Noting the lack of activity in the gate, I added, “Slow day?”

“Yep,” he responded, popping the “p” for emphasis. “There aren’t any outgoing runs today. Before your unscheduled appearance, we weren’t anticipating any arrivals, either. So, yeah, pretty boring ‘round these parts.”

“Do you know when Molly and Tiger got back?” I asked.

Molly was my best friend, roommate, and fellow runner. She and her partner, Tiger, had left the day before Gaige and me on a run to America. It was supposed to be a quick mission, two or three days max.

“I don’t think they’re back,” Rupert said.

The first hints of dread settled in my gut. I didn’t want to seem dramatic, but a run that ran too long over the scheduled time allotment was cause for concern.

“You sure? They should’ve been back yesterday, maybe even the day before that,” I prompted.

“They might’ve come through when I was off-duty,” Rupert replied, scratching his head in the perfect caricature of someone thinking. “I don’t remember seeing their arrival in the logs, though. Want me to double-check?”

“Do you mind?” I asked Rupert sheepishly.

“For you? Not at all.”

That kid’s a real charmer,
I thought as Rupert jogged over to his workstation and entered his access code. He scrolled through the arrival log for the past week and shook his head.

“Sorry, Stassi. They’re still out.” Anticipating my next question, he added, “We haven’t received any distress communications from Philadelphia customs, so no need to worry. I’m sure they just got held up. It happens.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, forcing a smile that surely didn’t reach my eyes. “How’d you get to be so wise?”

“Age and experience,” Rupert answered with a wink.

“Mind getting me another towel, old man? This one’s soaked.”

With the grace of a young deer still adjusting to its long legs, Rupert loped off to fetch me another dry towel. He returned a moment later with a full-length robe instead.

“Ahh, even better. Thanks, Rupe.”

I threw a wet towel at him, hitting him squarely in the face.

“I have to get out of here and change my clothes before hypothermia sets in,” I said, tossing the other towel to him.

“You’d better hurry,” Rupert advised, walking over to deposit them in the laundry hamper by the shelves.

Pausing mid-hair-wring, I stifled a groan.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost five,” Rupert answered, before gesturing to the rows of provisions. “Do you want a protein bar? Or a bottle of water?”

“Morning or afternoon?” I asked anxiously, ignoring his considerate offerings.

I had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.

The runner department held daily mandatory meetings at 5pm. And they meant mandatory. If you were anywhere on the island, attendance was not a question.

“Afternoon. You have just enough time to change clothes, but probably not enough to shower.” Rupert wrinkled his nose again. “I feel bad for the person who sits next to you. You really do smell ripe.” He grinned cheekily.

I hurried towards the exit, ruffling Rupert’s hair as I passed.

“Brat,” I said affectionately. “Don’t you know that a gentleman never tells a lady she smells bad? I’m sure it’s somewhere in one of those books you’re always reading.”

Rupert laughed and swatted at my hand.

“Eww, don’t touch me. Now I need a shower, too.”

Though he’d never admit it, I knew Rupert loved the attention all the runners paid him. For many of us, he was the younger sibling we’d never had.

When I reached the foot of the staircase, I paused.

“Gaige should be coming through any minute,” I added. “Tell him to head straight to the conference center, no dilly dallying. He has our acquisition.”

The slimy plant bits still clinging to my hair like some sort of eco-friendly extensions reminded me that I had a score to even with my partner.

“And feel free to give him a swift kick in the ass to get him going.”

Rupert snorted in response.

“That guy doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“Just tell him that, thanks to his little stunt, I’m not going to cover for him with Cyrus,” I called over my shoulder as I climbed the steps leading out of the gate. “Have a good one, Rupe!”

LOCATED ON AN
island in the Caribbean, the Atlic Syndicate was like a small, independent nation isolated from the rest of the world. Technically it was a U.S. territory, but we didn’t adhere to any laws other than our own. Cyrus Atlic, the syndicate’s Founder and current head of operations, had paid a hefty sum to keep the island off of the Electric Global Railway System, or EGRS. There were only two ways on and off the island: via boat or through a vortex.

Beautiful as it was secluded, the island was truly paradise. Lush vegetation provided a colorful backdrop that was dotted with waterfalls and wrapped in white-sand beaches. Amaryllises and hibiscuses lined the footpaths. The salty ocean breeze always managed to feel both relaxing and invigorating.

A small smile tugged at one corner of my mouth as I headed down the footpath to the bungalow I shared with Molly.

“If the other camp kids could see me now…,” I muttered happily.

The short jog took less than five minutes. Pushing open the front door, I sighed contentedly as I entered my very own slice of the island nirvana.

The feeling didn’t last long.

