“NEW YORK’S a big place, even in the 1890s,” Gen says, seated at the opposite end from me at the big dining room table in our inherited mansion. I would have preferred her next to me, but she thought we should take the power positions in this strategic planning session. Chris and Nate are here too, on my right, and Cassie brought Peter, so they’re on my left—the entire Orlando contingent.
It’s weird seeing so many people in here. Katy keeps circling the table like she doesn’t know who to sniff first. We haven’t entertained much since we took over the property, and we hardly use this room. I’d like to change that when all this is done. Maybe invite them back for Thanksgiving, something positive. Because if this plan works, we’ll have a lot to be thankful for.
“When and where do you propose to start looking?” Nate asks.
“Well,” I say, gathering my thoughts, “the way I figure it, I want to get her as close to her death as possible. Don’t want to mess up the timelines any more than necessary.” If I can find her shortly before she would have died anyway, I can’t be changing much by eliminating her, right? I’m not real keen on killing someone who hasn’t actually done anything bad yet, but I keep reminding myself that this… person… will die and try to hurt little Tracy, along with who knows how many others she’s gotten rid of. I push the nagging guilt into a mental box and shut the lid tight. “We know she was born in 1879, and she looked to be maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight in spirit form.” About my age.
“We can’t count on that being accurate,” Genesis reminds me, even though we’ve had this discussion several times in the last few days leading up to this meeting. “She could have died much older. You know from personal experience that you can alter your appearance in spirit form. I’m still waiting for you to buy those leather pants, by the way,” she adds with a wink.
I flush with embarrassment, but inside I’m cheering. If she’s teasing me, she’s starting to forgive herself for my injuries. Good, because it’s been a difficult few days.
I’m almost back to normal, working out in our home gym every day to regain muscle strength, and Cassie has reduced the number of vomit-inducing potions I have to drink. Gen’s handled me with kid gloves, fretting over every groan, every sign of weakness. It’s driven me close to insane, but I take it. If that’s what she needs to do to reassure herself that I’m going to recover, then so be it.
Besides, having her baby me once in a while is kinda nice.
The others finish giggling over Genesis’s choice of wardrobe for me, and I rap on the table to get things on track. “We have to start somewhere. We’ll go under the assumption that she died in her late twenties. So I’ll study up on early-1900s New York and pick a place to pop into, like maybe a post office where I can look her up. Or a library. Where were census records kept?” We’d already tried the modern-day ones, but all traces of her are gone. I can only hope Dad’s reach didn’t extend that far back. He told me at the wedding that he isn’t a time walker like I am.
Peter’s tapping on his phone. “Libraries would have them. There’s also a regional census office in New York City that dates back to that time period. I’ll text you the address.”
A minute later, my phone (the new one I finally got to replace the one Tempest fried) buzzes and I nod my thanks. “It’s as good a starting place as any. I may have to bounce back and forth a few times before I nail it, but if I land too late, the records should also give me her death date, so that will make things easier for the final trip.” I turn to Cassie. “Any idea how a series of jumps is likely to affect me?”
“Badly,” she says, not mincing words. “The more you jump, the stronger the side effects will be, and I’m not just referring to the headaches, fever, and nausea you’ve experienced.”
She’s talking about the sexual arousal, though she’s polite enough not to say it out loud. Doesn’t matter, I’m blushing again anyway.
“Not something I can help,” I mutter, defensive.
“No, but I can,” Genesis says from her end of the table. “And by the way, you’ve been talking like this is a solo mission of yours. If you think I’m letting you go alone, you’re out of your mind. Unless, of course, you don’t trust me.”
Fuck.
Nate and Peter exchange worried glances while Chris and Cassie launch into protests, each trying to shout down the other with their descriptions of how dangerous it will be. They both saw the results of the last time I took Genesis with me. They also know that I wouldn’t have survived that encounter without her. Chris is on his feet, pacing the room, and I feel for him. How do you let your sister walk into something like that? How do you let your sister-in-law go into battle alone? I totally empathize.
How do I take the woman I love into that kind of danger?
I let them rant. We’re grownups. In the end, we’re going to do what needs to be done. The only question left is the one Genesis asked.
Do I trust her?
I let my gaze linger on her, assessing her while searching my own feelings. She meets my eyes calmly and steadily, ready to accept whatever decision I make. If I don’t have complete faith that she won’t be tempted by Granfeld’s use of the dark, I’m risking not only the mission, but both our lives.
If I turn her down, I’m destroying whatever faith she still has in herself and jeopardizing our relationship, because no relationship can survive without trust.
Regardless of any misgivings I might have, there’s only one answer I can give.
“I’ll be glad to have you along. I can use the backup.”