The Timeseer's Gambit (The Faraday Files Book 2) (59 page)

Chris ran a hand through his hair. His stomach tied into knots. He remembered the feeling of Will in his arms. Will’s mouth beneath his. Will’s tongue moving together with his own. Without the adrenaline of having just watched his friend save Livingstone and destroy timeseers, he wasn’t so sure he could talk to him. “The…” He tried to untie his tongue, flushing, aware that Olivia was watching him closely. “The situation is more… delicate than you may think, Olivia.”

“I’m sure that it is,” Olivia said firmly. She tugged the latch and threw open the door. “And these things tend to get worse the longer you leave them fallow. So.”

The wind blew a gust of rain in. Chris looked down at himself. “My clothes are ruined,” he said. “I’m in my shirtsleeves. A salamander burned my arm!”

“Get out of the carriage,” Olivia commanded.

The worst part was that she was right. He thought about that. No. No, the
worst
part was most certainly that if she was
not
here, forcing him out into the rain to deal with what he’d wrought, he quite possibly just never would.

“Officer Burke…” Chris looked out the window. There were lights on in William’s tumbled down old house. “She said that Will was taken from a cell to be categorized. That he was a thief and a tough and a whore. That―that what I did will send him right back where he came.”

Olivia made a small sound in the back of her throat. “It’s the truth,” she said. “At least, about his past. I remember the first time I saw him, a bloody knife for him to see in hand. He looked almost feral. He’s really actually quite civilized, now!”

Chris didn’t laugh. Olivia sighed.

“
You
need to deal with this.”

“I―”

“I’ll get you on the mirror as soon as we hear anything, Mister Buckley,” Olivia said, and she gave him a pert little wave.

He gave her a pleading look. She returned it with one of pure stone. So he climbed to his feet. Each one felt like a lead weight dragging him down. He stepped out into the rain. He went up to his ankle in a puddle.

He turned around to climb back into the carriage.

Olivia was blocking the door, her hand firmly on the latch. “Good
luck
, Christopher,” she said. She gave him a tight little smile. Then she wrestled the door from his hands and slammed it closed. She pounded on the roof. The cabbie gave him a sympathetic look before slapping the reins. The carriage lurched off, splashing muddy water all up his white shirt and ice-blue waistcoat.

Well, of course. Why not?

He forced himself every step up the walk. The toughs watched him curiously. One leered and gave him a little salute when he stopped in front of William’s door. Chris turned away, ears burning. What Officer Burke had said played through his mind over and over. Were those Will’s youthful companions? Would any of them take a tenner for a roll in the alley? He knocked on the door, trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about anything.

Agnes Cartwright answered. There was a pistol tucked into the band of her high-waisted gown. “Who are you?” she demanded, eyes flashing dangerously. “I have the rent! My son has the money to pay. We’re reliable now. He has a good job!”

He
had
a good job.

“I’m here to see him, actually,” Chris said, gently. “William. He and I are friends.”

Her scowl melted, turning into a beautiful smile. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, William always brings home the most
handsome
friends. Yes, yes, come in!” And she bustled away from the door. Chris stepped in after her, his feet each weighing a tonne. He closed the door behind him. The parlour was the same as it had been before, with its surprisingly fine furniture, the gramophone in the corner, and the portrait of Doctor Graham Cartwright looking down at them, a smile playing along his lips.

Chris remembered him.

“Chris?”

He swung his gaze to the direction of the voice. Will stood in the doorway, wearing shirtsleeves and socks. Well. Chris supposed he didn’t look much better. He supposed he looked much worse. They regarded one another for a long moment.

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” Will asked finally.

Chris cleared his throat delicately. “It’s… it’s a bit of a long story.”

“Are you all right?”

Chris’s hand came up to cradle his wounded arm. “Mostly,” he said.

Will nodded. “Well. I suppose we’ve both had
interesting
days. The police won’t stop mirroring me.” His voice was
almost
successfully conversational. “And when they pause for a moment, every reporter in Darrington is after me, instead.”

“I complicated your life,” Chris murmured.

Will’s lips thinned. “
I
complicated my life,” he corrected. “I already said as much. I didn’t do this for you. I did it because it was the right thing.”

Chris took a deep breath. “I remember you,” he said in a rush. Will’s eyes widened, and Chris pushed on before he could interrupt. “Only in flashes. It’s like―like there’s a veil over my memories. I don’t know why. Something… something with your mother. I…” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, but anything dealing with you, or your father is just… curtained off.” He took a deep breath. “What I
do
remember, though, is… what I can do.”

Will wet his lips and looked away. “Ah,” he said. He swallowed. “I never read my father’s notes,” he said quietly. “We never
found
them after he died, and wherever he hid them, they’re somewhere in the old house, completely out of reach. All I knew was that you could do something you shouldn’t be able to.” His lips trembled in a ghost of a smile, and a sickly ghost at that. “But then we were in the ballroom, and you spoke, and suddenly all I could feel was crushing shame over something about myself I’d made peace with
years
ago.”

Chris looked away. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure he could say anything at all. His tongue was completely paralyzed.

“You make people feel things.”

“Yes. I think so.”

“A heart… writer, if you will.” Will managed a sardonic little smile at that, and then he sighed and looked away. “What you did, Chris―what you made me feel…”

“I didn’t do it intentionally,” Chris hurried to say, and Will’s glare came up to meet his.

