10

CHANGE OF PLANS

The time machine was finally fixed. At least that was what Adelaide hoped as she yawned and punched the elevator button for the basement. One of the techs from the lab had awakened her, along with Elise, and relayed it was time for their first jump. They had both already been back in time, but Adelaide supposed the gala didn’t count. No matter the carnage they had seen, no matter the lives lost, the trip tallies didn’t start until they were official members of the Red Rose Society.

The elevator doors opened, and Elise squinted against the light. “Ah! Did these people not get the memo that it’s the middle of the night?” She held a hand up, trying and failing to block out the light. “Who time travels at this ungodly hour, anyway?”

“Apparently I do.” Adelaide sighed, stepping onto the catwalk. “But I think I need to renegotiate my hours. I don’t function properly between the hours of eleven and eight.”

Elise dropped her hand in defeat. “You and me both, my friend.”

They made their way to the apparatus floor. Techs buzzed about in lab coats and spectacles, pressing buttons and flipping switches in preparation for the jump. Instead of a series of numbers, the largest screen displayed a 3-D graphic of an oval, sketched out like a blueprint. Dr. Jameson, Juniper, and Teo were already there along with another man Adelaide hadn’t seen before. He looked to be in his early- to mid-thirties, the faintest hint of grey salting his dark hair. Despite the lateness of the hour, his eyes gleamed with an excitement Adelaide wasn’t sure she shared.

“Nice of you to join us, ladies.” Dr. Jameson eyed them above his wire-rimmed glasses. “I know history is in the past, but that does not mean it will wait for us.”

“Sorry,” Adelaide said, sarcasm flavoring her words. “We figured we should at least stop to brush our teeth seeing as any time we’re headed to probably doesn’t have spearmint toothpaste.”

Dr. Jameson nodded as if that was a decent enough excuse for their tardiness. “Very well,” He gestured between Adelaide and Teo. “Mikaelson, show these two the storeroom while I get Juniper and Ms. Carroll up to speed.”

“You got it, boss.” Mikaelson saluted and turned on his heel.

He didn’t look back to see if they were following. Adelaide met Teo’s gaze and shrugged, taking off after Mikaelson. Apparently he had fully recovered from typhoid fever because his pace was a near sprint, even for her long legs. He shot them a grin as they caught up and extended a hand. “Mikaelson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Adelaide said, grabbing his hand.

At the same time Teo said, “Yeah, I gathered that much.”

Mikaelson ignored Teo and pushed open a thick metal door just off the apparatus floor. Cool air brushed Adelaide’s skin as she crossed the threshold. She gasped, the sound quickly lost in the vast space. Rows of clothes from every era stretched before them. She ached to try them on and be somebody else from a whole other time, even if just for a day. To slip into a Victorian gown for a garden party, a forties-style swing dress for a night out dancing, a riding cloak for a midnight ride through a medieval countryside.

“Yeah.” Mikaelson, a sly grin etching his face, watched Adelaide. “I was a theater kid growing up, so that was pretty much my reaction, too, when I saw this place for the first time.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get you guys suited up.”

“Alright,” Teo pulled a twenties-style fedora from a rack and slipped it on his head. “But if it includes short pants and high socks, I’m out.”

“Well,” Mikaelson said, leading them down an aisle marked 1860s America. “Lucky for you the pants have gotten a little longer from the last time period you jumped to.”

Adelaide could think of only one reason for them to be looking through clothes from 1860s America, though she hoped for their sake she was wrong. “We’re going back to the Civil War? I thought we were starting with World War II.”

“Right you are, my dear. On both accounts.” Mikaelson rifled through a rack, promptly piling up pants and jackets in Teo’s arms. “There seems to have been a change in plans.”

Teo peered over the growing pile. “Why?”

“Don’t know, but Jameson will fill us in. For now, we need to get you properly dressed.” Mikaelson threw a grey hat on top of the pile. “That should do it for the boys.” Turning to Adelaide he added, “You’re going to want to consult ERMA for your outfit.”