The interior lights were all off, the room only faintly illuminated where the sun shone through the gauzy white fabric covering the windows. The French doors that opened to a small patio overlooking the ocean below remained firmly closed, which was only the case when both my roommate and I were away. The patchwork quilt that normally sat sloppily in one corner of the couch was neatly draped over the back instead, a tribute to my compulsive need to clean and straighten only in the hour before leaving on a run.

My gaze landed on the clock in our kitchen and I swore loudly. With only five minutes to change and sprint to the conference center, I was never going to make it on time.

I scurried to my bedroom and beelined for the en suite bathroom. Ignoring the siren call of a hot shower, I shrugged out of the robe Rupert had given me, peeled off the wet layers of my maid’s uniform, and tossed them over the shower doors to dry. The atrociously ruined stockings went directly into the wastebasket.

Back in my bedroom, I quickly dressed in a pair of cotton pants and the heaviest sweater I owned. Though the air outside was warm and humid, I still felt the cold river water deep in my bones. Since my feet were scraped and bleeding from my run through Florence, I opted to carry my most comfortable leather sandals until decorum mandated their necessity.

Retracing my steps through the common area of the bungalow, concern for Molly sparked anew and made my chest tighten. Without thinking, I reached for my proverbial safety blanket: a round gold locket of delicate filigree with a sapphire set in the middle. I brought the locket to my lips before letting it fall back in place between my collarbones.

It was the one link I held to
my
past and I never took it off. As a child growing up in the work camp, it had given me hope that one day I’d find my birth family. As a runner, the same still held true.

Exiting through the back of the bungalow, I crossed our patio to the path leading straight to the conference center. At the footpath’s crest, the conference center rose into view. It was the largest building of the island compound and the most outwardly modern. The walls were tinted glass that deflected the heat of the beating sun during the day while absorbing the energy of the rays to power the entire island.

The stones surrounding the massive building were warm on my bare soles, soothing the pain. Unfortunately, I was only able to luxuriate in the respite for a moment. I slid on my shoes, pushed open a tall glass door, and hurried through the lobby.

An unoiled door hinge dashed all hope of slipping in to the meeting unseen. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. My own eyes found the formidable man at the head of the table, and I muttered apologies as I scurried to my assigned seat.

Keeping my eyes down, I grabbed the Qube sitting on the table in front of my chair and pulled it to me, preparing to take notes like a dutiful employee. An elbow nudging my ribs drew my attention, and I did a double take when I saw Gaige. Somehow, my pain-in-the-ass partner had managed to beat me to the meeting. He smirked at my stunned expression and mimed pinching my lips shut with his thumb and forefinger. I swatted his hand away before he actually tried to close my mouth for me.

“Stassi? Gaige? Do you care to take over the meeting, or is it okay if I continue?” Cyrus asked in a tone that was firm, but not angry.

“Of course, Cyrus. Sorry I’m late. I had to go change.
Someone
sent me on a little swim in Florence,” I replied, with a pointed look at Gaige.

“So sorry that I
saved
you from Napoleon’s guards, Stass,” Gaige shot back with an irritating grin. “Next time, I’ll be sure to leave you to the Frenchies.”

Cyrus stifled a smile at our banter. The amusement softened his tanned, weathered features.

“Are you okay?” our boss asked me. The slight crinkle around his eyes was the only sign that his question was more than a polite inquiry.

“Never been better,” I grumbled, running a hand through my damp, disheveled hair. It occurred to me in that moment that I probably should’ve consulted a mirror before I left the bungalow. Maybe run a brush through my mermaid hair.

Too late now
.

“As I was saying,” our fearless leader continued, addressing the whole table again. “Judah just returned from Lisbon….”

I leaned back in my chair, content to have everyone’s attention directed elsewhere. While Judah’s run was recapped, I tuned out the sound of Cyrus’s voice, but kept my gaze on him.

Cyrus Atlic was a legend. While physically imposing—tall and exceedingly well-muscled for a man in his late fifties—it was his accomplishments and vision that commanded respect. Our syndicate’s Founder had actually worked on the Fourth Dimension project—the team that discovered time travel.

The initial finding was met with mixed reactions from the government and the project’s financers. With a vested interest in privatizing time travel, several of the corporate investors pushed to launch a time tourism program soon after the discovery, allowing those with enough money to vacation in any time period of their choosing.

Fortunately for the world, the pilot program never grew beyond infancy. Private citizens proved incapable of responsible travel; they caused more trouble and created more holes than money and influence were capable of fixing or explaining. That was when the government officially stepped in and shut down the venture. The Fourth Dimension project was deemed unfit for further exploration, and became one of the highest-level classified files in the government archives. Very few outside of the scientists, contractors, and financial backers ever even knew of the project’s short existence.