“Does that matter?” he snapped. “Gods, I could have wished I were dead in that moment. I barely even remembered what hating myself that much felt like. And you put that on me. You made me feel that way.”

“I barely even understand what I do!” Chris struck back, wounded beyond reason and unable to explain why. “And aside from that moment, I’ve only ever used it to―
help
people! Your own father was the one who taught me to use it, back at the old house!”

Will looked as if he might say something else. But the sparks faded from his eyes, and his balled fists released, and he turned his head to one side, colouring slightly. “You… really do remember.”

Chris nodded. He let his mind go back, trying to grasp the fragments of memory hidden behind that curtain. “We were…” A tiny smile touched his lips. “We were the best of friends, weren’t we? It’s funny. I remember thinking, when we became close these last months, that I’d never truly had a real friend before. Not even Georgie. But it turns out that I had. And that was you, too.” He rubbed his index finger, twisting it like he intended to screw it off. “I used to play piano for you. And you’d dance. Ah, and we played games. Cards. Cribbage! We both loved trains. Sometimes we’d just talk.”

“How could you just forget?” Will asked. There was pain in his voice.

Chris shrugged, awkward. He closed his eyes. “I honestly don’t
know,
Will. Something isn’t connecting correctly in my mind. There are flashes. Your mother, telling me I should remember, or forget or―I swear, I’d never have forgotten you,
ever
, if there wasn’t something going on, something
making
me forget. You were important to me. You―
are
―” He faltered.

And then gasped and jerked, eyes flying open. Will’s hand was on his cheek, and he was standing right in front of him. Chris gazed down. His heart thudded. What was wrong with him? Nothing. Nothing was wrong with him. He was confused. That’s all this was. He was just confused, and he was interested in women, so this was all just a misunderstanding, somehow.

“We solved our case,” he said in a rush. “Maybe. Maybe we didn’t. It’s all off the rails right now. Maris has our suspect. I think she’s protecting Miss Banks. I don’t know what―”

“I don’t give a toss about your case,” William snapped, eyes flashing.

Chris couldn’t help it. A hysterical little laugh spilled out of his lips. “Six gods, Will. How can I
not
be enthralled with you, when you’re so bleeding charming?”

Will rolled up on the balls of his feet. Chris knew what was coming. He didn’t fight it. His eyes flickered shut. Will stroked his cheek. Their lips touched. Chris leaned forward, swaying just enough to add pressure to the kiss. A moment passed.

Will’s hands were on either side of his neck when he fell back. “We were twelve years old and I was desperately in love with you,” he said quietly.

“Don’t,” Chris pleaded. He couldn’t open his eyes.

Will scoffed and his voice turned flat and sour. “Oh,
please
, Christopher, really? I said
was.
I’m much less enamoured now that you’ve grown into a bloody tosser.”

Chris forced his eyes open. He stared down at Will. His head spun and his heart hurt. “I’m not―” he began, and didn’t know how to continue, because he’d just kissed a man
again
, and after a certain point didn’t he lose some deniability? “I don’t know what I am,” he said finally, raising a hand to his temple. “I just know that I―I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

Chris pulled away from Will’s hands, taking a full step back. “Whatever this is,” he said, pleading.

“
This
is what is generally referred to as ‘mutual attraction,’ augmented by feelings of fondness from both parties,” Will said flatly. “It’s a very common and uncomplicated thing.”

Anger surged in Chris’s chest. He shook his head. “Don’t be obtuse!” he snapped. “You can’t possibly be this… this…”

“This scandalously lacking in self-loathing!” Will pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in a mockery of an appalled socialite. “Other than what you forced onto me back in that ballroom, of
course
. Maybe you should do that again, and put me in my place!”

“Don’t be―I wouldn’t―” Chris growled. “I just don’t want this!” But that was a lie. He looked away, feeling Will’s eyes on him. “I don’t
know
if I want this,” he corrected, and Will grunted. “I don’t know what I want.” That was the truest of all.

“The nanny?” Will asked tightly.

“I don’t
know
,” Chris repeated, closing his eyes.

Silence. Then: “So, what?” William asked. “Are we not friends anymore? Is that what you came here to say? I remember how much we meant to one another, and now we’re parting for good?”

“No. No, absolutely not, Will, I―I can’t lose your friendship.” Chris forced himself to look at him again and ached to see a glimmer in Will’s dark green eyes. “You matter to me. You’re―you―Mother
Deorwynn
, you just
proved
how wonderful you are. You saved Livingstone because it was good, and right, no matter what it cost you. That’s amazing.
You’re
amazing.”

A smile played at Will’s lips.

Chris rubbed at the back of his neck. “But. I just―this thing between us, I can’t―can’t we just…?”

Another silence.

“That’s incredibly selfish,” Will murmured.

“I know.”

“You realize that if we just―just continue as we were, or try, it―it won’t
work
, Chris. Mutual attraction is what it is. Things will happen.”

Chris swallowed. “Yes. I… I know that, too. I just…” He shook his head. “I just don’t know what else to
do
.”

“Stop being a coward, perhaps?”

There was no answer to that. Nothing other than the truth:
I don’t want to
.

“Well,” William said. “How perfectly messy.”