“Erma?” Adelaide quirked her head. “I don’t suppose she’s a little old lady with a penchant for Civil War fashion?”

Mikaelson laughed. “Not quite, come on.”

He led them deeper into the room to a small alcove in the far back corner. Four sets of curtains, two on either side of them, were tied back over the entrance of changing rooms. A pedestal stood in front of a large mirror, set into the center of the main wall.

“Go ahead.” Mikaelson gestured to the pedestal. “Step up, keep your arms at your side and try not to move.”

“Where’s Erma?” Adelaide said, watching her reflection in the mirror.

“You’re looking at her.” Mikaelson said. “ERMA, be a dear and give Adelaide, here, a change of clothes. Classifications: Civil War, Richmond, Confederate, middle-class, female.”

Adelaide watched as the mirror’s surface rippled, giving way to a digital screen. The words Mikaelson had just spoken, classifications for the clothing she needed, scrawled across the upper left-hand corner as if typed by an invisible hand. The words finished typing, and a green beam emitted from the center of the mirror, coming to rest on her feet.

“Scanning,” an electronic voice said, not unlike the one emitted from the disc that had given her and the other Kindred their instructions back in Revolutionary France. The beam slowly rose higher, creeping up every inch of her until she was face to face with a life-size, 3-D image of herself on the screen.

“Huh,” Teo said, titling his head, an irritating smirk etched on his face. “I had you pegged as a boyshorts kind of girl.”

She blushed, embarrassed on behalf of the model of her that was standing there in a black bra and underwear. Thankfully the image shifted as ERMA pulled up a queue of Civil War style dresses. Each one passed in front of the model, disappearing faster than Adelaide could register what they looked like. Finally, the dresses slowed like a gameshow wheel until a deep blue gown settled over the model’s figure. Boxes like thought bubbles popped up on the dress, shoes, bag and brooch at the collar of the dress. Each listed a series of numbers and letters, presumably the location of each item in the warehouse.

“Thank you, ERMA. Upload those pieces and inventory coordinates to my phone please.” Mikaelson extended a hand to help Adelaide off the pedestal. “Isn’t she a doll?”

“Why ERMA?” Adelaide watched as the model faded and the reflective surface of the mirror rippled back into place.

“ERMA is short for ERa Module Apparel.” Mikaelson beamed like a proud mother. “Took a few tries to get her right, but now, give her any combination of classifications, and she’ll assemble a period-appropriate outfit for you in no time.”

“You created her?”

“I did,” Mikaelson said. “Though Charlie helped bring her to life. I told her my vision, and she wrote the code.”

Though it wasn’t her forte, Adelaide had always been amazed at what a series of zeroes and ones could do, especially in Charlie’s hands. From the time they were little girls in pigtails, Charlie had been anything but what people expected from her. Like her idol Hedy Lamarr, she was beauty and brains in equal measure. Every bit an Old Hollywood starlet and scientist wrapped into one. She could build a computer from scraps and hack a database as quickly as she could turn a head and paint a nail.

Mikaelson’s phone chimed, presumably with the information he’d requested from ERMA. He laid it flat in his palm and tapped the screen, bringing up a small hologram of the outfit and thought bubbles of the articles’ locations within the warehouse. “Teo, you can go ahead and get changed. Adelaide, I’ll be right back with your outfit.”

Mikaelson headed back into the main portion of the warehouse, leaving her with Teo. He tossed the pile of clothes on a bench in one of the dressing rooms. “Try not to miss me,” he said with a grin, sliding the curtain across the bar. He emerged a few minutes later with the grin wiped clean from his face. “Is it too late to back out now?”

Adelaide tried and failed to bite back a laugh. He looked like a man trying to play dress-up. His pants were a hair too short, the elbows on his jacket were worn, and a button near the top of his vest was missing.

Teo glared at her, but his outfit managed to take the edge off it. “What am I supposed to be, anyway?”