Cyrus, who was an exceedingly wealthy businessman and brilliant scientist at the time, had been an integral part of the Fourth Dimension project since its inception, as both an investor and a researcher. And it wasn’t within his nature to let such an incredible discovery languish in redacted documents.

Though the logic of the ban on time travel did not escape Cyrus, it also did not deter him. He believed that with the right training and preparation, carefully vetted individuals could visit other eras without disrupting history. With that idea in mind, he quietly purchased Branson Isle from the Americans. Cyrus then established the Atlic Syndicate—a business specializing in locating and acquiring objects from the past.

Historical procurement was a lucrative business. For an obscene price, we would obtain any item from any time that a client requested.
Any
item
.
And a never-ending parade of the world’s most affluent lined up for our services. The profits were more than enough to keep the island in pristine condition and provide lucrative salaries to the syndicate’s employees. While most of the world lay in ruins as a result of the Epic War, we lived in untold luxury.

But Cyrus’s dream went beyond founding the most elaborate black market the world would ever know. Our boss was a patron of the arts, enraptured with the lost works of creative geniuses throughout time. Artwork, literature, plays, films—every colorful aspect of humanity—they were all lost during the fifth world war. Preserving culture was Cyrus’s passion. For him, amassing a fortune was simply a fortuitous byproduct of that.

In order to give life to his great imaginings, Cyrus needed employees. First and foremost, he needed runners—gophers sent back in time to fetch the items his clients requested. After working out the kinks that come with any new business model, he developed a solid training program focused more on the art of assimilation than the physical aspects of jumping from one point and place in time to another. Runners studied people, events, and cultures, learning to blend within past societies without becoming a part of recorded history. And without causing ripples in the timewaves.

Another elbow from Gaige interrupted my musings. When I looked up, all eyes were on me once again.

Realizing I was tuned out, Gaige cleared his throat and answered for me.

“There were a few hiccups, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

His chestnut eyes glanced pointedly at me.

“Right, sorry,” I said, quickly figuring out that Cyrus had asked about our run. As the lead runner on the mission, I was also the one responsible for recounting it to our boss. “I was able to infiltrate the palace without issue. Napoleon’s letters to Josephine were exactly where the historians guessed—the desk in his study. There were some ‘hiccups,’ as Gaige said, but we made it out okay.”

“No major incidents?” Cyrus asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Not at all,” I quickly answered, before Gaige could.

Cyrus eyed me carefully. The half-smile on his face was unnerving.

“You didn’t bypass customs on the way back?” Cyrus turned the full force of his emerald gaze on me.

Crap. How did he always know everything? The man had a sixth sense. Possibly even seven or eight of them. Glancing over at my partner, I knew he wouldn’t have offered up this particular piece of information. Neither Cyrus nor the senior runners in the room would approve of our tactics, however successful they’d been.

Gaige squirmed in his chair but said nothing. Evidently, he was choosing to sit this one out.

Awesome.

“Stassi, you cannot keep doing this,” Cyrus continued sternly, all traces of his earlier amusement gone. “We cannot afford to leave behind a trail of mysterious disappearances, nor can we afford for you to be out of commission while you recover from time sickness.”

“I’m fine!” I exclaimed. “I’m not sick.”

“
This
time,” Cyrus shot back. “You didn’t get sick
this
time. But you will. Everyone does. Time sickness is inevitable for those who don’t follow the rules. Which is precisely why we have rules. Coincidentally, that is also why we have customs: for you to use them. Jumping outside of a vortex is incredibly dangerous, I cannot believe that you don’t understand that.”

“I know, I know,” I replied. “You’re right.”

Arguing with a man like my boss was pointless, so I took the path of least resistance.

“I’m sorry,” I added quietly.

Though I almost promised I wouldn’t do it again, I held my tongue. It would have been a lie, and we both knew it.

“What happened?” Cyrus asked, my apology softening his tone.

“One of the guards found me in the study. I tried talking my way out of it. I tried making excuses. I even tried flirting—”

“Wow, can’t believe that didn’t work,” Gaige muttered.

Cyrus shot my partner a warning look, and Gaige’s trademark smirk disappeared.

“I tried it all,” I continued. “I swear. In the end, I had to make a break for it. My loyal backup,” with this I turned to glare at Gaige, “was occupied elsewhere. Guards followed me from the palace, but I managed to lose them. I was heading for customs when the soldiers caught up with me again on a bridge.”

“And that’s when I intervened with my quick thinking,” Gaige chimed in. “I staged a struggle and threw her into the Arno to facilitate a clean exit.”

“Clean is
not
the word I’d use,” one of the senior runners murmured, eyeing my disheveled appearance.