“An Italian immigrant looking for work,” Mikaelson said, returning with a dress. “And you, my dear,” he added a hand to his chest for dramatic flair, “are the war widow kind enough to hire him as you look to start over in the Confederate capital.” He handed her the dress and a myriad of other accessories. “Put these on and meet us back on the apparatus floor when you’re done.”

Mikaelson ducked into the dressing room Teo had previously occupied, leaving Adelaide to slip into the one beside it. She shimmied on the inner layers, slipping into a light chemise and lacing a pair of heeled boots before adding the hoopskirt and the dress on top. It was a beautiful dress, made of a deep blue, almost black, cloth. Threads a shade lighter than the fabric formed patterns of leaves down the front and through the skirt. The sleeves were formfitting, but not tight, ending at the wrist in layered cuffs lined with ruffles. The back was lovely too, but there was one problem. It was corseted. She tried lacing it herself behind her back, but it was impossible to see if she was even looping the ribbon through the right slots.

“Dollface, what’s taking so long? We could have been there and back by now.” Teo’s voice echoed through the warehouse.

“You ever try putting on a Civil War era dress? It’s a little harder than slipping into a pair of tiny pants.”

“Ouch.” Teo laughed. “You really know how to wound a guy. What’s the problem?”

Adelaide blew out a breath in defeat. She held an arm to her chest to keep the dress from slipping down and slid back the curtain. “I can’t work the laces.”

Teo swiped a thumb over his lips and walked toward her. His eyes shown even darker than normal in the dim lighting. “Turn around.”

Adelaide turned, swiping her hair to the side and twisting her fingers in it as Teo’s hands settled at the base of her back. Black licorice and smoke clung to him like a thick fog. She couldn’t help but wonder as he tightened the ribbons if this was an odd change for him. Teo seemed more like the type to help a girl out of a dress than into one. She stifled a gasp as his cold fingers brushed the skin between her shoulders. He pulled his hands away and stepped back as if her skin had burned him.

Teo cleared his throat. “You should be good now.”

“Thanks,” she said, turning back around.

“Sure.” Teo avoided her eyes, picking the cap up off the ground. He brushed past her, headed for the exit. “We should go.”

“Annalise Bordeaux, Mateo Accardi, Robert Archer,” Dr. Jameson said as he thrust manila folders into her, Teo, and Mikaelson’s hands. “These are your aliases, at least for today. Memorize them, breathe life into them and when in doubt, make something up. But always remember your lies.”

Adelaide opened her folder and scanned through its contents. Annalise Bordeaux, twenty-three, widowed, librarian. It wasn’t much of an information overload, but definitely enough to make her wish she had some of Elise’s eidetic memory. “How much time do we have?”

“About two minutes,” Dr. Jameson said, checking his watch. “You’ll usually receive these ahead of time, but this was a bit of an impromptu trip.”

It had seemed odd to her they were jumping in the middle of the night, but she’d just chalked it up to the Red Rose Society wanting to make up for the trip they were supposed to take the first time. But if this trip wasn’t planned, why the sudden urgency to get them to the Civil War?

“What should we do when we get there?” she asked.

“Thirty seconds!” a tech shouted, his voice barely discernible above the growing noise in the room.

“Hide the time machine,” Dr. Jameson said, ushering them toward it.

Mikaelson was already seated, a head-set with an attached microphone over his ears and a hand on a joystick surrounded by multicolored buttons.

“Twenty seconds!”

“Find Elizabeth Van Lew and gain her trust,” Dr. Jameson continued, helping her into the time machine behind Teo.

She tripped on the fabric of her hem, but a pair of hands settled on her waist, stopping her fall. Her head snapped up to Teo’s, inches from her own. He looked away as she squeezed past him and dropped into her seat.

“Ten seconds!”

“Buckle up,” Dr. Jameson said as the door slid shut.

Her hands shook, trying to snap the buckle in place.

“Five seconds!”

Teo eased the belt from her hands and clicked it in the lock.

The lights flickered and cut to black as a familiar buzzing sound crept into Adelaide’s head.

“One!”